[ for the most part, alhaitham manages to fend off most of the akademiya rabble that comes to seek him out. half of them are as transparent as ever, trying to ingratiate themselves with him for whatever reason, to take advantage of whatever power they think he has (which, after standing down as the grand sage, was rather minor) - and the other half? they just seem curious, scholarly intrigue piqued by the standoffish and acerbic nature of someone who seemed to hold sway in the akademiya despite that fact. they get what they come for though, which is clipped answers, no conversation threads to pull and a signature icy look.
he's staring past anyone that tries to talk to him anyway, like if he concentrated hard enough he could hear the conversation kaveh was having half a room away. at least, he can hear the fringes of the architect's laugh filtering through the hubbub in the hall, that musical voice instantly recognisable even through the obnoxious chatter of an entire university.
alhaitham's glass of wine is emptied as he keeps watch from the alcove, probably being a little less subtle than he'd like to think he's being. things just aren't the same as they were even a month before, not now that they'd decided to give whatever it was they had a go, and while he would've probably been fine to watch kaveh from afar like he'd often done over the years had they still been dancing around each other - no.
tonight, it was different.
watching his partner ham it up with some of the most annoying members of the akademiya (though alhaitham supposes, he should probably except the new sage of his darshan); seeing the free touching, overly liberal for what was supposed to be an academic celebration; the effervescence that rolls so easily off of kaveh on to the throng of company circling him, like a light illuminating a room and a thousand desperate moths vying for it.
alhaitham's expression had devolved from simply icy to a smouldering glower, which in turn had at least stopped anyone from approaching him for chit-chat - but he'd had enough of keeping an eye from the shadows, and more than enough of the overly friendly show some of the party guests were happily putting on. swiping another wine from a passing waiter (he'd need more alcohol if he was going to have to suffer through this), the scribe threads through the crowds in what could only be described as an elegant stalk, inserting himself into the circle surrounding kaveh at his side without an invitation or apology.
not that anyone there seemed to mind, considering his status, but he didn't exactly have the same effect on crowds as the shorter man did. ]
You've been busy.
[ he murmurs to kaveh, head tilted towards him so that the rest of the party wouldn't be privy to his words. ]
[ For as much attention is Kaveh has on him tonight, forcing his own to be largely attentive to those circled around, there isn't a moment that has passed where he hasn't been sure to keep Alhaitham within his periphery, kept a curious eye on what he's doing and where he's looking, his interactions with others. Again— he knows he looks good, and he wants to be sure the other notices it too. His laughter might be a little more boisterous than usual, his smile more brilliant, something certainly in part designed specifically for that purpose; but unlike the night that led to him finally confessing his feelings, there's nothing fake about it. It's cheesy, but lately he feels like he's walking on clouds.
And maybe in a way it's not just Alhaitham that he wants to know that much, but everyone.
He's happy.
(He doesn't often get to be.)
So of course he notices the moment that Alhaitham peels himself away from the wall, a look on his face that sends pleasant shivers whispering their way down Kaveh's spine, a stalk to the scribe's movement that chases away the quiet doubts that like to surface unbidden in his mind, that reminds him without words that he's wanted, that he belongs to someone.
By the time the other man joins the group, Kaveh's smile is a little softer, a little fonder; his slender fingers reach to snag at the lightweight sleeve of Alhaitham's shirt, a small gesture of comfort for the scribe's benefit alone, head tilting slightly in acknowledgement of the statement. ]
You have to make friends to influence people, don't you?
[ It's not quite how the saying goes, but it will do for now. Kaveh's eyes light on Alhaitham's face for a moment, and his free hand gestures to the cluster of people now around the both of them, his expression shifting back into something persuasive, charming. ]
Gentlemen, you have of course been introduced to Haravatat graduate and grand Scribe of the Akademiya? Alhaitham, this is Sayf, Nasser, Kazem, Sherine, and— [ he indicates the new Haravatat sage, his voice taking on a hint of something that almost sounds scolding (and he's playing with fire here perhaps, but he can't quite help himself) ] —of course you know Fairouz. Why have you never told me how much of a charmer your darshan's new sage is, hmm?
[ is his hushed but mildly scathing response - not directed at kaveh, but at the lack of manners the present company was displaying. but then, the architect just has to go and ingratiate him in with the circle when he's perfectly happy at the mild discomfort his quiet presence would cause, has to drag him in to these ridiculous social frivolities that alhaitham had nothing but distaste for.
that's where they differed, kaveh and himself. the scribe was more than happy settling back into his role with all the predictability and measured responsibilities it came with. while the akademiya had tried to reason with him to remain the grand sage, the very suggestion had been met with a scoffed laugh and then a '- oh, you're serious?''. he wants a quiet life of his own drection; kaveh wants the stars.
only barely resisting the urge to simply walk back out of the conversation, alhaitham does the bare minimum of a curt nod to the circle he's being introduced to - oh, but then, then kaveh has to sprinkle the salt in the wound as he mentions the leader of his new darshan. how charming he was, how easily he could fit in with kaveh's brand of socialising.
crossing his arms over his chest, the scribe is the only one who doesn't laugh along with the group - though, that was hardly anything out of the ordinary. ]
I wasn't aware such - [ how badly he wants to add 'subjective' here, but even the scribe wasn't acerbic enough to drag his superior in front of the upper echelons of the akademiya, ] - information was of concern.
[ and even though his comment had been cold and factual, the circle laughs again as they interpret it as a joke, which only serves to further annoy him. he regretted turning up tonight, but alhaitham knows he'd regret it more if he'd had to simply sit at home and wonder what these people were getting up to around kaveh - the devil know you is better than the devil you don't.
the laughter quickly dies down as one or two of the scholars catch on to the glower on alhaitham's face, the scribe cutting an imposing figure straight through the group despite the fact he was standing there, saying nothing. the man on the opposite side of kaveh, the one who'd had his arm slung around the blonde's slim shoulders just minutes before - alhaitham's misplaced his name already, because it's inconsequential information - clears his throat and starts talking again, trying to revive the conversation. odd, how he seems to be talking mainly at kaveh.
'What's a more pertinent question is, how has Kshahrewar hidden such charm themselves? What an honour, to be able to celebrate Sage Fairouz's - and the other's - appointments with one of the finest architects to grace the land!' ]
[ His slight inebriation being what it is, Kaveh doesn't really process the scathing note in Alhaitham's tone until it's too late, until he's already brought the other man into the circle of scholars, drawn attention to him and included him in the conversation. He'll have to apologize later; for now, he hooks his fingers a little more firmly into the scribe's linen shirt, another little tug on the fabric trying on its own to communicate a hundred different things.
I'm sorry. I need to do this. Just put up with this for a little while. For me. I'll make it up to you later.
And it will take a lot of making up, he thinks, because Alhaitham's glower now is so pronounced that even the others are starting to notice it. In fact, he's just starting to wonder if it's a good idea to make an excuse and drag his boyfriend out of the group when Nasser clears his throat in an attempt to rescue their discussion.
(Nasser, who is one of the very same scholars who scorned his work in the past, dismissed art as nothing more than a flight of fancy, something not worthy of an academic's time; who in the wake of the changes sweeping the nation seems to have shifted his viewpoint in the same way that many of the others have. A hypocrite.
Honestly, it makes him appreciate the man next to him even more— His boyfriend's views may frustrate him beyond all belief, but at least he's consistent. Kaveh can respect someone like Alhaitham a lot more easily than he can someone like Nasser.)
It's perhaps due to these thoughts that unlike the scribe, he doesn't notice the fact that said scholar seems to be talking directly to him, the flirtatious tone of voice going somehow unnoticed by a man who otherwise considers himself to be sensitive to the feelings and intentions of others. If he did, there's no doubt he would do anything other than what he does next: meet the praise with a beaming smile, a shake of his head and a playful nudge of the man's side. ]
You flatter me! [ he says, and he's the very picture of modest and charming, a warmth in his ruby eyes that for all intents and purposes seems genuine, even if he's internally mocking the other man. ] I'm hardly the only decorated person among our company this evening. Didn't you yourself have a paper published just last month that changed your entire field?
[ There's a murmur of agreement over that one, a pleased-as-punch look on Nasser's face and an arm slung once more over Kaveh's shoulder as the architect drinks from his goblet. ]
[ it would be infuriating enough to simply listen to one side of the conversation. although rarely admitted out loud, there's something quietly satisfying about kaveh getting recognition after the akademiya's struggles, and while alhaitham isn't so much artistic himself, he'd always been able to appreciate the intrinsic value of the arts - much like architecture was all picturesque structure, so too could words be if interpreted in the correct way.
however -
over the years, alhaitham had unfortunately had to cross paths with most of the incumbent akademiya, even more so while he'd filled in the role of grand sage while the dust settled and the squabbles died down. he might not be able to spin as lyrical a conversation as kaveh, but the scribe had an eagle eye for disingenuity, for people only weaving words to gain something out of another, and nasser's pithy comments stank of it. whether it was to garner favour from someone he saw about to climb the akademiya's ranks, or whether it was to flirt with the architect himself he can't tell, but it rankles the taller man either way.
it's when the arm is so carelessly slung over kaveh's slim shoulders that a strange sense of electricity begins to roll off the scribe, like lion eying its prey from across a savannah. there's visible tension constricting alhaitham, and no amount of gentle tugging on his sleeve was going to undo it. ]
Didn't I hear the core argument of that paper was in the process of being debunked by a junior in your darshan? [ the scribe interjects flatly, sipping his wine as he stares straight at nasser with a look that'd make an average man flee. ] Some revisions may be in order if you wish to stay ahead of the curve? Such is the fast-paced nature of academia.
