[ The relief that settles in Kaveh's chest, as those arms circle him and pull him tight and close, is profound— so much so that he forgets even to be surprised by the suddenness of the move. His breath catches in his throat, and when Alhaitham's face presses into his shoulder, so too does Kaveh's find the top of the other's head, leaving soft kisses and saltwater in soft silver strands. They can talk about it, Alhaitham agrees, and Kaveh's heart sings in answer. Despite everything, they're going to be okay. A hole opened up over the past week is papered shut again— there is work to be done, structural support to be fixed and strengthened, but for now, it's enough.
The minutes tick by, and Kaveh, who's usually so restless, who's used to marking each moment as an eternity, barely notices, so caught up is he in the feel of those arms, the sound of Alhaitham's breathing, the scent of sandalwood tickling his nose in pair with the sharp fragrance of the alcohol. His arms circle the other's waist in return, holding him close, and for the first time in the whole week, he feels as if he can relax, as if everything's going to be alright.
His grip doesn't loosen until he feels the slight slackening of Alhaitham's muscles, until the younger's breathing evens out against the crook of his neck, and suddenly Kaveh realizes he's exhausted. ]
Come on— [ he murmurs, shifting his weight so that he can stand, so he can pull the other man with him ] —let's get you to bed, Haitham. [ The nickname, affectionate and tender, something he's not sure he's ever said before, slips without him even realizing it.
Gathering Alhaitham into his arms as much as he possibly can— he's strong for his build, but he doesn't have the raw strength that his love has, that ability to hoist Kaveh into his hold like he weighs nothing— he half-carries, half-drags him from the couch to his bed and lays him out, crimson eyes soft with unshed tears and fondness alike. How could he have let it get this bad between them, he wonders, promises vaguely not to do it again—
Archons, he's tired.
Alhaitham's figure looks inviting, but it almost feels wrong to take advantage of that fact, and so Kaveh's ready to pull away, lifting himself back from the other— and finding himself quickly locked in by the strength of those arms, not willing to let him go even in the relaxation of sleep. (He's glad Alhaitham can't see his face, because it crumples at that, at the reminder of how badly he's hurt the other man, at the knowledge of how much he's going to have to do to make it up, to fix this.) And maybe he's selfish, but he's too tired to fight it— it's easy for Kaveh to lower his body, to lie alongside the other, to press his face into Alhaitham's shoulder with a sigh.
So tired.
He falls asleep in record time, tears drying in the fabric of the other man's shirt. ]
no subject
The minutes tick by, and Kaveh, who's usually so restless, who's used to marking each moment as an eternity, barely notices, so caught up is he in the feel of those arms, the sound of Alhaitham's breathing, the scent of sandalwood tickling his nose in pair with the sharp fragrance of the alcohol. His arms circle the other's waist in return, holding him close, and for the first time in the whole week, he feels as if he can relax, as if everything's going to be alright.
His grip doesn't loosen until he feels the slight slackening of Alhaitham's muscles, until the younger's breathing evens out against the crook of his neck, and suddenly Kaveh realizes he's exhausted. ]
Come on— [ he murmurs, shifting his weight so that he can stand, so he can pull the other man with him ] —let's get you to bed, Haitham. [ The nickname, affectionate and tender, something he's not sure he's ever said before, slips without him even realizing it.
Gathering Alhaitham into his arms as much as he possibly can— he's strong for his build, but he doesn't have the raw strength that his love has, that ability to hoist Kaveh into his hold like he weighs nothing— he half-carries, half-drags him from the couch to his bed and lays him out, crimson eyes soft with unshed tears and fondness alike. How could he have let it get this bad between them, he wonders, promises vaguely not to do it again—
Archons, he's tired.
Alhaitham's figure looks inviting, but it almost feels wrong to take advantage of that fact, and so Kaveh's ready to pull away, lifting himself back from the other— and finding himself quickly locked in by the strength of those arms, not willing to let him go even in the relaxation of sleep. (He's glad Alhaitham can't see his face, because it crumples at that, at the reminder of how badly he's hurt the other man, at the knowledge of how much he's going to have to do to make it up, to fix this.) And maybe he's selfish, but he's too tired to fight it— it's easy for Kaveh to lower his body, to lie alongside the other, to press his face into Alhaitham's shoulder with a sigh.
So tired.
He falls asleep in record time, tears drying in the fabric of the other man's shirt. ]