[ If he were to be asked about it later, Kaveh would admit he has no idea if the ability to sense a Vision's activation is something native to those who possess their own, or if he is simply so attuned to Alhaitham that the change in the air is palpable. In the end, perhaps it doesn't matter, because the end result is the same: the architect's thoughts go from anger to concern, a widening of his crimson eyes as they flit back to his partner. Don't, he wants to say, don't get yourself kicked out of the Akademiya on my account; he's not worth it, but the words are trapped under the shameful reminder that all of this is only happening because he was a coward, because he played stupid games in an attempt to draw the scribe's attention to him. And it worked, but apparently some of the side-effects are much less pleasing.
His fault.
A softer, sterner voice at the back of his mind, though, reminds him that none of any of that gives this man the allowance to do any of the things he's done tonight. That he kept pushing after being turned down. That he touched when Kaveh was giving him no indication whatsoever that it was okay for him to do so. That he deliberately waited until the architect was alone. That none of that is on Kaveh. A stern voice that at least for now is able to talk down the rising gourd of shame and self-blame.
(A voice that, if he stopped to listen to it more thoroughly, he would realize sounds remarkably like Alhaitham.)
He's quick to follow as the scribe practically throws the man out of the main room, placing himself as carefully as he can in the archway that connects it to the hallway, attempting to block the sight of any nosy onlookers from seeing something he already knows is not going to be even remotely pretty—
A good thing too, is the dazed thought in his mind just moments later, as his would-be one-night-stand splutters in Alhaitham's direction, starts a verbal assault only to find himself thrown back and down by the force of the scribe's punch. His nose immediately begins to purple, crimson blood running down and over his lips— broken nose, the architect thinks— but it does nothing to mollify him as he starts to stagger back to his feet, the movements limp and shaky, voice rich with anger as he starts howling that how dare he, he'll have Alhaitham's job— ]
Alhaitham. [ Kaveh finally finds his own voice, hands trembling as they reach to grip the other's arm, a hold surprisingly strong despite the shake, despite the fact that his words are hushed and tripping over his lips. ] Don't. He's not worth risking your job.
[ And he's answered by the man on the floor, a low chuckle that sounds almost like a groan of pain, a knowing look levied at the pair despite the rivulets of crimson trickling over his mouth. There's a grin, something cold and angry and stained with red before he spits at the floor to clear his mouth enough to speak. "I get it now. You'll link yourself to whomever you need to for the renown, won't you?" Another laugh, another glob of red-stained saliva aimed at Kaveh's feet. "What a slut." ]
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His fault.
A softer, sterner voice at the back of his mind, though, reminds him that none of any of that gives this man the allowance to do any of the things he's done tonight. That he kept pushing after being turned down. That he touched when Kaveh was giving him no indication whatsoever that it was okay for him to do so. That he deliberately waited until the architect was alone. That none of that is on Kaveh. A stern voice that at least for now is able to talk down the rising gourd of shame and self-blame.
(A voice that, if he stopped to listen to it more thoroughly, he would realize sounds remarkably like Alhaitham.)
He's quick to follow as the scribe practically throws the man out of the main room, placing himself as carefully as he can in the archway that connects it to the hallway, attempting to block the sight of any nosy onlookers from seeing something he already knows is not going to be even remotely pretty—
A good thing too, is the dazed thought in his mind just moments later, as his would-be one-night-stand splutters in Alhaitham's direction, starts a verbal assault only to find himself thrown back and down by the force of the scribe's punch. His nose immediately begins to purple, crimson blood running down and over his lips— broken nose, the architect thinks— but it does nothing to mollify him as he starts to stagger back to his feet, the movements limp and shaky, voice rich with anger as he starts howling that how dare he, he'll have Alhaitham's job— ]
Alhaitham. [ Kaveh finally finds his own voice, hands trembling as they reach to grip the other's arm, a hold surprisingly strong despite the shake, despite the fact that his words are hushed and tripping over his lips. ] Don't. He's not worth risking your job.
[ And he's answered by the man on the floor, a low chuckle that sounds almost like a groan of pain, a knowing look levied at the pair despite the rivulets of crimson trickling over his mouth. There's a grin, something cold and angry and stained with red before he spits at the floor to clear his mouth enough to speak. "I get it now. You'll link yourself to whomever you need to for the renown, won't you?" Another laugh, another glob of red-stained saliva aimed at Kaveh's feet. "What a slut." ]