Yes, you did! [ the scribe yells back, not even missing a beat. ] The language used, the way you put it - 'you felt like it' - what more could anyone reasonable infer from that, especially when you behave like this?!
[ and he'd be ready to argue the semantics all the way to the grave, because there had been only one proper interpretation of what kaveh had said. maybe the architect should've chosen his words more clearly, if he wanted to avoid this kind of obvious error? maybe he should've thought before -
- but his chain of very reasonable thoughts on the proper linguistics of phrasing is derailed before he even gets to very clearly and succinctly explain to kaveh why it was only fair that he'd come to that conclusion. derailed, because the blonde keeps shouting over him with what seemed like a stream of consciousness even he wasn't completely aware of, keeps saying strings of things that only dimly register in alhaitham's head because of the sheer absurdity of them.
that he dreams of him? that he occupied that much of his mind in a state other than sheer aggravation and perpetual annoyance?
and then he caps it off with an admission so absolutely ridiculous that the scribe is actually too stunned to speak, for once. turquoise eyes widen as kaveh sends the argument right past the point of no return, something that even the architect seems to realise as he almost folds in on himself. fueled completely by liquid courage until this point, alhaitham simply stands there as he swears, still as a statue.
after a long, long moment of silence stretches between them, so quiet that they could actually hear the ticking of the station clock in the hallway, the scribe responds - his voice quieter, though, and not in a yell like before. ]
That's impossible. It makes no sense.
[ because it didn't. so why can he hear his own pulse in his ears now, on the off chance that kaveh was actually being truthful for once? ]
All we do is fight, Kaveh. All we do is - [ a frustrated sigh, a hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose. ] - this. I might not be an expert on the matter since I 'don't understand feelings' as you so eloquently put it, but I'm fairly sure that's not how 'love' works.
[ The seconds of silence stretch long, too long, and Kaveh's on edge enough that he swears he hears the part of the scribe's lips, the slight catch of his breath before he starts speaking. Every part of him tenses in readiness, prepared to be kicked out with as little fanfare as what's-his-name before him, the trembling visible not just in his lips but in his whole body as Alhaitham finally speaks—
—and the words make his eyes open again, wide in surprise and glossed over with tears, expression taken over by something that's a mix of consternation and confusion, and for the first time since the scribe kicked the door down he feels starkly naked, vulnerable in the way he's standing in front of the other, arousal starting to flag from the mess into which he's thrown himself this time.
Drunkenly shaky steps take him back from Alhaitham, sitting heavily on the bed when the back of his legs collide with it, and there's a timidness in the way he pulls the covers toward him, over his lap, covering him from that wide-eyed turquoise stare. ]
You're right. It doesn't make sense. [ His voice is hollow, as if he's somehow emptied himself of all possible emotion, having used too much of it in the moments leading up to this. ] But... but feelings rarely do.
[ That's why so many scholars tend to dislike them so much. Like art and creativity, there's nothing quantifiable about emotions, no simple formula that one can plug into a situation to figure it out. He knows himself that feeling the way he does about Alhaitham is practically inconceivable from a logical standpoint when, as the scribe said, all they do is fight and fight some more— but none of that describes the dreams, the sick twisted feelings in his gut when he looks at the other, the pining and longing underlying every interaction they've had since he realized it for himself...
And somehow he's gone in his mind from being terrified of being kicked out to needing to prove it to the other, because he knows that the scribe— a man of logic— doesn't believe, doesn't hear the truth in what he's saying. ]
I figured it out the day after I punched you. [ He doesn't look up at Alhaitham, and the words are spoken low in both volume and tone, lithe fingers twisting in his lap. ] You know yourself I've been different since then.
[ alhaitham repeats in an almost deadpan, as if saying it out loud would make it sound less ridiculous. unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. if he were a more expressive person, perhaps he'd laugh at this situation and the absurdity of it all, the admission coming completely out of left field after all the drama that had unfolded in and around them over the past couple of weeks. following all the shouting, avoidance and storming out - this was what caused it all?
had alhaitham managed to get something so wrong?
for maybe the first time in his existence, the scribe feels somewhat awkward standing there next to kaveh in the quiet, empty room that he'd barreled into with such fury. what does he do with this? where does one go from here? crossing his arms in a defensive motion across his chest, alhaitham frowns in thought as he stares watchfully down at the man who currently refused to meet his gaze back.
his pulse is humming in his ears and he'd be lying if he said there hadn't been a strange, electric feeling that had shot through his core at kaveh's admission. the scribe had been aware for at least a short time that there was something off about their relationship and his own intentions towards it. he wasn't an expert in social norms - nor did he want to be - but it had become clear that his interest in the other had exceeded the normal boundaries of friendship, or a connection between colleagues.
he'd instead found his mind increasingly wandering to kaveh in recent months - what he was doing, concerns about his wellbeing, general physical appreciation (which had, indeed, been stoked by the blonde's recent 'actions') - to the point where it had begun to change things.
the house, which he'd owned for some time and lived alone in with no issue, had begun to feel empty when the architect wasn't around.
his days, once enjoyable with simple structured routine and solitude, had grown boring without kaveh's chaotic presence, whichever way it ended up manifesting.
- was that ...
the silence continues, until the scribe decides to speak again - though this time, his tone is serious. matter-of-fact. ]
[ He still doesn't meet Alhaitham's eyes, but there's something almost helpless in his own expression as he stares down at his fingers, an acknowledgement of the fact that he knows it's just as ridiculous as he knows the other is thinking it is, that there isn't an explanation in the world that makes it less so, despite it being completely and irrevocably true. It probably still needs some sort of explanation though, if he's honest, but right now Kaveh feels wrung out, like he's run out of words along with the feelings, and he's forced to let the silence stretch on, seeing only from the corner of his eyes as Alhaitham's arms fold over his chest, as he continues his own quiet, calm observance.
(And the architect hates it, hates that the other man can be so calm in a moment where his own heart feels like it's going to hammer right out of his chest.)
When all is said and done, he knows he should probably be gathering his things together; after all this, there's no way Alhaitham will want him living here— and how can he blame him for that?— but he's left paralyzed, listening to the silence with his eyes falling shut again, trying to think of something, anything to say. Explanation, apology, anything—
What he's not expecting is that when the scribe does break the silence, it's not to tell him to leave, but to comment on himself, and for the second time in what is probably as many minutes (even though it feels like hours at this point), Kaveh finally looks up at him, shock written into his expression.
The laugh on the architect's lips is bitter. ] You think I don't know that? You're impossible. You're one of the most arrogant people I've ever met, you have no social skills, you're completely lacking in empathy and ambition, you're reckless, you're so obsessed with logic that you forget emotions exist... you're not even easy to co-exist with, let alone...
[ By this point, the shock has faded, making way for something softer and more vulnerable, but to his credit, Kaveh manages to keep his chin held high, his eyes fixed firmly on the other's face. ]
But I do. [ And then, because that terror is creeping up on him all over again and he feels like he needs to get ahead of it: ] And if that means I need to move out, then I get it but... just... give me some time to find somewhere else to go first. Please.
[ alhaitham replies dryly, resisting the churlish urge to roll his eyes at the laundry list of flaws that kaveh is trotting out. ]
But, yes - you just quite elegantly demonstrated exactly why I said this is impossible. Let's posit for a moment you're in love with someone. You then try to convince them it's a truth by elucidating all the flaws you think they have?
[ his tone is measured but there's a certain feeling of hurt edging the sides - like this wasn't the right time to drag his character down. it wasn't like things said in the heat of their frequent arguments, but rather, stated clearly in a completely different context. for someone as confident in himself as alhaitham was, it strangely had a hurtful effect. ]
Is that how you seduce all these patrons at the tavern? I can't argue with your success rate, but I must say I'm surprised that's how people approach dating these days.
