[ the rest of the night had been at the very least, uneventful.
perhaps alhaitham had pettily locked the front door from the inside so kaveh couldn't get in, but it turns out that he hadn't tried anyway - likely still out barhopping until the small hours of the morning, and then passed out on a friendlier couch than he'd be able to find inside this house in particular.
even though the blonde hadn't kicked down his door looking for more trouble, alhaitham's mood remained decidedly sour even through until the next morning. he'd say that he doesn't like interruption to his routine and that's what's ruffling his feathers, but the truth is: his jaw still hurt (a faint bruise marring the skin) and he was still pissed off about the entire argument.
so, he'd done the only reasonable thing that came to mind and thrown himself into his work. headphones on, he'd retired before the sun had even come up to the study in the house because sleep had been evasive and his mind, busy. alhaitham's buried nose-deep in stacks of semiotic texts that required review to be added to the haravatat curriculum - a thoroughly menial, endless task, which was exactly what he needed to distract himself right now.
the most aggravating thing, though? as hard as he tried to concentrate on the words and the notes he was taking, unwelcome flashbacks to the previous night kept snaking in between the lines.
sighing in annoyance, he turns his headphones up louder. perhaps the volume would drown kaveh out, wherever he was. ]
[ It's probably the worst hangover Kaveh's had in a while, something that given the circumstances isn't entirely surprising. (The circumstances, of course, being: was already too drunk to walk straight, got into an argument that killed the buzz, and then went and drank more. A lot more. ...Honestly, it's probably a miracle he's still alive.) He feels like shit, and quite frankly if it weren't for the fact that he has work to do today, he'd have likely stayed on that friendly couch, resting and drinking water until the worst of the hammering stopped in his skull.
But alas, it is not to be.
There are a few stops that he makes before he returns to the house he reluctantly calls his home: he goes first to the tavern to pick up Alhaitham's stained cape and then— with mora borrowed from Tighnari— to have it properly laundered. As such, by the time he arrives at the scribe's front door, it's bundled up in his arms, folded and warm and smelling like soap and padisarah.
The door is locked. From the inside. Kaveh thinks about dropping the freshly-laundered cape in a puddle of mud.
Instead, he uses a hairpin to pick the lock after five minutes of banging and yelling gets him nowhere.
He should probably clean up before getting to work— the stench of alcohol is coming off him in waves even now, and a glance in the hall mirror has him do a slight double-take (he looks like he's been fucked senseless, he thinks)— but instead he walks straight into the shared study, dropping the bundled cape unceremoniously on Alhaitham's desk before moving to sit behind his own, reaching to pull the feather quill out of his hair so he continue working on the sketch laid out over its surface.
The feather frees the last few strands of his hair, leaving it to fall loose around his face without the pins, messy and yet a perfect match for the debauched state of the rest of him— even a cursory glance at his person will discover that his shirt is sitting a little wider open than usual, his pale skin marred with a number of dark hickeys.
[ the music in his ears - classical conservatory sumeru repertoire with a layer of ambient noise over the top for concentration - is much too engrossing for him to be able to hear kaveh's carrying on outside, nor the banging on the door. really, he's doing his very best to bring some semblance of order back into his life after the absolute mess that the previous night was, and after a couple of hours trying to get into the headspace to actually do the work on his plate, alhaitham had finally managed to get somewhere.
unfortunately, ten minutes after that breakthrough, he'd been snapped out of his reverie by his cape being dumped on his desk out of nowhere. normally unflappable, even he jumped a little at that because he was certain he'd locked the fucking door and no-one should be able to worm their way in without him noticing, let alone the one person he'd been trying to keep out.
a slender finger taps on the side of his headphones, momentarily muting them with an irritated look on his face as he looks up from the interruption. however, he only sees kaveh's retreating back before the other sits himself down on his side of the office - takes in the telltale signs that the architect had indeed stayed out for a second round of self destruction last night, like the messy blonde locks of his hair spilling over his shoulders instead of neatly braided; like the fact he was still wearing the same shirt from the night before, with all the damage it had incurred then.
'you weren't satisfactory enough to help me, so i found someone who was.'
turning halfway in his chair, a gloved hand tightens around the cape before he yanks it from the desk and throws it just as unceremoniously over the back of the sofa behind them. ]
An architect, of all people, should be able to understand a locked door.
[ alhaitham's tone is bitter, and he's unapologetic about it. really? he's in half a mind to stalk over, haul kaveh up and throw him back out like a stray cat. ]
[ Admittedly, there's a small part of Kaveh— okay, a reasonably big part actually— that kind of sort of intended to flaunt the love bites visible over his chest and throat, that would be quite self-satisfied with the knowledge that Alhaitham is bothered by them; it's the same part that has his lips twisting into a nasty smirk in response to the irritated look on the scribe's face and the bitter tone in his voice, has him shrugging in the most nonchalant way he can muster, as if there isn't a single thing about it that matters.
Never mind that it does matter, that his stomach is twisting in guilt over the bruise he can see darkening Alhaitham's jaw, that his heart is still aching and angry over the scribe's insults— coward— that his brain is still stamped with the desire burned into it by that dream a few nights ago, a dream so vivid that not even throwing himself drunkenly at a stranger or two was enough to make it disappear. ]
I let myself in.
[ A much simpler way of explaining what actually happened, which was five minutes of expletive-ridden shouting and banging and staring from onlookers followed by several more minutes of fiddling with his hairpins— plural because he broke at least one in the process— while making sure to explain to anyone walking past that he's not actually breaking in, he lives here— a fact in his opinion, far too many people know now. But given the situation, there was no other option unless he wanted to find himself face to face with the matra. ]
I had work to do.
[ His tone is light— not friendly, that would be too much— but calm and measured, staying away from the acid timbres that currently lace the other's voice or the sharp emotion that would usually enrich his own. And it's tempting, admittedly, to follow his words with a question, such as how's your jaw, but he bites back the anger for now in favor of infuriating aloofness. A lesson taken straight from Alhaitham's book, as a matter of fact, echoed down to the way he indicates the paper in front of him as he talks, illustrating his words as if the other needs clarification on what his work is— like he's some kind of idiot— before returning to the work in front of him.
See how he likes it, Kaveh thinks, his stomach making another ugly twist in his abdomen. ]
[ The last few days have been difficult to say the least. Since the punch that nearly got him kicked out and the kiss that (also) nearly got him kicked out, Kaveh has been trying to keep his nose to the grindstone, to generally stay out of Alhaitham's way. Between the guilt and the discomfort— and the unstoppable, unshakeable feeling of rejection— it's been hard to look at the scribe for too long without getting upset or embarrassed over what happened.
The one and only upside, perhaps, is that he hasn't gotten cripplingly drunk since that night, but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't had the funds to do so, nor does he dare right now to steal any of his roommate's booze when things are so tense between them. And despite it technically being an upside, it doesn't feel like one when it means he has to deal with all the awkwardness and unhappiness while sober.
Because at least as far as he's concerned, things have been incredibly awkward between them.
He's not exactly sure, then, how they got here, tangled together on top of Alhaitham's bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin and not a lick of clothing between them. The scribe's muscled figure is dotted with the same dark bruises that highlight his own skin, an arm thrown haphazardly across his face as he voices sharp, unvoiced gasps to the air, the fingers of his other hand tangled in Kaveh's blonde hair and pulling him closer to the buck of his hips until the architect nearly chokes on him. The blonde himself is aching, heavy and hard with his own arousal, but every attempt to reach between his own legs is thwarted— he doesn't know how exactly, only that it is— as the scribe's voice breaks from its gasping to offer a sound of disapproval, voice edged with a teasing amusement unlike anything he's ever heard.
Maybe, if he stopped to think about it for even a second, he would realize that there's no way it can be real... but there's no room for thinking between the sensations of touch and feeling and pleasure. And so it's not until he wakes with a start that he realizes that it was just a dream, that he's alone in his bed, the dull grey light of morning peeking through the window and illuminating the mess he's made: the sheets tangled up around him and stained with the same translucent color that beads across his abdomen, his skin flushed and his lips half-open in a panting rhythm that matches the pounding beat of his heart.
To make matters worse, he's still half-hard, as if the untouched release inspired by the dream wasn't enough, and the images are printed on his brain like photographs that he can not only see but feel, leaving his hips arching against empty air.
With a low groan, Kaveh takes himself in hand— a hiss as his fingers touch feather-light against his own skin— and starts to stroke along his own length, head canting back with closed eyes as he sinks into his bed, chasing his release. ]
[ despite being a scribe, alhaitham loathed relaying messages.
even in the best of circumstances he'd be averse to it - his time is worth more than being an errand boy, and in general, people should be able to sort their own affairs without the interference of others. now, in far less than ideal circumstances, he'd had a message for kaveh thrust on to him in a way that had been impossible to refuse (and he'd tried - he really had). but at the end of the day, alhaitham was still a tool of the akademiya, was still beholden to their whims and wishes, and still had to do what he was told.
things in the house had been quieter over the past few days since 'that' chain of events had come to pass, though alhaitham's unsure that it's actually an improvement on the constant bickering. the topic hadn't come up again after they'd parted ways in the hallway, nor had he even really seen kaveh since. it was obvious that the other had decided to try and avoid him, coming and going outside of his normal hours so that they didn't overlap with alhaitham's; retiring immediately to his room when he did return.
he would mention it, if they ever crossed paths, but given his previous success with questioning kaveh's movements? alhaitham's extremely unlikely to get bitten by that bad choice again. being emotionally savvy wasn't exactly his strong point, but even he wasn't a big enough idiot not to get the message:
kaveh wanted to be left well enough alone.
so, he'd respected that. until now.
it turns out, it's extremely hard to pass on a message to someone you never see, so an unwanted errand has become a gross vexation as he tries and fails, tries and fails to track kaveh down to pass it on. perhaps he would've given up already and passed it off to some unfortunate, lower-ranking scholar to tail after the light of kshahrewar, but for once it was actually for his own good - an incredibly wealthy benefactor had inquired specifically about kaveh to his darshan with a project just detailed enough to be interesting, and just lavish enough to be a large relief to the architect financially (alhaitham assumes).
so here he is, trying to do right by the akademiya and by kaveh, managing to corner the other at a time where it should be harder to escape alhaitham's presence. he'd noted the other's altered routine - the earlier times he left, the hours he swanned back in (if alhaitham was still awake) - and if his judgement was correct, it was around now that kaveh would be getting ready to get up and leave for the library.
it would be quick. in, and out. a knuckle raps resoundingly on the door as a warning, though the scribe only gives it a second before entering kaveh's rooms, looking forward to getting this ridiculous errand off his plate and onto someone else's -
ah.
the scene before him... was not something he'd expected in this plan, and for an agonising second time simply stands still as alhaitham is rendered momentarily speechless by the devastatingly beautiful, magnificent sight of kaveh thoroughly undone in front of him. his expression doesn't register any sort of surprise and remains as neutral and measured as it always does, but his mind is busy codifying the image to memory, because the blonde like this looks as decadently picturesque as a fine art painting.
he clears his throat, though doesn't avert his gaze. ]
[ It's easy to lose track of time like this, and so when disaster strikes like a bolt of lightning to a lone tree in the desert, he has no idea how long it's been since he awoke to messy sheets and sweaty skin. All he knows is that he's sensitive, still close enough to his previous orgasm that there's almost an ache to the movement, a touch of discomfort despite the quickly-building pressure. It leaves him writhing, chasing a high that eludes him for a little too long, leaving him to replay the memories of the dream in his mind, answering the phantom kisses and touches with gasps and moans that he bites into his hand.
