[ The tears, in reality, are borne half of relief and the release of stress, half of the stress itself and the guilt and shame Kaveh's brain is trying to levy onto his heart. Of course, if Alhaitham were to ask, though, he'd claim them to be all good, all stress relief and affection for the scribe and the actions he took in his partner's defense. In the end though the question isn't asked, a teasing joke in his direction making up the most of the other's reply, a comforting assurance (paired with a devilish threat) forming the rest; Kaveh finds himself relaxing a little, grateful for the fact that the taller man hasn't chosen to focus his scholarly intent on the obvious emotion.
Despite the gratitude, though, he's sure to huff at the jab, to give Alhaitham a look as they separate, although it's edged with a soft smile that belies the truth of his feelings; as the scribe straightens his collar and fixes his hair, the sheen in Kaveh's eyes warms and fades, leaving only affection in its wake.
And where Alhaitham's fondness for him appears in the meticulous way he tidies his appearance, the promise that they can go home whenever Kaveh's ready— even though they both know it's not as simple as all that— the architect's is shown by a soft kiss pressed to the corner of those lips, a slight straightening of his figure so that he can press his forehead briefly to his partner's. ]
No more scenes, [ he says, and he hopes his voice is appropriately stern. ] I can hold out for a little while longer.
[ And hold out he does. The rest of the night goes by decently enough; while eyes are certainly turned their way upon their emergence from the side hall, Kaveh's social skills are enough that they're able to integrate themselves back in with the groups scattered around the room without too much trouble. Where questions are asked, the architect says only that the scholar in question was inappropriate in his actions, and that the matra would be dealing with it. And where suspicious gazes are levied at Alhaitham, the blonde is quick to explain he acted defensively, before— as smoothly as possible— finding a change of topic to get even the nosiest of academics focused on something else for a time. It's not exactly easy, but in the long run it feels like a success, Kaveh thinks.
Still, that doesn't mean that he's not exhausted by the time they finally make it through the door of Alhaitham's house; even the pleasant buzz of tipsiness can't hide it at this point, the careful mask he wears in public having slipped from his face.
(Not that that really matters, though; it's not a mask he wears at home, and even if he did he has the feeling Alhaitham would see right through it.)
When the door snicks closed behind them, he turns to face his partner, reaching without hesitation to wind arms around his shoulders, eyes closing as he slots himself in closer and pulls the scribe to him in the same movement. Too bad, he thinks, if Alhaitham wanted to move further into the house. He needs this right now. ]
no subject
Despite the gratitude, though, he's sure to huff at the jab, to give Alhaitham a look as they separate, although it's edged with a soft smile that belies the truth of his feelings; as the scribe straightens his collar and fixes his hair, the sheen in Kaveh's eyes warms and fades, leaving only affection in its wake.
And where Alhaitham's fondness for him appears in the meticulous way he tidies his appearance, the promise that they can go home whenever Kaveh's ready— even though they both know it's not as simple as all that— the architect's is shown by a soft kiss pressed to the corner of those lips, a slight straightening of his figure so that he can press his forehead briefly to his partner's. ]
No more scenes, [ he says, and he hopes his voice is appropriately stern. ] I can hold out for a little while longer.
[ And hold out he does. The rest of the night goes by decently enough; while eyes are certainly turned their way upon their emergence from the side hall, Kaveh's social skills are enough that they're able to integrate themselves back in with the groups scattered around the room without too much trouble. Where questions are asked, the architect says only that the scholar in question was inappropriate in his actions, and that the matra would be dealing with it. And where suspicious gazes are levied at Alhaitham, the blonde is quick to explain he acted defensively, before— as smoothly as possible— finding a change of topic to get even the nosiest of academics focused on something else for a time. It's not exactly easy, but in the long run it feels like a success, Kaveh thinks.
Still, that doesn't mean that he's not exhausted by the time they finally make it through the door of Alhaitham's house; even the pleasant buzz of tipsiness can't hide it at this point, the careful mask he wears in public having slipped from his face.
(Not that that really matters, though; it's not a mask he wears at home, and even if he did he has the feeling Alhaitham would see right through it.)
When the door snicks closed behind them, he turns to face his partner, reaching without hesitation to wind arms around his shoulders, eyes closing as he slots himself in closer and pulls the scribe to him in the same movement. Too bad, he thinks, if Alhaitham wanted to move further into the house. He needs this right now. ]