[ after all, alhaitham is factually correct - most research proposals pass over his desk, so he's more intimately aware of most scholar's work in a broad sense than anyone else - but he's not afraid to say exactly what he thinks, and the longer that arm stays wrapped around the blonde's shoulders, his opinion drops ever lower. ]
[ Somehow, the tension written all over Alhaitham goes right over Nasser's head, even as the other men in the group are looking back and forth between them with visibly mounting anxiety. The same concern is also starting to twist in Kaveh's gut; his boyfriend is getting more acerbic despite the gentle tugs at white sleeves, and when he's busy trying to make a good name for himself, the last thing he needs is for Alhaitham's spinokrok-brain to start a fight— even if it's sexy as fuck that he's getting so irritated over Kaveh's company.
(He should probably shrug Nasser's arm off his shoulder, shouldn't he? But he's not quite sure how to go about it without seeming rude. So he just links his fingers in Alhaitham's sleeve a little tighter, tugs a little more firmly. As if somehow it will work when it hasn't worked so far.)
Meanwhile, the men around them are murmuring in uncomfortable agreement, and an irritated look is crossing over the culprit's face, and Kaveh thinks he's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, because he's glaring right back at Alhaitham, squaring his shoulders as if to fight.
"That junior might think he's debunking it," he scoffs, "but I can assure you he's incorrect." Something of a tirade begins on Nasser's lips, explaining the high standards of his own work and the lack of room for error in his calculations. It's about halfway through the stream of consciousness that Kaveh decides that the answer is clearly that he's stupid, because he can hear the note of challenge in the scholar's voice as that arm drops, circling Kaveh's waist instead as he insists, "I'm sure the light of Kshahrewar understands, even if you don't, scribe."
Kaveh's brows crease, and this time he does reach to push the grasping hand away from him, a flash of annoyance over his face even as he tries to keep his voice even, aiming for pleasant even when he feels like being anything but: ]
I'd thank you not to put words in my mouth, Nasser. Quite frankly, Alhaitham has a stronger understanding of academia than anyone I have ever met.
[ What he wants to do is tell him the fuck off, ask him why he thinks insulting the former Acting Grand Sage— one of Sumeru's saviors at that— is a good idea, not to mention the fact that he's a fucking hypocrite who's only playing nice now to get something from him. But the last thing he needs to be doing is making a scene right now, even if Nasser deserves it and then some. ]
[ the discomfort of the group does absolutely nothing to deter alhaitham's scathing comments, the calm tone of his voice making them somehow seem even more savage. unlike kaveh, he had no great aspirations to climb the ladders and become a sage - being acting grand sage and listening to a thousand faux-intellectuals whinge for two months was more than enough for him - so he's quite content to stand here, sipping his wine and speaking his thoughts how he sees fit.
at the next, firm tug on his sleeve, he glances sidelong at the blonde in a way that asked 'what?'. he's not doing anything wrong, he's factually correct, and moreover, kaveh was ignoring the fact that the other scholar was all but verbally feeling him up in front of their peers.
nasser was lucky the scribe didn't simply pick him up and throw him out of the soiree by the scruff of his neck considering his next set of poorly chosen words, much less the hand slimily slinking around the blonde's waist. alhaitham doesn't much care what the scholar thought of him or his intellect, the jab completely missing the target - but trying to grab kaveh, hm, that makes something dark flash through those turquoise eyes as the architect swats away the hand trying to sink into the crimson of his shirt.
kaveh's save seems to somewhat defuse the greater situation, however, because whatever discomfort the larger party had been feeling was replaced with some confusion at the errant compliment towards the scribe. understandable, considering the two were infamous for their public bickering, but (for kaveh's sake, he thinks tiredly) alhaitham swallows his urge to grab the now decidedly sour looking scholar at kaveh's side. ]
A red letter day to receive such praise from the light of the Kshahrewar - how humbled I am as a simple scribe to receive it. [ he responds bemusedly, emphasising the title that nasser had attempted to weaponise just moments earlier. staring straight at the scholar; ] I look forward to the next proposal of yours that crosses my desk.
[ and there's a scattering of chuckles throughout the group at the rebuttal, the tension slowly diffusing despite the fuming expression that remained on nasser's face. cocking his head to look at the rest of the group not currently trying to feel up his partner, alhaitham takes another sip of his wine with nonchalance, not nearly intoxicated enough to deal with any of this.
but - even he could play nice once in a while, he supposes. ]
I daresay the admiration directed at the designer of the Alcazarzaray palace isn't entirely misplaced, however. He might be the loudest member of his darshan, but it'd be hard to argue he isn't the most talented as well.
[ to which some murmurs of agreement are given enthusiastically by the remaining decent members of the group, some comments included about the palace's beauty, the undertaking of such a project, the impression it'd made. ]
[ If Kaveh wasn't already nervous, the dark flash across Alhaitham's eyes does the job for him, and when the scribe's lips part there's a single moment when the architect thinks he's going to be picking the pieces of Nasser up off the floor by the time this is done. But instead the other man goes for something different, offering praise to the blonde and making sure to cut the other scholar down while he does it. No doubt the surprise shows on his face as he shakes his head, trying to downplay the comments a little even as the group around them nods and agrees, as some of its members praise his finest work in a way that brings a pleased flush to his cheeks. ]
Ah, and just when I thought we were done with flattery for the evening.
[ To the others, he probably sounds amused, a little humble, but he's sure Alhaitham at least will hear the softness in his tone for what it is, a genuine gratitude for the other's efforts— because he knows that's what they are, knows how hard the other is working not to throw Nasser bodily out of the engagement the way he tossed Kaveh's last (ever, he hopes) one-night stand right out of the house.
But if the look the other man gave him a few moments ago is anything to go by, he's tired. And why wouldn't he be? Kaveh knows how far he is out of his comfort zone. It's with that in mind that the architect reaches for the glass the other holds, saying something— very much for show— about how Alhaitham is drinking something different to him, let him try it, taking and sipping it before anyone can comment on the fact that actually, it looks like it's very much the same.
From there, it's as simple as excusing them both— ] Forgive my rudeness, but I need to freshen my drink, and Alhaitham you must show me where you got this glass; it's so much nicer than the swill I've been drinking! [ and, with his hand around the scribe's wrist now, pulling him bodily away from the group and through the throngs of scholars.
Contrary to his words, though, he stops not at any of the tables or servers with glasses, but continues to one archway, tugging his partner through it and into one of the side hallways. Unlike the central area, the lighting is dim here, the area void of chattering and drinking scholars, and Kaveh is finally able to look fully at Alhaitham, a quiet concern on his face. ]
[ he's just steeling himself for a second round of inane conversation when he's interrupted by kaveh taking his glass from his hand for some reason or another, giving the world's flimsiest excuse to pull him away from the confused crowd of scholars towards some wine that definitely didn't exist. except the blonde doesn't take them over to where the refreshments were, the two of them instead ending up in one of the quiet hallways adjoining the main function room. blessed quiet, punctuated by the cool night breeze blowing gently in from the large windows next to them - an oasis in a sea of idiocy.
alhaitham is undoubtedly thankful for the reprieve, considering he's unsure what his response would be if nasser put a second - third - foot wrong in his presence, but he simply looks back at kaveh, a bemused expression on his face.
then, he takes his glass back, thank you very much, and downs it in a single motion. ]
Why wouldn't I be? Scintillating conversation. Fantastic company.
[ he replies dryly, as if he hadn't been about to put one of the akademiya's finest through a window, and it's then that the scribe wishes he had another drink. he didn't put alcohol back with anywhere near the ferocity that kaveh could, but at the very least, the buzz would filter out the moronic drone of the party and the majority of the attendees in it. ]
I especially liked the part where that man was all but undressing you in front of his superiors - his words were as lax as his hands.
[ To his credit, Kaveh's expression holds its gentleness through Alhaitham's first snarky comment; it's during the second that it falters, brows lifting and lips parting as he stares at the other man in silence for a moment, tracking the irritation leeching into his voice, the shift of his eyes, glinting with something menacing, back to the light trailing in from the party they've left behind.