And maybe later, he'll have the decency to feel ashamed over the knowledge that he's jerking off to the imaginary ministrations of his roommate, but right now such a thought doesn't even begin to enter into his mind. He's too busy chasing, hips arching and bucking against his hand, strokes moving in a steadier, faster rhythm—
When Alhaitham knocks, the sound is momentarily lost in the fog of pleasure that shrouds his mind, the response slower than it should be due to the quickening climb toward his peak. And then realization settles in his mind in the very next moment, his eyes fly open wide, and three things happen simultaneously:
the door snicks open, revealing the object of Kaveh's fantasies standing right there, face as impassive as ever;
he lets go of his cock, making a desperate, scrambling reach for the sheets as if he can somehow cover himself up;
and he orgasms untouched (again), the sensation an almost painful one as his body experiences release without the pleasure of touch, the panicked words of banishment lost on his tongue as he twitches unbidden and moans.
No no no no no no no— This can't be happening—
And yet it is, another helpless shudder passing through him with a final pulse of pearly white, leaving Kaveh to clutch weakly at the covers, a stuttered wail of frustrated agony on his breath.
He needs to cover himself up, he thinks: the singular, desperate thought at the corners of his mind even as his body trembles bonelessly from his second release in too short a time. ]
[ what had been a simple errand had turned into a spectacle.
it would've been too late to avert his gaze as the situation unfolded in slow motion even if alhaitham had wanted to, really. in such circumstances, it probably would've been the polite thing to do to quickly exit the room and pretend like this never happened - but the scribe isn't one to bother much about concepts like shame or embarrassment, including around topics like sexuality. it's perfectly reasonable to perform such functions as needed, so why care much about it past adhering to general societal norms?
but logic aside, he finds he can't actually look away and preserve kaveh's sense of dignity. the state the blonde is in takes him back to those few days ago, the musings he'd pored over in his mind for longer than he'd ever care to admit of just what he'd gotten up to the evening he disappeared to someone else; what that person had seen of him, the flush of skin and breathless sounds they'd enjoyed teasing out of the architect. how they'd likely been given the privilege of undoing him completely and piecing him back together again -
hm. he probably shouldn't be staring, but it feels so self-indulgent, green irises dragging themselves over kaveh's form, comparing the moan from that lyrical voice to the ones he'd elicited as he'd pressed the other into the wall of the hallway. how intriguing an experience it'd be to see what lengths he could take kaveh to - how he could make him writhe once more under his grip, how -
yes, again, shouldn't be staring.
crossing his arms, alhaitham finally gives kaveh a moment of reprieve and angles himself just slightly away from him, looking at the wall instead with a decidedly neutral gaze considering the erotica he'd just walked in on.
starting again to try and finish what he'd started (considering kaveh was already beating him there); ]
A wealthy client was asking after you via your darshan, and they insisted it couldn't wait so I was given the message. [ a beat. the churlish side of him desperately wants to add, 'be thankful they didn't send cyno', but alhaitham is learning. ] How much longer do you intend to be engaged like this so I can let them know when you'll be arriving?
[ at the very least, the house had been quiet as of late.
kaveh had been true to his word and turned up for the meeting with his darshan, although alhaitham had seen very little of him since. the extent of his knowledge was that the meeting had gone well and the client had been thrilled to contract the kshahrewar's finest mind, but that was only because of reports and missives that passed over his desk in his role as a scribe, not because of any deep conversations they'd shared.
on the contrary, he'd been doing his best to stay out of kaveh's way since their encounter the previous week for reasons that he thought were very legitimate. despite the mixed signals he seemed to be receiving from the architect, anyone with any measure of an analytical mind could correlate the fact that his presence directly triggered upset in the other - tears, emotional outbursts, anger - and so, he'd made himself very scarce. not a fan of working overtime for any reason, he'd simply spent more time in the daena libraries or in his rooms at the house, sequestering himself with anthologies of books that had been on his 'to read' list for a long time, but he'd been putting off because of other commitments.
it turns out that keeping an eye on kaveh was most of those commitments, and now he was giving him space, he had a lot more time on his hands.
the architect was often out late these days, presumably working on the project. they rarely saw each other, and when they did, words were hardly exchanged, let alone pleasant ones. but knowing his general schedule, alhaitham's fairly confident that he'd still be out for some time even though it was nearing midnight - so he's lounging lengthways on one of the deep green couches in the living area, a candle burning lazily behind him as he remains nose deep in the fourth book of his current anthology about early phonology in teyvat.
it was better this way, surely. even though it felt like something was intrinsically missing from his existence when they didn't interact (even if it was all combative and no pleasantry); even though the house felt strangely off, strangely empty. this way, he could let kaveh focus on a project that could genuinely turn his life around without worrying about having to yell at him, and that's alhaitham's strange, obtuse way of helping. ]
[ Lately, Kaveh feels as if he's been living in an alternate dimension. He's got money in his pockets for one— a reasonable amount of it too, the first payment for his new job. But perhaps more distinct is the discomfort of the aloneness that seems to have come hand in hand with it. He's busier, of course, which means that he sees his roommate less than normal, but over the course of the week the architect has come to realize that Alhaitham is going so far as to actively avoid him. He's home less than usual— and Kaveh knows he's not working— and when he is, he's locked in his rooms.
It makes him feel sick, and that horrid feeling of being used only resurfaces again and again. Something about their encounter was apparently enough for Alhaitham's ego— Or did Kaveh overplay his hand and make his feelings clearer than he intended, and scare him off? Neither is a particularly nice possibility, which is why, cash in hand and finished early for the day, he finds himself tonight at a tavern, drunk on a sweet wine and looking for someone with whom to spend the rest of his night.
(And perhaps he could have found a more productive use of his time, but earlier this week when he tried that, Kaveh found himself sketching nude self-portraits, marking out every bite the other man left on his skin that night.)
Last time he made a "friend" at the bar, it was the most delicate flower of a girl he could find, someone as far removed from Alhaitham as he could manage from among the patrons who showed interest in him. He'd been trying, in his own twisted way, to get the scribe out of his head in any way he possibly could, and she'd been a good choice in that regard.
(Although he'd be mortified to know how much she knows of Alhaitham now, given his drunken mouth barely stopped moving between kisses to complain after the other man.)
The person who follows Kaveh through the door of Alhaitham's house tonight, though, is nothing like her. He's tall and broad, a dark expression worn on a strong face; his deep-throated chuckle echoes through the silence of the house before Kaveh drags him into his bedroom and slams the door shut behind them. And from there, it's just a matter of Kaveh being certain to make his lyrical, pleasured moans loud, louder than normal, loud enough that they'll be heard in whichever part of the house Alhaitham is currently sitting.
Maybe like this, the scribe will finally look at him. ]
the living area where he'd been settled reading was adjacent to the front door and the connecting hallways, so of course the scribe had been disturbed when the latch unlocks and not one, but two people stumble through the door. he'd been expecting kaveh would return from work sometime around now considering his current routine, but as piercing emerald eyes take in the scene before him, it was obvious that work hadn't been on the architect's mind for some time today. he had the same half-stumble to his step and loud countenance that gave away where he'd whiled his time away this evening, and as the scribe watches the two from over the top of his book, they manage to slink into kaveh's rooms and slam the door behind them with finality.
and - to his credit - alhaitham tries so, so very hard to restrain himself. to tolerate it.
it made no sense for him to feel so fucked off, really. technically, kaveh was simply a tenant in a house he rented to him, so he should be allowed to come and go as he pleases, whether or not that included the company of whichever sordid soul he managed to scrape off the floor of the bar and drag in with him. technically, kaveh had only suggested a transactional physical relationship between them, which had seemed to last for one encounter before it had dissolved, so there was nothing to get jealous over, no reason for his fingers to be curling so tightly into the fabric-bound cover of his book so hard it was starting to bend under the force.
but, as always, kaveh defied logic. it felt as if they were stuck in a repetitive time loop, the similarities of this encounter very much reminiscent of the vulgar state the blonde had been in when he slinked into their study the previous week, flaunting the scents and marks of someone else in alhaitham's face for whatever reason kaveh was using at that point in time. and now they were here again, the sounds coming from the architect's rooms so loud that even alhaitham's headphones were struggling to cancel them out despite him turning them up as far as they'd go, the noises seeming almost intentionally irritating.
what had he done to deserve this, now? he stays out of kaveh's way - he gets a front row seat to watching, hearing, sensing someone else ruin him. he interacts with kaveh, the other dissolves into anger, or tears, or both. it was immensely frustrating that nothing within his power seemed to ameliorate the situation in any way, and even more frustrating that the intricacies of kaveh's love life seemed to bother him so fucking much he couldn't think.
it's almost too much, even for him, and at the apex of a particularly loud, strangled cry of pleasure in kaveh's beautiful, musical voice, the scribe slams his book shut with one hand and stalks over to the door of his rooms, his heart a swirling tempest of fury, frustration and for some unknown reason, hurt. there's a faint green glow from behind the door for a fraction of a second, the heady tension in the air of a vision's power being used, before alhaitham all but kicks the bottom of it open with his foot, the wood screaming at the force.
for all the sordid scene in front of him when it swings open on its hinge, the scribe completely ignores the 'guest' in kaveh's bed and instead fixes the blonde with a wild, accusing stare, gloved hand grabbing the door frame. ]
Unlike most whose lives are entangled with the Akademiya, the so-called Light of Kshahrewar believes in living his true self to the fullest. This means living not only by logic, but with emotion. Being honest and forthright about the things he feels, letting them guide him and shape the actions he takes in his life. Sometimes, though, the third pillar of his being— his pride— gets in the way of letting him live his full truth, though, sealing his lips on issues that might bring him shame, leaving him to feel like he's carrying around any number of dirty little secrets: his bankruptcy, the fact he's living in Alhaitham's house...
Overall, it's also why he's in this mess, with logic and fear combined keeping him from spilling the truth about the tangle of feelings he has for the scribe in question, feelings shoved stubbornly to the back of his mind in favor of choosing other partners; the bitter sting to his pride driving him in turn to make logically— and perhaps emotionally— stupid choices like singing falsified melodies of pleasure to the walls as a stranger works him over.
False.
In the tavern, sight colored with the rosy hue of alcohol, it was easy enough to pretend that the man talking to him was Alhaitham. He's tall and handsome, broad-shouldered and deep-voiced, blue eyes close enough to turquoise, the hair all wrong of course but Kaveh is creative, let his powerful imagination do the work for him at the time. It worked enough that the architect invited him back to the house, intent on showing off just a little
Now that they're in bed, though, it's another story. The man's touch is all wrong: he's too gentle, practically unsure in comparison to what Kaveh's had; he's lacking the confident commanding nature of everything Alhaitham does, the possessive passion with which the scribe ruined him that night. It feels good, but good is hardly enough anymore; it's all wrong, and Kaveh's swollen arousal, flushed and leaking against the pale skin of his abdomen, is more a matter of biology than anything else, a natural response to the slicked fingers working him open when the door slams inward, revealing the object of his fantasies on the other side.