[ even someone with relative emotional fluency would be experiencing whiplash in the situation, let alone alhaitham, who only has fact to go on. and this is where he remains detached, because all this sounds like to him is drunken rambling; like kaveh is trying to explain away something he doesn't remotely want and trying to escape from it.
like the very concept of loving someone like him is a concept to convince himself out of.
the scribe sighs - he's tired of the back and forth; the emotional outlay. it's too much, and he doesn't get it. ]
You're drunk. Since it's abundantly clear what you think of my character, I'm sure none of this was said with intention, so I'll consider it water under the bridge. [ alhaitham states plainly, the words being said but only distantly registering. ] I'm not taking responsibility for the door, though.
[ But Kaveh cuts himself off as abruptly as he started, because Alhaitham is answering, and there's something bordering on hurt in his voice, and the architect knows he's gone too far (again) in his drunken diatribe. There's no need to posit anything, he wants to say, because his feelings are genuine and not hypothetical, but instead he's left trying to pull a molasses-slow drunken mind through the consequences of his own words. He got so caught up on arguing the damn point...
He stands up, wavers on legs too shaky too stand, sits heavily on the bed once more, and then pushes himself back upright with a certain kind of determination, because the scribe seems to him to be speaking with a kind of finality that indicates he's done with the conversation— done with him— and he can't let that happen when Alhaitham doesn't get it, doesn't understand how genuine and honest his feelings are.
And so he clutches the covers to him with one hand as he crosses the room, nearly tripping over them on at least two separate occasions, to Alhaitham's side, free hand reaching to catch his wrist as if someone that will prevent the scribe from going anywhere when Kaveh doesn't want him to. ]
No. Alhaitham, listen... [ A breath, a slight tightening of his grip. ] Yes, I'm drunk. I'm saying everything wrong. But my intention, it's... [ And there's that fucking urge again to just show rather than tell him, to kiss him in an effort to explain it all away— but even through the fog he remembers how terribly that went last time, how it ended up with the two of them in a one-sided transactional relationship apparently of his suggestion, and he holds back, clutches the covers tighter against his body and swallows the nervousness out of his throat.
(Or tries, at least.) ]
Yeah, I think those things. You already know I do. But they're not the only things I think about you. I... [ And here he pauses, another breath because he's showing a lot of vulnerability here in being so honest, enough that even the alcohol isn't doing a lot to protect his pride. ] ...You're arrogant, yes, but you have cause to be. Because you're quite frankly brilliant. You have one of the most amazing minds I've ever seen. You're always ten steps ahead of everyone. People admire you, even though you have no ambition for yourself. Hell, you were asked to be the fucking Grand Sage. And you turned it down...! To me it seems crazy but... you're being true to yourself, like you always are. You're reckless, and it drives me crazy because I'm left to worry about you when you do logically stupid things because you're a hero even if you deny it. You saved Sumeru, Alhaitham.
And then— [ and he's starting to ramble now, the panic and the alcohol taking a hold of his mouth in tandem to make it work a mile a minute ] —then there's also how fucking attractive you are. I'm not even sure if you know how good you look half the time. You've got these stupid fucking muscles, and eyes that make me want to die, and I don't think there's anyone on Teyvat who can make me feel as good as you do—
[ It's here that Kaveh's lips finally snap shut, a freshly red color climbing up his cheeks as he looks up at the other man, mortification written over his face. ]
[ kaveh's right - he had been about to retire back to his own quarters, mostly to try and put this entire night out of his mind. alhaitham's routine had been interrupted enough by all this chaos recently, and standing here next to a half-broken door and a drunk but breathtakingly beautiful man who could say all the wrong things but still make him want to protect him; hold him; take him -
well. alhaitham is wondering if this is his karmic retribution for letting such unpredictability in instead of eschewing it like he would've done in the past, for uncharacteristically embracing the tumult instead of locking it out.
so, yes, he's a second away from turning on his heel despite kaveh's protests, until a slim hand grabs at his wrist. his eyes dart down to look at it - then back at the blonde's crimson gaze, brimming over with emotion, vulnerability and the ghost of tears, as it so often was.
what a terrible pair they made; one wearing his heart on his sleeve, the other keeping his sealed away. ]
You? Say something wrong? That's never happened before.
[ - is his kneejerk response, in that same flat tone before kaveh tries again. this back and forth, the argumentative dynamic where they took easy pot-shots at one another was so much easier. maybe they should just go back to that? because they were both obviously unsatisfied with it, but at least they remained in one another's orbit. that much would be better than losing him - seeing him move out, when he thought he couldn't wait to get rid of him when he moved in.
but then kaveh just... keeps talking, which is probably mostly the fault of whatever cheap liquor the man he'd kicked out of his house had plied him with. idly, alhaitham wonders if he's not alone in the fact he's never had a 'proper' relationship, considering how hamfisted the blonde is going about this entire process himself - but the words he's speaking are... nice. soothing, even. affirming.
not just because it's a giant stroke of his ego, which alhaitham would never refuse, but because even he could tell that they were finally scratching at the door of the truth. he was no stranger to compliments or idolatry, especially after the mess with the lesser lord and the akademiya's own corruption - but they normally slid right off his back, like oil on water. alhaitham simply did not care what the general public thought of him, nor his colleagues, nor even his friends, really - but kaveh?
for some reason? what he thinks seems to matter. for alhaitham, that's earth-shattering.
expression thoughtful, the scribe continues to observe the other with that piercing stare. ]
In that case, fair's fair. You're obnoxious, apparently ignorant of the definition of 'quiet'; you're terrible with finances despite being more than intelligent enough not to be; you're far too emotional and overreact to every situation, jumping to conclusions and throwing yourself in the line of fire when it's rarely necessary; you always do your chores several days late - if at all - and you work yourself to death like it's expected of you, when really, it's just another way for you to escape.
[ it doesn't look like he's done speaking, but in the brief pause, alhaitham takes the other man's chin in his free hand, touch far more gentle than his rebuttal. ]
But - and it pains me to say this - you're one of the most talented scholars we have; you have interesting perspectives and points of view that I enjoy the challenge of considering, even if they're as scattered as you are; you're charismatic to the point of magnetism and you always, frustratingly, put everyone else before yourself because of the kindness you harbour - not for any ulterior motive or gain. Genuine, in every sense of the word.
[ alhaitham wavers for a moment, as if considering whether or not to check if his words landed - but then, as always, decides he doesn't care. ]
I meant what I said, the other day. You are irritatingly, breathtakingly beautiful.
[ Fair's fair, Alhaitham says, and then proceeds to do to Kaveh exactly what the architect did to him, listing off defect after defect, words that cut deeper than the blonde is prepared for, and he gets it, should probably just be grateful that the other man hasn't walked off like he thought he would, but there's still a sting of hurt in response, a bitter expression that crosses his face as the other talks.
(And what doesn't help is the way the scribe somehow sees through the defenses he's put up for himself, understands that the work at least sometimes is something to hide behind, a protective barrier of time and distance between Kaveh and the things he doesn't want to have to face.
In many ways, it's the same as the alcohol.)
He's somehow convinced himself that it will stop at insults, but then there's a surprisingly gentle grip on his chin, and Alhaitham is continuing, filling the space now not with words that cut, but those that soothe and warm and comfort, and Kaveh feels his stomach doing something that seems to be a mixture of tying itself in knots and making itself home to an entire colony of butterflies. And he tries to tell himself not to get his hopes up, because compliments and love are two very different things— but Alhaitham, ever the semiotic scholar, has reused the pattern Kaveh himself designed right after confessing his own feelings for the scribe, and the anticipation simmers a little too readily as a natural response.