He shakes his head, lifting a hand and taking the scribe's jaw in his fingers, echoing the movements made by Alhaitham many times over in the past few weeks, drawing that gaze forcibly back to his, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. ]
As much as you know I enjoy it when you go all spinokrokodilian, he was hardly undressing me, Alhaitham. He was ingratiating himself, that's all. The man has no scruples; just a few months ago he was one of my loudest detractors, but with the tide changing as it is, I suppose his loyalties have gone along for the ride.
[ Even with Kaveh's fingers having a firm hold on the other's jaw, there's a softness to the way they skate along the skin, his smile softening as his eyes search the other's face. ]
If you're worried, you don't need to be. He's a pretentious asshole. [ A pause, and then more softly: ] Most of them are.
[ He has some friends among the scholars, of course, but overall he finds his admiration aimed mostly at those who find themselves on the outer cusps for one reason or another. Madam Faruzan, Tighnari, Alhaitham himself. People he can trust to be themselves no matter what might be at stake.
...And maybe he's ashamed of himself, a little, sucking up and doing what he has to do to flatter the others at this party.
Kaveh's expression changes in time with the ugly pang in his chest, and his hand falls from Alhaitham's jaw, a soft breath trembling on his lips as he looks past the other, gaze boring into the nearest wall. ]
I guess I'm not much better. I'm sorry for making you come here tonight.
Ingratiating himself? [ the scribe asks, voice tinged with disbelief. had kaveh really not noticed? ] Not only was he not talking to anyone else in the group, he had his hands all over you.
[ the sour glower is still on his face as the architect's fingers play across the angle of his jaw, though it's enough to make him look back at his partner rather than longingly at the party. longingly, to verbally eviscerate that asshole some more. but just like he'd been out there, kaveh has a strangely magnetic attraction that has the power to interrupt even alhaitham's train of thought, grounding him somewhat back in the present. ]
I'm not worried. [ he says flatly without even a second of hesitation - like nasser could even inconvenience him. ] Though, don't you think you're being too naĂŻve around these people? If what happened with Azar revealed anything, it's that half the faculty out there would play as dirty as they could if it meant they could get themselves ahead.
[ and perhaps, in all other situations, kaveh could more than take care of himself - but alhaitham is aware of his achilles' heel, his weakness in that he desperately wants to believe the best in everyone. the world was simply not that idyllic, and the scribe is always watching the architect's back to make sure that no advantage was taken, that the corruption that was still being purged from the akademiya didn't snake its grasp around one of the few left who believed in the good of all this.
letting out a laboured sigh, he's about to continue his lecture when kaveh cuts him off in such a tone that makes alhaitham's eyes narrow - and when he seeks out the other's gaze, he finds him staring into the distance at nothing in particular. a familiar expression he'd probably seen more often than most, the echo of being haunted by ghosts he wouldn't share and burdens he fought tooth and nail to keep secret.
the vulnerable side of the 'light'. ]
Really? You couldn't make me come here if you tried. [ and he's mildly confused now, too, that kaveh would try to take responsibility for others being morally depraved. ] Regrettably, my responsibilities to my office and my darshan were inescapable after dodging the past three vapid social engagements.
[ but despite everything he believes, even alhaitham knows that sometimes knows that words can't do as much as you wish them to. it's mildly awkward, because he doesn't know why the blonde's upset, doesn't know why he's stringing himself up to be criticised when he's the victim in this circumstance, so in turn the scribe isn't really sure what to do to fix a problem he's ignorant of the root of.
so, he pulls kaveh gently towards him - if someone sees, he couldn't care less - and settles his hands on his slim waist, a neutral but stern expression on his face. ]
You're not much better? [ he scoffs, the irritation at nasser still lining his voice somewhat - now even more present that it had upset the person who deserved it the least - ] There's no comparison between you and anyone else in that room.
[ Despite himself, the surprise shows all too clearly on his face when Alhaitham points out that Nasser was practically all over him. In his mind, the other scholar really was just doing what it took to appear friendly and supportive of someone whose favor within the Akademiya had started to become more prominent. Characterless and insipid that other man may be, the scribe's words and tone in regards to him are rich with jealousy; Kaveh is certain he's reading too much into it.
Besides, he's not being naïve! Didn't he just tell Alhaitham that he knows exactly what Nasser is doing, trying to get into his good graces like that? Despite the funk in which he's just landed himself, despite his partner's attention shifting to something comforting— through, of course, a lens of stern neutrality— that accusation is still enough to make his brows twitch with displeasure, irritation crossing his expression as he's gently pulled into the other's hold.
(And he should care, shouldn't he, that the other is holding him closer than he should? It could cause Alhaitham trouble, could raise questions in the future of bias or favoritism...)
He shuffles in closer, leans his head into the other's broad shoulders, eyes closing in a quiet content at the motion even as his brain works through a thousand different frustrating things. So many things he wants to say, to argue, to point out, thoughts and feelings temporarily lost in the gorge of shame having risen to the back of his throat, choking him despite the other's words of reassurance. ]
That's not true, Alhaitham. [ His voice is quiet, muffled against Alhaitham's shirt, but lucid and strong. ] They're all here for the same reason: to make themselves look good in the eyes of the others. They want to be recognized, maybe make a play for the position of sage, or at least get in good with the person who ends up with the job. I'm not naïve, I know what they want and why they're playing nice, but— [ He pulls back a little, straightens up to look back up at the other man, meeting his eyes despite the obvious remorse burning in his own. ] Isn't that why I'm here too? How can you say there's no comparison—?
[ And of course, if he would look at it from Alhaitham's perspective, surely even he would see that he says there's no comparison because there's not, because he is naĂŻve, because he doesn't understand just how far some of these men would push compared to him, ambitions hidden under honeyed words and broad smiles that are more selfish and dishonest than anything he ever could have imagined.
He should trust the other man, but at his heart he wants to believe people are good, doesn't he?
Besides, right now all he can really think about is the fact that he's doing a damned good job of ruining this party by getting in his own head. The same way he always does. ]
Sorry. We should— we should go back to the others, right?
[ the self-doubt and hurt in kaveh's voice is almost enough for alhaitham to disengage and storm back into the party to weed out the catalyst of all this, the scribe's brow furrowed as the other looks up at him and has the audacity to compare himself to the bottom-feeders skulking around outside. he's pissed, because he's not good at this, not good at comforting others when he's rarely offered it himself, not good at saying the right thing when it's about emotions and not making some sort of logical point.
and, he's pissed, because someone else has gone far enough to upset kaveh and make him doubt himself, when alhaitham distantly knows the architect needs little encouragement to do that in the first place.
Are you questioning my judgement? Like I ever speak without intent. [ is his contrary reply, though he doesn't let go of kaveh's waist. there's a brief pause, then another short sigh huffed past his lips. ] Look, there's nothing wrong with playing the game. I've seen it all, even more so over the past few months - every dirty trick, every underhanded scheme you could imagine, these self-serving opportunists have taken their chance to pull. But, I'm pretty sure you're incapable of cheating this game because all you ever are is yourself.
[ as optimistic and naĂŻve as that self may be. ]
You feel ashamed because, what, you have ambition? Do you want me to chide you for that?
[ and it's then alhaitham releases kaveh from his hold because he's trying to make a point but he's pissed and tired and probably not putting it in a way that would make any meaningful sense to someone as emotional as the man standing in front of him. raising a hand, he runs it through his own hair in some quiet exasperation, mostly at the throng of idiots outside that had caused this complex. ]
A man that's built palaces to last the ages hardly needs my validation to live up to the reputation he's carved himself.
[ The problem with a self-hatred as deep as Kaveh's is that it likes to come back all on its own from time to time, resurfacing to cause problems no matter how many times it's been shut down before. A circumstance like that has to be frustrating for someone like Alhaitham even before his own hang-ups come into play, leaving him feeling like he doesn't know how to comfort the other man. And yet despite the pissed off and tired look on his roommate's face, despite the way he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, Kaveh does feel comforted, feels an odd sense of peace settle in him.
Alhaitham says he's only ever himself.
But Alhaitham has feelings for him, doesn't he?
(Even if he won't let Kaveh take things further between them!)
Even someone far less intelligent than him would be able to do the simple emotional arithmetic involved to realize that what that means is that Alhaitham has feelings for who he really is, not who he feels he needs to be. That even if he doesn't like himself, Alhaitham does.
(His partner may claim that Kaveh doesn't need his validation. And he shouldn't. He doesn't. But by the Archons, it helps.) ]
I love you. [ It's mumbled as he reaches to catch the other's hand, as he leans up to press a soft kiss to the other's mouth, something brief and chaste and desperately wanting to be more, held back only by the knowledge of where they are right now. It's only the second time he's dared say the words out loud, and the words are almost diffident this time, not forced to his lips by alcohol and anger as they were the last. Instead, it's a softly sweet need to show his appreciation, a want to convey just how grateful he is for the other's presence.
