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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
indigently) wrote in sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
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[ it's only fragments of sentences and sentiments that kaveh manages to get out, but each one leaves alhaitham to finish the thought in his mind, each admission, each declaration adding to the short-circuiting overwhelm that's overtaking the taller man as lithe fingers seek out his own. he doesn't even think about it as he tangles their hands together in a desperate grip, palms slick with the sweat of exertion but the connection keeping them at least somewhat grounded as they hurtle towards completion, the rest of the world falling away in a stuttered motion to nothing.
kaveh tips the scales first, his musical voice petering out into a vulgar moan as he tightens around alhaitham and almost immediately drags him off the precipice with him. despite the scribe being rather vocally restrained throughout his entire endeavour, the force with which his orgasm hits him is so hard that he all but bites back a choked roar, muscular body tensing up and causing him to hunch over as he struggles to catch his breath. silver hair presses into the crook of the blonde's neck as alhaitham's form stutters against his partner, riding out the wave hilt deep in the most confronting pleasure he'd ever known -
the how, the why, both things that his analytical mind already innately understands and has kept from him for far too long, incomprehensible to him anyway at this point in time -
and slowly, slowly, they start to come down again.
it feels dangerous to shift them in the immediacy afterwards, like the smallest movement would enable the blonde underneath him to deconstruct him all over again, so for a moment - perhaps the first in their history - alhaitham simply does the favour of not saying anything at all, instead pressing a rough-edged kiss to the angle of kaveh's jaw.
he hasn't the words. ]
kaveh tips the scales first, his musical voice petering out into a vulgar moan as he tightens around alhaitham and almost immediately drags him off the precipice with him. despite the scribe being rather vocally restrained throughout his entire endeavour, the force with which his orgasm hits him is so hard that he all but bites back a choked roar, muscular body tensing up and causing him to hunch over as he struggles to catch his breath. silver hair presses into the crook of the blonde's neck as alhaitham's form stutters against his partner, riding out the wave hilt deep in the most confronting pleasure he'd ever known -
the how, the why, both things that his analytical mind already innately understands and has kept from him for far too long, incomprehensible to him anyway at this point in time -
and slowly, slowly, they start to come down again.
it feels dangerous to shift them in the immediacy afterwards, like the smallest movement would enable the blonde underneath him to deconstruct him all over again, so for a moment - perhaps the first in their history - alhaitham simply does the favour of not saying anything at all, instead pressing a rough-edged kiss to the angle of kaveh's jaw.
he hasn't the words. ]
[ Kaveh is still very much coming down from the high of release when Alhaitham pitches right after him, the roar of pleasure from his throat cutting through the architect's gasps and moans and sending a delighted shudder down his spine, body tensing up once more in a failed attempt at chasing him down all over again. Fingers— not those holding Alhaitham's hand in his own— reach, curling tight in silver hair as his lover's face pushes into his neck, then his jaw, but other than that he remains still, fearing movement for all the same dangerous the younger man does,
but also simply not wanting to part from him just yet.
Like this, the room is silent save the sound of harsh, quickened breaths, the scents of sex and sweat mingling as he breathes in with the plain soap of Alhaitham's shampoo, a contented, dreamy smile on his lips. They waited, he thinks, far too long for this— not just since they started dating, but since always. How many years have they wasted arguing over those things that, in the end, don't matter? And how could any of them have ever mattered, when the alternative is here, in the circle of Alhaitham's arms? ]
I love you, [ he whispers, eventually, the silence broken with those three words that say everything without saying enough, that put the full of his feelings to voice while being entirely unable to encompass their depth—
(and Kaveh thinks someday he'll build a palace in Alhaitham's name, show the world all those things that words aren't enough to say)
—but they have to be enough for now, when he's too tired to dream beyond a passing thought, when really the one thing of which he's dreamed the most is here, tangled and joined with him, harsh breaths ghosting hotly against the skin of his kiss-bruised throat. ]
but also simply not wanting to part from him just yet.
Like this, the room is silent save the sound of harsh, quickened breaths, the scents of sex and sweat mingling as he breathes in with the plain soap of Alhaitham's shampoo, a contented, dreamy smile on his lips. They waited, he thinks, far too long for this— not just since they started dating, but since always. How many years have they wasted arguing over those things that, in the end, don't matter? And how could any of them have ever mattered, when the alternative is here, in the circle of Alhaitham's arms? ]
I love you, [ he whispers, eventually, the silence broken with those three words that say everything without saying enough, that put the full of his feelings to voice while being entirely unable to encompass their depth—
(and Kaveh thinks someday he'll build a palace in Alhaitham's name, show the world all those things that words aren't enough to say)
—but they have to be enough for now, when he's too tired to dream beyond a passing thought, when really the one thing of which he's dreamed the most is here, tangled and joined with him, harsh breaths ghosting hotly against the skin of his kiss-bruised throat. ]
[ a silence dragging on for so long would be uncomfortable in almost any other circumstance - but here, it's comforting, comfortable, interrupted only by an admission kaveh has made to him at several other junctures over the past couple of weeks. a curious phrase, really.
breath is finally caught after their exertion and it becomes somewhat safer to disengage after a few minutes pass (though in the dopamine-addled recesses of alhaitham's mind, he's well aware he'd have the energy to repeat this at least several times over as he catches a glimpse of the blonde in the shadows). it's not the most elegant motion, shifting (carefully) off kaveh and sinking into the mattress alongside him, a hand grasping for a towel he knows is beside his bed and passing it along. functional, practical, but thoughtful in his own entirely logical way - and thoughtful the scribe remains as he props himself up against the bed on an elbow.
ochre-turquoise irises are just barely visible in the relative dimness of the room, alhaitham's gaze focused on kaveh's form - the barely visible flush on his cheeks, the endless, lithe muscle that dipped and arched to construct his body - and although his normally sharp mind is sluggish as it complains at being made to think in what should be a simple afterglow, words keep turning over in his head.
"i love you," the blonde keeps managing to say as if it's the simplest answer in the world to a question alhaitham doesn't quite understand - and the scribe wonders, what reply does he give?
love as a concept to him isn't a foreign one, not for someone who built their life around letters and literature. from folk epics to bawdy poetry, no stories are rarely complete without the sentiment of 'love' and the journeys surrounding them - but there's only three people who have ever prompted such a declaration from him in his life. all familial. never... romantic.
and as for everyone else, well - alhaitham doesn't exactly grow close to people. the situation simply does not arise because he makes sure it doesn't, but kaveh has always, somehow, been here. snuck in, before he finished building his walls. interrupted, before he could shut himself off and send him away.
his tone has returned to its measured, even state when the scribe asks a simple question both of kaveh and the wider world around them; ]
How do you know?
breath is finally caught after their exertion and it becomes somewhat safer to disengage after a few minutes pass (though in the dopamine-addled recesses of alhaitham's mind, he's well aware he'd have the energy to repeat this at least several times over as he catches a glimpse of the blonde in the shadows). it's not the most elegant motion, shifting (carefully) off kaveh and sinking into the mattress alongside him, a hand grasping for a towel he knows is beside his bed and passing it along. functional, practical, but thoughtful in his own entirely logical way - and thoughtful the scribe remains as he props himself up against the bed on an elbow.
ochre-turquoise irises are just barely visible in the relative dimness of the room, alhaitham's gaze focused on kaveh's form - the barely visible flush on his cheeks, the endless, lithe muscle that dipped and arched to construct his body - and although his normally sharp mind is sluggish as it complains at being made to think in what should be a simple afterglow, words keep turning over in his head.
"i love you," the blonde keeps managing to say as if it's the simplest answer in the world to a question alhaitham doesn't quite understand - and the scribe wonders, what reply does he give?
love as a concept to him isn't a foreign one, not for someone who built their life around letters and literature. from folk epics to bawdy poetry, no stories are rarely complete without the sentiment of 'love' and the journeys surrounding them - but there's only three people who have ever prompted such a declaration from him in his life. all familial. never... romantic.
and as for everyone else, well - alhaitham doesn't exactly grow close to people. the situation simply does not arise because he makes sure it doesn't, but kaveh has always, somehow, been here. snuck in, before he finished building his walls. interrupted, before he could shut himself off and send him away.
his tone has returned to its measured, even state when the scribe asks a simple question both of kaveh and the wider world around them; ]
How do you know?
Edited (oops gramma) 2023-05-25 11:47 (UTC)
[ Even in the afterglow, Kaveh is the emotion to Alhaitham's logic, the words easy to say— instinctive, almost— on account of their being what he feels. And perhaps over the few weeks they've been dating now, he's said it a little too often— certainly more than he's ever cared to say it in previous relationships. But not once has Kaveh expected Alhaitham to echo his declarations; in fact, while his memory of it is limited at best, on the drunken night of his confession he admitted even that he would be okay if the other man didn't return his feelings at all— as long as he didn't lose him.
Right now, though, as he drags the towel lazily over those parts of himself stained with their completion, Alhaitham asks such a loaded question of him, and there's a momentary guilt that settles, a realization that perhaps he didn't make that clear enough.
The towel is abandoned, eyes shifting across to the lounging form of his boyfriend on the bed, body turning to face him in the next moment, something soft in his gaze as he reaches out, long fingers tracing down the sharp curve of Alhaitham's jaw. And given the hitch still in his breath, the still too-quick rhythm of his pulse, he probably shouldn't be risking moving so close, but the moment calls for it too intensely for Kaveh to do anything else.
How does he know? It's a fair question, one with which Vahumana scholars have likely had a field day in the past. Love is complex, more than any language or mechanism could ever dare to be. It is as terrifying as it is beautiful, something desperately desiring description and at the same time existing beyond it, a feeling known deep in the heart even when you don't realize it's there.
Love is what Kaveh has held for Alhaitham in his heart for years, all the while ignorant of it.