And then Alhaitham says it again, says he's beautiful, and the architect knows that there's no point in even trying to tamp down his hopes anymore. ]
I meant what I said too. Before that, I mean... that I kissed you because I wanted to. [ Somehow, despite the anxiety and the embarrassment and the distant uncomfortable feeling of standing on drunkenly tottering legs, he keeps his gaze steady on the other man's. ] But it wasn't just something I felt like doing at that moment. I wanted to kiss you because I think about it all the time. Even— [ and here, his eyes do drop, a hollow shame creeping into his words ] —even that girl, the night before that, I was just... I was trying not to think about you.
Wait - that's what all that was about? [ the scribe replies in disbelief as kaveh references their previous altercations, and, he imagines, the evening it had all started. ] That's why I had to carry you out of a bar, and get punched in the face? Because you liked me?
[ truly ridiculous, in every sense of the word. to think that kaveh was so self-conscious about something that alhaitham would have no shame in discussing or entertaining - to waste so much energy on skirting around the issue to the point that they'd almost parted ways completely. the scribe is truly dumbfounded for a moment by the sheer idiocy of it, his expression reflecting as much, but then again... it really did make sense for this to be kaveh's approach. shooting from the hip before he even knew what he was shooting at.
and - in response, alhaitham actually chuckles.
a soft, quiet thing, so much so that it's barely there, but for once - he can't help himself. it's a hilarious situation, so tied in knots by kaveh's own overthinking and hypersensitivity that it manages to wrap all the way around to being endearing, now that he had all the facts to understand what was actually happening here. ]
You're a massive idiot.
[ he murmurs fondly despite the brashness of the observation, a hint of warmth in that cool voice of his. the fact that he seemed to be on kaveh's mind just as much as he'd wormed his way into his - it made his heart swell in a strange way, not just his ego. it settled a hundred questions that had been raised over the past week, laying a blanket of certainty over it all instead of endless doubt and confusion. at least, now he knew, now that he had all the information, there could be a starting point to discuss... whatever this was.
bending down the couple of inches between them, alhaitham places a kiss on the crown of that empty blonde head, hair impossibly soft against his lips - then looks back down at kaveh, face impassive but eyes fond. amused. ]
To think, if you'd just said something in the first place I could've avoided explaining that bruise to every second person I ran into at the Akademiya.
[ It's hardly a surprise to him that in the scribe's eyes, he seems like an idiot. After all, as with a large percentage of the events surrounding this particular issue, there are logical actions he could have been taking the whole way, steps that in Alhaitham's eyes probably make a lot more sense than the ones he took— some of which, if he's honest, even he would change, now that he has the benefit of hindsight.
He's relieved though to see that the look on the other's face, while amused, is somehow warm instead of mocking, even as he laughs and calls him an idiot— a massive idiot, actually. Relieved even more at the soft kiss against the crown of his head.
His legs are starting to feel like jelly. He should probably sit down, but he can't bring himself to back away. ]
Maybe I am, yeah. But...
[ And how can he explain how the tangled mix of his pride and fear got so horribly in the way of everything that he, apparently, should have just said from the start? Kaveh shakes his head, his own smile soft at the edges, like it's ready to fall at any second, like he still doesn't quite believe the outcome of having finally said the things that have been burning at the corners of his mind. ]
It's like you said, I guess. I'm a coward. [ A word that cut so deep and true that he lashed out that night before he could stop himself. ] I was so sure you wouldn't believe me, or worse that you would and it would just piss you off and make you kick me out.
[ Which even now is a possibility in the back of his mind, like Alhaitham will flip the script on him just as he's started to relax. It's a fear that hoods his gaze even more than the alcohol as he looks up at the other man again, something quiet and contemplative about his expression. For as much as he might have too much hope placed already in the scribe's choice of conversation pattern, in the fondness of his eyes and the kiss pressed against the top of his head, there's still the possibility that he's wrong.
And if he is, it's okay. He doesn't need Alhaitham to love him back, not really. He just needs to not lose him over it. ]
[ alhaitham dimly regrets his use of that word as kaveh repeats it, because while contextually appropriate at the time - it wasn't a blanket quality he'd ever associate with the other. letting kaveh's chin go from his grip, the scribe huffs quietly at what the other thought might happen if he had just been honest to begin with... but, he supposes he can't fault him for thinking such things considering the previous week. ]
I was bluffing when I said you should move out. [ he admits dryly, recounting that morning in the study in his head. ] I only suggested it because it seemed like you didn't want to be here in the first place, nor did you want to be anywhere near me. And, perhaps - perhaps - I was a little frustrated at the indecent state you'd come back in.
[ frustrated, jealous, possessive - same thing, really, but it was as close to a 'sorry' as alhaitham was going to get, much less admit he was completely in the wrong. his mind wanders to the tall, darkly handsome man he'd just kicked out of his house and that envy flickers across his face as he remembers what he'd just walked in on - almost exactly like that morning, except he'd had a front seat to it instead of just drinking in the aftermath.
kaveh's asking him another ridiculous question, that shrewd turquoise gaze meeting the architect's strangely vulnerable expression. ]
It depends what you mean by 'being okay with it', really.
[ the scribe muses in a typically obtuse response, though a hand raises and bypasses kaveh's face to brush a thumb against a quickly fading mark he'd left on the slender curve of his neck. ]
If I simply say 'yes' and offer no further clarification, are you going to keep cavorting around like you were tonight? What affirmation do I need to give you to make sure that I'm the only one allowed to see you in the state you were in that morning? What commitment do you need from me to ensure I'm the only one allowed to put you in that state?
[ a beat as his eyes flick towards the bruise, then back at kaveh with a strange intensity. ]
I might not be the typical 'date' you seem to pick up, but I daresay I could offer you something better.
[ There's another warm feeling of relief, certainly, in response to Alhaitham's words, the reassurance that he had no real intent of kicking Kaveh out; but it's displaced very quickly by the almost-admission of jealousy, the envy that flashes briefly across his face, and he finds himself smiling a little— feeling, despite everything, a little smug at how easily he was able to get under the other's skin.
Maybe he's not the only one who's been an idiot about this whole thing.
Still, Alhaitham is answering his question, and Kaveh's polite enough for once to let him finishing, listening the whole way through before responding, and there's a tiny bit of indignant heat in his voice when he does: ]
I don't want you to be the typical 'date' I pick up. I told you... I care about you more than that.
[ Perhaps it's for that reason that the answer to Alhaitham's questions is something simple. (And he tries really, really hard not to focus on the possessiveness in the scribe's words, on the feel of that thumb against the pale skin of his neck, on the roiling wash of arousal that they work together to pour into his blood.) What he needs...
He finds himself shuffling in a step closer, both hands coming up to the scribe's chest now— the modesty of the covers forgotten as they fall to the floor, leaving him once again utterly naked in front of the other man, his eyes alight with a bright, raw honesty. ]
It wouldn't be fair of me to force a commitment on you. [ And maybe he's being just a little obtuse as well, because everything in the scribe's words and actions says that he has feelings for Kaveh too— everything but actual verbal confirmation, that is. But after the mess that has been the last few weeks, it feels better to him be safe than sorry, to take what is rather than what he longs for.
(Then again, perhaps there's a lesson to be learned here about just speaking up and saying what you want, but sometimes drunk Kaveh is stupid.) ]
Just... tell me. [ His rich voice is huskier than normal, heart hammering in his chest as the fingers of one hand curl into the fabric of the scribe's shirt, as the other wanders up over his chest and to his throat, caressing the skin. ] Tell me all of that. That you don't want me to be with anyone else. That you want to be the only one for me.
[ And he moves again, alcohol-stained lips pressing over the space on Alhaitham's jaw where he once left a bruise. ]
Hm. It's flattering your own ego to think you could force something on me, but you are always one for the absurd.