It's not enough, especially not when compared to how much Alhaitham has just said. But it will have to do for now; Kaveh just hopes the soft smile on his lips and the hold he's taken on the other's hand will take care of the rest of the unspoken words. ]
[ he'd been privy to this side of kaveh several times before - it surfaced when he was at his most vulnerable, and by the nature of their long, tumultuous relationship, vulnerability was not a total stranger. alhaitham never quite gets used to seeing it though, not when the architect exuded total confidence the other 99% of the time, swanning around sumeru city on his way to this contract or that meeting with a smile he doesn't want anyone to know is fragile. often the scribe thinks to himself that this must be exhausting, to put so much effort into dancing around his problems - though the last time he said as much, they'd completely fallen out and hadn't talked for a long time afterwards.
so, alhaitham tries to choose his words more carefully, tries to watch his roommate from afar to at least make sure he had the space to deal with the slips in his façade. maybe he'd always been doing that. keeping tabs on (much less trying to protect) kaveh was like trying to bottle lightning though, which explains his less than stellar success rate at either thing, explains why he still has to watch him be upset even when he's standing right next to him.
it's frustrating as all hell, really, but somehow the irritation of the night fades into a lesser white noise as kaveh mumbles words alhaitham's still not quite sure he really understands and kisses him far sweeter than he deserves, the scribe reciprocating firmly in turn but hardly as rushed. ]
You're ridiculous, as usual. [ his low voice rumbles against the blonde's soft lips as they part, his expression neutral but a gentle fondness lingering in those turquoise eyes. ] Now, I believe there's several doddering higher-ups you haven't said hello to yet - probably a good idea to if that vacant sage position is ever going to filled, and the quicker it is, the sooner they'll stop asking me my opinions on it.
[ then it's alhaitham's turn to guide them both back out to the party, a large hand playing lightly on the small of his back in what could probably be interpreted as a friendly gesture if it were anyone else - but alhaitham didn't touch, not when it was anyone but kaveh.
they'd almost managed to rejoin the fray of the soiree when they're stopped in their tracks by yet another academic who couldn't take a hint that alhaitham was never here for conversation, insisting that he was required to settle a minor debate a few meters away. 'it'll only take a second,' the scholar pleads, and normally she'd be sent away with some scathing words about office hours - but, she's a senior in his darshan, and here alhaitham is, trying to play nice so that it would make kaveh's night easier.
oh, who had he become? ]
I'll just be a minute.
[ the taller man mutters reluctantly to his partner, his image the very definition of through with this - and slips away briefly to intellectually destroy the small cluster of haravatat scholars clustered near a bar table a few meters away. ]
Shut up. [ It's another low mutter, but the bite that might otherwise be present is missing entirely, replaced with a soft curve at the corners of Kaveh's lips, a fondness in crimson that matches that worn in turquoise. ] You're the ridiculous one.
[ He's content to lean a little into the pressure of Alhaitham's hand at his back, enjoying the touch for what it is: something that would look perfectly benign to onlookers while actually being a sign of affection between the two of them. And somehow he finds that despite his usual vulnerabilities, his usual insecurities, he doesn't mind it that the other doesn't respond to his words. There's a lot of things in the world that Kaveh doubts, but the scribe isn't one of them.
Perhaps it helps that Alhaitham always says exactly what he means— even if it's caused them their share of problems in the past.
He's just picked up one glass of wine, in the midst of collecting another for his companion when they're suddenly approached by an academic with a question that apparently only Alhaitham can answer. Kaveh hands a second glass to his partner as he readies to depart. ]
Of course, [ he says, and there's a hint of a smile that curves the corners of his lips, in part amused at the reluctance in the other's voice as he leaves his side, in part at the fact that the scribe did so without making his unhappiness at the request known for all present. It's another reminder of how supportive he's being, and Kaveh can't help but feel warm all over at the knowledge. Who needs words, when Alhaitham shows his feelings through actions such as these?
It leaves the architect himself at a loose end for a moment or two, but he knows his partner is right— the best use of his time is to get face-time with the higher-ups he hasn't already greeted. So he seeks them out, smile readied on his face as he takes a few steps into the heart of the room, and stopped almost immediately by a hand on his arm, a tall man with a slight smile at his lips, something curious and calculating in his eyes.
"I just wanted to check," he says, his voice low and rumbling, "that you're okay, Kaveh."
Brows lifting, Kaveh regards the man with a curiosity of his own. There's something vaguely familiar about him, he thinks, and yet he can't place him, can't work out exactly how they're meant to know each other, how the man knows his name and has the confidence to speak it with such familiarity.
His lips part, a question between them, but the other is still speaking: "I hope you don't mind my approaching you here. I thought it best to wait until the scribe was otherwise engaged..." ]
[ the hotly argued debate alhaitham is dragged into is every bit as frivolous as he thought it'd be, a bunch of scholars with their own biased points of view wanting validation from someone 'higher up' in the akademiya. it only takes the scribe a few minutes to listen to the bickering about phonemic meanings on some worthless khaenri'an inscriptions to bring himself up to speed enough to let both sides of the argument know they were as ridiculous as one another. a robust academic debate was one thing; arguing for the sake of satisfying an ego was another, and while under a different, quieter circumstance this conversation could potentially be rather interesting? his mind is elsewhere.
no-one questions him abruptly leaving the group after satisfying the exact criteria his presence was requested for - after all, alhaitham wasn't known for his bedside manner, and the curt way he socialises is something the akademiya in a wider sense has simply gotten used to.
he doesn't expect, however, to find kaveh cornered not five meters from where he left him before he'd been dragged off. cornered, because the man talking to the blonde is too far in his personal space to be polite - even alhaitham recognises that - and there's something so familiar about that stature, that hair...
striding back over, the scribe catches the tail-end of one of the stranger's comments; "You know, we could always continue where we left off... as long as that thug isn't around, that is. You seemed so enthusiastic when we met." - and alhaitham stops a good few feet behind the man, body tensing like a cat raising its hackles at an enemy presence.
his eidetic memory isn't even required to place the voice and figure despite not being able to see his face, because the scribe categorically remembers everything - and his mind quickly flashes back to one of the images that still bothers him the most, still worms its way underneath his skin and eats away at him in quiet moments when his books were closed and kaveh wasn't around.
bare hands instinctively curl into fists, nails biting into the meat of his palms as stoicism and fury vy for control over each other, the rest of the party falling away to nothing as the scribe struggles to decide what to do next. he hates, hates that one insignificant piece of shit can rattle him so, but it's clear which side of the coin wins as the taller man closes scant few steps left between them and grabs kaveh's fling by the shoulder. ]
A thug, am I? [ he seethes, though his face remains even despite the cold fury rolling off him. somehow, that makes it all the more terrifying. ] And just what do you think you're doing here?
[ Kaveh's attempt to talk is quickly forgotten in the face of the man's continued words, eyes fixed on the Vahumana insignia on the hat he wears, the architect trying to place how he knows him. Members of his darshan don't usually have much of a reason to undertake projects alongside scholars of aetiology, and it's been a while since he had anything to do with Akademiya scholars on a social level, especially now that he's busy hiding so much of his personal life from others. Yet there's something uncomfortably familiar about the man.
And it's something that becomes clearer as he keeps talking, moves closer into Kaveh's bubble and starts murmuring something about continuing where they left off, about the scribe being a thug, about the architect's enthusiasm—
The recognition settles in his stomach in the same moment as he catches sight of Alhaitham over the man's shoulder, sees the invisible fury etched into his decidedly-calm features, watches the thoughts play back over his face like a theater performance of which Kaveh should be ashamed. Heat starts to come into his cheeks, and his lips part once more as if to offer some sort of explanation— what if his partner thinks he's allowing this to happen, seeking affection from someone else just because he can?— but they snap shut again in the next moment, silenced in the face of Alhaitham's words.
Sadly, the same is not true for the man crowded into his space, who meets the scribe's eyes with smug amusement in his own, an expression that says he has nothing to fear even in the face of that anger (and seriously, Kaveh is starting to wonder how any of these people got into the Akademiya in the first place when they're so stupid in the face of his boyfriend's irritation).
"So you own the Akademiya now?" he drawls, seemingly unperturbed by the taller man's fury. "I think it's clear I have just as much a right to be here as you. This is the House of Daena, last I checked, not the House of Asshat— If the Light of Kshahrewar wants to spend time with me, here, who's to stop him?"
A hand touches his behind, a deliberate grasp out of nowhere, and the man is halfway into a statement about freeing themselves from such pathetic company when Kaveh shakes him off, takes a step or two back as quickly as if he's been burned, anger coming to light in his own eyes.
Seriously, how could he have thought for even a moment that this guy was a good substitute for Alhaitham—? ]
You're assuming I want to spend time with you— [ he says, and he really should say the guy's name but to this moment he doesn't remember it ] —which I don't. I was drunk that night; the moment has passed. I'm not interested.
[ It should be enough to end the conversation.
It's not.