But Alhaitham needs more than the abstract, doesn't he? He needs something concrete. Something quantifiable. Something able to be tested.
Crimson eyes search a sharp, pale face, lips pursed in thought. ]
You make me feel safe. You've seen all the worst sides of me and somehow you still stick around. I want to fix the parts of myself that are broken because you deserve the best of me, and I want to help you heal the parts of you that need it too. You're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think of when I close my eyes. When I look at you, my stomach does this stupid thing that feels like butterflies bouncing off its sides. If I lost you, I don't know what I would do with myself.
[ And maybe, for the first time, he truly understands exactly what his father's death did to his mother, all those years ago. ]
It's all of those things and more, Alhaitham. It's more than I could ever have the talent to put into words. But... [ Kaveh's thumb smooths over the pale skin of his cheek. ] I need you to know that you don't have to say it back. Being with you, like this.. it's enough for me.
Right now, though, as he drags the towel lazily over those parts of himself stained with their completion, Alhaitham asks such a loaded question of him, and there's a momentary guilt that settles, a realization that perhaps he didn't make that clear enough.
The towel is abandoned, eyes shifting across to the lounging form of his boyfriend on the bed, body turning to face him in the next moment, something soft in his gaze as he reaches out, long fingers tracing down the sharp curve of Alhaitham's jaw. And given the hitch still in his breath, the still too-quick rhythm of his pulse, he probably shouldn't be risking moving so close, but the moment calls for it too intensely for Kaveh to do anything else.
How does he know? It's a fair question, one with which Vahumana scholars have likely had a field day in the past. Love is complex, more than any language or mechanism could ever dare to be. It is as terrifying as it is beautiful, something desperately desiring description and at the same time existing beyond it, a feeling known deep in the heart even when you don't realize it's there.
Love is what Kaveh has held for Alhaitham in his heart for years, all the while ignorant of it.
But Alhaitham needs more than the abstract, doesn't he? He needs something concrete. Something quantifiable. Something able to be tested.
Crimson eyes search a sharp, pale face, lips pursed in thought. ]
You make me feel safe. You've seen all the worst sides of me and somehow you still stick around. I want to fix the parts of myself that are broken because you deserve the best of me, and I want to help you heal the parts of you that need it too. You're the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think of when I close my eyes. When I look at you, my stomach does this stupid thing that feels like butterflies bouncing off its sides. If I lost you, I don't know what I would do with myself.
[ And maybe, for the first time, he truly understands exactly what his father's death did to his mother, all those years ago. ]
It's all of those things and more, Alhaitham. It's more than I could ever have the talent to put into words. But... [ Kaveh's thumb smooths over the pale skin of his cheek. ] I need you to know that you don't have to say it back. Being with you, like this.. it's enough for me.
[ luckily for kaveh, alhaitham has no preconceived notions about the when or if of saying those three words in a relationship, particularly when even a relationship as a concept is still relatively new territory for him. it's a genuine question which receives an appropriately genuine answer, and the taller man simply listens as his partner explains feelings (after all, everything with kaveh is feelings) that maybe he's glanced over in a text, or that he has a rudimentary understanding of.
perhaps one day he'll be able to reciprocate these sentiments in their entirety, at least on a more complex, nuanced level like those that the blonde's soft voice is describing. rarely in his life has alhaitham required to understand and convey emotion on a detailed level - usually, he keeps in his lane, acts how he likes, and because of his lack of desire for social immersion, he's never had to (or wanted to) look much deeper.
strangely, the architect is the only one that makes him want to undertake such a journey. ]
Hm. [ his deep voice hums in thought, the touch at his jaw somehow augmenting the weight of kaveh's words. ] I see.
[ - which in and of itself is a pretty basic response to the outpouring of emotion that he's just been privileged to hear, but at the same time? it's very him, choosing to chew over the concepts rather than reply in haste like a headstrong first-year student.
a large hand raises to cover kaveh's, fingers entwining inbetween in a motion that imitates what the blonde had done just a short time before (and alhaitham is nothing if not a quick study). his grip is strong, solid and reassuring, because even though the scribe realises he's knee-deep in unknown territory when it comes to returning any sort of social nuance on a natural level, he's at least reliable. always himself.
and for kaveh? he was always present, even in the early days when they'd first met. ]
As you may know, I only say things I mean - or rather, things I can define with certainty. [ the scribe murmurs, aware that no choice of words may be particularly acceptable in such a sensitive situation. but, as he always does, he continues anyway. ] That's not to say I wouldn't or don't want to return the phrase, but I'll be honest that it's not quite yet something I understand. At least, to your level of detail.
[ well, what do you say when you're asked to define something you've never felt before? ]
But, [ alhaitham adds, gaze never wavering for even a moment. ] I will say that I seem to have always been drawn to you, and probably always will be.
perhaps one day he'll be able to reciprocate these sentiments in their entirety, at least on a more complex, nuanced level like those that the blonde's soft voice is describing. rarely in his life has alhaitham required to understand and convey emotion on a detailed level - usually, he keeps in his lane, acts how he likes, and because of his lack of desire for social immersion, he's never had to (or wanted to) look much deeper.
strangely, the architect is the only one that makes him want to undertake such a journey. ]
Hm. [ his deep voice hums in thought, the touch at his jaw somehow augmenting the weight of kaveh's words. ] I see.
[ - which in and of itself is a pretty basic response to the outpouring of emotion that he's just been privileged to hear, but at the same time? it's very him, choosing to chew over the concepts rather than reply in haste like a headstrong first-year student.
a large hand raises to cover kaveh's, fingers entwining inbetween in a motion that imitates what the blonde had done just a short time before (and alhaitham is nothing if not a quick study). his grip is strong, solid and reassuring, because even though the scribe realises he's knee-deep in unknown territory when it comes to returning any sort of social nuance on a natural level, he's at least reliable. always himself.
and for kaveh? he was always present, even in the early days when they'd first met. ]
As you may know, I only say things I mean - or rather, things I can define with certainty. [ the scribe murmurs, aware that no choice of words may be particularly acceptable in such a sensitive situation. but, as he always does, he continues anyway. ] That's not to say I wouldn't or don't want to return the phrase, but I'll be honest that it's not quite yet something I understand. At least, to your level of detail.
[ well, what do you say when you're asked to define something you've never felt before? ]
But, [ alhaitham adds, gaze never wavering for even a moment. ] I will say that I seem to have always been drawn to you, and probably always will be.
[ It is, perhaps, the most delicate Alhaitham has ever been with his words. Not that he doesn't always choose them carefully, of course, but that in Kaveh's view he doesn't usually consider the emotional impact of what he's saying in the midst of his search for veracity. He'd be lying though if he said he wasn't, in some small way, disappointed— despite the honesty of his own words, that hopeful part of Kaveh's heart allowed itself to wonder how it might feel for Alhaitham to hear his explanation, then return his words—
(and what a fairytale it would have been, for their first time together to end as such)
but he manages a small smile nonetheless, his fingers tightening on the hold around his own, pressing a soft kiss to the long line of that handsome jaw. A fairytale sounds nice in theory, but he would never ask for anything other than Alhaitham's honesty; it takes only a moment therefore for his expression to strengthen.
Truthfully, the fact that the scribe is even thinking about it is more than he could have genuinely hoped for. ]
Always, huh? [ It's an echo, in some small way, of the words spoken between them minutes ago, a question in the throes of their passion that had Kaveh spilling fragmented admissions in response, confessing to things that he barely even knew for himself until just recently. And isn't it funny, that somehow he's become an expert on love when it took him so many years to piece the parts together well enough to even begin to understand? Perhaps what he should have said was something far simpler:
I didn't, until you.
Kaveh takes a breath, closes his eyes, presses his face into the crook of Alhaitham's shoulder to drink in the scent of him, the usual sandalwood of his cologne mixed with the sweat and the headiness of their sex in the air. The act of cleaning is forgotten completely, a long arm snaking around the younger's side to draw them closer together again, choosing to be ignorant of how such an action could potentially be an error in judgement for his still-quickened pulse.
Perhaps, is the vague realization, his apparent weakness for the other comes from the depth of his feeling.
(And in hindsight, it is something almost embarrassing in how obvious it seems.) ]
The only thing I need to know right now, [ he murmurs, voice drowsy with content, yet laced at the edges with active consideration, ] is that it doesn't make you uncomfortable. When I say it. If you feel pressured by it, or it's something you don't want me to say right now, you have to tell me, Alhaitham, okay?
(and what a fairytale it would have been, for their first time together to end as such)
but he manages a small smile nonetheless, his fingers tightening on the hold around his own, pressing a soft kiss to the long line of that handsome jaw. A fairytale sounds nice in theory, but he would never ask for anything other than Alhaitham's honesty; it takes only a moment therefore for his expression to strengthen.
Truthfully, the fact that the scribe is even thinking about it is more than he could have genuinely hoped for. ]
Always, huh? [ It's an echo, in some small way, of the words spoken between them minutes ago, a question in the throes of their passion that had Kaveh spilling fragmented admissions in response, confessing to things that he barely even knew for himself until just recently. And isn't it funny, that somehow he's become an expert on love when it took him so many years to piece the parts together well enough to even begin to understand? Perhaps what he should have said was something far simpler:
I didn't, until you.
Kaveh takes a breath, closes his eyes, presses his face into the crook of Alhaitham's shoulder to drink in the scent of him, the usual sandalwood of his cologne mixed with the sweat and the headiness of their sex in the air. The act of cleaning is forgotten completely, a long arm snaking around the younger's side to draw them closer together again, choosing to be ignorant of how such an action could potentially be an error in judgement for his still-quickened pulse.
Perhaps, is the vague realization, his apparent weakness for the other comes from the depth of his feeling.
