[ Despite himself, the surprise shows all too clearly on his face when Alhaitham points out that Nasser was practically all over him. In his mind, the other scholar really was just doing what it took to appear friendly and supportive of someone whose favor within the Akademiya had started to become more prominent. Characterless and insipid that other man may be, the scribe's words and tone in regards to him are rich with jealousy; Kaveh is certain he's reading too much into it.
Besides, he's not being naïve! Didn't he just tell Alhaitham that he knows exactly what Nasser is doing, trying to get into his good graces like that? Despite the funk in which he's just landed himself, despite his partner's attention shifting to something comforting— through, of course, a lens of stern neutrality— that accusation is still enough to make his brows twitch with displeasure, irritation crossing his expression as he's gently pulled into the other's hold.
(And he should care, shouldn't he, that the other is holding him closer than he should? It could cause Alhaitham trouble, could raise questions in the future of bias or favoritism...)
He shuffles in closer, leans his head into the other's broad shoulders, eyes closing in a quiet content at the motion even as his brain works through a thousand different frustrating things. So many things he wants to say, to argue, to point out, thoughts and feelings temporarily lost in the gorge of shame having risen to the back of his throat, choking him despite the other's words of reassurance. ]
That's not true, Alhaitham. [ His voice is quiet, muffled against Alhaitham's shirt, but lucid and strong. ] They're all here for the same reason: to make themselves look good in the eyes of the others. They want to be recognized, maybe make a play for the position of sage, or at least get in good with the person who ends up with the job. I'm not naïve, I know what they want and why they're playing nice, but— [ He pulls back a little, straightens up to look back up at the other man, meeting his eyes despite the obvious remorse burning in his own. ] Isn't that why I'm here too? How can you say there's no comparison—?
[ And of course, if he would look at it from Alhaitham's perspective, surely even he would see that he says there's no comparison because there's not, because he is naĂŻve, because he doesn't understand just how far some of these men would push compared to him, ambitions hidden under honeyed words and broad smiles that are more selfish and dishonest than anything he ever could have imagined.
He should trust the other man, but at his heart he wants to believe people are good, doesn't he?
Besides, right now all he can really think about is the fact that he's doing a damned good job of ruining this party by getting in his own head. The same way he always does. ]
Sorry. We should— we should go back to the others, right?
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Besides, he's not being naïve! Didn't he just tell Alhaitham that he knows exactly what Nasser is doing, trying to get into his good graces like that? Despite the funk in which he's just landed himself, despite his partner's attention shifting to something comforting— through, of course, a lens of stern neutrality— that accusation is still enough to make his brows twitch with displeasure, irritation crossing his expression as he's gently pulled into the other's hold.
(And he should care, shouldn't he, that the other is holding him closer than he should? It could cause Alhaitham trouble, could raise questions in the future of bias or favoritism...)
He shuffles in closer, leans his head into the other's broad shoulders, eyes closing in a quiet content at the motion even as his brain works through a thousand different frustrating things. So many things he wants to say, to argue, to point out, thoughts and feelings temporarily lost in the gorge of shame having risen to the back of his throat, choking him despite the other's words of reassurance. ]
That's not true, Alhaitham. [ His voice is quiet, muffled against Alhaitham's shirt, but lucid and strong. ] They're all here for the same reason: to make themselves look good in the eyes of the others. They want to be recognized, maybe make a play for the position of sage, or at least get in good with the person who ends up with the job. I'm not naïve, I know what they want and why they're playing nice, but— [ He pulls back a little, straightens up to look back up at the other man, meeting his eyes despite the obvious remorse burning in his own. ] Isn't that why I'm here too? How can you say there's no comparison—?
[ And of course, if he would look at it from Alhaitham's perspective, surely even he would see that he says there's no comparison because there's not, because he is naĂŻve, because he doesn't understand just how far some of these men would push compared to him, ambitions hidden under honeyed words and broad smiles that are more selfish and dishonest than anything he ever could have imagined.
He should trust the other man, but at his heart he wants to believe people are good, doesn't he?
Besides, right now all he can really think about is the fact that he's doing a damned good job of ruining this party by getting in his own head. The same way he always does. ]
Sorry. We should— we should go back to the others, right?