The man chases him a step, that same faux-concern in his eyes that he wore at the start of the conversation, when he asked if Kaveh was okay. "Come on, baby," he says. "You don't have to pretend you don't want me. This jerk can't bully you here." ]
[ the man shakes free of alhaitham's grip, clearly not intimidated in the least by someone who had already demonstrated their strength towards him - and the scribe is about to reply with some scathing words about his 'right to be here' when the asshole just. grabs the architect suggestively, much to kaveh's abject horror.
that kind of transgression combined with such slimy, nauseating words makes alhaitham instantly stiffen, a cool, white fury snaking its way through his veins as his partner takes a step back in an attempt to escape; to get away from assault.
what happens next is purely instinctual, metered only by the fact that some part of his rational self is dimly aware they're still very much in public and that attention even on the fringes of such a lively party would still be relatively easy to draw. but nonetheless, a flash of green crosses the scribe's scowl almost faster than can be perceived as the heady sense of energy starts to lay heavy in the air - and in a fluid movement, alhaitham grabs the vahumana scholar by both shoulders and bodily shoves him back towards the side hall they'd just left a few moments ago. ]
Get over here.
[ he hisses, following the stumbling man into the relative darkness of the hallway in a stalk that resembled a carnivore circling their prey. what this piece of shit had to say about him, alhaitham couldn't care less - insults to him were like oil on water, and he'd been privy to enough of them over the years from those who disliked him. jerk, loner, cold, emotionless - he'd heard it all, and he couldn't give less of a shit.
but to have the audacity to touch his partner so intimately - against his will - it made the logic in his mind simply short circuit into fury, the taller man catching up with the culprit in question as they moved out of direct eyeline of the other partygoers.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?", the other splutters as he regains his footing and straightens out his robes, disheveled from the sheer force the scribe had shoved him with. "You have no right -"
despite being a scholar of words, alhaitham has had entirely enough of talking, and before the other can even manage to get a full sentence out, muscles flex fluidly under linen and he throws a solid punch straight at the man's face. ]
[ If he were to be asked about it later, Kaveh would admit he has no idea if the ability to sense a Vision's activation is something native to those who possess their own, or if he is simply so attuned to Alhaitham that the change in the air is palpable. In the end, perhaps it doesn't matter, because the end result is the same: the architect's thoughts go from anger to concern, a widening of his crimson eyes as they flit back to his partner. Don't, he wants to say, don't get yourself kicked out of the Akademiya on my account; he's not worth it, but the words are trapped under the shameful reminder that all of this is only happening because he was a coward, because he played stupid games in an attempt to draw the scribe's attention to him. And it worked, but apparently some of the side-effects are much less pleasing.
His fault.
A softer, sterner voice at the back of his mind, though, reminds him that none of any of that gives this man the allowance to do any of the things he's done tonight. That he kept pushing after being turned down. That he touched when Kaveh was giving him no indication whatsoever that it was okay for him to do so. That he deliberately waited until the architect was alone. That none of that is on Kaveh. A stern voice that at least for now is able to talk down the rising gourd of shame and self-blame.
(A voice that, if he stopped to listen to it more thoroughly, he would realize sounds remarkably like Alhaitham.)
He's quick to follow as the scribe practically throws the man out of the main room, placing himself as carefully as he can in the archway that connects it to the hallway, attempting to block the sight of any nosy onlookers from seeing something he already knows is not going to be even remotely pretty—
A good thing too, is the dazed thought in his mind just moments later, as his would-be one-night-stand splutters in Alhaitham's direction, starts a verbal assault only to find himself thrown back and down by the force of the scribe's punch. His nose immediately begins to purple, crimson blood running down and over his lips— broken nose, the architect thinks— but it does nothing to mollify him as he starts to stagger back to his feet, the movements limp and shaky, voice rich with anger as he starts howling that how dare he, he'll have Alhaitham's job— ]
Alhaitham. [ Kaveh finally finds his own voice, hands trembling as they reach to grip the other's arm, a hold surprisingly strong despite the shake, despite the fact that his words are hushed and tripping over his lips. ] Don't. He's not worth risking your job.
[ And he's answered by the man on the floor, a low chuckle that sounds almost like a groan of pain, a knowing look levied at the pair despite the rivulets of crimson trickling over his mouth. There's a grin, something cold and angry and stained with red before he spits at the floor to clear his mouth enough to speak. "I get it now. You'll link yourself to whomever you need to for the renown, won't you?" Another laugh, another glob of red-stained saliva aimed at Kaveh's feet. "What a slut." ]
[ - is his clipped reply to kaveh, because it's laughable such a worm of a human would be able to even remotely affect his job. and anyway? those things are so far from alhaitham's mind at this point because the scholar is (unfortunately) still conscious and spouting filth directly past him at the blonde again - mm.
unacceptable.
at the slur and the bloody spit that lands at the ground near their feet, alhaitham's jaw sets as he takes a step forward, bending down only to yank the man up on his feet by the front of his shirt. the sheer strength involved in holding up someone at least his height doesn't seem to even register to the scribe, fist bunched in the scholar's robes and holding his body weight as if he were a sack of feathers. their faces are only several inches apart at this point, more than enough for alhaitham to stare the other down with a look so cold in his eyes it'd shoot terror into the heart of a normal man. ]
You have two options. [ he murmurs lowly as the man scowls back at him, deep voice even but fringed with something unpredictable. ] Either you apologise to this esteemed member of the Kshahrewar, or I haul you in front of the General Mahamatra. I'm sure he - and the other members of the matra with him - would be thrilled to entertain you.
[ a hand swats at alhaitham's, though the vahumana scholar's strength is no match for the scribe's. when he realises that physical retaliation in this position would be somewhat futile, he spits for a final time directly in the taller man's face and then laughs; a horrible, dark thing.
"Like I'd apologise to someone happy to whore themselv-"
- but, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because before he can get out one last epithet at kaveh, alhaitham turns on his heel and bodily drags the other man with him whether he likes it or not. minor scuffling ensues, but the scribe is like an immovable object at this point, his grip like iron as he tugs the other out of the hall and into the party.
pausing for a moment as he reaches kaveh, the silver-haired man gives him an inscrutable look and frowns, face still stained with blood. ]
Stay here. [ he states simply, quiet enough for only the blonde to hear. like this were a normal sequence of events to transpire. ] I don't want you to get involved - unlike me, you have something to lose.
[ because kaveh had been the life of the party just a short time ago, had been inspiring those around him, proving to the remnants of the akademiya why he's exactly what they needed to move forward - and alhaitham doesn't want to sacrifice that future, not on the back of one pissant.
and so, he re-enters the party dragging the culprit behind him, intent on seeking out the general wherever he may be. the matra would not look favourably on sexual harassment, especially right under their noses. ]
[ You may not be concerned, the architect wants to say, but I am. Alhaitham might not be the most career-driven person on Teyvat, but a job is still a job, and the last thing Kaveh wants is to cost the scribe his. But he also knows better than to fight the other man on it. Besides, he probably couldn't even if he wanted to, because he's reeling like he's been slapped, his mind ringing with the slurs that fall off the Vahumana scholar's lips.
Slut.
It's hardly the first time such words have been aimed at him, but they sting, make his gut twist itself in ugly knots at the knowledge that he's worth that little to someone— even if that someone is an asshole like this guy, who isn't worth the thoughts Kaveh's wasting on him.
He nods mutely in response to Alhaitham's command, and it's not until his partner storms back through the arch with the scholar in his grip— the scholar whose cold blue eyes are fixed on Kaveh's face, an expression glinting behind the irises that for once in his life the architect is entirely unable to read.
And it's only once he's watching the pair move across the room— watching the figures parting for the scribe's stalking figure, watching the way heads turn and then bow together, hearing the drone of concerned murmurs starting to overtake the warmer buzz of conversation that had previously been filling the air— that he remembers vaguely he should have wiped the bloody spit off his partner's face.
Archons, he's going to be sick—
Part of him feels like he should watch what's going on, try to keep eyes on the party, make sure Alhaitham's okay, but he almost can't bear it, instead finds himself scuffing the gob of bloody spit into the stone floor, drinking too deep from his wine glass and wishing he had another.
Whore. Needy, clingy, desperate whore.
What a surprise then, the insidious little voice reminds him, that he's been so frustrated about Alhaitham not taking him to bed. Even an actual stranger knows it's all he's good for. How is he meant to keep the other man around otherwise? ]
Shut up.
[ He whispers it to himself, the fingers of both hands curling into fists as he scuffs his shoes over the floor again, feet falling into a pacing, back-and-forth rhythm over the width of the hallway. ]
[ congruent to his abrasive personality, the scholar doesn't go quietly with alhaitham - not that he'd expected him to, that is. swiping his face clean with his sleeve wasn't the most ideal solution to being splattered with someone else's blood, especially since he was wearing white for once, and it's really that that's bothering him as he hauls the scumbag across the floor, not the somewhat shocked expressions he was receiving.