(And perhaps Alhaitham will notice, looking at him, that for as loud as he's seemed, Kaveh seems remarkably put together. His hair is a mess, and there's the aforementioned arousal to speak of, but there's nothing about him that indicates he's unraveling the way he did under the scribe's mouth. His skin, even, is a blank canvas— apart from the nearly-faded bites from a week ago— with any attempts to mark the skin having been impatiently brushed off.)
Kaveh's partner all but tumbles off the bed in shock, gathering sheets to himself in a twisted echo of a week ago, but the architect's eyes are fixed on the slight glimmer of green remaining in the air around Alhaitham— the tell-tale traces of him having called on the power of his Vision— on the wild look in his emerald eyes, on the gloved hand gripping the door frame with a strength that makes the architect wonder if the wood will splinter under his hold.
And how messed up is he, he wonders desperately, that all of this is somehow what starts the first genuine cord of arousal to wind hungry and wanting in his belly? ]
I'm sorry, were we bothering you?
[ The words are spoken in an attempt at cold calmness, but there's something trembling unwanted beneath the surface, an anger and hurt echoed in Kaveh's eyes as he rises from the bed, crossing the room until he's standing just on the other side of the door, inches away from Alhaitham, his breath quick and heavy on his lips, stained with the scent of sweet wines and stronger liquors. ]
Because you know what bothers me, Alhaitham? When people don't fucking knock.
[ The anger leeching into his voice is genuine. The words too, but a truth told to cover up a much larger one, when what really bothers Kaveh is the fact that Alhaitham reeks of jealousy right now and yet didn't seem to want him when he was practically offered up on a silver platter, has avoided him since and made him feel like nothing, like less than nothing—
And it's a truth he means to hide, but Kaveh is drunk, and when he's drunk sometimes his pride takes a backseat to his feelings. ]
Or, or, when people completely ignore my fucking existence for a whole week!
[ There was a time not even that long ago that the people of Sumeru, as a collective whole, took pride in the fact that they didn't dream. For his part, Kaveh has never been one of those people. On his trips to the further-flung reaches of the rainforest and desert, when the dreams were able to slip in unimpeded by his Akasha Terminal, he slept in vivid beauty, images of all sorts appearing to him in his sleep, uninvited but welcome. And while many scholars claimed that to dream was to be disconnected from wisdom, the architect always took a certain kind of pride in the ideas that came to his mind while he slumbered. He never talked about it, of course— it would have been akin to professional suicide— but he took pride in it nonetheless.
And now everyone can dream all the time, and there are certainly some among them who are bitter about it, but to Kaveh it's one of the real blessings that have come hand in hand with their freedom from the Akademiya's corruption.
Usually, anyway. Not this morning, when he's woken up with a raging headache and a scowl on his face on account of the dream still fresh at the edges of his mind. The cruelest one yet, because unlike the others it didn't stop purely at sex, but at something softer: with feelings, with soft kisses to the crown of his head and fondness reflected back at him from emerald eyes.
...Didn't he bring someone back home? And yet, his bedroom is empty and his door open—
And actually, he notices, hanging halfway off its hinges. Surprise lifts Kaveh's brows as a surprised exhale slips past his lips: ]
Okay, what the fuck?
[ Standing from the bed— and decidedly ignoring the way the world tilts around him, his center of gravity still disturbed enough that nausea seems likely to follow the pounding of his head at any moment— he scrapes his hair into a loose bun and pulls on the first errant pair of underwear (tight black shorts) that he sees before walking straight out into the living room, ruby eyes scanning the surfaces in front of him until they land on his silver-haired roommate, sitting with a book in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.
Also, he's half-naked.
Kaveh swallows, his eyes scanning the muscled surface of the other's torso in a manner both completely obvious and completely unintended. And when he speaks, his voice isn't anywhere near as loud or strident as he intended for it to be. ]
Do you know what happened to my door? It's broken.
[ one of the perks of having finally escaped the trappings of being the acting grand sage was that alhaitham had been able to return back to his preferred working hours - nine to five on weekdays, and luxuriously free weekends. since it was a saturday, he'd spent it so far in his favourite way (sleeping in until the actually human hour of ten a.m., especially considering the energy he'd had to expend the previous night) and then taking the morning slowly: getting a lengthy shower, brewing the strongest coffee the percolator would make, and settling down with a book. the week was so full of complexity that it was enjoyable to spend the downtime with simpler pleasures - and so here he was, hair still slightly damp and shirtless because it had simply been too warm that morning. instead he'd opted just for plain, loose-fitting black leggings because, after all, he had nowhere to be.
it was close to eleven when kaveh finally emerged, looking just as destroyed as the scribe expected he would - but despite the obvious cloud of a hangover darkening his face slightly, he was still stunningly beautiful in the filtered morning light, far more than he had any right to be. he didn't put his hair up so casually all that often, but it suits him, alhaitham thinks to himself as he takes a long sip of his coffee.
and then, then the architect starts speaking and it's exactly what he thought would happen. no-one could drink quite that much and emerge the next morning with all their neurons intact - and so he simply gives kaveh a look over the top of his book from where he's sitting at the bar table bordering the kitchen. ]
We discussed this. [ he states plainly, bemused that kaveh had managed to forget something he'd gotten so worked up about in the first place. ] You were adamant you 'wouldn't forget something like this', I believe was how you put it?
[ but he refuses to put down either the book or the coffee, simply inclining his head lazily towards a second (lukewarm, now) cup on the counter, black as night and probably strong enough to stop a man's heart if they didn't have the kind of hangover kaveh did.
briefly, alhaitham entertains the opportunity to mess with the blonde for a bit - if he didn't remember anything, how much could he get away with making up and torturing him before the gears started to turn again? but - he's feeling generous today, and he's enjoying the view, so he decides against it.
what he's said is ambiguous enough to keep him guessing. ]
I kicked it down. [ turquoise eyes glance back to where he'd left off in his book. ] I'll get someone to fix it next week, before you get upset about it.
[ Kaveh's not sure quite how it is exactly that Alhaitham manages to look so damn good even when he's being an arrogant ass about something— which is his definition of what's happening now, with the other man looking at him over the top of his book in the way he is, something unreadable but incredibly sexy in his eyes.
...Ugh. He probably needs to wash up— preferably in cold water— or at the very least put something on that's less revealing than just his underwear.
Instead, he crosses to the bar table and takes a seat next to the scribe, offering a smile that's meant to be grateful and instead is more of a grimace as he takes the cup in hand and downs it in a single gulp. Usually, he might gripe about coffee not being a suitable stand-alone breakfast, but the thought of food makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. And besides, there's more on his mind than food, a deep frown taking residence on his brows as he looks across at the other man.
Talked about it? Something he wouldn't forget? And Alhaitham kicked his door down, so— ]
Wait, you what? Why in the world would you do that?!
[ But even as he asks the question, voice shrill enough to make him wince a little at its tone, something like recognition settles in the back of his mind: a flash of green Dendro energy, the crash of the wood under the heel of a foot, turquoise eyes practically glowing with something dark and furious—
(And why does his brain insist on interrupting memory with dream here, shifting in an instant from that image to the sensation of Alhaitham's mouth on his, teeth dragging and quick, hot breaths over his lips?)
He shakes his head, a weak attempt to dispel the image. ]
I was too loud, wasn't I. [ It's not a question, not really. And it's easy from there to do the math, too: his bed was obviously empty this morning because Alhaitham tossed his would-be one-night-stand back out onto the streets on account of his much-beloved peace and quiet. Kaveh is much too hungover to do a good job of being flippant, but he tries, a teasing smile finding the corners of his lips as he continues: ] I'll make sure not to disturb you next time.
[ And he pauses, that smile almost instantly faltering, because something about that sentence seems wrong to his mind in a way he's not quite able to place. ]
You were certainly too loud when I got you into bed, [ alhaitham states matter-of-factly, turning a page in his book. ] but that's simply your normal state of being.
[ his choice of phrasing is on purpose, because if kaveh was going to play the drunken amnesia card, he was at least going to get some sort of enjoyment out of it. let's just say it's payback for running circles around the scribe with his aversion for telling the truth about his feelings, and so there's a lightly smug look on alhaitham's face as he glances back at the blonde with a knowing look, one that could almost be interpreted as suggestion. ]
What a sight you made, naked and pleading for me to promise you I'd remember what we'd done.
it was satisfying to be on the other side of the looking glass for once, holding all the answers and information just like kaveh had been the whole time he'd been off getting over-emotional about something that could've been solved with a simple discussion. without bothering to look up; ]
Are you telling me you don't remember? I'm insulted.
alhaitham usually went to great lengths to avoid frivolous social engagements, especially when they took place after hours. anything outside of his contractual obligations were of no interest to him, even more so if it meant he had to stand around listening to 'small talk' - perhaps one of his largest annoyances, people using words without meaning to simply fill space instead of articulate an idea.
but, tonight was an exception. a great deal of tumult was still rumbling throughout the akademiya like a shockwave after the scandals of the past couple of months, and in a bid to try and get things back on track, the leadership had decided to try return to normality. restart research proposal analysis, maintain the standard of education they'd built up over the institution's history, and - try to fill all the remaining vacant positions.
he'd had to be plied to make an appearance, yes, but alhaitham has turned up anyway. it was a thing of ostentatious opulence, held in the downstairs of the house of daena - away from the books, but still beautifully designed by old hands of the kshahrewar. the party itself was lively, boisterous enough not to make anyone think that sumeru itself had come to the brink just two months earlier; the purpose, to formally celebrate the appointment of the new grand and haravatat sages, two more reasons alhaitham couldn't shirk.
at the very least, he's trying to make himself inconspicuous, loitering on the fray of the activity and leaning against the wall, glass of wine in hand. the scribe isn't close to the level of some of the ridiculous fancy dress in the room, but he's made enough effort to look nice enough people wouldn't bother him by bringing it up later, clad in a loose white linen shirt and black dress leggings. it's nearing the bare minimum, perhaps, but he still strikes an elegant, clean-cut vision, enough so that despite his efforts to escape the throngs people were still coming past to seek him out. talk.
unfortunately for them, his attention is directed more towards the center of the room; the hub of activity - for there's an exuberant blonde right in the middle of it all excitedly chatting to the scholars around him, obviously far more in his element than alhaitham is. ]
[ For a while now, Kaveh's had reservations about the direction in which the Akademiya has been heading. With an ever-increasing focus on intellectualism over the last several years, aestheticism has become something of a dirty word, the artisans and creators of Sumeru forced into designing things rudimentary. Even with his personal focus on practicality in his work, Kaveh himself suffered rejection after rejection, forced to alter the same blueprint over and over, artistic elements slowly whittled away until the designs were no longer— in his eyes— special.
But with the recent upheaval, attitudes have started to shift. Aestheticism hasn't become the preferred scholarly pursuit by any means, but it's already treated with less contempt; former clients have started to approach Kaveh about modifying existing designs to incorporate some of his original ideas, and he's heard through the grapevine that his name is one of those being considered for the Kshahrewar sage position. It's knowledge that certainly makes it less painful for him to socialize— which is a good thing, because it also necessitates socializing, at least if he wants the job to be his.
