[ But Kaveh once again cuts himself off, not in pain this time but because something inside him registers dimly that he can't just keep yelling his feelings when the other man is drunk and hurting, can't just keep getting more and more wound up until he can no longer make himself clear. Especially when the emotion crept into Alhaitham's voice belies feelings he knows the scribe would rather keep hidden, he needs to keep his head together now more than ever—
Trembling fingers place the offending image on the table. He's afraid, like he's never been before, to put his feelings into the space between them, to seek answers that might only serve to hurt him more in the long run. Not to mention that to do so is to risk deepening the chasm between them until there's no hope of recovery. If he's wrong—
But he's not wrong. He can't be, not when Alhaitham's voice hurts in consonance with his heart. When the other is drinking sorrows in alcohol in a way far too like his own bad habits. When everything in the house feels out of kilter and wrong, and not just because some pieces of furniture and paraphernalia are missing.
His breath shudders. ]
I want— I want you to stop lying to me. [ His voice, usually so melodic and strident, is soft to the point it nears a whisper, and he dares to sit by the other's side on the sofa, to reach out once more, long fingers curving gentle over the jut of a knee. ] I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but— but I can see through you anyway, so—
[ His eyes drop, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get his own emotions under some semblance of control. ]
When you paid off my debt to Dori... was it because you wanted me to leave?
[ Whatever the answer... whatever Alhaitham says, he can take it. ]
no subject
[ But Kaveh once again cuts himself off, not in pain this time but because something inside him registers dimly that he can't just keep yelling his feelings when the other man is drunk and hurting, can't just keep getting more and more wound up until he can no longer make himself clear. Especially when the emotion crept into Alhaitham's voice belies feelings he knows the scribe would rather keep hidden, he needs to keep his head together now more than ever—
Trembling fingers place the offending image on the table. He's afraid, like he's never been before, to put his feelings into the space between them, to seek answers that might only serve to hurt him more in the long run. Not to mention that to do so is to risk deepening the chasm between them until there's no hope of recovery. If he's wrong—
But he's not wrong. He can't be, not when Alhaitham's voice hurts in consonance with his heart. When the other is drinking sorrows in alcohol in a way far too like his own bad habits. When everything in the house feels out of kilter and wrong, and not just because some pieces of furniture and paraphernalia are missing.
His breath shudders. ]
I want— I want you to stop lying to me. [ His voice, usually so melodic and strident, is soft to the point it nears a whisper, and he dares to sit by the other's side on the sofa, to reach out once more, long fingers curving gentle over the jut of a knee. ] I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but— but I can see through you anyway, so—
[ His eyes drop, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get his own emotions under some semblance of control. ]
When you paid off my debt to Dori... was it because you wanted me to leave?
[ Whatever the answer... whatever Alhaitham says, he can take it. ]