(And in hindsight, it is something almost embarrassing in how obvious it seems.) ]
The only thing I need to know right now, [ he murmurs, voice drowsy with content, yet laced at the edges with active consideration, ] is that it doesn't make you uncomfortable. When I say it. If you feel pressured by it, or it's something you don't want me to say right now, you have to tell me, Alhaitham, okay?
I would've thought that you of all people would know I'd speak my mind if that were the case.
[ alhaitham replies flatly, in that familiar matter-of-fact tone as kaveh's arm slinks around the side of his waist. in response, he instinctually wraps both of his around the blonde's angular form and draws him in closer, eyes slipping closed and an arguably contented sigh escaping him as he does so.
whether or not he could currently honour kaveh's desire to hear a response that he wasn't experienced enough to give, it was a matter that could wait until another day, until the sun rose again and they hadn't just: spent the whole night at a sordid party, gotten into a fist-fight, engaged the matra, drawn the attention of the entire akademiya, and had sex for the first time (actually in that order).
what he has now is more than he's ever had before, after all.
kaveh is warm in all the ways alhaitham isn't. he's familiar, like no-one else he's ever met. the weight of him tucked into the scribe's embrace feels natural, like he's always meant to be there, and how obnoxious that they'd gotten so thoroughly in each other's ways to prevent it. that certainty is comforting, the concrete things that he knows, and it's more that enough as fatigue sets in. the thrum of their afterglow has settled instead into a pleasant, subtle ebb of simple satisfaction, and alhaitham didn't see any reason to ruin such a contented moment with more analytics.
for once. ]
But, no. It doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. [ he murmurs finally into the crown of kaveh's head, golden hair brushing gently against his lips. ] I encourage you to continue being as unapologetically and brutally honest to me as you always have.
[ - because around each other, they could be their best and worst selves, after all.
perhaps his embrace tightens just a fraction before the scribe drifts off to sleep; perhaps this feels like a more restful reprieve than many of his other nights. but tomorrow existed to seek answers, and as the two drift off to sleep, alhaitham is distantly confident they'd find them. ]
[ alhaitham replies flatly, in that familiar matter-of-fact tone as kaveh's arm slinks around the side of his waist. in response, he instinctually wraps both of his around the blonde's angular form and draws him in closer, eyes slipping closed and an arguably contented sigh escaping him as he does so.
whether or not he could currently honour kaveh's desire to hear a response that he wasn't experienced enough to give, it was a matter that could wait until another day, until the sun rose again and they hadn't just: spent the whole night at a sordid party, gotten into a fist-fight, engaged the matra, drawn the attention of the entire akademiya, and had sex for the first time (actually in that order).
what he has now is more than he's ever had before, after all.
kaveh is warm in all the ways alhaitham isn't. he's familiar, like no-one else he's ever met. the weight of him tucked into the scribe's embrace feels natural, like he's always meant to be there, and how obnoxious that they'd gotten so thoroughly in each other's ways to prevent it. that certainty is comforting, the concrete things that he knows, and it's more that enough as fatigue sets in. the thrum of their afterglow has settled instead into a pleasant, subtle ebb of simple satisfaction, and alhaitham didn't see any reason to ruin such a contented moment with more analytics.
for once. ]
But, no. It doesn't make me feel uncomfortable. [ he murmurs finally into the crown of kaveh's head, golden hair brushing gently against his lips. ] I encourage you to continue being as unapologetically and brutally honest to me as you always have.
[ - because around each other, they could be their best and worst selves, after all.
perhaps his embrace tightens just a fraction before the scribe drifts off to sleep; perhaps this feels like a more restful reprieve than many of his other nights. but tomorrow existed to seek answers, and as the two drift off to sleep, alhaitham is distantly confident they'd find them. ]
Edited 2023-05-27 10:46 (UTC)
[ 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?
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?
Edited 2023-05-27 12:08 (UTC)
[ 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. ]
Could this not have waited until later?
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?
[ 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?
(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?
[ his brow furrows at the force with which kaveh punches his fist into his desk, hard enough that a couple of things topple off unceremoniously towards the ground. this wasn't exactly the response he'd been expecting - on the contrary, alhaitham had thought that the dismissal of the illustrious lord sangemah bay would probably bring relief to someone who constantly complained about their suffering under her scheming.
with a stilted sigh, the scribe leans back in his chair. it had been some time since they'd had a row that had come anyhwere close to this explosive, certainly not since they'd started exploring a relationship together. there's something nostalgic about the full force of kaveh's frustration being unleashed at him, and it's not a particularly pleasant nostalgia either. ]
Perhaps it wasn't my responsibility, no.
[ after all, the scribe was probably the last person anyone would think of to go out of his way to rectify someone else's issues at an expense to himself. but despite the time that had passed between them since they'd starting dating, there were still anomalies that circulated in alhaitham's mind; hypotheses he had to test to make certain that their relationship was actually real.
in a deeper sentiment, one he'd never really reveal and is barely even aware of himself: to make sure that it was actually him that his partner had interest in. the scribe isn't stupid, after all - he knows that he's not particularly sociable (because he has no interest in it), he knows he's not as likable (because he never tries). he also knows better than most that kaveh, of all people, has the strongest sense of obligation out of anyone else on the planet.
what if he'd just been staying in their house because there was no other option, thanks to the crippling debt? what if this had only eventuated because he'd been forced into close quarters with alhaitham due to necessity, like some sort of stockholm syndrome?
being an overt analytical thinker often had its downsides, and these trailing threads that stuck out from the otherwise idyllic tapestry of their relationship were one of them. ]
I'd have thought you wanted to be free of the debt. After all, you talk enough about how it hinders you - impacts you. Was I wrong?
with a stilted sigh, the scribe leans back in his chair. it had been some time since they'd had a row that had come anyhwere close to this explosive, certainly not since they'd started exploring a relationship together. there's something nostalgic about the full force of kaveh's frustration being unleashed at him, and it's not a particularly pleasant nostalgia either. ]
Perhaps it wasn't my responsibility, no.
[ after all, the scribe was probably the last person anyone would think of to go out of his way to rectify someone else's issues at an expense to himself. but despite the time that had passed between them since they'd starting dating, there were still anomalies that circulated in alhaitham's mind; hypotheses he had to test to make certain that their relationship was actually real.
in a deeper sentiment, one he'd never really reveal and is barely even aware of himself: to make sure that it was actually him that his partner had interest in. the scribe isn't stupid, after all - he knows that he's not particularly sociable (because he has no interest in it), he knows he's not as likable (because he never tries). he also knows better than most that kaveh, of all people, has the strongest sense of obligation out of anyone else on the planet.
what if he'd just been staying in their house because there was no other option, thanks to the crippling debt? what if this had only eventuated because he'd been forced into close quarters with alhaitham due to necessity, like some sort of stockholm syndrome?
being an overt analytical thinker often had its downsides, and these trailing threads that stuck out from the otherwise idyllic tapestry of their relationship were one of them. ]
I'd have thought you wanted to be free of the debt. After all, you talk enough about how it hinders you - impacts you. Was I wrong?
Edited (spellong) 2023-05-28 07:18 (UTC)
[ If it were anyone else Kaveh was talking to about this, the blonde might simply assume that they had taken action out of kindness. Those who know the closely-held secret of his shameful debt also know how wearing it is on him, how much stress and anxiety it causes him on a daily basis. Lacking mora to freely do what he might otherwise, forced to live a lie, trapped for all intents and purposes in a house not his own—
(Not that, despite his loud and frequent protestations, he actually thinks of himself as trapped. He likes living with Alhaitham, even when the other man drives him up the wall, sometimes even then. Moreso, now that they're dating, now that he can wander into the other's room in the middle of the night and slip under the covers to be greeted with a lazy, half-asleep kiss.
He just wishes that he had the choice. That he could say he's staying in Alhaitham's house because he wants to, not purely because he must.)
And so, greeted with the frequent and loud complaints of the architect, there might be those who, in the right financial situation, would take care of things for him— never at his request, and always to his chagrin.
But it's not something he thought he'd ever have to worry about with Alhaitham.
It's not that the other isn't a good person, of course... but this just isn't the sort of thing he does. The scribe practically lives by the rule of lex talionis, for actions both good and bad— what is given must be equally returned, what is received must be repaid in kind. (Never mind that in their case, such reciprocation has always been Kaveh's choice, Kaveh's sense of obligation driving him to return favors through chores, acts Alhaitham has never actually requested of him.)
And yet here they are, Kaveh bending to pick the fallen items from the floor with trembling fingers, knuckles that ache under the pressure he slammed into them mere moments before. Here they are, with Alhaitham confirming that he not only did exactly the one thing Kaveh thought he would never do, but did it out of a sense of the architect being hindered, impacted. Wanting to be free. ]
You—
[ He's halfway through picking up a folder that has fallen onto the floor when he stops, the card slipping from his fingers and back onto the rug— and he recognizes the pattern on it, he thinks, something remarkably similar to the scribblings Alhaitham makes while he's deep in thought—
Wanting to be free, and what if such words are true not only for himself, but for the other man? What if Alhaitham is finally tired of the frustrated hammering in the small hours, the moments stolen under the covers of his bed, the contretemps over what's for breakfast, or what the bartender actually said about the wine he'd brought home, or if that cocked die had really landed on Dendro or actually Electro? What if he's tired of having his wine stolen or stealing beer in return, of waking every morning to stray blonde hairs in his bed—
What if he just wants his quiet back, and closing Kaveh's debt is the way for him to do that?
What if he's tired of Kaveh?
By the time he straightens up again, the anger has drained from Kaveh's face, and his eyes, as they fix on that impassive, pale face, are aching. ]
I guess you're right. [ His voice is hoarse, even as he tries to keep it steady, even as he tries to smile. ] It was a hindrance. Now I can— now I can look for— I can buy a house. I'm always talking about moving out, now I can finally do it, right?