It's partly for that reason that Kaveh is, tonight, dressed up to the nines— neat black dress pants and a dusky red linen shirt with a low-cut neckline showing off the pale expanse of his chest, offset only with a pair of delicate gold necklaces; his eyes are lined with his usual red kohl, and his fingernails painted with the same pretty shade of red. He cuts a striking figure among the scholars, standing with a glass of red wine in hand and a bright warmth in his ruby eyes as he laughs and chatters away, somehow having become the life of the party.
It's easier, lately, for him to find happiness in the little things— something that is, perhaps, at least in part due to the silver-haired man trying and failing to blend into the walls.
It should be noted though that said man also makes up the other reason for Kaveh's extravagant clothing choices. They've been dating for a little under two weeks now, and Alhaitham hasn't touched him, hasn't allowed them to go any further than the occasional steamy make-out that leaves him hungry, almost aching for more.
Kaveh's starting to feel like he's going to go crazy. And maybe he's overreacting. Two weeks isn't exactly that long in the grand scheme of things.
But he's never felt like this before now.
He wants everything.
Right now, he's in the midst of a conversation with the newly-named Haravatat sage and a handful of others, a lively debate that has them all laughing, loudly teasing and mischievously jeering, shoulders bumping and arms slinging around sides in half-drunken play. And even focused on the discussion as he is, there's a part of him that remains intensely concentrated on the scribe, wanting Alhaitham to see him practically glowing with energy. ]
[ for the most part, alhaitham manages to fend off most of the akademiya rabble that comes to seek him out. half of them are as transparent as ever, trying to ingratiate themselves with him for whatever reason, to take advantage of whatever power they think he has (which, after standing down as the grand sage, was rather minor) - and the other half? they just seem curious, scholarly intrigue piqued by the standoffish and acerbic nature of someone who seemed to hold sway in the akademiya despite that fact. they get what they come for though, which is clipped answers, no conversation threads to pull and a signature icy look.
he's staring past anyone that tries to talk to him anyway, like if he concentrated hard enough he could hear the conversation kaveh was having half a room away. at least, he can hear the fringes of the architect's laugh filtering through the hubbub in the hall, that musical voice instantly recognisable even through the obnoxious chatter of an entire university.
alhaitham's glass of wine is emptied as he keeps watch from the alcove, probably being a little less subtle than he'd like to think he's being. things just aren't the same as they were even a month before, not now that they'd decided to give whatever it was they had a go, and while he would've probably been fine to watch kaveh from afar like he'd often done over the years had they still been dancing around each other - no.
tonight, it was different.
watching his partner ham it up with some of the most annoying members of the akademiya (though alhaitham supposes, he should probably except the new sage of his darshan); seeing the free touching, overly liberal for what was supposed to be an academic celebration; the effervescence that rolls so easily off of kaveh on to the throng of company circling him, like a light illuminating a room and a thousand desperate moths vying for it.
alhaitham's expression had devolved from simply icy to a smouldering glower, which in turn had at least stopped anyone from approaching him for chit-chat - but he'd had enough of keeping an eye from the shadows, and more than enough of the overly friendly show some of the party guests were happily putting on. swiping another wine from a passing waiter (he'd need more alcohol if he was going to have to suffer through this), the scribe threads through the crowds in what could only be described as an elegant stalk, inserting himself into the circle surrounding kaveh at his side without an invitation or apology.
not that anyone there seemed to mind, considering his status, but he didn't exactly have the same effect on crowds as the shorter man did. ]
You've been busy.
[ he murmurs to kaveh, head tilted towards him so that the rest of the party wouldn't be privy to his words. ]
[ Today started like any normal weekday in Alhaitham's home has over the month since they've started dating. Kaveh woke in tune with his boyfriend's first stirring from sleep, lazily leaving soft kisses over the scribe's jaw and throat before the other dragged himself reluctantly out of bed. Crimson eyes creaked half-open, the blonde lay sprawled in the covers, watching as the other man dressed to go to work. And when Alhaitham left, it wasn't before receiving a demanded kiss, a reminder that his lunch was already packed for him, waiting on the kitchen counter. After that, Kaveh allowed himself to drift back off to sleep, a short nap before he rose to prepare for the day ahead.
It was a short way into his morning chores, as he gathered up the day's mail, that the trajectory he had planned changed, dramatically: with a letter from one Lord Sangemah Bay, declaring the remainder of his debt paid off— in full. Chores forgotten, perturbation and confusion permeating the whole of his thought, Kaveh set off in haste for the Palace of Alcazarzaray, seeking an urgent audience with its master— surely, he asked, there was some mistake? His debt was, after all, colossal in extent; while he saw a time in the future it would be paid, that time was not now. But Dori informed him with glee that every last mora was back where it belonged, lining her gilded pockets, and that that Akademiya Scribe himself was responsible.
"Oho, he may be just as pig-headed and dishonest as those other scholars, dear Kaveh," she informed him, voice alight with glee, "but he is certainly not without means for himself! He must have taken a liking to you, I suppose~ Either way, you should count your blessings, hmm?"
Kaveh is not counting his blessings. To the contrary, something about the whole thing has left a sour taste in his mouth that he can't quite place, an uncomfortable anxiety that sits deep in his lungs as if waiting to be choked out. He can't decide whether he should be angry or upset, humiliated or just confused— and somehow, he's all of them at once.
So, no: all in all, today is not going even remotely as he thought it would.
Before he knows what he's doing, he's at the Akademiya, ruby eyes glinting with unshed tears, long fingers clenched into fists as he storms through its elegant rooms; he bellows Alhaitham's name before he even reaches the scribe's office, and, perhaps judging his disheveled state as something not worth tangling with, the matra posted outside makes very little attempt to stop him as he slams the door open with a strong push of his arm. The scribe is not alone, but Kaveh's in too deep to stop. He stands in the doorway, trembling with brimming emotion as the question falls from his lips, words splintered and sharp: ]
Why was I just informed that you paid off my debt?
[ as for days not going as they remotely thought it would? seems that was the case for them both.
halfway through a routine meeting with one of the sage's assistants to catch up on mundane matters - research proposals, thesis progress, documentation requests - alhaitham had hardly expected to hear his own name echoing through the halls outside his office in an extremely familiar voice, the cry quickly punctuated by his door slamming open. the matra outside briefly peer in, visibly confused as the scribe and his guest, a lovely, unassuming young woman from the rtawahist darshan, all stare back at the interloper.
as much as the interruption is sudden, the wood of the door pushed open so hard it rebounds off the inside wall, alhaitham looks rather dispassionate as his partner stalks into his office and demands to know why he'd sought out lord sangemah bay a couple of weeks ago; why, now, he was free from the tethers of debt.
there's an awkward moment of silence before the scribe clears his throat and looks to the woman seated across the desk from him, a hand waving at the matra to dismiss them from looking on any further. ]
It may be prudent to continue this conversation at another time. [ he offers in a tone that's so normal, you wouldn't have thought his lover had just dramatically stormed in on him at work. ] The secretary will be able to reschedule our meeting to continue later this week.
[ the scribe's statement doesn't leave much room for debate or interjection, not that the woman looks like she wants to, anyway - not sandwiched inbetween this strange energy. she nods agreeably, sorts her papers and sees herself out, giving the fuming light of the kshahrewar and the former grand sage a wide berth as she does so.
the doors close behind her, leaving the two in some relative privacy; at least, after announcing the conflict to the entire akademiya. looking back at those furious crimson eyes with all the nonchalance that he usually wears, alhaitham's expression is unreadable as he crosses his arms over his chest. ]
I imagine because I did.
[ he replies candidly, as though it was nothing to hide. not that alhaitham ever really tried to hide anything he said or did. ]
[ The last time one of their fights forced someone to leave a room, the rage was Alhaitham's, and the resulting argument found Kaveh's feelings drawn into the open. In the same way are they spilled now, his humiliation in the tears that glimmer at the ends of his long lashes, anger in the clench of his fists, confusion in the dart of his eyes between his partner's face and his desk as if somehow he'll find the answers to his questions among the neatly-stacked books and papers.
(They are, expectedly, silent.)
In response to Alhaitham's words, Kaveh's fist slams into the top of the desk— he feels his knuckles almost immediately bruise from the impact, a flash of pain passing over an already-pained expression as he leans into the space between them. How typical of the other to answer to the letter of his question and not the spirit of it, to tell him why he was informed of the repayment and not of the reason for his choosing to pay it. At any other time over the past few weeks, he might have viewed such a choice with as much affection as irritation, but in the tumult of his feelings he's left only with rage with which to answer it. ]
Stop being an asshole! You know what I want you to tell me, Alhaitham— why did you pay it off?
[ He doesn't bother to dignify the returned question with an answer. To him, it's obvious: If it could have waited, he wouldn't have stormed in here, announcing in a fit of emotion a long-held secret to the Akademiya at large. And of course Alhaitham thinking it could wait until later only serves to upset him more. According to Dori, her transaction with the scribe had taken place nearly two weeks ago— for two whole weeks, he's been unknowingly free of debt—
Free of financial debt, anyway. For how can he ever hope to pay back what Alhaitham has done? ]
Tell me why. It wasn't your responsibility to bear— so why?
[ the few days kaveh had been away had come and gone with relative ease, all things considered.
alhaitham had gotten a chance to catch up on the small amount of work that had slipped the week before - not that anyone had noticed but him, but he was (as always) a fan of catching up to consequences before they could find him. if anyone at the akademiya had wondered about the scribe's terrible mood and slipperiness during that time, no-one had mustered enough courage to mention it, to alhaitham's delight. small talk was bad, but personal small talk was even worse; not something he'd ever care to entertain, and it's a relief that the resting baseline of intimidation he'd constructed was strong enough to keep the gossips away.
he'd also tidied (!!!) the house after the mess it had been in from moving everything into kaveh's room and then hurriedly back out again, putting things back in their rightful places, hanging artwork he never would've chosen properly. while chores had been purely perfunctory tasks in the past, alhaitham strangely finds them meditative now as nights pass rearranging books or setting the study back into the proper orientation.
if questioned, he'd argue that he simply likes things in their rightful places - which isn't entirely untrue - but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't some satisfaction gained in (reluctantly) placing decorations purchased and argued over back where they belonged, or organising the blonde's work desk the way he prefers it. it's ridiculous, really, that a chore feels like contributing to something bigger than oneself - but alhaitham had been repeatedly surprised over the past few months, pleasantly and unpleasantly, so he's getting rather used to it.
come early evening, the scribe is at his own desk in the shared study poring over a linguistic primer loaned to him by madam faruzan - "oh, you'll love this!" - face illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lamp on his desk and right hand taking stupidly cursive notes into a journal.
kaveh hadn't mentioned exactly when he'd be back - such was the rather laissez-faire existence that he led - but at the very least, it was supposed to be tonight. so; he's occupying himself, a task that proves very easy for him. ]
[ All in all, his time in the desert has gone remarkably well. The plans, a shared effort between himself and the client, have finally come together, his building drafts finalized and signed off on by all parties. There's work yet to be done on the client's side— namely, the raising of funds for the materials needed— and then he'll need to spend some more time in Aaru Village for the construction.
