[ If he were thinking in any sort of rational manner at this point, it might occur to Kaveh that the scribe, just like him, is being defensive, is choosing his words out of self-protection more than a desire to hurt. But he's all emotion right now, no logic, no capability to see past the way the words sound on Alhaitham's lips, accusatory tone throwing the architect's rejection right back at him. To him, "I was talking about you" hints at something the scribe is already feeling based on his own earlier words, that the other feels as if none of the time spent between them has been worth anything at all. And that hurts more than he likes to admitβ even though he himself is guilty of implying the exact same thing literally moments before.
The thing is though that Kaveh knows he doesn't mean it. Alhaitham's thoughts, as always, are a complete fucking mystery.
...Or maybe not, because the blonde definitely doesn't expect that happens next. Do you hate me? Alhaitham asks, and ruby eyes widen, looking back up from the floor to meet the scribe's gaze, confusion written over his own expression at the vulnerability edging into the other man's voice, and for a second his mouth hangs open inelegantly, because what?
Of course he doesn't hate Alhaitham, is the immediate concession in his own mind. After all, as much as he likes to claim he has nowhere else to go, as much as he finds himself embarrassed and indignant about the fact that he's living here, the scribe was still the person he asked when he found himself in this pitiful situation. He's the one he seeks out when he needs or wants information, even though he knows the other's reply is destined to piss him the fuck off.
No, he doesn't hate him. If anything, it's the opposite. Heβ ]
Fuck.
[ That's not an answer. That's not even remotely an answer to a question like that, and he's vaguely aware of that. But right now he's staring, eyes wide and mouth gaping, and his tongue seems to be refusing to form even a single additional word. ]
no subject
The thing is though that Kaveh knows he doesn't mean it. Alhaitham's thoughts, as always, are a complete fucking mystery.
...Or maybe not, because the blonde definitely doesn't expect that happens next. Do you hate me? Alhaitham asks, and ruby eyes widen, looking back up from the floor to meet the scribe's gaze, confusion written over his own expression at the vulnerability edging into the other man's voice, and for a second his mouth hangs open inelegantly, because what?
Of course he doesn't hate Alhaitham, is the immediate concession in his own mind. After all, as much as he likes to claim he has nowhere else to go, as much as he finds himself embarrassed and indignant about the fact that he's living here, the scribe was still the person he asked when he found himself in this pitiful situation. He's the one he seeks out when he needs or wants information, even though he knows the other's reply is destined to piss him the fuck off.
No, he doesn't hate him. If anything, it's the opposite. Heβ ]
Fuck.
[ That's not an answer. That's not even remotely an answer to a question like that, and he's vaguely aware of that. But right now he's staring, eyes wide and mouth gaping, and his tongue seems to be refusing to form even a single additional word. ]