(Not that, despite his loud and frequent protestations, he actually thinks of himself as trapped. He likes living with Alhaitham, even when the other man drives him up the wall, sometimes even then. Moreso, now that they're dating, now that he can wander into the other's room in the middle of the night and slip under the covers to be greeted with a lazy, half-asleep kiss.
He just wishes that he had the choice. That he could say he's staying in Alhaitham's house because he wants to, not purely because he must.)
And so, greeted with the frequent and loud complaints of the architect, there might be those who, in the right financial situation, would take care of things for him— never at his request, and always to his chagrin.
But it's not something he thought he'd ever have to worry about with Alhaitham.
It's not that the other isn't a good person, of course... but this just isn't the sort of thing he does. The scribe practically lives by the rule of lex talionis, for actions both good and bad— what is given must be equally returned, what is received must be repaid in kind. (Never mind that in their case, such reciprocation has always been Kaveh's choice, Kaveh's sense of obligation driving him to return favors through chores, acts Alhaitham has never actually requested of him.)
And yet here they are, Kaveh bending to pick the fallen items from the floor with trembling fingers, knuckles that ache under the pressure he slammed into them mere moments before. Here they are, with Alhaitham confirming that he not only did exactly the one thing Kaveh thought he would never do, but did it out of a sense of the architect being hindered, impacted. Wanting to be free. ]
You—
[ He's halfway through picking up a folder that has fallen onto the floor when he stops, the card slipping from his fingers and back onto the rug— and he recognizes the pattern on it, he thinks, something remarkably similar to the scribblings Alhaitham makes while he's deep in thought—
Wanting to be free, and what if such words are true not only for himself, but for the other man? What if Alhaitham is finally tired of the frustrated hammering in the small hours, the moments stolen under the covers of his bed, the contretemps over what's for breakfast, or what the bartender actually said about the wine he'd brought home, or if that cocked die had really landed on Dendro or actually Electro? What if he's tired of having his wine stolen or stealing beer in return, of waking every morning to stray blonde hairs in his bed—
What if he just wants his quiet back, and closing Kaveh's debt is the way for him to do that?
What if he's tired of Kaveh?
By the time he straightens up again, the anger has drained from Kaveh's face, and his eyes, as they fix on that impassive, pale face, are aching. ]
I guess you're right. [ His voice is hoarse, even as he tries to keep it steady, even as he tries to smile. ] It was a hindrance. Now I can— now I can look for— I can buy a house. I'm always talking about moving out, now I can finally do it, right?
It was a hindrance, [ alhaitham echoes, repeating the very factual things that kaveh has just stated. ] Now you certainly can buy a house, if that's what you wish to do.
[ in a way, this is reminiscent of the time they'd fallen out over their elaborate joint thesis - all emotional fury unleashed from kaveh's side, and too-blunt, thoughtless nonchalance from alhaitham's. perhaps a haravatat scholar should know better than anyone else in sumeru that history is destined to repeat itself, but dimly, the scribe is disappointed that he's been proven right for once.
logically, the debt disappearing should've been a positive thing, even to someone as loathe to understand social constructs as the scribe. for as long as kaveh had been indebted to dori, the tethers of the obligation had punctuated almost every other conversation, the source of most of the architect's woes. the reason he'd deemed it necessary to move in with alhaitham in the first place. a plight so shameful that he'd even refused to make it public where he lived, as if the discovery of staying in the scribe's second bedroom would be social suicide.
that's why alhaitham had to test this hypothesis.
wasn't that prudent, before they got entangled any deeper? the blonde had already changed him irrevocably over the past two months, mostly in ways that he's only just coming to understand now - and if he was going to let someone in past his guard, wasn't it only sensible to make sure they were there for the right reasons?
the taller man's face remains impassive, but he's quietly surprised to realise how much kaveh's words wound him, each syllable dropping like a dead weight; the one time he'd taken a gamble hoping to lose and clutched at an unwanted victory instead. ]
You're free of any obligation. [ he states, not moving a muscle. ] You can make of your future what you will without an external force holding you back.
[ in a way, this is reminiscent of the time they'd fallen out over their elaborate joint thesis - all emotional fury unleashed from kaveh's side, and too-blunt, thoughtless nonchalance from alhaitham's. perhaps a haravatat scholar should know better than anyone else in sumeru that history is destined to repeat itself, but dimly, the scribe is disappointed that he's been proven right for once.
logically, the debt disappearing should've been a positive thing, even to someone as loathe to understand social constructs as the scribe. for as long as kaveh had been indebted to dori, the tethers of the obligation had punctuated almost every other conversation, the source of most of the architect's woes. the reason he'd deemed it necessary to move in with alhaitham in the first place. a plight so shameful that he'd even refused to make it public where he lived, as if the discovery of staying in the scribe's second bedroom would be social suicide.
that's why alhaitham had to test this hypothesis.
wasn't that prudent, before they got entangled any deeper? the blonde had already changed him irrevocably over the past two months, mostly in ways that he's only just coming to understand now - and if he was going to let someone in past his guard, wasn't it only sensible to make sure they were there for the right reasons?
the taller man's face remains impassive, but he's quietly surprised to realise how much kaveh's words wound him, each syllable dropping like a dead weight; the one time he'd taken a gamble hoping to lose and clutched at an unwanted victory instead. ]
You're free of any obligation. [ he states, not moving a muscle. ] You can make of your future what you will without an external force holding you back.
...Right.
[ Archons, he hates this. He hates how Alhaitham can look so calm, so impassive, so unaffected by any of this, while Kaveh's desperately trying to keep his legs from giving out underneath him. There's a horrific kind of finality about it, about the way the other speaks, and Kaveh suddenly knows with devastating clarity that this isn't just about him moving out, that they're breaking up, that he's somehow screwed up the one good thing he had in this world. ]
Alright, then... then... [ Propriety would dictate that he say thank you or something equally trite, but he can't make his lips even start to form the words. Before they found themselves together, thanking Alhaitham was hard, sometimes impossible— somehow now it feels beyond that.
(Besides, he doesn't want to thank him— he wants to cry, to scream, to ask what he did wrong, tell him he doesn't want this—) ]
So I'll... I'll stay with Tighnari for a few days while I get my things in order. And I'll— once I find a place, I'll come move my stuff out—
[ The panic is starting to well in his gut. He's going to be sick. He's going to lose control over his emotions and start to sob. He swallows hard, locks his fingers into a tight grip on his leggings, sucks in a sharp breath as he tries to keep himself steady. Fuck— ]
I'll see you later, Alhaitham.
[ Faltering steps take him out of the office, back through the wending rooms of the Akademiya. There are tears on his cheeks, there are people staring, but he doesn't notice any of them. And the second he's outside, Kaveh staggers into the nearest bush and promptly throws up. ]
[ A few days turns into four, then five, and soon a week has passed without Kaveh really being aware of it. Living with the most well-adjusted couple in Teyvat is an exercise in torture for one so miserable. He finds himself unable to focus on work, offering excuses of sickness and promising to get back to work as soon as he can manage it, even if he feels as if he'll never be able to bring himself to work again.
It will get better, Tighnari tells him, and Cyno tries to make jokes, but they don't help. Nor does finding himself in the bottom of a bottle.
Kaveh has experienced heartbreak, but never like this.
But he can only wear out his welcome for so long, and a week into his moping, Kaveh decides he has to do something. So he takes his bags, empties them of what few things he brought with him here, and heads back into the city, shoulders straight and key in hand. It's a weekday, so Alhaitham should be at work— all he has to is get in, pack his bags, get out.
But the house is dark when he walks in, the caustic smell of alcohol burning his nostrils, and the few steps he ventures forward bring him face to face with a sight he never expected to see. ]
...Alhaitham?
[ Archons, he hates this. He hates how Alhaitham can look so calm, so impassive, so unaffected by any of this, while Kaveh's desperately trying to keep his legs from giving out underneath him. There's a horrific kind of finality about it, about the way the other speaks, and Kaveh suddenly knows with devastating clarity that this isn't just about him moving out, that they're breaking up, that he's somehow screwed up the one good thing he had in this world. ]
Alright, then... then... [ Propriety would dictate that he say thank you or something equally trite, but he can't make his lips even start to form the words. Before they found themselves together, thanking Alhaitham was hard, sometimes impossible— somehow now it feels beyond that.
(Besides, he doesn't want to thank him— he wants to cry, to scream, to ask what he did wrong, tell him he doesn't want this—) ]
So I'll... I'll stay with Tighnari for a few days while I get my things in order. And I'll— once I find a place, I'll come move my stuff out—
[ The panic is starting to well in his gut. He's going to be sick. He's going to lose control over his emotions and start to sob. He swallows hard, locks his fingers into a tight grip on his leggings, sucks in a sharp breath as he tries to keep himself steady. Fuck— ]
I'll see you later, Alhaitham.
[ Faltering steps take him out of the office, back through the wending rooms of the Akademiya. There are tears on his cheeks, there are people staring, but he doesn't notice any of them. And the second he's outside, Kaveh staggers into the nearest bush and promptly throws up. ]
[ A few days turns into four, then five, and soon a week has passed without Kaveh really being aware of it. Living with the most well-adjusted couple in Teyvat is an exercise in torture for one so miserable. He finds himself unable to focus on work, offering excuses of sickness and promising to get back to work as soon as he can manage it, even if he feels as if he'll never be able to bring himself to work again.
It will get better, Tighnari tells him, and Cyno tries to make jokes, but they don't help. Nor does finding himself in the bottom of a bottle.
Kaveh has experienced heartbreak, but never like this.
But he can only wear out his welcome for so long, and a week into his moping, Kaveh decides he has to do something. So he takes his bags, empties them of what few things he brought with him here, and heads back into the city, shoulders straight and key in hand. It's a weekday, so Alhaitham should be at work— all he has to is get in, pack his bags, get out.