Three months, maybe more, of being home only on weekends. It's an important commission, but on a selfish level— well, he's going to miss Alhaitham. Plus, he's already feeling guilty over the fact that his boyfriend will need to deal with these three alone while Kaveh's not home.
These three being, of course, the desert foxes who have his trek back to the house a rather frustrating one, what with the one in his arms wriggling around to examine its surroundings and the one at his feet winding between his legs as often as possible, nearly tripping him every time; only the one draped over his shoulder is behaving itself, save for the occasional nibble at his hair.
He has no way of knowing for certain, but he's reasonably sure they're the same three that tricked him out of his supplies during the Inter-Darshan Championship. Apparently, they have a habit for getting in trouble, and Kaveh—
Well, he couldn't just leave them when they needed help.
That's why, now, he's trying to keep them relatively well behaved as he closes the door behind the four of them, Mehrak thankfully not requiring instruction before taking off with his bags; it allows Kaveh the time needed to put the other two foxes on the floor. He leans over, telling them in a hushed voice to behave and wait there before heading straight to the study in search of his boyfriend. He'll greet him, cover his face in kisses, and then tell him about his accidental adoption of three foxes. It's a great idea.
Naturally, it doesn't go as planned.
Kaveh has only just wrapped his arms around his seated boyfriend's shoulders when not one, not two, but all three of the foxes bound into the study behind him.
[ the sound of the front door closing is just loud enough to filter in over the top of the ambient music playing in alhaitham's headphones. while he doesn't get up straight away, he very practically uses the time he knows kaveh will be getting settled - storing his bags, sorting himself - to wrap up his current train of thought, bookmark the page in the text laying open on his desk and finish the note he was writing.
he's just ticking off the last thing on the list when those familiar light footfalls approach, followed closely by slim arms snaking around his shoulders. the subtle scent of kaveh's cologne, the brush of gold hair against his neck - all things set to put the scribe in a good mood, though that bar was fairly low considering they'd spent about twenty-four hours together in the last two weeks.
alhaitham is so very close to letting himself exude a sigh of satisfaction? relief, that kaveh's home in one piece? until the relative peace of the moment is shattered by one very identifiable and very shrill bark.
not unlike a startled desert fox, the scribe's muscles tense themselves again as the architect sighs a melodic apology in his ear. for a moment, he idly considers simply not turning around, because once a problem is perceived it becomes part of reality - but then the decision is made for him as the most energetic one makes an enthusiastic jump for his desk, landing on top of it and promptly stalking over to close-quarters stare alhaitham in the face.
it's the taller man's turn to sigh, standing up from his chair to face his partner and realising that there were not one, but two further problems skittering about the floor. ]
Please explain.
[ - is his simple but curt request, which comes out in a tone that suggests he's aware that some sort of ridiculous ten part story is to follow about how these animals came to follow kaveh all the way back to sumeru city from aaru village. ]
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
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perhaps alhaitham had pettily locked the front door from the inside so kaveh couldn't get in, but it turns out that he hadn't tried anyway - likely still out barhopping until the small hours of the morning, and then passed out on a friendlier couch than he'd be able to find inside this house in particular.
even though the blonde hadn't kicked down his door looking for more trouble, alhaitham's mood remained decidedly sour even through until the next morning. he'd say that he doesn't like interruption to his routine and that's what's ruffling his feathers, but the truth is: his jaw still hurt (a faint bruise marring the skin) and he was still pissed off about the entire argument.
so, he'd done the only reasonable thing that came to mind and thrown himself into his work. headphones on, he'd retired before the sun had even come up to the study in the house because sleep had been evasive and his mind, busy. alhaitham's buried nose-deep in stacks of semiotic texts that required review to be added to the haravatat curriculum - a thoroughly menial, endless task, which was exactly what he needed to distract himself right now.
the most aggravating thing, though? as hard as he tried to concentrate on the words and the notes he was taking, unwelcome flashbacks to the previous night kept snaking in between the lines.
sighing in annoyance, he turns his headphones up louder. perhaps the volume would drown kaveh out, wherever he was. ]
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But alas, it is not to be.
There are a few stops that he makes before he returns to the house he reluctantly calls his home: he goes first to the tavern to pick up Alhaitham's stained cape and then— with mora borrowed from Tighnari— to have it properly laundered. As such, by the time he arrives at the scribe's front door, it's bundled up in his arms, folded and warm and smelling like soap and padisarah.
The door is locked. From the inside. Kaveh thinks about dropping the freshly-laundered cape in a puddle of mud.
Instead, he uses a hairpin to pick the lock after five minutes of banging and yelling gets him nowhere.
He should probably clean up before getting to work— the stench of alcohol is coming off him in waves even now, and a glance in the hall mirror has him do a slight double-take (he looks like he's been fucked senseless, he thinks)— but instead he walks straight into the shared study, dropping the bundled cape unceremoniously on Alhaitham's desk before moving to sit behind his own, reaching to pull the feather quill out of his hair so he continue working on the sketch laid out over its surface.
The feather frees the last few strands of his hair, leaving it to fall loose around his face without the pins, messy and yet a perfect match for the debauched state of the rest of him— even a cursory glance at his person will discover that his shirt is sitting a little wider open than usual, his pale skin marred with a number of dark hickeys.
And for now, he says nothing. ]
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unfortunately, ten minutes after that breakthrough, he'd been snapped out of his reverie by his cape being dumped on his desk out of nowhere. normally unflappable, even he jumped a little at that because he was certain he'd locked the fucking door and no-one should be able to worm their way in without him noticing, let alone the one person he'd been trying to keep out.
a slender finger taps on the side of his headphones, momentarily muting them with an irritated look on his face as he looks up from the interruption. however, he only sees kaveh's retreating back before the other sits himself down on his side of the office - takes in the telltale signs that the architect had indeed stayed out for a second round of self destruction last night, like the messy blonde locks of his hair spilling over his shoulders instead of neatly braided; like the fact he was still wearing the same shirt from the night before, with all the damage it had incurred then.
the blasé way kaveh saunters in to a locked house, the wordless entrance as if nothing had actually gone on and he hadn't suckerpunched alhaitham in the face in public last night, and the fact that he obviously looked like he'd done more than simply drinking his life away? the scribe doesn't know why the last part pisses him off so much more than the breaking and entering, but it almost felt like that part was being flaunted as well.
'you weren't satisfactory enough to help me, so i found someone who was.'
turning halfway in his chair, a gloved hand tightens around the cape before he yanks it from the desk and throws it just as unceremoniously over the back of the sofa behind them. ]
An architect, of all people, should be able to understand a locked door.
[ alhaitham's tone is bitter, and he's unapologetic about it. really? he's in half a mind to stalk over, haul kaveh up and throw him back out like a stray cat. ]
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Never mind that it does matter, that his stomach is twisting in guilt over the bruise he can see darkening Alhaitham's jaw, that his heart is still aching and angry over the scribe's insults— coward— that his brain is still stamped with the desire burned into it by that dream a few nights ago, a dream so vivid that not even throwing himself drunkenly at a stranger or two was enough to make it disappear. ]
I let myself in.
[ A much simpler way of explaining what actually happened, which was five minutes of expletive-ridden shouting and banging and staring from onlookers followed by several more minutes of fiddling with his hairpins— plural because he broke at least one in the process— while making sure to explain to anyone walking past that he's not actually breaking in, he lives here— a fact in his opinion, far too many people know now. But given the situation, there was no other option unless he wanted to find himself face to face with the matra. ]
I had work to do.
[ His tone is light— not friendly, that would be too much— but calm and measured, staying away from the acid timbres that currently lace the other's voice or the sharp emotion that would usually enrich his own. And it's tempting, admittedly, to follow his words with a question, such as how's your jaw, but he bites back the anger for now in favor of infuriating aloofness. A lesson taken straight from Alhaitham's book, as a matter of fact, echoed down to the way he indicates the paper in front of him as he talks, illustrating his words as if the other needs clarification on what his work is— like he's some kind of idiot— before returning to the work in front of him.
See how he likes it, Kaveh thinks, his stomach making another ugly twist in his abdomen. ]
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The one and only upside, perhaps, is that he hasn't gotten cripplingly drunk since that night, but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't had the funds to do so, nor does he dare right now to steal any of his roommate's booze when things are so tense between them. And despite it technically being an upside, it doesn't feel like one when it means he has to deal with all the awkwardness and unhappiness while sober.
Because at least as far as he's concerned, things have been incredibly awkward between them.
He's not exactly sure, then, how they got here, tangled together on top of Alhaitham's bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin and not a lick of clothing between them. The scribe's muscled figure is dotted with the same dark bruises that highlight his own skin, an arm thrown haphazardly across his face as he voices sharp, unvoiced gasps to the air, the fingers of his other hand tangled in Kaveh's blonde hair and pulling him closer to the buck of his hips until the architect nearly chokes on him. The blonde himself is aching, heavy and hard with his own arousal, but every attempt to reach between his own legs is thwarted— he doesn't know how exactly, only that it is— as the scribe's voice breaks from its gasping to offer a sound of disapproval, voice edged with a teasing amusement unlike anything he's ever heard.
Maybe, if he stopped to think about it for even a second, he would realize that there's no way it can be real... but there's no room for thinking between the sensations of touch and feeling and pleasure. And so it's not until he wakes with a start that he realizes that it was just a dream, that he's alone in his bed, the dull grey light of morning peeking through the window and illuminating the mess he's made: the sheets tangled up around him and stained with the same translucent color that beads across his abdomen, his skin flushed and his lips half-open in a panting rhythm that matches the pounding beat of his heart.
To make matters worse, he's still half-hard, as if the untouched release inspired by the dream wasn't enough, and the images are printed on his brain like photographs that he can not only see but feel, leaving his hips arching against empty air.
With a low groan, Kaveh takes himself in hand— a hiss as his fingers touch feather-light against his own skin— and starts to stroke along his own length, head canting back with closed eyes as he sinks into his bed, chasing his release. ]
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even in the best of circumstances he'd be averse to it - his time is worth more than being an errand boy, and in general, people should be able to sort their own affairs without the interference of others. now, in far less than ideal circumstances, he'd had a message for kaveh thrust on to him in a way that had been impossible to refuse (and he'd tried - he really had). but at the end of the day, alhaitham was still a tool of the akademiya, was still beholden to their whims and wishes, and still had to do what he was told.
things in the house had been quieter over the past few days since 'that' chain of events had come to pass, though alhaitham's unsure that it's actually an improvement on the constant bickering. the topic hadn't come up again after they'd parted ways in the hallway, nor had he even really seen kaveh since. it was obvious that the other had decided to try and avoid him, coming and going outside of his normal hours so that they didn't overlap with alhaitham's; retiring immediately to his room when he did return.
he would mention it, if they ever crossed paths, but given his previous success with questioning kaveh's movements? alhaitham's extremely unlikely to get bitten by that bad choice again. being emotionally savvy wasn't exactly his strong point, but even he wasn't a big enough idiot not to get the message:
kaveh wanted to be left well enough alone.
so, he'd respected that. until now.
it turns out, it's extremely hard to pass on a message to someone you never see, so an unwanted errand has become a gross vexation as he tries and fails, tries and fails to track kaveh down to pass it on. perhaps he would've given up already and passed it off to some unfortunate, lower-ranking scholar to tail after the light of kshahrewar, but for once it was actually for his own good - an incredibly wealthy benefactor had inquired specifically about kaveh to his darshan with a project just detailed enough to be interesting, and just lavish enough to be a large relief to the architect financially (alhaitham assumes).
so here he is, trying to do right by the akademiya and by kaveh, managing to corner the other at a time where it should be harder to escape alhaitham's presence. he'd noted the other's altered routine - the earlier times he left, the hours he swanned back in (if alhaitham was still awake) - and if his judgement was correct, it was around now that kaveh would be getting ready to get up and leave for the library.
it would be quick. in, and out. a knuckle raps resoundingly on the door as a warning, though the scribe only gives it a second before entering kaveh's rooms, looking forward to getting this ridiculous errand off his plate and onto someone else's -
ah.
the scene before him... was not something he'd expected in this plan, and for an agonising second time simply stands still as alhaitham is rendered momentarily speechless by the devastatingly beautiful, magnificent sight of kaveh thoroughly undone in front of him. his expression doesn't register any sort of surprise and remains as neutral and measured as it always does, but his mind is busy codifying the image to memory, because the blonde like this looks as decadently picturesque as a fine art painting.
he clears his throat, though doesn't avert his gaze. ]
Your darshan wants to speak with you.
