[ In the face of the repeated words, Kaveh's calm mask slips a little, revealing for just a moment the fear underneath, the worry that he's somehow pushed it too far already; but then Alhaitham's hand overs his and the sigh on his lips is one of relief, the emotion washing into his expression as the scribe talks, as his hand turns under the other's to loop their fingers together, an almost absent-minded action as he listens to his explanation.
He wonders if he should wind that back, tell the scribe that really, the title doesn't matter so much, that he wants Alhaitham to be comfortable more than anything else in an emotional place where he's very likely not, that what he calls him is secondary or even tertiary in importance when compared to that. But as is so often the case of late, he's stopped in his tracks by what the scribe says next, and if his heart skipped a beat before, this time it misses an entire rhythm, and his hand absently lifts to his chest as his lips part in shock, as a tell-tale sheen of wetness glosses over his eyes.
He stares for a second or two before standing, the movement abrupt, leaning over Alhaitham in the next moment and pressing a brief kiss against his mouth, firm and insistent. And when he pulls away, it's only just, hovering close and shaking his head as if doing so will force the tears to disappear, because really, of all the times to start crying... ]
Either you're secretly a romantic, or all that linguistics training gave you a really unfair advantage, because that was the most beautiful thing I think I've ever heard you say.
no subject
[ In the face of the repeated words, Kaveh's calm mask slips a little, revealing for just a moment the fear underneath, the worry that he's somehow pushed it too far already; but then Alhaitham's hand overs his and the sigh on his lips is one of relief, the emotion washing into his expression as the scribe talks, as his hand turns under the other's to loop their fingers together, an almost absent-minded action as he listens to his explanation.
He wonders if he should wind that back, tell the scribe that really, the title doesn't matter so much, that he wants Alhaitham to be comfortable more than anything else in an emotional place where he's very likely not, that what he calls him is secondary or even tertiary in importance when compared to that. But as is so often the case of late, he's stopped in his tracks by what the scribe says next, and if his heart skipped a beat before, this time it misses an entire rhythm, and his hand absently lifts to his chest as his lips part in shock, as a tell-tale sheen of wetness glosses over his eyes.
He stares for a second or two before standing, the movement abrupt, leaning over Alhaitham in the next moment and pressing a brief kiss against his mouth, firm and insistent. And when he pulls away, it's only just, hovering close and shaking his head as if doing so will force the tears to disappear, because really, of all the times to start crying... ]
Either you're secretly a romantic, or all that linguistics training gave you a really unfair advantage, because that was the most beautiful thing I think I've ever heard you say.