But the house is dark when he walks in, the caustic smell of alcohol burning his nostrils, and the few steps he ventures forward bring him face to face with a sight he never expected to see. ]
...Alhaitham?
Edited 2023-05-28 10:58 (UTC)
[ mm. how had it come to this, again?
a week had gone by since kaveh had left the house with the sort of finality that demanded no doors between them be re-opened, and with that, everything in the world had gone more than slightly off-kilter. frustrating, annoying, aggravating even, that alhaitham had once been someone who'd prided himself on being so independent, so self-sufficient that he'd never need to rely on the presence or comfort of others to live his life, and his formerpartner boyfriend room-mate colleague had come along and ruined all that.
no, since he'd left, a house he'd once been content to have empty and silent before kaveh had moved in felt too big, so cavernous that his thoughts seemed to echo in reverb off the walls and back into his head as he sulked in there on his own. words on the pages of his books seemed to muddle together, blend into nonsense and fall off the paper, like even stories had lost their luster without that constant peripheral presence around to read in silence with. texts that told tales of epic adventure that wove a fairytale ending were even worse, and those books had ended up haphazardly around the floor once he'd gotten far enough through the plot to realise where it was going.
luckily, he'd made being scarce at the akademiya somewhat of a talent, one that'd he'd been leveraging far more the past few days as the quiet he once relished instead ate away at him. visual triggers around the house he'd even started to hide, things that evoked memories of the past two months and of the awful, dull ache of loss that alhaitham thought he'd gone to great lengths to close himself off to ever experiencing again.
none of it had worked, though, and even one of the akademiya's brightest couldn't devise an avoidance or coping method strong enough for the long rolls of paper he'd come across when moving all of kaveh's things back to his old room, mostly so he wouldn't have to look at them, be reminded of them. their shared study was full of the things, large architectural drafts for a wide range of structures that the blonde had worked on over the years he'd lived there - old drafts for former clients, more mundane requests for the local municipality or outer sumeru settlements, odd projects for buildings only someone with the imagination and technical prowess that a master engineer could dream up.
in the midst of carrying a large stack of them through the house, one had rolled off the top of the pile and the elastic holding it together snapped as it hit the floor, the grid paper unrolling itself as it was freed from its confines. a muttered swear of an old language under his breath, the scribe had (more carefully than he felt like) put the rest in the old bedroom before returning to pick up the errant plan.
alhaitham's not quite sure why he stopped to look at this one in particular, not after he'd set such strict rules for himself to compartmentalise all these things that weren't his, that seemed to burn him each time he laid eyes on them - but he does, and fuck, he wishes he'd listened to himself.
that's why it's currently what, five in the evening and not even the end of a normal workday and he's somehow found himself lounging on the wooden floor on the lounge, devoid of about half the things usually in it and still not quite numb enough for how much araq he'd drank over the past few hours. definitely trying, though, judging by the half full bottle in his hand and the empty one on the coffee table.
the house is unlit and it only distantly registers that someone has entered when a too-familiar voice speaks his name. briefly, alhaitham wonders if he has drunk too much if he's beginning to hallucinate, head cocking to the side from where he was resting it against the edge of the sofa only to see - well.
of course that was who it was. ]
What're you doing here?
a week had gone by since kaveh had left the house with the sort of finality that demanded no doors between them be re-opened, and with that, everything in the world had gone more than slightly off-kilter. frustrating, annoying, aggravating even, that alhaitham had once been someone who'd prided himself on being so independent, so self-sufficient that he'd never need to rely on the presence or comfort of others to live his life, and his former
no, since he'd left, a house he'd once been content to have empty and silent before kaveh had moved in felt too big, so cavernous that his thoughts seemed to echo in reverb off the walls and back into his head as he sulked in there on his own. words on the pages of his books seemed to muddle together, blend into nonsense and fall off the paper, like even stories had lost their luster without that constant peripheral presence around to read in silence with. texts that told tales of epic adventure that wove a fairytale ending were even worse, and those books had ended up haphazardly around the floor once he'd gotten far enough through the plot to realise where it was going.
luckily, he'd made being scarce at the akademiya somewhat of a talent, one that'd he'd been leveraging far more the past few days as the quiet he once relished instead ate away at him. visual triggers around the house he'd even started to hide, things that evoked memories of the past two months and of the awful, dull ache of loss that alhaitham thought he'd gone to great lengths to close himself off to ever experiencing again.
none of it had worked, though, and even one of the akademiya's brightest couldn't devise an avoidance or coping method strong enough for the long rolls of paper he'd come across when moving all of kaveh's things back to his old room, mostly so he wouldn't have to look at them, be reminded of them. their shared study was full of the things, large architectural drafts for a wide range of structures that the blonde had worked on over the years he'd lived there - old drafts for former clients, more mundane requests for the local municipality or outer sumeru settlements, odd projects for buildings only someone with the imagination and technical prowess that a master engineer could dream up.
in the midst of carrying a large stack of them through the house, one had rolled off the top of the pile and the elastic holding it together snapped as it hit the floor, the grid paper unrolling itself as it was freed from its confines. a muttered swear of an old language under his breath, the scribe had (more carefully than he felt like) put the rest in the old bedroom before returning to pick up the errant plan.
alhaitham's not quite sure why he stopped to look at this one in particular, not after he'd set such strict rules for himself to compartmentalise all these things that weren't his, that seemed to burn him each time he laid eyes on them - but he does, and fuck, he wishes he'd listened to himself.
that's why it's currently what, five in the evening and not even the end of a normal workday and he's somehow found himself lounging on the wooden floor on the lounge, devoid of about half the things usually in it and still not quite numb enough for how much araq he'd drank over the past few hours. definitely trying, though, judging by the half full bottle in his hand and the empty one on the coffee table.
the house is unlit and it only distantly registers that someone has entered when a too-familiar voice speaks his name. briefly, alhaitham wonders if he has drunk too much if he's beginning to hallucinate, head cocking to the side from where he was resting it against the edge of the sofa only to see - well.
of course that was who it was. ]
What're you doing here?
Edited 2023-05-28 12:51 (UTC)
[ The last few days have been hard. So many hours Kaveh has spent lying awake and staring into the darkness, recounting the events of a week ago and trying to figure out where he went wrong. So many tears he has shed that for almost a whole day after it happened, he couldn't speak over the thickness clinging to his throat, leaving him hoarse and ragged. So many meals missed, the taste of even the sweetest fruits akin to desert sand on his tongue. Despite his best efforts this morning, he is disheveled, pale, thinner than he should be, with dark circles under his eyes and bitten fingernails.
Yet even without the benefit of a mirror, he's certain the scene before him looks a damn sight worse.
Stench of araq filling the house aside, everything else is laid out in front of him like a theater of misfortune, an exhibit of things gone wrong. The house, usually relatively clean from Kaveh's efforts, is a wreck; furniture that should be here is missing, books are strewn forgotten on the floor, a half-rolled blueprint lays discarded halfway down the hall. Alhaitham, usually so goddamn composed, is similarly wrecked; hair as mussed as if he's only just risen from bed, a faraway look on his face, a half-empty bottle of alcohol in one hand, his voice edged with emotion usually kept from it.
He looks as broken on the outside as Kaveh feels on the inside, and every muscle in the architect's body screams with the urge to rush forward, to take Alhaitham up in his arms and hold him, to tell him everything is going to be okay— But he holds his ground, even as his legs waver in place, his desperate hopes for once silenced in the face of the weight he's carried since their fight.
(Because how stupid would he feel if this turned out to be something entirely unrelated to him?) ]
I... came to get my things. [ His voice feels distant, foggy, like he's outside of his body and listening to himself speak. Watching as his brows crease, his lips part— then shut, then part once more. ] ...Are you alright?
[ What a stupid question when Alhaitham is clearly going to pieces in front of him. ]
Yet even without the benefit of a mirror, he's certain the scene before him looks a damn sight worse.
Stench of araq filling the house aside, everything else is laid out in front of him like a theater of misfortune, an exhibit of things gone wrong. The house, usually relatively clean from Kaveh's efforts, is a wreck; furniture that should be here is missing, books are strewn forgotten on the floor, a half-rolled blueprint lays discarded halfway down the hall. Alhaitham, usually so goddamn composed, is similarly wrecked; hair as mussed as if he's only just risen from bed, a faraway look on his face, a half-empty bottle of alcohol in one hand, his voice edged with emotion usually kept from it.
He looks as broken on the outside as Kaveh feels on the inside, and every muscle in the architect's body screams with the urge to rush forward, to take Alhaitham up in his arms and hold him, to tell him everything is going to be okay— But he holds his ground, even as his legs waver in place, his desperate hopes for once silenced in the face of the weight he's carried since their fight.
(Because how stupid would he feel if this turned out to be something entirely unrelated to him?) ]
I... came to get my things. [ His voice feels distant, foggy, like he's outside of his body and listening to himself speak. Watching as his brows crease, his lips part— then shut, then part once more. ] ...Are you alright?
[ What a stupid question when Alhaitham is clearly going to pieces in front of him. ]
Fine. [ the scribe replies with such force and immediacy, that it was obviously an untruth. ] Never better.
[ with a short groan, alhaitham draws himself up from the floor which is a sore task for someone with stiff limbs (he doesn't know how many hours he's been down there) and a distorted sense of balance thanks to the ridiculous amount of hard liquor he'd imbibed over the course of the afternoon. it ached to stand, sure, but it ached less than this emotional pain now renewed with kaveh standing right there.
despite the lack of slur in his words, it's clear that the scribe is fairly far gone as he half-stumbles while getting to his feet, a bare foot knocking over a stack of books as he rights himself. as they cascade to the floor, alhaitham mutters some archaic swear under his breath once again - because what's one more thing out of place in a house that was so out of balance anyway? as if he could've escaped ending up like this while wallowing in four walls of broken memories. ]
Your things, [ he repeats, not quite bringing himself to look at kaveh. he - just feels like he can't. ] - right. Moved them into your old room. Most of them, anyway. You have too many things.