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And maybe later, he'll have the decency to feel ashamed over the knowledge that he's jerking off to the imaginary ministrations of his roommate, but right now such a thought doesn't even begin to enter into his mind. He's too busy chasing, hips arching and bucking against his hand, strokes moving in a steadier, faster rhythm—
When Alhaitham knocks, the sound is momentarily lost in the fog of pleasure that shrouds his mind, the response slower than it should be due to the quickening climb toward his peak. And then realization settles in his mind in the very next moment, his eyes fly open wide, and three things happen simultaneously:
the door snicks open, revealing the object of Kaveh's fantasies standing right there, face as impassive as ever;
he lets go of his cock, making a desperate, scrambling reach for the sheets as if he can somehow cover himself up;
and he orgasms untouched (again), the sensation an almost painful one as his body experiences release without the pleasure of touch, the panicked words of banishment lost on his tongue as he twitches unbidden and moans.
No no no no no no no— This can't be happening—
And yet it is, another helpless shudder passing through him with a final pulse of pearly white, leaving Kaveh to clutch weakly at the covers, a stuttered wail of frustrated agony on his breath.
He needs to cover himself up, he thinks: the singular, desperate thought at the corners of his mind even as his body trembles bonelessly from his second release in too short a time. ]
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it would've been too late to avert his gaze as the situation unfolded in slow motion even if alhaitham had wanted to, really. in such circumstances, it probably would've been the polite thing to do to quickly exit the room and pretend like this never happened - but the scribe isn't one to bother much about concepts like shame or embarrassment, including around topics like sexuality. it's perfectly reasonable to perform such functions as needed, so why care much about it past adhering to general societal norms?
but logic aside, he finds he can't actually look away and preserve kaveh's sense of dignity. the state the blonde is in takes him back to those few days ago, the musings he'd pored over in his mind for longer than he'd ever care to admit of just what he'd gotten up to the evening he disappeared to someone else; what that person had seen of him, the flush of skin and breathless sounds they'd enjoyed teasing out of the architect. how they'd likely been given the privilege of undoing him completely and piecing him back together again -
hm. he probably shouldn't be staring, but it feels so self-indulgent, green irises dragging themselves over kaveh's form, comparing the moan from that lyrical voice to the ones he'd elicited as he'd pressed the other into the wall of the hallway. how intriguing an experience it'd be to see what lengths he could take kaveh to - how he could make him writhe once more under his grip, how -
yes, again, shouldn't be staring.
crossing his arms, alhaitham finally gives kaveh a moment of reprieve and angles himself just slightly away from him, looking at the wall instead with a decidedly neutral gaze considering the erotica he'd just walked in on.
starting again to try and finish what he'd started (considering kaveh was already beating him there); ]
A wealthy client was asking after you via your darshan, and they insisted it couldn't wait so I was given the message. [ a beat. the churlish side of him desperately wants to add, 'be thankful they didn't send cyno', but alhaitham is learning. ] How much longer do you intend to be engaged like this so I can let them know when you'll be arriving?
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desperate housewives of sumeru pt. 2: makeout boogaloo
kaveh had been true to his word and turned up for the meeting with his darshan, although alhaitham had seen very little of him since. the extent of his knowledge was that the meeting had gone well and the client had been thrilled to contract the kshahrewar's finest mind, but that was only because of reports and missives that passed over his desk in his role as a scribe, not because of any deep conversations they'd shared.
on the contrary, he'd been doing his best to stay out of kaveh's way since their encounter the previous week for reasons that he thought were very legitimate. despite the mixed signals he seemed to be receiving from the architect, anyone with any measure of an analytical mind could correlate the fact that his presence directly triggered upset in the other - tears, emotional outbursts, anger - and so, he'd made himself very scarce. not a fan of working overtime for any reason, he'd simply spent more time in the daena libraries or in his rooms at the house, sequestering himself with anthologies of books that had been on his 'to read' list for a long time, but he'd been putting off because of other commitments.
it turns out that keeping an eye on kaveh was most of those commitments, and now he was giving him space, he had a lot more time on his hands.
the architect was often out late these days, presumably working on the project. they rarely saw each other, and when they did, words were hardly exchanged, let alone pleasant ones. but knowing his general schedule, alhaitham's fairly confident that he'd still be out for some time even though it was nearing midnight - so he's lounging lengthways on one of the deep green couches in the living area, a candle burning lazily behind him as he remains nose deep in the fourth book of his current anthology about early phonology in teyvat.
it was better this way, surely. even though it felt like something was intrinsically missing from his existence when they didn't interact (even if it was all combative and no pleasantry); even though the house felt strangely off, strangely empty. this way, he could let kaveh focus on a project that could genuinely turn his life around without worrying about having to yell at him, and that's alhaitham's strange, obtuse way of helping. ]
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It makes him feel sick, and that horrid feeling of being used only resurfaces again and again. Something about their encounter was apparently enough for Alhaitham's ego— Or did Kaveh overplay his hand and make his feelings clearer than he intended, and scare him off? Neither is a particularly nice possibility, which is why, cash in hand and finished early for the day, he finds himself tonight at a tavern, drunk on a sweet wine and looking for someone with whom to spend the rest of his night.
(And perhaps he could have found a more productive use of his time, but earlier this week when he tried that, Kaveh found himself sketching nude self-portraits, marking out every bite the other man left on his skin that night.)
Last time he made a "friend" at the bar, it was the most delicate flower of a girl he could find, someone as far removed from Alhaitham as he could manage from among the patrons who showed interest in him. He'd been trying, in his own twisted way, to get the scribe out of his head in any way he possibly could, and she'd been a good choice in that regard.
(Although he'd be mortified to know how much she knows of Alhaitham now, given his drunken mouth barely stopped moving between kisses to complain after the other man.)
The person who follows Kaveh through the door of Alhaitham's house tonight, though, is nothing like her. He's tall and broad, a dark expression worn on a strong face; his deep-throated chuckle echoes through the silence of the house before Kaveh drags him into his bedroom and slams the door shut behind them. And from there, it's just a matter of Kaveh being certain to make his lyrical, pleasured moans loud, louder than normal, loud enough that they'll be heard in whichever part of the house Alhaitham is currently sitting.
Maybe like this, the scribe will finally look at him. ]
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the living area where he'd been settled reading was adjacent to the front door and the connecting hallways, so of course the scribe had been disturbed when the latch unlocks and not one, but two people stumble through the door. he'd been expecting kaveh would return from work sometime around now considering his current routine, but as piercing emerald eyes take in the scene before him, it was obvious that work hadn't been on the architect's mind for some time today. he had the same half-stumble to his step and loud countenance that gave away where he'd whiled his time away this evening, and as the scribe watches the two from over the top of his book, they manage to slink into kaveh's rooms and slam the door behind them with finality.
and - to his credit - alhaitham tries so, so very hard to restrain himself. to tolerate it.
it made no sense for him to feel so fucked off, really. technically, kaveh was simply a tenant in a house he rented to him, so he should be allowed to come and go as he pleases, whether or not that included the company of whichever sordid soul he managed to scrape off the floor of the bar and drag in with him. technically, kaveh had only suggested a transactional physical relationship between them, which had seemed to last for one encounter before it had dissolved, so there was nothing to get jealous over, no reason for his fingers to be curling so tightly into the fabric-bound cover of his book so hard it was starting to bend under the force.
but, as always, kaveh defied logic. it felt as if they were stuck in a repetitive time loop, the similarities of this encounter very much reminiscent of the vulgar state the blonde had been in when he slinked into their study the previous week, flaunting the scents and marks of someone else in alhaitham's face for whatever reason kaveh was using at that point in time. and now they were here again, the sounds coming from the architect's rooms so loud that even alhaitham's headphones were struggling to cancel them out despite him turning them up as far as they'd go, the noises seeming almost intentionally irritating.
what had he done to deserve this, now? he stays out of kaveh's way - he gets a front row seat to watching, hearing, sensing someone else ruin him. he interacts with kaveh, the other dissolves into anger, or tears, or both. it was immensely frustrating that nothing within his power seemed to ameliorate the situation in any way, and even more frustrating that the intricacies of kaveh's love life seemed to bother him so fucking much he couldn't think.
it's almost too much, even for him, and at the apex of a particularly loud, strangled cry of pleasure in kaveh's beautiful, musical voice, the scribe slams his book shut with one hand and stalks over to the door of his rooms, his heart a swirling tempest of fury, frustration and for some unknown reason, hurt. there's a faint green glow from behind the door for a fraction of a second, the heady tension in the air of a vision's power being used, before alhaitham all but kicks the bottom of it open with his foot, the wood screaming at the force.
for all the sordid scene in front of him when it swings open on its hinge, the scribe completely ignores the 'guest' in kaveh's bed and instead fixes the blonde with a wild, accusing stare, gloved hand grabbing the door frame. ]
For the Archon's sake, can you keep it down?
[ he bites out, voice dripping with vitriol. ]
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Unlike most whose lives are entangled with the Akademiya, the so-called Light of Kshahrewar believes in living his true self to the fullest. This means living not only by logic, but with emotion. Being honest and forthright about the things he feels, letting them guide him and shape the actions he takes in his life. Sometimes, though, the third pillar of his being— his pride— gets in the way of letting him live his full truth, though, sealing his lips on issues that might bring him shame, leaving him to feel like he's carrying around any number of dirty little secrets: his bankruptcy, the fact he's living in Alhaitham's house...
Overall, it's also why he's in this mess, with logic and fear combined keeping him from spilling the truth about the tangle of feelings he has for the scribe in question, feelings shoved stubbornly to the back of his mind in favor of choosing other partners; the bitter sting to his pride driving him in turn to make logically— and perhaps emotionally— stupid choices like singing falsified melodies of pleasure to the walls as a stranger works him over.
False.