"is that - the former grand sage?" "who's that with him? they didn't get into a fist fight at a professional affair, did they? how barbaric -" "keep your voice down! of course the scribe of the akademiya wouldn't stoop to such a level."
the hubbub is, of course, interspersed with further insults from the man in alhaitham's vicelike grip, mostly directed at his captor. but, the conversations, the yelling, all of it fades to white noise because at least the culprit is distracted for the moment; at least he's too focused on the scribe to smear kaveh's name in the dirt, and at least the commotion was enough to attract the attention of the general mahamatra without having to cross the entire hall floor.
looking decidedly unaffected, alhaitham hands off the man in his custody to a pair of matra who had joined cyno on his approach who get an equally loud and vulgar list of epithets. it's not unnoticed that the general's eyes flick between the scribe and the scholar's broken nose in a scrutinising manner - nothing would ever get past him - but as an aside and in confidence, a few murmured words from alhaitham to the general explains (at least) what's needed to be known for now. judging from the minute narrowing of crimson eyes and the curtness with which kaveh's attacker is then escorted from the room by the matra guard, the scribe almost feels pity for him.
the general scorned was not a person to trifle with, and by assaulting kaveh - trifle he had.
the matter dealt with, alhaitham makes his way back across the hall to where he'd left kaveh, completely ignoring the fact the volume in the room had dropped significantly since he'd emerged. no, he was more concerned with rolling up his sleeves because one was now stained with the blood of a scumbag, and it was going to take a great deal of effort to launder it out.
ducking back under the curtain that hung across the side hall entrance, his eyes come to rest on kaveh - pacing back and forth, but thankfully, where he'd left him.
this of all times was probably the most worthwhile to have actually listened to alhaitham's 'advice'. ]
It's been resolved.
[ he states simply, the tone as neutral as if this had been a matter to solve that had crossed his desk that day. though, after a short pause the scribe offers a quieter; ]
[ Even from here, the drop of volume in the adjacent room is evident, leaving Kaveh feeling even sicker than he did when this whole thing started. He's worried about Alhaitham, mostly, more than he's worried about himself; the feelings he has toward himself are those he tries to ignore, tries to smother as soon as they rise unbidden and accusatory in his mind.
At the very least, the force of effort keeps him from suffering a complete meltdown, his energy spent maintaining at least even a narrow barrier between the events of the night and his proclivity for self-hatred. After all, with everything his partner has done tonight on his behalf, the last thing he should have to deal with upon coming back is a panicky, tear-stained boyfriend.
Oh, but he wants to go home.
Despite his best efforts, the distress is still written clearly over his face by the time the other man emerges from the main area into the darkened hallway. Kaveh crosses the floor in quick steps as soon as he speaks; suppressing the very real temptation to throw himself into the other's arms like something in an Inazuman light novel, he instead reaches up, using his fingers and the cuff of his shirt sleeve to wipe away the remnants of the scholar's blood smeared on his face. ]
I'm alright. [ His voice is soft, his eyes searching as they scan over every square inch of the scribe's face. It's a lie, of course it is, but in Kaveh's mind it's a necessary one with how much Alhaitham just put on the line for him— whether the other man sees it that way or not. His other hand though, the one not skimming over the scribe's face, tells the truth of the matter in the way it finds purchase in the material of Alhaitham's shirt, an attempt by Kaveh to ground himself against his partner's immovable form.
[ even though they'd only been 'together' for a fortnight, it takes very little to see through kaveh's bold-faced lie after the many, many years they'd spent in each other's orbit. alhaitham doesn't immediately question it though in respect for the blonde's obvious fragility, allowing him to gently wipe the rest of the mess off of his face even though the culprit wasn't worth the destruction of two good shirts, let alone one.
the soft pull on the fabric of his shirt is a signal that neither of them really wants to be here anymore - not that alhaitham had remotely wanted to be here in the first place - but the night was still relatively young, and he knows that kaveh still has things to do, people to meet, charm to lay on. at the very least, he'd be able to continue on with his night with relatively little interruption considering he'd been kept out of the eye of the storm; as for alhaitham, he's expecting some sort of early call into his office tomorrow morning by the general for further explanations and probably a disciplinary 'don't punch others on campus'.
fair enough for the matra to state, but the scribe would do it again in a heartbeat. ]
Why wouldn't I be? [ he replies plainly, as if it was silly he'd have an answer anything but 'fine'. ] I wasn't the target. You, however...
[ and the horrible insults, spat with vitriol just a short time before cross his mind again, the taller man frowning as his sentence trails off. there's a brief pause as alhaitham simply looks back at kaveh searchingly because he knows that those kinds of words would've hurt him straight to his core - especially someone as sensitive and emotionally vulnerable as he is. if he'd seen one thing over the years they'd spent around one another, it was kaveh's uncanny ability to paper over the fractures and wounds of his psyche to save everyone else the trouble of worrying.
wordlessly, the scribe pulls the other into a firm, secure embrace, his face resting on the blonde hair on the crown of kaveh's head as his arms encircle his partner entirely. he's still not very good with saying the 'right' things in emotionally charged situations, but it's plain that kaveh's hurting - and he hates that. perhaps this would help, in some small way; perhaps this would remind him that he's not alone, even if it's all alhaitham can confidently do to comfort him. ]
You deserved none of that.
[ a quiet murmur sounds against kaveh's hair, the scribe's tone somewhat bitter. ]
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
no subject
he's staring past anyone that tries to talk to him anyway, like if he concentrated hard enough he could hear the conversation kaveh was having half a room away. at least, he can hear the fringes of the architect's laugh filtering through the hubbub in the hall, that musical voice instantly recognisable even through the obnoxious chatter of an entire university.
alhaitham's glass of wine is emptied as he keeps watch from the alcove, probably being a little less subtle than he'd like to think he's being. things just aren't the same as they were even a month before, not now that they'd decided to give whatever it was they had a go, and while he would've probably been fine to watch kaveh from afar like he'd often done over the years had they still been dancing around each other - no.
tonight, it was different.
watching his partner ham it up with some of the most annoying members of the akademiya (though alhaitham supposes, he should probably except the new sage of his darshan); seeing the free touching, overly liberal for what was supposed to be an academic celebration; the effervescence that rolls so easily off of kaveh on to the throng of company circling him, like a light illuminating a room and a thousand desperate moths vying for it.
alhaitham's expression had devolved from simply icy to a smouldering glower, which in turn had at least stopped anyone from approaching him for chit-chat - but he'd had enough of keeping an eye from the shadows, and more than enough of the overly friendly show some of the party guests were happily putting on. swiping another wine from a passing waiter (he'd need more alcohol if he was going to have to suffer through this), the scribe threads through the crowds in what could only be described as an elegant stalk, inserting himself into the circle surrounding kaveh at his side without an invitation or apology.
not that anyone there seemed to mind, considering his status, but he didn't exactly have the same effect on crowds as the shorter man did. ]
You've been busy.
[ he murmurs to kaveh, head tilted towards him so that the rest of the party wouldn't be privy to his words. ]
no subject
And maybe in a way it's not just Alhaitham that he wants to know that much, but everyone.
He's happy.
(He doesn't often get to be.)
So of course he notices the moment that Alhaitham peels himself away from the wall, a look on his face that sends pleasant shivers whispering their way down Kaveh's spine, a stalk to the scribe's movement that chases away the quiet doubts that like to surface unbidden in his mind, that reminds him without words that he's wanted, that he belongs to someone.
By the time the other man joins the group, Kaveh's smile is a little softer, a little fonder; his slender fingers reach to snag at the lightweight sleeve of Alhaitham's shirt, a small gesture of comfort for the scribe's benefit alone, head tilting slightly in acknowledgement of the statement. ]
You have to make friends to influence people, don't you?
[ It's not quite how the saying goes, but it will do for now. Kaveh's eyes light on Alhaitham's face for a moment, and his free hand gestures to the cluster of people now around the both of them, his expression shifting back into something persuasive, charming. ]
Gentlemen, you have of course been introduced to Haravatat graduate and grand Scribe of the Akademiya? Alhaitham, this is Sayf, Nasser, Kazem, Sherine, and— [ he indicates the new Haravatat sage, his voice taking on a hint of something that almost sounds scolding (and he's playing with fire here perhaps, but he can't quite help himself) ] —of course you know Fairouz. Why have you never told me how much of a charmer your darshan's new sage is, hmm?