[ and it's punctuated by a dismissive handwave in the direction of the blonde's former lodgings before alhaitham turns back to the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbing it and his glass to fill. he'd actually forgone the glass perhaps four drinks ago, but something about kaveh's presence both makes him want to clear the second bottle but at the same time, not look like a neanderthal doing it.
how embarrassing, that he still couldn't bring himself not to care what this one person thought of him. ]
Knock yourself out.
[ is his offer over the lip of the glass as he takes a drink, the burn not quite enough to overwrite the emotional discomfort he's feeling in this moment. ]
[ with a short groan, alhaitham draws himself up from the floor which is a sore task for someone with stiff limbs (he doesn't know how many hours he's been down there) and a distorted sense of balance thanks to the ridiculous amount of hard liquor he'd imbibed over the course of the afternoon. it ached to stand, sure, but it ached less than this emotional pain now renewed with kaveh standing right there.
despite the lack of slur in his words, it's clear that the scribe is fairly far gone as he half-stumbles while getting to his feet, a bare foot knocking over a stack of books as he rights himself. as they cascade to the floor, alhaitham mutters some archaic swear under his breath once again - because what's one more thing out of place in a house that was so out of balance anyway? as if he could've escaped ending up like this while wallowing in four walls of broken memories. ]
Your things, [ he repeats, not quite bringing himself to look at kaveh. he - just feels like he can't. ] - right. Moved them into your old room. Most of them, anyway. You have too many things.
[ and it's punctuated by a dismissive handwave in the direction of the blonde's former lodgings before alhaitham turns back to the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbing it and his glass to fill. he'd actually forgone the glass perhaps four drinks ago, but something about kaveh's presence both makes him want to clear the second bottle but at the same time, not look like a neanderthal doing it.
how embarrassing, that he still couldn't bring himself not to care what this one person thought of him. ]
Knock yourself out.
[ is his offer over the lip of the glass as he takes a drink, the burn not quite enough to overwrite the emotional discomfort he's feeling in this moment. ]
[ His eyes are halfway drifted back to the blueprint on the floor, left foot lifting in a tentative step, when Alhaitham suddenly lifts himself from the floor, a groan in his voice and a near-stumble in his step. The books that spill to the floor do so with a sound that sounds painfully loud, and Kaveh's step stutters, redirecting instead to bring him to his knees, to start picking them up and stacking them back as the other man curses above him.
His things, Alhaitham moved his things, and Kaveh doesn't know that feels so awful but it does, and he finds himself swallowing against the renewed thickness in his throat, promising himself once more that he will not cry, not this time. This is what the other man wanted, so—
Is this what Alhaitham wanted, though? Alhaitham, who is standing on wavering legs in front of him, filling a glass with creamy white liquor, pouring the scents of grape and licorice anew into the already-soaked room? Alhaitham, who bit out the word "fine" so quickly and forcefully that it practically tasted like a lie?
For the first time since this whole mess started to unravel in Kaveh's hands, he finds himself unsure. And perhaps it's for that reason he's driven back to his feet, books forgotten— or perhaps it's the fact that he hates how unsteady the scribe is, how he's irrefutably not himself in this moment— either way, the architect stands, reaches out, fingers closing over Alhaitham's wrist in an effort to stop him from continuing to lift the glass to his lips. ]
Please— Alhaitham, this isn't you. You don't— you're so drunk, please stop drinking.
[ He shouldn't touch. It's not his place, not anymore. But he can't help it, not when worry has temporarily displaced the sickness of the hurt and heartbreak he's been feeling. He'll leave, but— ]
I know you don't want me here, and I'll leave as soon as I can pack my things up. I just. I need you to be okay first.
His things, Alhaitham moved his things, and Kaveh doesn't know that feels so awful but it does, and he finds himself swallowing against the renewed thickness in his throat, promising himself once more that he will not cry, not this time. This is what the other man wanted, so—
Is this what Alhaitham wanted, though? Alhaitham, who is standing on wavering legs in front of him, filling a glass with creamy white liquor, pouring the scents of grape and licorice anew into the already-soaked room? Alhaitham, who bit out the word "fine" so quickly and forcefully that it practically tasted like a lie?
For the first time since this whole mess started to unravel in Kaveh's hands, he finds himself unsure. And perhaps it's for that reason he's driven back to his feet, books forgotten— or perhaps it's the fact that he hates how unsteady the scribe is, how he's irrefutably not himself in this moment— either way, the architect stands, reaches out, fingers closing over Alhaitham's wrist in an effort to stop him from continuing to lift the glass to his lips. ]
Please— Alhaitham, this isn't you. You don't— you're so drunk, please stop drinking.
[ He shouldn't touch. It's not his place, not anymore. But he can't help it, not when worry has temporarily displaced the sickness of the hurt and heartbreak he's been feeling. He'll leave, but— ]
I know you don't want me here, and I'll leave as soon as I can pack my things up. I just. I need you to be okay first.
I don't need advice.
[ is his curt response, pulling his wrist out of kaveh's grip like the touch seared his skin. here he was, doing his damned best to put all of this behind him in his best guess how, and he was being interrupted? perhaps his attitude is unwarranted, considering that this was largely his doing in the first place - he'd erred on the side of the other actually, genuinely, wanting a relationship, but in the end it had been every bit as alhaitham was himself. functional. practical. convenient.
the scribe takes a step back and sits heavily down on the sofa behind him, trying to physically exit from the conversation. this time he doesn't stumble, but he doesn't heed kaveh's suggestion either, the glass remaining firmly in his hand as he all but sits and waits for his former lover to do good on his statement and go clear his things.
if there are words, alhaitham certainly doesn't have them, so why bother? ever since he'd come across the plan that still lay unfurled on the floor in the darkness, his mind had been decidedly blank. nothing made sense to him, but yet these things rarely did anyway - because why would kaveh go to the extreme lengths of drawing up such an elaborate dream that he was happy to just walk away from? wouldn't planning a home, not just a house for the two of them indicate that there was supposed to be some future to it all?
how naĂŻve alhaitham had been to let his walls down.
the sooner they could part ways properly, the better. he's not quite sure how this all fell apart so spectacularly, but judging by past experience, it was probably what he deserved. ]
Moreover, you don't need to worry about me. [ a long draught as his fingers tense into the cushion of the couch. ] Go do what you need to.
[ is his curt response, pulling his wrist out of kaveh's grip like the touch seared his skin. here he was, doing his damned best to put all of this behind him in his best guess how, and he was being interrupted? perhaps his attitude is unwarranted, considering that this was largely his doing in the first place - he'd erred on the side of the other actually, genuinely, wanting a relationship, but in the end it had been every bit as alhaitham was himself. functional. practical. convenient.
the scribe takes a step back and sits heavily down on the sofa behind him, trying to physically exit from the conversation. this time he doesn't stumble, but he doesn't heed kaveh's suggestion either, the glass remaining firmly in his hand as he all but sits and waits for his former lover to do good on his statement and go clear his things.
if there are words, alhaitham certainly doesn't have them, so why bother? ever since he'd come across the plan that still lay unfurled on the floor in the darkness, his mind had been decidedly blank. nothing made sense to him, but yet these things rarely did anyway - because why would kaveh go to the extreme lengths of drawing up such an elaborate dream that he was happy to just walk away from? wouldn't planning a home, not just a house for the two of them indicate that there was supposed to be some future to it all?
how naĂŻve alhaitham had been to let his walls down.
the sooner they could part ways properly, the better. he's not quite sure how this all fell apart so spectacularly, but judging by past experience, it was probably what he deserved. ]
Moreover, you don't need to worry about me. [ a long draught as his fingers tense into the cushion of the couch. ] Go do what you need to.
Of course I need to worry! [ are the words Kaveh shoots back immediately, his voice rich and full with emotion, his hand falling uselessly back to his side. ] I love—
[ But he cuts himself off, head turning away from a gaze that won't even meet his, eyes closing in painful reminder. He's not allowed to say that anymore, is he? Obviously, that momentary, hopeful doubt was wrong— Alhaitham does want this, wants to push him away and make him leave; look at how quickly he's already hidden all of his things, put them away where he doesn't have to see them, doesn't have to be reminded of that one pathetic leech that doesn't know how to let him go. ]
...Alright. Fine.
[ Fine. Alhaitham says he doesn't need to worry? He won't. He came here to stop moping, didn't he? He came to pack up his things and move on, damnit, he doesn't need this. So, with unsteady steps of his own, he backs up, blinking against the mutinous stinging of his eyes, moving toward the hallway that leads to his room; he pauses only to pick up the blueprint on which his eyes fell before, trained eyes scanning the design of his own making.
For a moment, he forgets to be upset— instead, a warmth overtakes him for a breath, a fondness as he looks over each of the features in turn. The only thing he can think is that it's good this was left here, that it wasn't with him on the day this all happened, because in his rage he may have torn it up like did that one paper over which they fell out the first time. And it's good, he thinks, that it wasn't lost. Because it's beautiful, perhaps the most lovely thing he's ever dared to design, with a shared bedroom for the two of them and study rooms both individual and shared, all carefully and lovingly labeled. Others too, not labeled lest the dreamer let his fantasies get too out of hand, guest rooms by rights but reserved in his mind for a child, or children—
A heavy tear drops on the paper before Kaveh even realizes he's crying, smudging the graphite on the page. Kids, because he saw a future here, a future he's somehow lost to a potentiality that he can't even begin to understand. The whole thing makes him want to just pick up a bottle of his own, and drink himself into oblivion, and— ]
Fuck.