[ is his flippant reply, though the jab lacked any heat. rather, it felt familiar, like they'd fallen back into their old dynamic which was imperfect, perhaps, but comfortable.
as the shorter man closes the distance between them, alhaitham's hands fall instead to hold his shoulders as fingers curl into the black material of his shirt - reminiscent of how kaveh had done exactly that last time the scribe had ventured into his rooms. the architect's lithe body against his is warm in a way only he could manage, both in form and spirit, and it does something to settle alhaitham's soul from the mess the last two weeks had brought.
if the scribe notices the sheet pooling at their feet on the floor, he doesn't say anything. instead, alhaitham simply looks back down at the other as kaveh's hand travels up his chest; traces the length of his collarbone; ghosts up the side of his throat, the expression one of faint appreciation. appreciation, not just for the obviously very attractive sight to take in that was kaveh naked, but for words that were finally born of honesty instead of fear.
words, words existed for a reason and were meant to be used, especially for things like this.
soft lips graze the angle of his jaw as kaveh speaks, the architect's graveled voice shooting straight to his core as he feels it on his skin. in turn, his gloved hands tighten into those broad but angular shoulders as alhaitham does everything within his power to resist the vision in front of him, resist simply grabbing him and finishing what that other man had started - only with far more finesse. more meaning. but - kaveh was drunk. he shouldn't. he really shouldn't.
but he's perfectly allowed to assert himself; so the scribe takes the architect's chin in his hand once more, the pad of his thumb resting just against his bottom lip, and tilts kaveh's head so those ruby eyes have to meet his own. he can't help himself, and those embers of arrogant possessiveness are there in his gaze still burning just as brightly as before.
in a deep but quiet voice, probably more commanding than it should be; ]
I don't want you to be with anyone else.
[ a pause, his thumb running the length of his lip in a slow, purposeful motion. ]
[ The jab, of course, doesn't go unnoticed— or without commentary for that matter, the architect making a big show of rolling his eyes in response. And maybe it's a relief for him too, that there's a certain sense of normality to their interaction again despite this new thing between them, this something lacking definition but nonetheless real.
To be entirely truthful, though, he's barely paying attention to said sense of normality, at least for now; he's mostly busy being focused on other things, like the tightening of Alhaitham's gloved hands on his shoulders in what he can only assume is a response to the kiss left against his skin. The bright glint of avarice in his emerald eyes as they look down at him. The deep-voiced statement that radiates an aura of command so powerful that Kaveh practically feels weak in the knees. The thumb brushing over his lower lip in a way that makes the architect want to put on a show with his mouth.
(And he gives in to that desire just a little, a deliberately slow, wet stroke of his tongue over the digit, his eyes not leaving Alhaitham's the entire time.) ]
Then I'm yours.
[ His voice is quieter than normal, but still overwritten with the tell-tale roughness of desire. Where his arousal flagged and faded in the aftermath of his paramour being chased out of the house and the argument that followed, it seems like every single action the scribe takes is creeping under his skin to reawaken it. So too the thought of being his. ]
I won't be with anyone else.
[ And there's a part of him that wants to ask Alhaitham to be his, too, despite his statement moments ago that he wouldn't want to push anything on the other man. But at least for now, it's a matter on which he stays silent, his eyes still quiet and unwavering on the other's for a quiet moment before he reaches up to catch the scribe's hand in his, urging it away from his mouth so that he might close the gap between them. ]
[ there's a perceptible flinch as kaveh's tongue swipes over his thumb, not because it was unpleasant - oh, so far from it - but because the way he maintains eye contact, the languid, erotic way that he licks him? it's making it very, very hard for alhaitham in several definitions of the word, but most of which: testing his resolve. kaveh absolutely knew exactly what he was doing and it was almost terrifying being privy to the full bore of his flirtatious charm, the scribe having to grit his teeth to keep himself in check.
until now, he'd only enjoyed an outsider's perspective on the matter, but alhaitham had to concede: kaveh was far too powerful (in this respect) for his own good.
the affirmation of his statement and that fire being stoked in those emotive ruby eyes - it's enough to make the scribe look a little smug. what they had between them was still beyond definition, but for someone who finds comfort in dealing in concrete statements and finds his housemate infuriatingly attractive? it seemed like an excellent step in a mutually beneficial direction, really. ]
Good.
[ he murmurs approvingly, letting kaveh rearrange them and tilting his head slightly for better access for the kiss he was being urged towards.
oh, he tries so hard to remain chaste, an almost impossible task when the blonde's mouth is so inviting, tastes like the sweet liquor that he loves and imbibes far too much of. there's a moment where the the kiss deepens slightly, teeth meet lips and heated breath quickens - but, with the iron will of all seven archons, alhaitham manages to break away. just an inch, granted, but he fixes kaveh with a matter-of-fact look. ]
A reminder that you're drunk. [ the scribe points out, his own voice rough like he was clinging on by a thread that only existed because he was, perhaps, the most stubborn person in all of teyvat. ] Keeping in mind how easy it seems to be for you - [ ugh. that's not fair, but he hates admitting error; ] - us - to misconstrue intention, we should probably continue this after you sleep it off.
[ whether he meant the general discussion or the physical aspect of the situation remains ambiguous, but alhaitham is a proper scholar. given observation of cause and effect, he wasn't about to stumble headfirst into another week of stress by trying to navigate an objectively sensitive topic with a very drunk, very emotional architect. ]
[ Consenting to acts of pleasure whilst drunk has never really been an issue for Kaveh before, and for a moment he thinks that this shouldn't be any different— but at the same time, he knows Alhaitham is right, even if it pains him to pull away when the scribe breaks their kiss. It isn't just an act of pleasure at stake here, after all, but something more serious than that, something he really doesn't want to risk screwing up any further than he already almost did.
And so even though Kaveh is so tempted by the way the scribe flinches, by the rough hunger in his kiss and his voice, he's compliant— perhaps somewhat pouty, but compliant— when Alhaitham suggests that they continue this in the morning. His fingers loosen their grip in the other's shirt, and he takes a step back, wobbling as he does, needing to put distance between them lest his desire leads him to try and close the space once more.
(He notices, too, the way the other man corrects himself, admitting his own share of the fault when Kaveh knows how much he hates to do so. Perhaps later, he thinks, he'll make it worth Alhaitham's while— a thought very much not assisting him in his decision to step away.) ]
I almost wish I hadn't gone drinking. [ Almost, because if he hadn't, they likely wouldn't be in this situation right now. ] But you're right.
[ The ambiguity of Alhaitham's statement doesn't go unnoticed, but perhaps for the first time in weeks— maybe even longer— Kaveh feels like he's not particularly worried about which of the possible outcomes might end up taking place. There's no denying that they need to talk more, and he can tell the scribe wants the physical connection at least almost as much as he does; both will happen at some point, and he's content to wait. ...Which in and of itself is weird, actually— Kaveh's not really the patient type in anything other than his working life, nor is he great at dealing with uncertainties when it comes to emotion— something he might need to think about later when he's less drunk.
For now, at least, he takes the last shaky steps back to the bed and sits down, looking up at Alhaitham as he moves to pull what's left of the covers (read: not much) over him, a thoughtful look on his face. ]
You promise we'll continue in the morning, though?
[ alhaitham responds contrarily, his expression bemused as the architect sulkily but agreeably withdraws, stumbling back towards his bed like a fawn taking its first steps. the lack of motor control kaveh seemed to have in this moment only further confirms that this was the right course of action considering he could barely walk, let alone navigate what had become a veritable minefield of miscommunication.
in a tone that's more glib than anything else; ]
I think a better question is: are you going to remember this in the morning?
[ at least, if the hangover didn't kill him, perhaps the embarrassment might.
with a short sigh at the sheer state of the blonde as he attempts to pull the covers left on his bed over his body, the scribe languidly turns on his heel and leaves the room for a moment (through the broken door - yes, he'd said he wouldn't pay to fix it, but really he'd take a look at it tomorrow). some distant clattering noises filter in from the rough direction of their kitchen area, and the taller man returns presently with a tall glass of water, putting it down soundly on kaveh's bedside table. ]
Drink this or you'll die. Probably.
