[ As Alhaitham speaks, crosses his arms defensively across his chest, Kaveh feels his face fall— not out of the rejection inherent in the release of his hand, but in response to the other's words, to the truth spoken in the spaces between them that perhaps even the scribe doesn't realize he's allowed to the surface: He was afraid.

Alhaitham, the architect realizes, was scared that he was in too deep, that he'd allowed himself to feel more deeply than he should for someone whom he couldn't whole-heartedly believe would stay by his side—

And Kaveh, seeing the other's actions through the lens of his own insecurities, made those fears into a reality.

He wants to cry. Instead, he casts his gaze down to his lap, his fingers now coming together to twine and twist against one another as he tries to sort the words in his head.

A breath. Two. And then he looks up again, his eyes bright and shining, but his gaze steady in a way his voice isn't. ]

You ask that question like I don't wonder that exact thing almost every day, Alhaitham, [ is the confession that comes next, fingers locking tightly together. ] Like it isn't the reason I decided to move out. I decided— by myself, out of my own fear—

[ and it's the closest he'll come to likening the two emotions together, enough that the scribe can make the connection for himself without the vulnerability inherent in having it told to him ]

—I decided that your actions meant you didn't want me here anymore. Because it's too easy for me to ask myself that question: how someone like you puts up with someone like me. How I got so lucky in the first place. How long it will take for— for you to get tired of me, finally.

[ His smile trembles on his lips. ]

I guess that answers your first question, too.