In the tavern, sight colored with the rosy hue of alcohol, it was easy enough to pretend that the man talking to him was Alhaitham. He's tall and handsome, broad-shouldered and deep-voiced, blue eyes close enough to turquoise, the hair all wrong of course but Kaveh is creative, let his powerful imagination do the work for him at the time. It worked enough that the architect invited him back to the house, intent on showing off just a little
Now that they're in bed, though, it's another story. The man's touch is all wrong: he's too gentle, practically unsure in comparison to what Kaveh's had; he's lacking the confident commanding nature of everything Alhaitham does, the possessive passion with which the scribe ruined him that night. It feels good, but good is hardly enough anymore; it's all wrong, and Kaveh's swollen arousal, flushed and leaking against the pale skin of his abdomen, is more a matter of biology than anything else, a natural response to the slicked fingers working him open when the door slams inward, revealing the object of his fantasies on the other side.
(And perhaps Alhaitham will notice, looking at him, that for as loud as he's seemed, Kaveh seems remarkably put together. His hair is a mess, and there's the aforementioned arousal to speak of, but there's nothing about him that indicates he's unraveling the way he did under the scribe's mouth. His skin, even, is a blank canvas— apart from the nearly-faded bites from a week ago— with any attempts to mark the skin having been impatiently brushed off.)
Kaveh's partner all but tumbles off the bed in shock, gathering sheets to himself in a twisted echo of a week ago, but the architect's eyes are fixed on the slight glimmer of green remaining in the air around Alhaitham— the tell-tale traces of him having called on the power of his Vision— on the wild look in his emerald eyes, on the gloved hand gripping the door frame with a strength that makes the architect wonder if the wood will splinter under his hold.
And how messed up is he, he wonders desperately, that all of this is somehow what starts the first genuine cord of arousal to wind hungry and wanting in his belly? ]
I'm sorry, were we bothering you?
[ The words are spoken in an attempt at cold calmness, but there's something trembling unwanted beneath the surface, an anger and hurt echoed in Kaveh's eyes as he rises from the bed, crossing the room until he's standing just on the other side of the door, inches away from Alhaitham, his breath quick and heavy on his lips, stained with the scent of sweet wines and stronger liquors. ]
Because you know what bothers me, Alhaitham? When people don't fucking knock.
[ The anger leeching into his voice is genuine. The words too, but a truth told to cover up a much larger one, when what really bothers Kaveh is the fact that Alhaitham reeks of jealousy right now and yet didn't seem to want him when he was practically offered up on a silver platter, has avoided him since and made him feel like nothing, like less than nothing—
And it's a truth he means to hide, but Kaveh is drunk, and when he's drunk sometimes his pride takes a backseat to his feelings. ]
Or, or, when people completely ignore my fucking existence for a whole week!
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electric boogaloo redux (there are no memes for "part 3", why is this my life)
And now everyone can dream all the time, and there are certainly some among them who are bitter about it, but to Kaveh it's one of the real blessings that have come hand in hand with their freedom from the Akademiya's corruption.
Usually, anyway. Not this morning, when he's woken up with a raging headache and a scowl on his face on account of the dream still fresh at the edges of his mind. The cruelest one yet, because unlike the others it didn't stop purely at sex, but at something softer: with feelings, with soft kisses to the crown of his head and fondness reflected back at him from emerald eyes.
...Didn't he bring someone back home? And yet, his bedroom is empty and his door open—
And actually, he notices, hanging halfway off its hinges. Surprise lifts Kaveh's brows as a surprised exhale slips past his lips: ]
Okay, what the fuck?
[ Standing from the bed— and decidedly ignoring the way the world tilts around him, his center of gravity still disturbed enough that nausea seems likely to follow the pounding of his head at any moment— he scrapes his hair into a loose bun and pulls on the first errant pair of underwear (tight black shorts) that he sees before walking straight out into the living room, ruby eyes scanning the surfaces in front of him until they land on his silver-haired roommate, sitting with a book in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.
Also, he's half-naked.
Kaveh swallows, his eyes scanning the muscled surface of the other's torso in a manner both completely obvious and completely unintended. And when he speaks, his voice isn't anywhere near as loud or strident as he intended for it to be. ]
Do you know what happened to my door? It's broken.
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it was close to eleven when kaveh finally emerged, looking just as destroyed as the scribe expected he would - but despite the obvious cloud of a hangover darkening his face slightly, he was still stunningly beautiful in the filtered morning light, far more than he had any right to be. he didn't put his hair up so casually all that often, but it suits him, alhaitham thinks to himself as he takes a long sip of his coffee.
and then, then the architect starts speaking and it's exactly what he thought would happen. no-one could drink quite that much and emerge the next morning with all their neurons intact - and so he simply gives kaveh a look over the top of his book from where he's sitting at the bar table bordering the kitchen. ]
We discussed this. [ he states plainly, bemused that kaveh had managed to forget something he'd gotten so worked up about in the first place. ] You were adamant you 'wouldn't forget something like this', I believe was how you put it?
[ but he refuses to put down either the book or the coffee, simply inclining his head lazily towards a second (lukewarm, now) cup on the counter, black as night and probably strong enough to stop a man's heart if they didn't have the kind of hangover kaveh did.
briefly, alhaitham entertains the opportunity to mess with the blonde for a bit - if he didn't remember anything, how much could he get away with making up and torturing him before the gears started to turn again? but - he's feeling generous today, and he's enjoying the view, so he decides against it.
what he's said is ambiguous enough to keep him guessing. ]
I kicked it down. [ turquoise eyes glance back to where he'd left off in his book. ] I'll get someone to fix it next week, before you get upset about it.
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...Ugh. He probably needs to wash up— preferably in cold water— or at the very least put something on that's less revealing than just his underwear.
Instead, he crosses to the bar table and takes a seat next to the scribe, offering a smile that's meant to be grateful and instead is more of a grimace as he takes the cup in hand and downs it in a single gulp. Usually, he might gripe about coffee not being a suitable stand-alone breakfast, but the thought of food makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. And besides, there's more on his mind than food, a deep frown taking residence on his brows as he looks across at the other man.
Talked about it? Something he wouldn't forget? And Alhaitham kicked his door down, so— ]
Wait, you what? Why in the world would you do that?!
[ But even as he asks the question, voice shrill enough to make him wince a little at its tone, something like recognition settles in the back of his mind: a flash of green Dendro energy, the crash of the wood under the heel of a foot, turquoise eyes practically glowing with something dark and furious—
(And why does his brain insist on interrupting memory with dream here, shifting in an instant from that image to the sensation of Alhaitham's mouth on his, teeth dragging and quick, hot breaths over his lips?)
He shakes his head, a weak attempt to dispel the image. ]
I was too loud, wasn't I. [ It's not a question, not really. And it's easy from there to do the math, too: his bed was obviously empty this morning because Alhaitham tossed his would-be one-night-stand back out onto the streets on account of his much-beloved peace and quiet. Kaveh is much too hungover to do a good job of being flippant, but he tries, a teasing smile finding the corners of his lips as he continues: ] I'll make sure not to disturb you next time.
[ And he pauses, that smile almost instantly faltering, because something about that sentence seems wrong to his mind in a way he's not quite able to place. ]
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[ his choice of phrasing is on purpose, because if kaveh was going to play the drunken amnesia card, he was at least going to get some sort of enjoyment out of it. let's just say it's payback for running circles around the scribe with his aversion for telling the truth about his feelings, and so there's a lightly smug look on alhaitham's face as he glances back at the blonde with a knowing look, one that could almost be interpreted as suggestion. ]
What a sight you made, naked and pleading for me to promise you I'd remember what we'd done.
[ and really, they'd done nothing physically of note, but kaveh might not remember that yet - so he goes back to his book in that blasé sense of his, unbothered and engrossed in a long-form study of liyuean semiotics. at least the blonde had downed the coffee, which would probably help jumpstart some of those memories - and maybe alhaitham gets a little bit of satisfaction from the face he makes at the sheer bitterness of it. yes, it was good for him, but he was also just reaping what he'd sown from the previous night.
it was satisfying to be on the other side of the looking glass for once, holding all the answers and information just like kaveh had been the whole time he'd been off getting over-emotional about something that could've been solved with a simple discussion. without bothering to look up; ]
Are you telling me you don't remember? I'm insulted.
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desperate househusbands: sumeru drift (a.k.a. a Fancy Party)
alhaitham usually went to great lengths to avoid frivolous social engagements, especially when they took place after hours. anything outside of his contractual obligations were of no interest to him, even more so if it meant he had to stand around listening to 'small talk' - perhaps one of his largest annoyances, people using words without meaning to simply fill space instead of articulate an idea.
but, tonight was an exception. a great deal of tumult was still rumbling throughout the akademiya like a shockwave after the scandals of the past couple of months, and in a bid to try and get things back on track, the leadership had decided to try return to normality. restart research proposal analysis, maintain the standard of education they'd built up over the institution's history, and - try to fill all the remaining vacant positions.
he'd had to be plied to make an appearance, yes, but alhaitham has turned up anyway. it was a thing of ostentatious opulence, held in the downstairs of the house of daena - away from the books, but still beautifully designed by old hands of the kshahrewar. the party itself was lively, boisterous enough not to make anyone think that sumeru itself had come to the brink just two months earlier; the purpose, to formally celebrate the appointment of the new grand and haravatat sages, two more reasons alhaitham couldn't shirk.
at the very least, he's trying to make himself inconspicuous, loitering on the fray of the activity and leaning against the wall, glass of wine in hand. the scribe isn't close to the level of some of the ridiculous fancy dress in the room, but he's made enough effort to look nice enough people wouldn't bother him by bringing it up later, clad in a loose white linen shirt and black dress leggings. it's nearing the bare minimum, perhaps, but he still strikes an elegant, clean-cut vision, enough so that despite his efforts to escape the throngs people were still coming past to seek him out. talk.
unfortunately for them, his attention is directed more towards the center of the room; the hub of activity - for there's an exuberant blonde right in the middle of it all excitedly chatting to the scholars around him, obviously far more in his element than alhaitham is. ]
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But with the recent upheaval, attitudes have started to shift. Aestheticism hasn't become the preferred scholarly pursuit by any means, but it's already treated with less contempt; former clients have started to approach Kaveh about modifying existing designs to incorporate some of his original ideas, and he's heard through the grapevine that his name is one of those being considered for the Kshahrewar sage position. It's knowledge that certainly makes it less painful for him to socialize— which is a good thing, because it also necessitates socializing, at least if he wants the job to be his.
It's partly for that reason that Kaveh is, tonight, dressed up to the nines— neat black dress pants and a dusky red linen shirt with a low-cut neckline showing off the pale expanse of his chest, offset only with a pair of delicate gold necklaces; his eyes are lined with his usual red kohl, and his fingernails painted with the same pretty shade of red. He cuts a striking figure among the scholars, standing with a glass of red wine in hand and a bright warmth in his ruby eyes as he laughs and chatters away, somehow having become the life of the party.
It's easier, lately, for him to find happiness in the little things— something that is, perhaps, at least in part due to the silver-haired man trying and failing to blend into the walls.
It should be noted though that said man also makes up the other reason for Kaveh's extravagant clothing choices. They've been dating for a little under two weeks now, and Alhaitham hasn't touched him, hasn't allowed them to go any further than the occasional steamy make-out that leaves him hungry, almost aching for more.