[ Before Kaveh can even process the thought fully, he's whirling back to face Alhaitham, shirt flying in a trail through the air behind him, ruby eyes alight and burning with something angry and pained and fingers clenched white-knuckled on the blueprint, crumpling its corner under the pressure. ]
This is why you're drinking, isn't it? [ His voice cracks as he surges forward to make up the ground between them again, drawing him closer to the couch and almost shoving the paper toward the other man. ] Because of this?
[ But he cuts himself off, head turning away from a gaze that won't even meet his, eyes closing in painful reminder. He's not allowed to say that anymore, is he? Obviously, that momentary, hopeful doubt was wrong— Alhaitham does want this, wants to push him away and make him leave; look at how quickly he's already hidden all of his things, put them away where he doesn't have to see them, doesn't have to be reminded of that one pathetic leech that doesn't know how to let him go. ]
...Alright. Fine.
[ Fine. Alhaitham says he doesn't need to worry? He won't. He came here to stop moping, didn't he? He came to pack up his things and move on, damnit, he doesn't need this. So, with unsteady steps of his own, he backs up, blinking against the mutinous stinging of his eyes, moving toward the hallway that leads to his room; he pauses only to pick up the blueprint on which his eyes fell before, trained eyes scanning the design of his own making.
For a moment, he forgets to be upset— instead, a warmth overtakes him for a breath, a fondness as he looks over each of the features in turn. The only thing he can think is that it's good this was left here, that it wasn't with him on the day this all happened, because in his rage he may have torn it up like did that one paper over which they fell out the first time. And it's good, he thinks, that it wasn't lost. Because it's beautiful, perhaps the most lovely thing he's ever dared to design, with a shared bedroom for the two of them and study rooms both individual and shared, all carefully and lovingly labeled. Others too, not labeled lest the dreamer let his fantasies get too out of hand, guest rooms by rights but reserved in his mind for a child, or children—
A heavy tear drops on the paper before Kaveh even realizes he's crying, smudging the graphite on the page. Kids, because he saw a future here, a future he's somehow lost to a potentiality that he can't even begin to understand. The whole thing makes him want to just pick up a bottle of his own, and drink himself into oblivion, and— ]
Fuck.
[ Before Kaveh can even process the thought fully, he's whirling back to face Alhaitham, shirt flying in a trail through the air behind him, ruby eyes alight and burning with something angry and pained and fingers clenched white-knuckled on the blueprint, crumpling its corner under the pressure. ]
This is why you're drinking, isn't it? [ His voice cracks as he surges forward to make up the ground between them again, drawing him closer to the couch and almost shoving the paper toward the other man. ] Because of this?
[ he only distantly registers kaveh's departure, the shroud of alcohol draping back over his consciousness as alhaitham tries to shut out whatever the other was up to - touching him, speaking to him, packing his things, coming, going. it had been a long time since he'd seen the bottom of more than one bottle, but it was doing at least a mediocre job of papering over the cracks in his defenses, keeping up the appearances of being held together even if it were by a thread.
he's staring blankly into the pale liquid, unaware that the blonde had even come back in the room when the scribe is mildly startled by a paper being waved in his face and that musical voice cutting through the clouds of his sulk like sun after rain. looking somewhat sourly down at the interruption, alhaitham realises that kaveh was offering him the very last thing he wanted to see right now - and barely, he restrains himself from snatching it off the other and tossing it away. ]
What does it matter why I'm drinking? [ he mutters into the glass, gaze averting back to staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. ] Like I said, your things were everywhere. I don't have a categorical knowledge of which one in particular that is.
[ but the way he says it belies the fact that isn't true; alhaitham's voice is so much more raw than normal, emotion snaking into his level words and corrupting them to betray true feeling. after a beginning of life where everything he'd wanted was taken away from him, the scribe had designed an existence where that simply couldn't happen - until now, until he dared to think about things outside himself.
in a more tired tone that sounds more like a rhetorical question than anything else, but important because kaveh still hasn't left his side; ]
What do you want from me?
he's staring blankly into the pale liquid, unaware that the blonde had even come back in the room when the scribe is mildly startled by a paper being waved in his face and that musical voice cutting through the clouds of his sulk like sun after rain. looking somewhat sourly down at the interruption, alhaitham realises that kaveh was offering him the very last thing he wanted to see right now - and barely, he restrains himself from snatching it off the other and tossing it away. ]
What does it matter why I'm drinking? [ he mutters into the glass, gaze averting back to staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. ] Like I said, your things were everywhere. I don't have a categorical knowledge of which one in particular that is.
[ but the way he says it belies the fact that isn't true; alhaitham's voice is so much more raw than normal, emotion snaking into his level words and corrupting them to betray true feeling. after a beginning of life where everything he'd wanted was taken away from him, the scribe had designed an existence where that simply couldn't happen - until now, until he dared to think about things outside himself.
in a more tired tone that sounds more like a rhetorical question than anything else, but important because kaveh still hasn't left his side; ]
What do you want from me?
It matters because—
[ But Kaveh once again cuts himself off, not in pain this time but because something inside him registers dimly that he can't just keep yelling his feelings when the other man is drunk and hurting, can't just keep getting more and more wound up until he can no longer make himself clear. Especially when the emotion crept into Alhaitham's voice belies feelings he knows the scribe would rather keep hidden, he needs to keep his head together now more than ever—
Trembling fingers place the offending image on the table. He's afraid, like he's never been before, to put his feelings into the space between them, to seek answers that might only serve to hurt him more in the long run. Not to mention that to do so is to risk deepening the chasm between them until there's no hope of recovery. If he's wrong—
But he's not wrong. He can't be, not when Alhaitham's voice hurts in consonance with his heart. When the other is drinking sorrows in alcohol in a way far too like his own bad habits. When everything in the house feels out of kilter and wrong, and not just because some pieces of furniture and paraphernalia are missing.
His breath shudders. ]
I want— I want you to stop lying to me. [ His voice, usually so melodic and strident, is soft to the point it nears a whisper, and he dares to sit by the other's side on the sofa, to reach out once more, long fingers curving gentle over the jut of a knee. ] I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but— but I can see through you anyway, so—
[ His eyes drop, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get his own emotions under some semblance of control. ]
When you paid off my debt to Dori... was it because you wanted me to leave?
[ Whatever the answer... whatever Alhaitham says, he can take it. ]
[ But Kaveh once again cuts himself off, not in pain this time but because something inside him registers dimly that he can't just keep yelling his feelings when the other man is drunk and hurting, can't just keep getting more and more wound up until he can no longer make himself clear. Especially when the emotion crept into Alhaitham's voice belies feelings he knows the scribe would rather keep hidden, he needs to keep his head together now more than ever—
Trembling fingers place the offending image on the table. He's afraid, like he's never been before, to put his feelings into the space between them, to seek answers that might only serve to hurt him more in the long run. Not to mention that to do so is to risk deepening the chasm between them until there's no hope of recovery. If he's wrong—
But he's not wrong. He can't be, not when Alhaitham's voice hurts in consonance with his heart. When the other is drinking sorrows in alcohol in a way far too like his own bad habits. When everything in the house feels out of kilter and wrong, and not just because some pieces of furniture and paraphernalia are missing.
His breath shudders. ]
I want— I want you to stop lying to me. [ His voice, usually so melodic and strident, is soft to the point it nears a whisper, and he dares to sit by the other's side on the sofa, to reach out once more, long fingers curving gentle over the jut of a knee. ] I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but— but I can see through you anyway, so—
[ His eyes drop, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get his own emotions under some semblance of control. ]
When you paid off my debt to Dori... was it because you wanted me to leave?
[ Whatever the answer... whatever Alhaitham says, he can take it. ]
Edited 2023-06-03 12:25 (UTC)
I don't lie.
[ he responds flatly despite the couch shifting next to him, signaling that kaveh had decided to sit; despite the soft touch of the blonde's hand against his knee which he desperately tries to ignore. alhaitham still doesn't look towards him, like he knows that his own eyes give away far more than they usually do and that's uncomfortable, far too vulnerable for someone who'd built their entire existence around being unaffected.
kaveh's question, however, is ridiculous. the scribe pauses before finishing his glass, staring at the empty vessel for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table. ]
Why would that be the conclusion you drew from that? [ a rough voice murmurs, his tone edged with husk from the hard liquor and fatigue. the dark circles underneath his eyes already gave that away. ] Did I give any indication to that end?
[ with a tired sigh, alhaitham leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs, muscular form hunched. was there even any point in trying to talk through this now, when the damage had already been done? he'd already resigned himself to grieving, a process he was distantly familiar with, and he'd come to terms with kaveh's departure - at least, in a functional sense. ]
But, if you really need confirmation? No, it wasn't. [ if only the alcohol could do a better job of numbing - but some hurt was too deep to run from. ] I paid it off because I knew it bothered you. Knew living here bothered you.
It was to test whether or not you simply felt obligated to stay here because you had no other options.
[ he responds flatly despite the couch shifting next to him, signaling that kaveh had decided to sit; despite the soft touch of the blonde's hand against his knee which he desperately tries to ignore. alhaitham still doesn't look towards him, like he knows that his own eyes give away far more than they usually do and that's uncomfortable, far too vulnerable for someone who'd built their entire existence around being unaffected.
kaveh's question, however, is ridiculous. the scribe pauses before finishing his glass, staring at the empty vessel for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table. ]
Why would that be the conclusion you drew from that? [ a rough voice murmurs, his tone edged with husk from the hard liquor and fatigue. the dark circles underneath his eyes already gave that away. ] Did I give any indication to that end?
[ with a tired sigh, alhaitham leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs, muscular form hunched. was there even any point in trying to talk through this now, when the damage had already been done? he'd already resigned himself to grieving, a process he was distantly familiar with, and he'd come to terms with kaveh's departure - at least, in a functional sense. ]
But, if you really need confirmation? No, it wasn't. [ if only the alcohol could do a better job of numbing - but some hurt was too deep to run from. ] I paid it off because I knew it bothered you. Knew living here bothered you.