[ The circle of scholars, of course, laughs. ]
no subject
[ is his hushed but mildly scathing response - not directed at kaveh, but at the lack of manners the present company was displaying. but then, the architect just has to go and ingratiate him in with the circle when he's perfectly happy at the mild discomfort his quiet presence would cause, has to drag him in to these ridiculous social frivolities that alhaitham had nothing but distaste for.
that's where they differed, kaveh and himself. the scribe was more than happy settling back into his role with all the predictability and measured responsibilities it came with. while the akademiya had tried to reason with him to remain the grand sage, the very suggestion had been met with a scoffed laugh and then a '- oh, you're serious?''. he wants a quiet life of his own drection; kaveh wants the stars.
only barely resisting the urge to simply walk back out of the conversation, alhaitham does the bare minimum of a curt nod to the circle he's being introduced to - oh, but then, then kaveh has to sprinkle the salt in the wound as he mentions the leader of his new darshan. how charming he was, how easily he could fit in with kaveh's brand of socialising.
crossing his arms over his chest, the scribe is the only one who doesn't laugh along with the group - though, that was hardly anything out of the ordinary. ]
I wasn't aware such - [ how badly he wants to add 'subjective' here, but even the scribe wasn't acerbic enough to drag his superior in front of the upper echelons of the akademiya, ] - information was of concern.
[ and even though his comment had been cold and factual, the circle laughs again as they interpret it as a joke, which only serves to further annoy him. he regretted turning up tonight, but alhaitham knows he'd regret it more if he'd had to simply sit at home and wonder what these people were getting up to around kaveh - the devil know you is better than the devil you don't.
the laughter quickly dies down as one or two of the scholars catch on to the glower on alhaitham's face, the scribe cutting an imposing figure straight through the group despite the fact he was standing there, saying nothing. the man on the opposite side of kaveh, the one who'd had his arm slung around the blonde's slim shoulders just minutes before - alhaitham's misplaced his name already, because it's inconsequential information - clears his throat and starts talking again, trying to revive the conversation. odd, how he seems to be talking mainly at kaveh.
'What's a more pertinent question is, how has Kshahrewar hidden such charm themselves? What an honour, to be able to celebrate Sage Fairouz's - and the other's - appointments with one of the finest architects to grace the land!' ]
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I'm sorry. I need to do this. Just put up with this for a little while. For me. I'll make it up to you later.
And it will take a lot of making up, he thinks, because Alhaitham's glower now is so pronounced that even the others are starting to notice it. In fact, he's just starting to wonder if it's a good idea to make an excuse and drag his boyfriend out of the group when Nasser clears his throat in an attempt to rescue their discussion.
(Nasser, who is one of the very same scholars who scorned his work in the past, dismissed art as nothing more than a flight of fancy, something not worthy of an academic's time; who in the wake of the changes sweeping the nation seems to have shifted his viewpoint in the same way that many of the others have. A hypocrite.
Honestly, it makes him appreciate the man next to him even more— His boyfriend's views may frustrate him beyond all belief, but at least he's consistent. Kaveh can respect someone like Alhaitham a lot more easily than he can someone like Nasser.)
It's perhaps due to these thoughts that unlike the scribe, he doesn't notice the fact that said scholar seems to be talking directly to him, the flirtatious tone of voice going somehow unnoticed by a man who otherwise considers himself to be sensitive to the feelings and intentions of others. If he did, there's no doubt he would do anything other than what he does next: meet the praise with a beaming smile, a shake of his head and a playful nudge of the man's side. ]
You flatter me! [ he says, and he's the very picture of modest and charming, a warmth in his ruby eyes that for all intents and purposes seems genuine, even if he's internally mocking the other man. ] I'm hardly the only decorated person among our company this evening. Didn't you yourself have a paper published just last month that changed your entire field?
[ There's a murmur of agreement over that one, a pleased-as-punch look on Nasser's face and an arm slung once more over Kaveh's shoulder as the architect drinks from his goblet. ]
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however -
over the years, alhaitham had unfortunately had to cross paths with most of the incumbent akademiya, even more so while he'd filled in the role of grand sage while the dust settled and the squabbles died down. he might not be able to spin as lyrical a conversation as kaveh, but the scribe had an eagle eye for disingenuity, for people only weaving words to gain something out of another, and nasser's pithy comments stank of it. whether it was to garner favour from someone he saw about to climb the akademiya's ranks, or whether it was to flirt with the architect himself he can't tell, but it rankles the taller man either way.
it's when the arm is so carelessly slung over kaveh's slim shoulders that a strange sense of electricity begins to roll off the scribe, like lion eying its prey from across a savannah. there's visible tension constricting alhaitham, and no amount of gentle tugging on his sleeve was going to undo it. ]
Didn't I hear the core argument of that paper was in the process of being debunked by a junior in your darshan? [ the scribe interjects flatly, sipping his wine as he stares straight at nasser with a look that'd make an average man flee. ] Some revisions may be in order if you wish to stay ahead of the curve? Such is the fast-paced nature of academia.
[ after all, alhaitham is factually correct - most research proposals pass over his desk, so he's more intimately aware of most scholar's work in a broad sense than anyone else - but he's not afraid to say exactly what he thinks, and the longer that arm stays wrapped around the blonde's shoulders, his opinion drops ever lower. ]
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(He should probably shrug Nasser's arm off his shoulder, shouldn't he? But he's not quite sure how to go about it without seeming rude. So he just links his fingers in Alhaitham's sleeve a little tighter, tugs a little more firmly. As if somehow it will work when it hasn't worked so far.)
Meanwhile, the men around them are murmuring in uncomfortable agreement, and an irritated look is crossing over the culprit's face, and Kaveh thinks he's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, because he's glaring right back at Alhaitham, squaring his shoulders as if to fight.
"That junior might think he's debunking it," he scoffs, "but I can assure you he's incorrect." Something of a tirade begins on Nasser's lips, explaining the high standards of his own work and the lack of room for error in his calculations. It's about halfway through the stream of consciousness that Kaveh decides that the answer is clearly that he's stupid, because he can hear the note of challenge in the scholar's voice as that arm drops, circling Kaveh's waist instead as he insists, "I'm sure the light of Kshahrewar understands, even if you don't, scribe."
Kaveh's brows crease, and this time he does reach to push the grasping hand away from him, a flash of annoyance over his face even as he tries to keep his voice even, aiming for pleasant even when he feels like being anything but: ]
I'd thank you not to put words in my mouth, Nasser. Quite frankly, Alhaitham has a stronger understanding of academia than anyone I have ever met.
[ What he wants to do is tell him the fuck off, ask him why he thinks insulting the former Acting Grand Sage— one of Sumeru's saviors at that— is a good idea, not to mention the fact that he's a fucking hypocrite who's only playing nice now to get something from him. But the last thing he needs to be doing is making a scene right now, even if Nasser deserves it and then some. ]
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at the next, firm tug on his sleeve, he glances sidelong at the blonde in a way that asked 'what?'. he's not doing anything wrong, he's factually correct, and moreover, kaveh was ignoring the fact that the other scholar was all but verbally feeling him up in front of their peers.
nasser was lucky the scribe didn't simply pick him up and throw him out of the soiree by the scruff of his neck considering his next set of poorly chosen words, much less the hand slimily slinking around the blonde's waist. alhaitham doesn't much care what the scholar thought of him or his intellect, the jab completely missing the target - but trying to grab kaveh, hm, that makes something dark flash through those turquoise eyes as the architect swats away the hand trying to sink into the crimson of his shirt.
kaveh's save seems to somewhat defuse the greater situation, however, because whatever discomfort the larger party had been feeling was replaced with some confusion at the errant compliment towards the scribe. understandable, considering the two were infamous for their public bickering, but (for kaveh's sake, he thinks tiredly) alhaitham swallows his urge to grab the now decidedly sour looking scholar at kaveh's side. ]
A red letter day to receive such praise from the light of the Kshahrewar - how humbled I am as a simple scribe to receive it. [ he responds bemusedly, emphasising the title that nasser had attempted to weaponise just moments earlier. staring straight at the scholar; ] I look forward to the next proposal of yours that crosses my desk.
[ and there's a scattering of chuckles throughout the group at the rebuttal, the tension slowly diffusing despite the fuming expression that remained on nasser's face. cocking his head to look at the rest of the group not currently trying to feel up his partner, alhaitham takes another sip of his wine with nonchalance, not nearly intoxicated enough to deal with any of this.
but - even he could play nice once in a while, he supposes. ]
I daresay the admiration directed at the designer of the Alcazarzaray palace isn't entirely misplaced, however. He might be the loudest member of his darshan, but it'd be hard to argue he isn't the most talented as well.
[ to which some murmurs of agreement are given enthusiastically by the remaining decent members of the group, some comments included about the palace's beauty, the undertaking of such a project, the impression it'd made. ]
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Ah, and just when I thought we were done with flattery for the evening.
[ To the others, he probably sounds amused, a little humble, but he's sure Alhaitham at least will hear the softness in his tone for what it is, a genuine gratitude for the other's efforts— because he knows that's what they are, knows how hard the other is working not to throw Nasser bodily out of the engagement the way he tossed Kaveh's last (ever, he hopes) one-night stand right out of the house.
But if the look the other man gave him a few moments ago is anything to go by, he's tired. And why wouldn't he be? Kaveh knows how far he is out of his comfort zone. It's with that in mind that the architect reaches for the glass the other holds, saying something— very much for show— about how Alhaitham is drinking something different to him, let him try it, taking and sipping it before anyone can comment on the fact that actually, it looks like it's very much the same.