[ he directs, tone neutral as he realises he's stepped on the other cover that had been dragged off as collateral damage earlier - and so he picks that up, dropping it unceremoniously back on the bed right over kaveh's blonde head. ]
[ It's an indignant parting shot, made as the other exits the room without another word, and for a moment Kaveh's pout only deepens, the architect strongly considering getting up from the tangle of the singular cover around him to try and follow Alhaitham out of the room— he knows the other said he should rest, but is he really going to just walk out without saying goodnight?
The intent really is there, to follow him out, but the body isn't willing; Kaveh ends up flopping face-first into the pillow with a groan, exhausted and drunk and now a little sulky on top of that.
And to be completely honest, despite his protest, there's certainly a more-than-probable chance of his memory failing him— it has before, after all. But at least right now he stubbornly believes— has convinced himself even— that it's impossible on account of the sheer magnitude of what has happened here, tonight, between them.
He rolls onto his side when Alhaitham returns to the room, and the smile on his lips is decidedly soft, at least until it's replaced with a scowl when the cover is dropped onto his face right as he's in the middle of reaching out for it, causing him instead to flail, nearly knock the thing off the nightstand, and curse the scribe under his breath— in actuality incredibly noisily— while he rearranges the covers until they're over him and not just his head. ]
You are such a jerk. [ But there's no venom in his voice at all, the smile returning again in the next second as he recovers the glass and drinks from it. ] Thanks.
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
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[ and he'd be ready to argue the semantics all the way to the grave, because there had been only one proper interpretation of what kaveh had said. maybe the architect should've chosen his words more clearly, if he wanted to avoid this kind of obvious error? maybe he should've thought before -
- but his chain of very reasonable thoughts on the proper linguistics of phrasing is derailed before he even gets to very clearly and succinctly explain to kaveh why it was only fair that he'd come to that conclusion. derailed, because the blonde keeps shouting over him with what seemed like a stream of consciousness even he wasn't completely aware of, keeps saying strings of things that only dimly register in alhaitham's head because of the sheer absurdity of them.
that he dreams of him? that he occupied that much of his mind in a state other than sheer aggravation and perpetual annoyance?
and then he caps it off with an admission so absolutely ridiculous that the scribe is actually too stunned to speak, for once. turquoise eyes widen as kaveh sends the argument right past the point of no return, something that even the architect seems to realise as he almost folds in on himself. fueled completely by liquid courage until this point, alhaitham simply stands there as he swears, still as a statue.
after a long, long moment of silence stretches between them, so quiet that they could actually hear the ticking of the station clock in the hallway, the scribe responds - his voice quieter, though, and not in a yell like before. ]
That's impossible. It makes no sense.
[ because it didn't. so why can he hear his own pulse in his ears now, on the off chance that kaveh was actually being truthful for once? ]
All we do is fight, Kaveh. All we do is - [ a frustrated sigh, a hand raising to pinch the bridge of his nose. ] - this. I might not be an expert on the matter since I 'don't understand feelings' as you so eloquently put it, but I'm fairly sure that's not how 'love' works.
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—and the words make his eyes open again, wide in surprise and glossed over with tears, expression taken over by something that's a mix of consternation and confusion, and for the first time since the scribe kicked the door down he feels starkly naked, vulnerable in the way he's standing in front of the other, arousal starting to flag from the mess into which he's thrown himself this time.
Drunkenly shaky steps take him back from Alhaitham, sitting heavily on the bed when the back of his legs collide with it, and there's a timidness in the way he pulls the covers toward him, over his lap, covering him from that wide-eyed turquoise stare. ]
You're right. It doesn't make sense. [ His voice is hollow, as if he's somehow emptied himself of all possible emotion, having used too much of it in the moments leading up to this. ] But... but feelings rarely do.
[ That's why so many scholars tend to dislike them so much. Like art and creativity, there's nothing quantifiable about emotions, no simple formula that one can plug into a situation to figure it out. He knows himself that feeling the way he does about Alhaitham is practically inconceivable from a logical standpoint when, as the scribe said, all they do is fight and fight some more— but none of that describes the dreams, the sick twisted feelings in his gut when he looks at the other, the pining and longing underlying every interaction they've had since he realized it for himself...
And somehow he's gone in his mind from being terrified of being kicked out to needing to prove it to the other, because he knows that the scribe— a man of logic— doesn't believe, doesn't hear the truth in what he's saying. ]
I figured it out the day after I punched you. [ He doesn't look up at Alhaitham, and the words are spoken low in both volume and tone, lithe fingers twisting in his lap. ] You know yourself I've been different since then.
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[ alhaitham repeats in an almost deadpan, as if saying it out loud would make it sound less ridiculous. unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. if he were a more expressive person, perhaps he'd laugh at this situation and the absurdity of it all, the admission coming completely out of left field after all the drama that had unfolded in and around them over the past couple of weeks. following all the shouting, avoidance and storming out - this was what caused it all?
had alhaitham managed to get something so wrong?
for maybe the first time in his existence, the scribe feels somewhat awkward standing there next to kaveh in the quiet, empty room that he'd barreled into with such fury. what does he do with this? where does one go from here? crossing his arms in a defensive motion across his chest, alhaitham frowns in thought as he stares watchfully down at the man who currently refused to meet his gaze back.
his pulse is humming in his ears and he'd be lying if he said there hadn't been a strange, electric feeling that had shot through his core at kaveh's admission. the scribe had been aware for at least a short time that there was something off about their relationship and his own intentions towards it. he wasn't an expert in social norms - nor did he want to be - but it had become clear that his interest in the other had exceeded the normal boundaries of friendship, or a connection between colleagues.
he'd instead found his mind increasingly wandering to kaveh in recent months - what he was doing, concerns about his wellbeing, general physical appreciation (which had, indeed, been stoked by the blonde's recent 'actions') - to the point where it had begun to change things.
the house, which he'd owned for some time and lived alone in with no issue, had begun to feel empty when the architect wasn't around.
his days, once enjoyable with simple structured routine and solitude, had grown boring without kaveh's chaotic presence, whichever way it ended up manifesting.
- was that ...
the silence continues, until the scribe decides to speak again - though this time, his tone is serious. matter-of-fact. ]
I'll never be an easy person to love, you know.
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[ He still doesn't meet Alhaitham's eyes, but there's something almost helpless in his own expression as he stares down at his fingers, an acknowledgement of the fact that he knows it's just as ridiculous as he knows the other is thinking it is, that there isn't an explanation in the world that makes it less so, despite it being completely and irrevocably true. It probably still needs some sort of explanation though, if he's honest, but right now Kaveh feels wrung out, like he's run out of words along with the feelings, and he's forced to let the silence stretch on, seeing only from the corner of his eyes as Alhaitham's arms fold over his chest, as he continues his own quiet, calm observance.
(And the architect hates it, hates that the other man can be so calm in a moment where his own heart feels like it's going to hammer right out of his chest.)
When all is said and done, he knows he should probably be gathering his things together; after all this, there's no way Alhaitham will want him living here— and how can he blame him for that?— but he's left paralyzed, listening to the silence with his eyes falling shut again, trying to think of something, anything to say. Explanation, apology, anything—
What he's not expecting is that when the scribe does break the silence, it's not to tell him to leave, but to comment on himself, and for the second time in what is probably as many minutes (even though it feels like hours at this point), Kaveh finally looks up at him, shock written into his expression.
The laugh on the architect's lips is bitter. ] You think I don't know that? You're impossible. You're one of the most arrogant people I've ever met, you have no social skills, you're completely lacking in empathy and ambition, you're reckless, you're so obsessed with logic that you forget emotions exist... you're not even easy to co-exist with, let alone...
