Of course I need to worry! [ are the words Kaveh shoots back immediately, his voice rich and full with emotion, his hand falling uselessly back to his side. ] I love—
[ But he cuts himself off, head turning away from a gaze that won't even meet his, eyes closing in painful reminder. He's not allowed to say that anymore, is he? Obviously, that momentary, hopeful doubt was wrong— Alhaitham does want this, wants to push him away and make him leave; look at how quickly he's already hidden all of his things, put them away where he doesn't have to see them, doesn't have to be reminded of that one pathetic leech that doesn't know how to let him go. ]
...Alright. Fine.
[ Fine. Alhaitham says he doesn't need to worry? He won't. He came here to stop moping, didn't he? He came to pack up his things and move on, damnit, he doesn't need this. So, with unsteady steps of his own, he backs up, blinking against the mutinous stinging of his eyes, moving toward the hallway that leads to his room; he pauses only to pick up the blueprint on which his eyes fell before, trained eyes scanning the design of his own making.
For a moment, he forgets to be upset— instead, a warmth overtakes him for a breath, a fondness as he looks over each of the features in turn. The only thing he can think is that it's good this was left here, that it wasn't with him on the day this all happened, because in his rage he may have torn it up like did that one paper over which they fell out the first time. And it's good, he thinks, that it wasn't lost. Because it's beautiful, perhaps the most lovely thing he's ever dared to design, with a shared bedroom for the two of them and study rooms both individual and shared, all carefully and lovingly labeled. Others too, not labeled lest the dreamer let his fantasies get too out of hand, guest rooms by rights but reserved in his mind for a child, or children—
A heavy tear drops on the paper before Kaveh even realizes he's crying, smudging the graphite on the page. Kids, because he saw a future here, a future he's somehow lost to a potentiality that he can't even begin to understand. The whole thing makes him want to just pick up a bottle of his own, and drink himself into oblivion, and— ]
Fuck.
[ Before Kaveh can even process the thought fully, he's whirling back to face Alhaitham, shirt flying in a trail through the air behind him, ruby eyes alight and burning with something angry and pained and fingers clenched white-knuckled on the blueprint, crumpling its corner under the pressure. ]
This is why you're drinking, isn't it? [ His voice cracks as he surges forward to make up the ground between them again, drawing him closer to the couch and almost shoving the paper toward the other man. ] Because of this?
no subject
[ But he cuts himself off, head turning away from a gaze that won't even meet his, eyes closing in painful reminder. He's not allowed to say that anymore, is he? Obviously, that momentary, hopeful doubt was wrong— Alhaitham does want this, wants to push him away and make him leave; look at how quickly he's already hidden all of his things, put them away where he doesn't have to see them, doesn't have to be reminded of that one pathetic leech that doesn't know how to let him go. ]
...Alright. Fine.
[ Fine. Alhaitham says he doesn't need to worry? He won't. He came here to stop moping, didn't he? He came to pack up his things and move on, damnit, he doesn't need this. So, with unsteady steps of his own, he backs up, blinking against the mutinous stinging of his eyes, moving toward the hallway that leads to his room; he pauses only to pick up the blueprint on which his eyes fell before, trained eyes scanning the design of his own making.
For a moment, he forgets to be upset— instead, a warmth overtakes him for a breath, a fondness as he looks over each of the features in turn. The only thing he can think is that it's good this was left here, that it wasn't with him on the day this all happened, because in his rage he may have torn it up like did that one paper over which they fell out the first time. And it's good, he thinks, that it wasn't lost. Because it's beautiful, perhaps the most lovely thing he's ever dared to design, with a shared bedroom for the two of them and study rooms both individual and shared, all carefully and lovingly labeled. Others too, not labeled lest the dreamer let his fantasies get too out of hand, guest rooms by rights but reserved in his mind for a child, or children—
A heavy tear drops on the paper before Kaveh even realizes he's crying, smudging the graphite on the page. Kids, because he saw a future here, a future he's somehow lost to a potentiality that he can't even begin to understand. The whole thing makes him want to just pick up a bottle of his own, and drink himself into oblivion, and— ]
Fuck.
[ Before Kaveh can even process the thought fully, he's whirling back to face Alhaitham, shirt flying in a trail through the air behind him, ruby eyes alight and burning with something angry and pained and fingers clenched white-knuckled on the blueprint, crumpling its corner under the pressure. ]
This is why you're drinking, isn't it? [ His voice cracks as he surges forward to make up the ground between them again, drawing him closer to the couch and almost shoving the paper toward the other man. ] Because of this?