It was to test whether or not you simply felt obligated to stay here because you had no other options.
[ You do lie, Kaveh wants to say, at least to me. You lied to me when you said you were fine, you lied to me when you said you don't know which piece of mine this is— you're lying now— But in truth, this argument is one where being right or wrong doesn't matter, in the long run. What matters is that Alhaitham is honest about this at the very least, that he tells the truth about this even if he wants to lie about everything else. And Kaveh is prepared for any answer, is steady and sure and ready to hear anything that the scribe might have to say—
Except in the end, he's not ready at all.
He makes it through the questioning in silence, eyes closed against the stinging. The fingers not resting on Alhaitham's leg tighten at his own side in response to the confirmation of the other's intent, the understanding that he read too far into actions that took him by surprise and caused hurt to them both— but he makes it through the admission with a press of his teeth into his lower lip.
But then Alhaitham says that it was a test, and Kaveh's entire world shatters under him. His breath catches in a sudden sob, his eyes flying open once more as his heart seizes in his chest.
Gods, he's never been more the fool—
Trembling hands reach out, snatching up the paper from the table once more, almost throwing it in Alhaitham's lap this time. ]
Does this look like the work of someone who feels obligated? [ The words come out, rough and broken, between snatches of breath. ] I designed this for us, Alhaitham, there's even— there are even bedrooms for kids because— because I love you, and I know it's way too soon to think about any of that stuff but I want to get old with you, and raise a family with you, and—
[ His fingers clench again, crumpling the paper beyond repair in one corner, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get some semblance of control over his voice. ]
But I thought— You paid it off so suddenly, and you didn't tell me about it, and— Archons, Alhaitham, I fucked everything up—
[ And perhaps later, he'll address the questions from earlier— why he drew that conclusion, why he felt that Alhaitham was giving such an indication. Perhaps later, there's something to be said about testing, about how Alhaitham needs to learn to trust Kaveh and his feelings in the same way that Kaveh needs to learn not to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Perhaps later, Kaveh can explain that he will always, always fail any test Alhaitham gives him because he'll always put what he thinks the other man wants ahead of his own desires.
But right now he can't bring himself to think of that, not when the only thing on his mind is how badly he's messed up, how he's hurt the other man by jumping to conclusions. ]
I thought for sure you were tired of this. Tired of me. So I— I said I'd move out— [ The sound on his lips as he cuts his sentence in half is nothing short of anguished, and he presses the heels of both hands against his eyes, his body hunching over in much the same way Alhaitham's is. His voice, when he speaks again, is a whisper: ] I'm so sorry.
Except in the end, he's not ready at all.
He makes it through the questioning in silence, eyes closed against the stinging. The fingers not resting on Alhaitham's leg tighten at his own side in response to the confirmation of the other's intent, the understanding that he read too far into actions that took him by surprise and caused hurt to them both— but he makes it through the admission with a press of his teeth into his lower lip.
But then Alhaitham says that it was a test, and Kaveh's entire world shatters under him. His breath catches in a sudden sob, his eyes flying open once more as his heart seizes in his chest.
Gods, he's never been more the fool—
Trembling hands reach out, snatching up the paper from the table once more, almost throwing it in Alhaitham's lap this time. ]
Does this look like the work of someone who feels obligated? [ The words come out, rough and broken, between snatches of breath. ] I designed this for us, Alhaitham, there's even— there are even bedrooms for kids because— because I love you, and I know it's way too soon to think about any of that stuff but I want to get old with you, and raise a family with you, and—
[ His fingers clench again, crumpling the paper beyond repair in one corner, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get some semblance of control over his voice. ]
But I thought— You paid it off so suddenly, and you didn't tell me about it, and— Archons, Alhaitham, I fucked everything up—
[ And perhaps later, he'll address the questions from earlier— why he drew that conclusion, why he felt that Alhaitham was giving such an indication. Perhaps later, there's something to be said about testing, about how Alhaitham needs to learn to trust Kaveh and his feelings in the same way that Kaveh needs to learn not to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Perhaps later, Kaveh can explain that he will always, always fail any test Alhaitham gives him because he'll always put what he thinks the other man wants ahead of his own desires.
But right now he can't bring himself to think of that, not when the only thing on his mind is how badly he's messed up, how he's hurt the other man by jumping to conclusions. ]
I thought for sure you were tired of this. Tired of me. So I— I said I'd move out— [ The sound on his lips as he cuts his sentence in half is nothing short of anguished, and he presses the heels of both hands against his eyes, his body hunching over in much the same way Alhaitham's is. His voice, when he speaks again, is a whisper: ] I'm so sorry.
[ this time he does actually cast his eyes down towards the plans that are thrust into his lap, though it's more of a cursory glance - alhaitham had read it all hours earlier, body tense and fingers crumpled into the paper as he'd skimmed over the thin blue lines and cursive notes. handwriting he'd gotten used to reading because kaveh was the sort of person who'd leave scribblings everywhere, jotting things down as inspiration struck no matter whether it was genius or nonsense.
however, he hadn't been prepared for what he'd picked up. alhaitham had assumed it'd just be another one of kaveh's many projects, client or otherwise, not - well, not a window into what had been going through the blonde's mind (at the time). he hadn't been prepared for the sheer amount of thought that had obviously gone into the design, especially since he'd been reading it after their relationship had all but split into a wide divide.
he hadn't been prepared for how much it had surprisingly, agonisingly, hopelessly hurt, either.
to have something within his grasp that he'd only experienced the fringes of or read about; to have some semblance of belonging and stability that was borne out of work other than his own. and - and, when kaveh mentions children of all things - not something that alhaitham had thought about in any detail because even the thought of a family was almost beyond his grasp and understanding - the scribe actually takes the battered roll of paper and unfurls it, looking over it again wordlessly even though he'd already memorised the contents.
the alcohol coursing through his system was so potent that his vision is almost swimming, but looking at the paper is an escape from meeting kaveh's eyes and giving away how disgustingly vulnerable he feels - so he just listens. reads. digests these... significant developments while trying to keep his emotions in check.
had they simply misunderstood each other again? was this damage irrevocable, or was there something to be salvaged if kaveh actually saw this - these four walls he'd drawn down in pencil on paper - in their future?
archons, his head is killing him and alhaitham knows that whatever he says next is probably going to be significant, but he's all out of fancy words and the sheer shift that he's been presented with would be fairly staggering for him even if he were sober. ]
A family.
[ is all he repeats to begin with, like the words were alien on his tongue. the scribe looks and sounds like absolute shit, but there's consideration in his tired voice as he seeks some comfort in things he actually understands - engineering, diagrams, sketches, paper.
even if they meant something emotionally significant, it was still solace.
some silence passes between the two as they sit side by side hunched over in a similar defeated fashion, alhaitham unsure in his drunken state what exactly to do next. the hurt in kaveh's voice still makes his heart twist even though he'd thought he'd closed himself off to that after his departure, and part of him desperately wants to reach over and fold into his arms the man that was his. had been. is?
he doesn't know. ]
Ironic. For perhaps the first time, I was disappointed that I thought I'd been proven right. [ he murmurs, fingers of his right hand tracing over some of the specifications kaveh had written - some details about acoustic soundproofing in the study he'd drawn for him, because if anything proved that he knew alhaitham better than anyone else, it was the house in this diagram. ] What could make you think I was tired of this? Of you?
You know I'm not good at this kind of thing. Unsurprising that it ended up like this.
however, he hadn't been prepared for what he'd picked up. alhaitham had assumed it'd just be another one of kaveh's many projects, client or otherwise, not - well, not a window into what had been going through the blonde's mind (at the time). he hadn't been prepared for the sheer amount of thought that had obviously gone into the design, especially since he'd been reading it after their relationship had all but split into a wide divide.
he hadn't been prepared for how much it had surprisingly, agonisingly, hopelessly hurt, either.
to have something within his grasp that he'd only experienced the fringes of or read about; to have some semblance of belonging and stability that was borne out of work other than his own. and - and, when kaveh mentions children of all things - not something that alhaitham had thought about in any detail because even the thought of a family was almost beyond his grasp and understanding - the scribe actually takes the battered roll of paper and unfurls it, looking over it again wordlessly even though he'd already memorised the contents.
the alcohol coursing through his system was so potent that his vision is almost swimming, but looking at the paper is an escape from meeting kaveh's eyes and giving away how disgustingly vulnerable he feels - so he just listens. reads. digests these... significant developments while trying to keep his emotions in check.
had they simply misunderstood each other again? was this damage irrevocable, or was there something to be salvaged if kaveh actually saw this - these four walls he'd drawn down in pencil on paper - in their future?
archons, his head is killing him and alhaitham knows that whatever he says next is probably going to be significant, but he's all out of fancy words and the sheer shift that he's been presented with would be fairly staggering for him even if he were sober. ]
A family.
[ is all he repeats to begin with, like the words were alien on his tongue. the scribe looks and sounds like absolute shit, but there's consideration in his tired voice as he seeks some comfort in things he actually understands - engineering, diagrams, sketches, paper.
even if they meant something emotionally significant, it was still solace.
some silence passes between the two as they sit side by side hunched over in a similar defeated fashion, alhaitham unsure in his drunken state what exactly to do next. the hurt in kaveh's voice still makes his heart twist even though he'd thought he'd closed himself off to that after his departure, and part of him desperately wants to reach over and fold into his arms the man that was his. had been. is?
he doesn't know. ]
Ironic. For perhaps the first time, I was disappointed that I thought I'd been proven right. [ he murmurs, fingers of his right hand tracing over some of the specifications kaveh had written - some details about acoustic soundproofing in the study he'd drawn for him, because if anything proved that he knew alhaitham better than anyone else, it was the house in this diagram. ] What could make you think I was tired of this? Of you?
You know I'm not good at this kind of thing. Unsurprising that it ended up like this.
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