[ By this point, the shock has faded, making way for something softer and more vulnerable, but to his credit, Kaveh manages to keep his chin held high, his eyes fixed firmly on the other's face. ]
But I do. [ And then, because that terror is creeping up on him all over again and he feels like he needs to get ahead of it: ] And if that means I need to move out, then I get it but... just... give me some time to find somewhere else to go first. Please.
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[ alhaitham replies dryly, resisting the churlish urge to roll his eyes at the laundry list of flaws that kaveh is trotting out. ]
But, yes - you just quite elegantly demonstrated exactly why I said this is impossible. Let's posit for a moment you're in love with someone. You then try to convince them it's a truth by elucidating all the flaws you think they have?
[ his tone is measured but there's a certain feeling of hurt edging the sides - like this wasn't the right time to drag his character down. it wasn't like things said in the heat of their frequent arguments, but rather, stated clearly in a completely different context. for someone as confident in himself as alhaitham was, it strangely had a hurtful effect. ]
Is that how you seduce all these patrons at the tavern? I can't argue with your success rate, but I must say I'm surprised that's how people approach dating these days.
[ even someone with relative emotional fluency would be experiencing whiplash in the situation, let alone alhaitham, who only has fact to go on. and this is where he remains detached, because all this sounds like to him is drunken rambling; like kaveh is trying to explain away something he doesn't remotely want and trying to escape from it.
like the very concept of loving someone like him is a concept to convince himself out of.
the scribe sighs - he's tired of the back and forth; the emotional outlay. it's too much, and he doesn't get it. ]
You're drunk. Since it's abundantly clear what you think of my character, I'm sure none of this was said with intention, so I'll consider it water under the bridge. [ alhaitham states plainly, the words being said but only distantly registering. ] I'm not taking responsibility for the door, though.
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[ But Kaveh cuts himself off as abruptly as he started, because Alhaitham is answering, and there's something bordering on hurt in his voice, and the architect knows he's gone too far (again) in his drunken diatribe. There's no need to posit anything, he wants to say, because his feelings are genuine and not hypothetical, but instead he's left trying to pull a molasses-slow drunken mind through the consequences of his own words. He got so caught up on arguing the damn point...
He stands up, wavers on legs too shaky too stand, sits heavily on the bed once more, and then pushes himself back upright with a certain kind of determination, because the scribe seems to him to be speaking with a kind of finality that indicates he's done with the conversation— done with him— and he can't let that happen when Alhaitham doesn't get it, doesn't understand how genuine and honest his feelings are.
And so he clutches the covers to him with one hand as he crosses the room, nearly tripping over them on at least two separate occasions, to Alhaitham's side, free hand reaching to catch his wrist as if someone that will prevent the scribe from going anywhere when Kaveh doesn't want him to. ]
No. Alhaitham, listen... [ A breath, a slight tightening of his grip. ] Yes, I'm drunk. I'm saying everything wrong. But my intention, it's... [ And there's that fucking urge again to just show rather than tell him, to kiss him in an effort to explain it all away— but even through the fog he remembers how terribly that went last time, how it ended up with the two of them in a one-sided transactional relationship apparently of his suggestion, and he holds back, clutches the covers tighter against his body and swallows the nervousness out of his throat.
(Or tries, at least.) ]
Yeah, I think those things. You already know I do. But they're not the only things I think about you. I... [ And here he pauses, another breath because he's showing a lot of vulnerability here in being so honest, enough that even the alcohol isn't doing a lot to protect his pride. ] ...You're arrogant, yes, but you have cause to be. Because you're quite frankly brilliant. You have one of the most amazing minds I've ever seen. You're always ten steps ahead of everyone. People admire you, even though you have no ambition for yourself. Hell, you were asked to be the fucking Grand Sage. And you turned it down...! To me it seems crazy but... you're being true to yourself, like you always are. You're reckless, and it drives me crazy because I'm left to worry about you when you do logically stupid things because you're a hero even if you deny it. You saved Sumeru, Alhaitham.
And then— [ and he's starting to ramble now, the panic and the alcohol taking a hold of his mouth in tandem to make it work a mile a minute ] —then there's also how fucking attractive you are. I'm not even sure if you know how good you look half the time. You've got these stupid fucking muscles, and eyes that make me want to die, and I don't think there's anyone on Teyvat who can make me feel as good as you do—
[ It's here that Kaveh's lips finally snap shut, a freshly red color climbing up his cheeks as he looks up at the other man, mortification written over his face. ]
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well. alhaitham is wondering if this is his karmic retribution for letting such unpredictability in instead of eschewing it like he would've done in the past, for uncharacteristically embracing the tumult instead of locking it out.
so, yes, he's a second away from turning on his heel despite kaveh's protests, until a slim hand grabs at his wrist. his eyes dart down to look at it - then back at the blonde's crimson gaze, brimming over with emotion, vulnerability and the ghost of tears, as it so often was.
what a terrible pair they made; one wearing his heart on his sleeve, the other keeping his sealed away. ]
You? Say something wrong? That's never happened before.
[ - is his kneejerk response, in that same flat tone before kaveh tries again. this back and forth, the argumentative dynamic where they took easy pot-shots at one another was so much easier. maybe they should just go back to that? because they were both obviously unsatisfied with it, but at least they remained in one another's orbit. that much would be better than losing him - seeing him move out, when he thought he couldn't wait to get rid of him when he moved in.
but then kaveh just... keeps talking, which is probably mostly the fault of whatever cheap liquor the man he'd kicked out of his house had plied him with. idly, alhaitham wonders if he's not alone in the fact he's never had a 'proper' relationship, considering how hamfisted the blonde is going about this entire process himself - but the words he's speaking are... nice. soothing, even. affirming.
not just because it's a giant stroke of his ego, which alhaitham would never refuse, but because even he could tell that they were finally scratching at the door of the truth. he was no stranger to compliments or idolatry, especially after the mess with the lesser lord and the akademiya's own corruption - but they normally slid right off his back, like oil on water. alhaitham simply did not care what the general public thought of him, nor his colleagues, nor even his friends, really - but kaveh?
loud, annoying, frustratingly talented, beautiful kaveh?
for some reason? what he thinks seems to matter. for alhaitham, that's earth-shattering.
expression thoughtful, the scribe continues to observe the other with that piercing stare. ]
In that case, fair's fair. You're obnoxious, apparently ignorant of the definition of 'quiet'; you're terrible with finances despite being more than intelligent enough not to be; you're far too emotional and overreact to every situation, jumping to conclusions and throwing yourself in the line of fire when it's rarely necessary; you always do your chores several days late - if at all - and you work yourself to death like it's expected of you, when really, it's just another way for you to escape.
[ it doesn't look like he's done speaking, but in the brief pause, alhaitham takes the other man's chin in his free hand, touch far more gentle than his rebuttal. ]
But - and it pains me to say this - you're one of the most talented scholars we have; you have interesting perspectives and points of view that I enjoy the challenge of considering, even if they're as scattered as you are; you're charismatic to the point of magnetism and you always, frustratingly, put everyone else before yourself because of the kindness you harbour - not for any ulterior motive or gain. Genuine, in every sense of the word.
[ alhaitham wavers for a moment, as if considering whether or not to check if his words landed - but then, as always, decides he doesn't care. ]
I meant what I said, the other day. You are irritatingly, breathtakingly beautiful.
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(And what doesn't help is the way the scribe somehow sees through the defenses he's put up for himself, understands that the work at least sometimes is something to hide behind, a protective barrier of time and distance between Kaveh and the things he doesn't want to have to face.
In many ways, it's the same as the alcohol.)