Kaveh's starting to feel like he's going to go crazy. And maybe he's overreacting. Two weeks isn't exactly that long in the grand scheme of things.
But he's never felt like this before now.
He wants everything.
Right now, he's in the midst of a conversation with the newly-named Haravatat sage and a handful of others, a lively debate that has them all laughing, loudly teasing and mischievously jeering, shoulders bumping and arms slinging around sides in half-drunken play. And even focused on the discussion as he is, there's a part of him that remains intensely concentrated on the scribe, wanting Alhaitham to see him practically glowing with energy. ]
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he's staring past anyone that tries to talk to him anyway, like if he concentrated hard enough he could hear the conversation kaveh was having half a room away. at least, he can hear the fringes of the architect's laugh filtering through the hubbub in the hall, that musical voice instantly recognisable even through the obnoxious chatter of an entire university.
alhaitham's glass of wine is emptied as he keeps watch from the alcove, probably being a little less subtle than he'd like to think he's being. things just aren't the same as they were even a month before, not now that they'd decided to give whatever it was they had a go, and while he would've probably been fine to watch kaveh from afar like he'd often done over the years had they still been dancing around each other - no.
tonight, it was different.
watching his partner ham it up with some of the most annoying members of the akademiya (though alhaitham supposes, he should probably except the new sage of his darshan); seeing the free touching, overly liberal for what was supposed to be an academic celebration; the effervescence that rolls so easily off of kaveh on to the throng of company circling him, like a light illuminating a room and a thousand desperate moths vying for it.
alhaitham's expression had devolved from simply icy to a smouldering glower, which in turn had at least stopped anyone from approaching him for chit-chat - but he'd had enough of keeping an eye from the shadows, and more than enough of the overly friendly show some of the party guests were happily putting on. swiping another wine from a passing waiter (he'd need more alcohol if he was going to have to suffer through this), the scribe threads through the crowds in what could only be described as an elegant stalk, inserting himself into the circle surrounding kaveh at his side without an invitation or apology.
not that anyone there seemed to mind, considering his status, but he didn't exactly have the same effect on crowds as the shorter man did. ]
You've been busy.
[ he murmurs to kaveh, head tilted towards him so that the rest of the party wouldn't be privy to his words. ]
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https://indigently.dreamwidth.org/file/17088.jpg
It was a short way into his morning chores, as he gathered up the day's mail, that the trajectory he had planned changed, dramatically: with a letter from one Lord Sangemah Bay, declaring the remainder of his debt paid off— in full. Chores forgotten, perturbation and confusion permeating the whole of his thought, Kaveh set off in haste for the Palace of Alcazarzaray, seeking an urgent audience with its master— surely, he asked, there was some mistake? His debt was, after all, colossal in extent; while he saw a time in the future it would be paid, that time was not now. But Dori informed him with glee that every last mora was back where it belonged, lining her gilded pockets, and that that Akademiya Scribe himself was responsible.
"Oho, he may be just as pig-headed and dishonest as those other scholars, dear Kaveh," she informed him, voice alight with glee, "but he is certainly not without means for himself! He must have taken a liking to you, I suppose~ Either way, you should count your blessings, hmm?"
Kaveh is not counting his blessings. To the contrary, something about the whole thing has left a sour taste in his mouth that he can't quite place, an uncomfortable anxiety that sits deep in his lungs as if waiting to be choked out. He can't decide whether he should be angry or upset, humiliated or just confused— and somehow, he's all of them at once.
So, no: all in all, today is not going even remotely as he thought it would.
Before he knows what he's doing, he's at the Akademiya, ruby eyes glinting with unshed tears, long fingers clenched into fists as he storms through its elegant rooms; he bellows Alhaitham's name before he even reaches the scribe's office, and, perhaps judging his disheveled state as something not worth tangling with, the matra posted outside makes very little attempt to stop him as he slams the door open with a strong push of his arm. The scribe is not alone, but Kaveh's in too deep to stop. He stands in the doorway, trembling with brimming emotion as the question falls from his lips, words splintered and sharp: ]
Why was I just informed that you paid off my debt?
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halfway through a routine meeting with one of the sage's assistants to catch up on mundane matters - research proposals, thesis progress, documentation requests - alhaitham had hardly expected to hear his own name echoing through the halls outside his office in an extremely familiar voice, the cry quickly punctuated by his door slamming open. the matra outside briefly peer in, visibly confused as the scribe and his guest, a lovely, unassuming young woman from the rtawahist darshan, all stare back at the interloper.
as much as the interruption is sudden, the wood of the door pushed open so hard it rebounds off the inside wall, alhaitham looks rather dispassionate as his partner stalks into his office and demands to know why he'd sought out lord sangemah bay a couple of weeks ago; why, now, he was free from the tethers of debt.
there's an awkward moment of silence before the scribe clears his throat and looks to the woman seated across the desk from him, a hand waving at the matra to dismiss them from looking on any further. ]
It may be prudent to continue this conversation at another time. [ he offers in a tone that's so normal, you wouldn't have thought his lover had just dramatically stormed in on him at work. ] The secretary will be able to reschedule our meeting to continue later this week.
[ the scribe's statement doesn't leave much room for debate or interjection, not that the woman looks like she wants to, anyway - not sandwiched inbetween this strange energy. she nods agreeably, sorts her papers and sees herself out, giving the fuming light of the kshahrewar and the former grand sage a wide berth as she does so.
the doors close behind her, leaving the two in some relative privacy; at least, after announcing the conflict to the entire akademiya. looking back at those furious crimson eyes with all the nonchalance that he usually wears, alhaitham's expression is unreadable as he crosses his arms over his chest. ]
I imagine because I did.
[ he replies candidly, as though it was nothing to hide. not that alhaitham ever really tried to hide anything he said or did. ]
Could this not have waited until later?
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(They are, expectedly, silent.)
In response to Alhaitham's words, Kaveh's fist slams into the top of the desk— he feels his knuckles almost immediately bruise from the impact, a flash of pain passing over an already-pained expression as he leans into the space between them. How typical of the other to answer to the letter of his question and not the spirit of it, to tell him why he was informed of the repayment and not of the reason for his choosing to pay it. At any other time over the past few weeks, he might have viewed such a choice with as much affection as irritation, but in the tumult of his feelings he's left only with rage with which to answer it. ]
Stop being an asshole! You know what I want you to tell me, Alhaitham— why did you pay it off?
[ He doesn't bother to dignify the returned question with an answer. To him, it's obvious: If it could have waited, he wouldn't have stormed in here, announcing in a fit of emotion a long-held secret to the Akademiya at large. And of course Alhaitham thinking it could wait until later only serves to upset him more. According to Dori, her transaction with the scribe had taken place nearly two weeks ago— for two whole weeks, he's been unknowingly free of debt—
Free of financial debt, anyway. For how can he ever hope to pay back what Alhaitham has done? ]
Tell me why. It wasn't your responsibility to bear— so why?
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snow scribe and the seven desert foxes idfk
alhaitham had gotten a chance to catch up on the small amount of work that had slipped the week before - not that anyone had noticed but him, but he was (as always) a fan of catching up to consequences before they could find him. if anyone at the akademiya had wondered about the scribe's terrible mood and slipperiness during that time, no-one had mustered enough courage to mention it, to alhaitham's delight. small talk was bad, but personal small talk was even worse; not something he'd ever care to entertain, and it's a relief that the resting baseline of intimidation he'd constructed was strong enough to keep the gossips away.
he'd also tidied (!!!) the house after the mess it had been in from moving everything into kaveh's room and then hurriedly back out again, putting things back in their rightful places, hanging artwork he never would've chosen properly. while chores had been purely perfunctory tasks in the past, alhaitham strangely finds them meditative now as nights pass rearranging books or setting the study back into the proper orientation.
if questioned, he'd argue that he simply likes things in their rightful places - which isn't entirely untrue - but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't some satisfaction gained in (reluctantly) placing decorations purchased and argued over back where they belonged, or organising the blonde's work desk the way he prefers it. it's ridiculous, really, that a chore feels like contributing to something bigger than oneself - but alhaitham had been repeatedly surprised over the past few months, pleasantly and unpleasantly, so he's getting rather used to it.
come early evening, the scribe is at his own desk in the shared study poring over a linguistic primer loaned to him by madam faruzan - "oh, you'll love this!" - face illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lamp on his desk and right hand taking stupidly cursive notes into a journal.
kaveh hadn't mentioned exactly when he'd be back - such was the rather laissez-faire existence that he led - but at the very least, it was supposed to be tonight. so; he's occupying himself, a task that proves very easy for him. ]
ig that makes kaveh the handsome prince
Three months, maybe more, of being home only on weekends. It's an important commission, but on a selfish level— well, he's going to miss Alhaitham. Plus, he's already feeling guilty over the fact that his boyfriend will need to deal with these three alone while Kaveh's not home.
These three being, of course, the desert foxes who have his trek back to the house a rather frustrating one, what with the one in his arms wriggling around to examine its surroundings and the one at his feet winding between his legs as often as possible, nearly tripping him every time; only the one draped over his shoulder is behaving itself, save for the occasional nibble at his hair.
He has no way of knowing for certain, but he's reasonably sure they're the same three that tricked him out of his supplies during the Inter-Darshan Championship. Apparently, they have a habit for getting in trouble, and Kaveh—
Well, he couldn't just leave them when they needed help.
That's why, now, he's trying to keep them relatively well behaved as he closes the door behind the four of them, Mehrak thankfully not requiring instruction before taking off with his bags; it allows Kaveh the time needed to put the other two foxes on the floor. He leans over, telling them in a hushed voice to behave and wait there before heading straight to the study in search of his boyfriend. He'll greet him, cover his face in kisses, and then tell him about his accidental adoption of three foxes. It's a great idea.
Naturally, it doesn't go as planned.
Kaveh has only just wrapped his arms around his seated boyfriend's shoulders when not one, not two, but all three of the foxes bound into the study behind him.
One of them barks, and Kaveh sighs. ]
Uh, hi. Don't be mad.
that tracks tbh
he's just ticking off the last thing on the list when those familiar light footfalls approach, followed closely by slim arms snaking around his shoulders. the subtle scent of kaveh's cologne, the brush of gold hair against his neck - all things set to put the scribe in a good mood, though that bar was fairly low considering they'd spent about twenty-four hours together in the last two weeks.
alhaitham is so very close to letting himself exude a sigh of satisfaction? relief, that kaveh's home in one piece? until the relative peace of the moment is shattered by one very identifiable and very shrill bark.
not unlike a startled desert fox, the scribe's muscles tense themselves again as the architect sighs a melodic apology in his ear. for a moment, he idly considers simply not turning around, because once a problem is perceived it becomes part of reality - but then the decision is made for him as the most energetic one makes an enthusiastic jump for his desk, landing on top of it and promptly stalking over to close-quarters stare alhaitham in the face.
it's the taller man's turn to sigh, standing up from his chair to face his partner and realising that there were not one, but two further problems skittering about the floor. ]
Please explain.
[ - is his simple but curt request, which comes out in a tone that suggests he's aware that some sort of ridiculous ten part story is to follow about how these animals came to follow kaveh all the way back to sumeru city from aaru village. ]
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