[ despite the tendrils of a powerful hangover sneaking into his mind, it's the best night of sleep alhaitham has gotten in the week since they'd parted ways at the akademiya. dreamless, but not in the corrupt sense of the past - rather the exhaustion was so thorough that even the scribe's mind was too tired to do much of anything else but rest, although there was a distant, comforting presence, a warmth that stayed alongside him through the night. he just wasn't fully aware that presence was actually kaveh, a prisoner to alhaitham's subconscious as the most instinctual part of his mind did its best to gather what it needed; reprieve. comfort. reassurance.
all things he'd never admit out loud and would brush off if ever asked, but the scribe's own body had betrayed him to speak for him.
that familiar warm feeling is why alhaitham is a little surprised to wake up to an empty bed - mm, the blonde's presence beside him at night had been something he'd gotten used to with a terrifying speed - but instead to the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee. with a quiet groan, he sits tenderly up in the bed as his sluggish mind starts ticking over again, the painful pounding behind his eyes all the reprimand he needed for thinking it was a good idea to drink so goddamn much last night. but, thankfully, he remembers everything up until - he assumes - he fell asleep on the couch or staggered in here.
sleep-glazed eyes glance at the coffee steaming away on the bedside table, one that couldn't have been made more than what, five, ten minutes ago? and there's a strange sense of deja vu spiked with irony that now he was on the receiving end of the hangover cure. it hadn't been more than two or three months since he'd been plying kaveh with a similar endlessly black brew as they'd stumbled over revelations and (sometimes poorly chosen) words together, and... well. the nostalgia, considering the door that had been re-opened last night, wasn't unpleasant.
the silver-haired man is just raising the cup to his lips and taking the world's longest sip as the object of said nostalgia re-enters the room, holding a coffee of his own. it's still a little odd to see him back in the house, even more so in alhaitham's bedroom considering the past week - but alcohol for the scribe does nothing for his confidence, only for his escape.
despite that, no words his mind can select seem good enough. evenly, his tired mind picks the most inoffensive opener he could think of; ]
Thanks for the coffee. [ but the habitual sass sneaks out anyway, because alhaitham is way too sore to resist. ] It's not terrible.
no subject
all things he'd never admit out loud and would brush off if ever asked, but the scribe's own body had betrayed him to speak for him.
that familiar warm feeling is why alhaitham is a little surprised to wake up to an empty bed - mm, the blonde's presence beside him at night had been something he'd gotten used to with a terrifying speed - but instead to the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee. with a quiet groan, he sits tenderly up in the bed as his sluggish mind starts ticking over again, the painful pounding behind his eyes all the reprimand he needed for thinking it was a good idea to drink so goddamn much last night. but, thankfully, he remembers everything up until - he assumes - he fell asleep on the couch or staggered in here.
sleep-glazed eyes glance at the coffee steaming away on the bedside table, one that couldn't have been made more than what, five, ten minutes ago? and there's a strange sense of deja vu spiked with irony that now he was on the receiving end of the hangover cure. it hadn't been more than two or three months since he'd been plying kaveh with a similar endlessly black brew as they'd stumbled over revelations and (sometimes poorly chosen) words together, and... well. the nostalgia, considering the door that had been re-opened last night, wasn't unpleasant.
the silver-haired man is just raising the cup to his lips and taking the world's longest sip as the object of said nostalgia re-enters the room, holding a coffee of his own. it's still a little odd to see him back in the house, even more so in alhaitham's bedroom considering the past week - but alcohol for the scribe does nothing for his confidence, only for his escape.
despite that, no words his mind can select seem good enough. evenly, his tired mind picks the most inoffensive opener he could think of; ]
Thanks for the coffee. [ but the habitual sass sneaks out anyway, because alhaitham is way too sore to resist. ] It's not terrible.