He's somehow convinced himself that it will stop at insults, but then there's a surprisingly gentle grip on his chin, and Alhaitham is continuing, filling the space now not with words that cut, but those that soothe and warm and comfort, and Kaveh feels his stomach doing something that seems to be a mixture of tying itself in knots and making itself home to an entire colony of butterflies. And he tries to tell himself not to get his hopes up, because compliments and love are two very different things— but Alhaitham, ever the semiotic scholar, has reused the pattern Kaveh himself designed right after confessing his own feelings for the scribe, and the anticipation simmers a little too readily as a natural response.
And then Alhaitham says it again, says he's beautiful, and the architect knows that there's no point in even trying to tamp down his hopes anymore. ]
I meant what I said too. Before that, I mean... that I kissed you because I wanted to. [ Somehow, despite the anxiety and the embarrassment and the distant uncomfortable feeling of standing on drunkenly tottering legs, he keeps his gaze steady on the other man's. ] But it wasn't just something I felt like doing at that moment. I wanted to kiss you because I think about it all the time. Even— [ and here, his eyes do drop, a hollow shame creeping into his words ] —even that girl, the night before that, I was just... I was trying not to think about you.
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[ truly ridiculous, in every sense of the word. to think that kaveh was so self-conscious about something that alhaitham would have no shame in discussing or entertaining - to waste so much energy on skirting around the issue to the point that they'd almost parted ways completely. the scribe is truly dumbfounded for a moment by the sheer idiocy of it, his expression reflecting as much, but then again... it really did make sense for this to be kaveh's approach. shooting from the hip before he even knew what he was shooting at.
and - in response, alhaitham actually chuckles.
a soft, quiet thing, so much so that it's barely there, but for once - he can't help himself. it's a hilarious situation, so tied in knots by kaveh's own overthinking and hypersensitivity that it manages to wrap all the way around to being endearing, now that he had all the facts to understand what was actually happening here. ]
You're a massive idiot.
[ he murmurs fondly despite the brashness of the observation, a hint of warmth in that cool voice of his. the fact that he seemed to be on kaveh's mind just as much as he'd wormed his way into his - it made his heart swell in a strange way, not just his ego. it settled a hundred questions that had been raised over the past week, laying a blanket of certainty over it all instead of endless doubt and confusion. at least, now he knew, now that he had all the information, there could be a starting point to discuss... whatever this was.
bending down the couple of inches between them, alhaitham places a kiss on the crown of that empty blonde head, hair impossibly soft against his lips - then looks back down at kaveh, face impassive but eyes fond. amused. ]
To think, if you'd just said something in the first place I could've avoided explaining that bruise to every second person I ran into at the Akademiya.
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He's relieved though to see that the look on the other's face, while amused, is somehow warm instead of mocking, even as he laughs and calls him an idiot— a massive idiot, actually. Relieved even more at the soft kiss against the crown of his head.
His legs are starting to feel like jelly. He should probably sit down, but he can't bring himself to back away. ]
Maybe I am, yeah. But...
[ And how can he explain how the tangled mix of his pride and fear got so horribly in the way of everything that he, apparently, should have just said from the start? Kaveh shakes his head, his own smile soft at the edges, like it's ready to fall at any second, like he still doesn't quite believe the outcome of having finally said the things that have been burning at the corners of his mind. ]
It's like you said, I guess. I'm a coward. [ A word that cut so deep and true that he lashed out that night before he could stop himself. ] I was so sure you wouldn't believe me, or worse that you would and it would just piss you off and make you kick me out.
[ Which even now is a possibility in the back of his mind, like Alhaitham will flip the script on him just as he's started to relax. It's a fear that hoods his gaze even more than the alcohol as he looks up at the other man again, something quiet and contemplative about his expression. For as much as he might have too much hope placed already in the scribe's choice of conversation pattern, in the fondness of his eyes and the kiss pressed against the top of his head, there's still the possibility that he's wrong.
And if he is, it's okay. He doesn't need Alhaitham to love him back, not really. He just needs to not lose him over it. ]
... You're really okay with it?
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I was bluffing when I said you should move out. [ he admits dryly, recounting that morning in the study in his head. ] I only suggested it because it seemed like you didn't want to be here in the first place, nor did you want to be anywhere near me. And, perhaps - perhaps - I was a little frustrated at the indecent state you'd come back in.
[ frustrated, jealous, possessive - same thing, really, but it was as close to a 'sorry' as alhaitham was going to get, much less admit he was completely in the wrong. his mind wanders to the tall, darkly handsome man he'd just kicked out of his house and that envy flickers across his face as he remembers what he'd just walked in on - almost exactly like that morning, except he'd had a front seat to it instead of just drinking in the aftermath.
kaveh's asking him another ridiculous question, that shrewd turquoise gaze meeting the architect's strangely vulnerable expression. ]
It depends what you mean by 'being okay with it', really.
[ the scribe muses in a typically obtuse response, though a hand raises and bypasses kaveh's face to brush a thumb against a quickly fading mark he'd left on the slender curve of his neck. ]
If I simply say 'yes' and offer no further clarification, are you going to keep cavorting around like you were tonight? What affirmation do I need to give you to make sure that I'm the only one allowed to see you in the state you were in that morning? What commitment do you need from me to ensure I'm the only one allowed to put you in that state?
[ a beat as his eyes flick towards the bruise, then back at kaveh with a strange intensity. ]
I might not be the typical 'date' you seem to pick up, but I daresay I could offer you something better.
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Maybe he's not the only one who's been an idiot about this whole thing.
Still, Alhaitham is answering his question, and Kaveh's polite enough for once to let him finishing, listening the whole way through before responding, and there's a tiny bit of indignant heat in his voice when he does: ]
I don't want you to be the typical 'date' I pick up. I told you... I care about you more than that.
[ Perhaps it's for that reason that the answer to Alhaitham's questions is something simple. (And he tries really, really hard not to focus on the possessiveness in the scribe's words, on the feel of that thumb against the pale skin of his neck, on the roiling wash of arousal that they work together to pour into his blood.) What he needs...
He finds himself shuffling in a step closer, both hands coming up to the scribe's chest now— the modesty of the covers forgotten as they fall to the floor, leaving him once again utterly naked in front of the other man, his eyes alight with a bright, raw honesty. ]
It wouldn't be fair of me to force a commitment on you. [ And maybe he's being just a little obtuse as well, because everything in the scribe's words and actions says that he has feelings for Kaveh too— everything but actual verbal confirmation, that is. But after the mess that has been the last few weeks, it feels better to him be safe than sorry, to take what is rather than what he longs for.
(Then again, perhaps there's a lesson to be learned here about just speaking up and saying what you want, but sometimes drunk Kaveh is stupid.) ]
Just... tell me. [ His rich voice is huskier than normal, heart hammering in his chest as the fingers of one hand curl into the fabric of the scribe's shirt, as the other wanders up over his chest and to his throat, caressing the skin. ] Tell me all of that. That you don't want me to be with anyone else. That you want to be the only one for me.
[ And he moves again, alcohol-stained lips pressing over the space on Alhaitham's jaw where he once left a bruise. ]
That's enough for now.
