[ For a few moments, Kaveh probably looks like a fish, hunched over as he is: his lips part, and then snap shut, and then part again, and then fall closed once more. For as few words as there are finding their way to Alhaitham's tongue, he has answers for each and every one of them, explanations and tears to shed,
(A family. Waking up together to the sound of their child— children, he thinks, wouldn't two be perfect— one silver-haired and playing with blocks or pets, one with his own blonde sitting on the couch and reading in a figure too like their other father for Kaveh to handle the cuteness. Waking up on some mornings instead to someone buried between them, waiting to be comforted after a nightmare, Kaveh shushing and comforting and soothing while Alhaitham reminds them in that ever-calm voice of his that nightmares are only visions and nothing to truly fear. Breakfasts: scrambled eggs on toast for one, fruit for the other, an echo of their parents, of Alhaitham's nose wrinkling when he gets Kaveh's fruit-laden plate by mistake—)
but Alhaitham is drunk, and Kaveh is exhausted, and the small part of him with any logical wisdom left is insistent that this is a conversation best saved for later, when they can talk this out with some degree of sense and sensibility for each others' thoughts and feelings.
And right now, he just needs to cry himself hoarse. How could he have fucked this up so badly?
(But how could Alhaitham not be tired of him? Alhaitham, whose fingers trace over the carefully scribbled notes about the soundproofing of the study Kaveh dreamed for him, Alhaitham who needs quiet and peace and all those things Kaveh is not, all those things a family could never be. Kaveh, who speaks too easily of his love and selfishly invades all of Alhaitham's space, taking as much of him as he can get and not always remembering to give back. Kaveh, who wondered for years why Alhaitham may have offered this living space to him, a chip on his shoulder far from cured by their falling together as they did. Kaveh, who is so terribly afraid in his heart of hearts of being left alone yet again that even the briefest thought of it had him running, hurting before he could be hurt. Alhaitham, who tested him— Alhaitham, who perhaps harbors some of those same fears, even if he'll never admit to them.)
Long fingers reach past the edge of the paper, tentative but determined, curling around those that trace across the page. ]
This doesn't have to be the end. [ His voice is shakier than he wants it to be, trembling over each word, leaving each syllable hanging in the air for a moment too long. ] We can talk about it— we should talk about it. But not like this, not when you're drunk— [ and not when Kaveh is so emotional that every word he says threatens to bring about an unceasing stream of tears. ] If I stay here, I— can we talk about it, Alhaitham?
no subject
(A family. Waking up together to the sound of their child— children, he thinks, wouldn't two be perfect— one silver-haired and playing with blocks or pets, one with his own blonde sitting on the couch and reading in a figure too like their other father for Kaveh to handle the cuteness. Waking up on some mornings instead to someone buried between them, waiting to be comforted after a nightmare, Kaveh shushing and comforting and soothing while Alhaitham reminds them in that ever-calm voice of his that nightmares are only visions and nothing to truly fear. Breakfasts: scrambled eggs on toast for one, fruit for the other, an echo of their parents, of Alhaitham's nose wrinkling when he gets Kaveh's fruit-laden plate by mistake—)
but Alhaitham is drunk, and Kaveh is exhausted, and the small part of him with any logical wisdom left is insistent that this is a conversation best saved for later, when they can talk this out with some degree of sense and sensibility for each others' thoughts and feelings.
And right now, he just needs to cry himself hoarse. How could he have fucked this up so badly?
(But how could Alhaitham not be tired of him? Alhaitham, whose fingers trace over the carefully scribbled notes about the soundproofing of the study Kaveh dreamed for him, Alhaitham who needs quiet and peace and all those things Kaveh is not, all those things a family could never be. Kaveh, who speaks too easily of his love and selfishly invades all of Alhaitham's space, taking as much of him as he can get and not always remembering to give back. Kaveh, who wondered for years why Alhaitham may have offered this living space to him, a chip on his shoulder far from cured by their falling together as they did. Kaveh, who is so terribly afraid in his heart of hearts of being left alone yet again that even the briefest thought of it had him running, hurting before he could be hurt. Alhaitham, who tested him— Alhaitham, who perhaps harbors some of those same fears, even if he'll never admit to them.)
Long fingers reach past the edge of the paper, tentative but determined, curling around those that trace across the page. ]
This doesn't have to be the end. [ His voice is shakier than he wants it to be, trembling over each word, leaving each syllable hanging in the air for a moment too long. ] We can talk about it— we should talk about it. But not like this, not when you're drunk— [ and not when Kaveh is so emotional that every word he says threatens to bring about an unceasing stream of tears. ] If I stay here, I— can we talk about it, Alhaitham?