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[ is his flippant reply, though the jab lacked any heat. rather, it felt familiar, like they'd fallen back into their old dynamic which was imperfect, perhaps, but comfortable.
as the shorter man closes the distance between them, alhaitham's hands fall instead to hold his shoulders as fingers curl into the black material of his shirt - reminiscent of how kaveh had done exactly that last time the scribe had ventured into his rooms. the architect's lithe body against his is warm in a way only he could manage, both in form and spirit, and it does something to settle alhaitham's soul from the mess the last two weeks had brought.
if the scribe notices the sheet pooling at their feet on the floor, he doesn't say anything. instead, alhaitham simply looks back down at the other as kaveh's hand travels up his chest; traces the length of his collarbone; ghosts up the side of his throat, the expression one of faint appreciation. appreciation, not just for the obviously very attractive sight to take in that was kaveh naked, but for words that were finally born of honesty instead of fear.
words, words existed for a reason and were meant to be used, especially for things like this.
soft lips graze the angle of his jaw as kaveh speaks, the architect's graveled voice shooting straight to his core as he feels it on his skin. in turn, his gloved hands tighten into those broad but angular shoulders as alhaitham does everything within his power to resist the vision in front of him, resist simply grabbing him and finishing what that other man had started - only with far more finesse. more meaning. but - kaveh was drunk. he shouldn't. he really shouldn't.
but he's perfectly allowed to assert himself; so the scribe takes the architect's chin in his hand once more, the pad of his thumb resting just against his bottom lip, and tilts kaveh's head so those ruby eyes have to meet his own. he can't help himself, and those embers of arrogant possessiveness are there in his gaze still burning just as brightly as before.
in a deep but quiet voice, probably more commanding than it should be; ]
I don't want you to be with anyone else.
[ a pause, his thumb running the length of his lip in a slow, purposeful motion. ]
You should be mine.
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To be entirely truthful, though, he's barely paying attention to said sense of normality, at least for now; he's mostly busy being focused on other things, like the tightening of Alhaitham's gloved hands on his shoulders in what he can only assume is a response to the kiss left against his skin. The bright glint of avarice in his emerald eyes as they look down at him. The deep-voiced statement that radiates an aura of command so powerful that Kaveh practically feels weak in the knees. The thumb brushing over his lower lip in a way that makes the architect want to put on a show with his mouth.
(And he gives in to that desire just a little, a deliberately slow, wet stroke of his tongue over the digit, his eyes not leaving Alhaitham's the entire time.) ]
Then I'm yours.
[ His voice is quieter than normal, but still overwritten with the tell-tale roughness of desire. Where his arousal flagged and faded in the aftermath of his paramour being chased out of the house and the argument that followed, it seems like every single action the scribe takes is creeping under his skin to reawaken it. So too the thought of being his. ]
I won't be with anyone else.
[ And there's a part of him that wants to ask Alhaitham to be his, too, despite his statement moments ago that he wouldn't want to push anything on the other man. But at least for now, it's a matter on which he stays silent, his eyes still quiet and unwavering on the other's for a quiet moment before he reaches up to catch the scribe's hand in his, urging it away from his mouth so that he might close the gap between them. ]
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until now, he'd only enjoyed an outsider's perspective on the matter, but alhaitham had to concede: kaveh was far too powerful (in this respect) for his own good.
the affirmation of his statement and that fire being stoked in those emotive ruby eyes - it's enough to make the scribe look a little smug. what they had between them was still beyond definition, but for someone who finds comfort in dealing in concrete statements and finds his housemate infuriatingly attractive? it seemed like an excellent step in a mutually beneficial direction, really. ]
Good.
[ he murmurs approvingly, letting kaveh rearrange them and tilting his head slightly for better access for the kiss he was being urged towards.
oh, he tries so hard to remain chaste, an almost impossible task when the blonde's mouth is so inviting, tastes like the sweet liquor that he loves and imbibes far too much of. there's a moment where the the kiss deepens slightly, teeth meet lips and heated breath quickens - but, with the iron will of all seven archons, alhaitham manages to break away. just an inch, granted, but he fixes kaveh with a matter-of-fact look. ]
A reminder that you're drunk. [ the scribe points out, his own voice rough like he was clinging on by a thread that only existed because he was, perhaps, the most stubborn person in all of teyvat. ] Keeping in mind how easy it seems to be for you - [ ugh. that's not fair, but he hates admitting error; ] - us - to misconstrue intention, we should probably continue this after you sleep it off.
[ whether he meant the general discussion or the physical aspect of the situation remains ambiguous, but alhaitham is a proper scholar. given observation of cause and effect, he wasn't about to stumble headfirst into another week of stress by trying to navigate an objectively sensitive topic with a very drunk, very emotional architect. ]
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And so even though Kaveh is so tempted by the way the scribe flinches, by the rough hunger in his kiss and his voice, he's compliant— perhaps somewhat pouty, but compliant— when Alhaitham suggests that they continue this in the morning. His fingers loosen their grip in the other's shirt, and he takes a step back, wobbling as he does, needing to put distance between them lest his desire leads him to try and close the space once more.
(He notices, too, the way the other man corrects himself, admitting his own share of the fault when Kaveh knows how much he hates to do so. Perhaps later, he thinks, he'll make it worth Alhaitham's while— a thought very much not assisting him in his decision to step away.) ]
I almost wish I hadn't gone drinking. [ Almost, because if he hadn't, they likely wouldn't be in this situation right now. ] But you're right.
[ The ambiguity of Alhaitham's statement doesn't go unnoticed, but perhaps for the first time in weeks— maybe even longer— Kaveh feels like he's not particularly worried about which of the possible outcomes might end up taking place. There's no denying that they need to talk more, and he can tell the scribe wants the physical connection at least almost as much as he does; both will happen at some point, and he's content to wait. ...Which in and of itself is weird, actually— Kaveh's not really the patient type in anything other than his working life, nor is he great at dealing with uncertainties when it comes to emotion— something he might need to think about later when he's less drunk.
For now, at least, he takes the last shaky steps back to the bed and sits down, looking up at Alhaitham as he moves to pull what's left of the covers (read: not much) over him, a thoughtful look on his face. ]
You promise we'll continue in the morning, though?
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[ alhaitham responds contrarily, his expression bemused as the architect sulkily but agreeably withdraws, stumbling back towards his bed like a fawn taking its first steps. the lack of motor control kaveh seemed to have in this moment only further confirms that this was the right course of action considering he could barely walk, let alone navigate what had become a veritable minefield of miscommunication.
in a tone that's more glib than anything else; ]
I think a better question is: are you going to remember this in the morning?
[ at least, if the hangover didn't kill him, perhaps the embarrassment might.
with a short sigh at the sheer state of the blonde as he attempts to pull the covers left on his bed over his body, the scribe languidly turns on his heel and leaves the room for a moment (through the broken door - yes, he'd said he wouldn't pay to fix it, but really he'd take a look at it tomorrow). some distant clattering noises filter in from the rough direction of their kitchen area, and the taller man returns presently with a tall glass of water, putting it down soundly on kaveh's bedside table. ]
Drink this or you'll die. Probably.
[ he directs, tone neutral as he realises he's stepped on the other cover that had been dragged off as collateral damage earlier - and so he picks that up, dropping it unceremoniously back on the bed right over kaveh's blonde head. ]
no subject
[ It's an indignant parting shot, made as the other exits the room without another word, and for a moment Kaveh's pout only deepens, the architect strongly considering getting up from the tangle of the singular cover around him to try and follow Alhaitham out of the room— he knows the other said he should rest, but is he really going to just walk out without saying goodnight?
The intent really is there, to follow him out, but the body isn't willing; Kaveh ends up flopping face-first into the pillow with a groan, exhausted and drunk and now a little sulky on top of that.
And to be completely honest, despite his protest, there's certainly a more-than-probable chance of his memory failing him— it has before, after all. But at least right now he stubbornly believes— has convinced himself even— that it's impossible on account of the sheer magnitude of what has happened here, tonight, between them.
He rolls onto his side when Alhaitham returns to the room, and the smile on his lips is decidedly soft, at least until it's replaced with a scowl when the cover is dropped onto his face right as he's in the middle of reaching out for it, causing him instead to flail, nearly knock the thing off the nightstand, and curse the scribe under his breath— in actuality incredibly noisily— while he rearranges the covers until they're over him and not just his head. ]
You are such a jerk. [ But there's no venom in his voice at all, the smile returning again in the next second as he recovers the glass and drinks from it. ] Thanks.