From there, it's as simple as excusing them both— ] Forgive my rudeness, but I need to freshen my drink, and Alhaitham you must show me where you got this glass; it's so much nicer than the swill I've been drinking! [ and, with his hand around the scribe's wrist now, pulling him bodily away from the group and through the throngs of scholars.
Contrary to his words, though, he stops not at any of the tables or servers with glasses, but continues to one archway, tugging his partner through it and into one of the side hallways. Unlike the central area, the lighting is dim here, the area void of chattering and drinking scholars, and Kaveh is finally able to look fully at Alhaitham, a quiet concern on his face. ]
Are you alright?
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alhaitham is undoubtedly thankful for the reprieve, considering he's unsure what his response would be if nasser put a second - third - foot wrong in his presence, but he simply looks back at kaveh, a bemused expression on his face.
then, he takes his glass back, thank you very much, and downs it in a single motion. ]
Why wouldn't I be? Scintillating conversation. Fantastic company.
[ he replies dryly, as if he hadn't been about to put one of the akademiya's finest through a window, and it's then that the scribe wishes he had another drink. he didn't put alcohol back with anywhere near the ferocity that kaveh could, but at the very least, the buzz would filter out the moronic drone of the party and the majority of the attendees in it. ]
I especially liked the part where that man was all but undressing you in front of his superiors - his words were as lax as his hands.
[ the scribe's tone is intended to sound blasé, but the irritation creeps through, the wine doing something to soften his guard. it's clear he's pissed off at the culprit and not kaveh, though, as his eyes dart back towards the light of the party with a somewhat dangerous intent. mm. ]
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He shakes his head, lifting a hand and taking the scribe's jaw in his fingers, echoing the movements made by Alhaitham many times over in the past few weeks, drawing that gaze forcibly back to his, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. ]
As much as you know I enjoy it when you go all spinokrokodilian, he was hardly undressing me, Alhaitham. He was ingratiating himself, that's all. The man has no scruples; just a few months ago he was one of my loudest detractors, but with the tide changing as it is, I suppose his loyalties have gone along for the ride.
[ Even with Kaveh's fingers having a firm hold on the other's jaw, there's a softness to the way they skate along the skin, his smile softening as his eyes search the other's face. ]
If you're worried, you don't need to be. He's a pretentious asshole. [ A pause, and then more softly: ] Most of them are.
[ He has some friends among the scholars, of course, but overall he finds his admiration aimed mostly at those who find themselves on the outer cusps for one reason or another. Madam Faruzan, Tighnari, Alhaitham himself. People he can trust to be themselves no matter what might be at stake.
...And maybe he's ashamed of himself, a little, sucking up and doing what he has to do to flatter the others at this party.
Kaveh's expression changes in time with the ugly pang in his chest, and his hand falls from Alhaitham's jaw, a soft breath trembling on his lips as he looks past the other, gaze boring into the nearest wall. ]
I guess I'm not much better. I'm sorry for making you come here tonight.
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[ the sour glower is still on his face as the architect's fingers play across the angle of his jaw, though it's enough to make him look back at his partner rather than longingly at the party. longingly, to verbally eviscerate that asshole some more. but just like he'd been out there, kaveh has a strangely magnetic attraction that has the power to interrupt even alhaitham's train of thought, grounding him somewhat back in the present. ]
I'm not worried. [ he says flatly without even a second of hesitation - like nasser could even inconvenience him. ] Though, don't you think you're being too naĂŻve around these people? If what happened with Azar revealed anything, it's that half the faculty out there would play as dirty as they could if it meant they could get themselves ahead.
[ and perhaps, in all other situations, kaveh could more than take care of himself - but alhaitham is aware of his achilles' heel, his weakness in that he desperately wants to believe the best in everyone. the world was simply not that idyllic, and the scribe is always watching the architect's back to make sure that no advantage was taken, that the corruption that was still being purged from the akademiya didn't snake its grasp around one of the few left who believed in the good of all this.
letting out a laboured sigh, he's about to continue his lecture when kaveh cuts him off in such a tone that makes alhaitham's eyes narrow - and when he seeks out the other's gaze, he finds him staring into the distance at nothing in particular. a familiar expression he'd probably seen more often than most, the echo of being haunted by ghosts he wouldn't share and burdens he fought tooth and nail to keep secret.
the vulnerable side of the 'light'. ]
Really? You couldn't make me come here if you tried. [ and he's mildly confused now, too, that kaveh would try to take responsibility for others being morally depraved. ] Regrettably, my responsibilities to my office and my darshan were inescapable after dodging the past three vapid social engagements.
[ but despite everything he believes, even alhaitham knows that sometimes knows that words can't do as much as you wish them to. it's mildly awkward, because he doesn't know why the blonde's upset, doesn't know why he's stringing himself up to be criticised when he's the victim in this circumstance, so in turn the scribe isn't really sure what to do to fix a problem he's ignorant of the root of.
so, he pulls kaveh gently towards him - if someone sees, he couldn't care less - and settles his hands on his slim waist, a neutral but stern expression on his face. ]
You're not much better? [ he scoffs, the irritation at nasser still lining his voice somewhat - now even more present that it had upset the person who deserved it the least - ] There's no comparison between you and anyone else in that room.
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Besides, he's not being naïve! Didn't he just tell Alhaitham that he knows exactly what Nasser is doing, trying to get into his good graces like that? Despite the funk in which he's just landed himself, despite his partner's attention shifting to something comforting— through, of course, a lens of stern neutrality— that accusation is still enough to make his brows twitch with displeasure, irritation crossing his expression as he's gently pulled into the other's hold.
(And he should care, shouldn't he, that the other is holding him closer than he should? It could cause Alhaitham trouble, could raise questions in the future of bias or favoritism...)
He shuffles in closer, leans his head into the other's broad shoulders, eyes closing in a quiet content at the motion even as his brain works through a thousand different frustrating things. So many things he wants to say, to argue, to point out, thoughts and feelings temporarily lost in the gorge of shame having risen to the back of his throat, choking him despite the other's words of reassurance. ]
That's not true, Alhaitham. [ His voice is quiet, muffled against Alhaitham's shirt, but lucid and strong. ] They're all here for the same reason: to make themselves look good in the eyes of the others. They want to be recognized, maybe make a play for the position of sage, or at least get in good with the person who ends up with the job. I'm not naïve, I know what they want and why they're playing nice, but— [ He pulls back a little, straightens up to look back up at the other man, meeting his eyes despite the obvious remorse burning in his own. ] Isn't that why I'm here too? How can you say there's no comparison—?
[ And of course, if he would look at it from Alhaitham's perspective, surely even he would see that he says there's no comparison because there's not, because he is naĂŻve, because he doesn't understand just how far some of these men would push compared to him, ambitions hidden under honeyed words and broad smiles that are more selfish and dishonest than anything he ever could have imagined.
He should trust the other man, but at his heart he wants to believe people are good, doesn't he?
Besides, right now all he can really think about is the fact that he's doing a damned good job of ruining this party by getting in his own head. The same way he always does. ]
Sorry. We should— we should go back to the others, right?
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and, he's pissed, because someone else has gone far enough to upset kaveh and make him doubt himself, when alhaitham distantly knows the architect needs little encouragement to do that in the first place.
frowning, the scribe pretends not to have heard the blasé comment about rejoining the party continuing on just feet from them. they're two opposites, one ready to sacrifice himself to save others from his problems, and one doggedly chasing them until the wounds were picked clean - even if it stung. ]
Are you questioning my judgement? Like I ever speak without intent. [ is his contrary reply, though he doesn't let go of kaveh's waist. there's a brief pause, then another short sigh huffed past his lips. ] Look, there's nothing wrong with playing the game. I've seen it all, even more so over the past few months - every dirty trick, every underhanded scheme you could imagine, these self-serving opportunists have taken their chance to pull. But, I'm pretty sure you're incapable of cheating this game because all you ever are is yourself.
[ as optimistic and naĂŻve as that self may be. ]
You feel ashamed because, what, you have ambition? Do you want me to chide you for that?
[ and it's then alhaitham releases kaveh from his hold because he's trying to make a point but he's pissed and tired and probably not putting it in a way that would make any meaningful sense to someone as emotional as the man standing in front of him. raising a hand, he runs it through his own hair in some quiet exasperation, mostly at the throng of idiots outside that had caused this complex. ]
A man that's built palaces to last the ages hardly needs my validation to live up to the reputation he's carved himself.
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Alhaitham says he's only ever himself.
But Alhaitham has feelings for him, doesn't he?
(Even if he won't let Kaveh take things further between them!)
Even someone far less intelligent than him would be able to do the simple emotional arithmetic involved to realize that what that means is that Alhaitham has feelings for who he really is, not who he feels he needs to be. That even if he doesn't like himself, Alhaitham does.
(His partner may claim that Kaveh doesn't need his validation. And he shouldn't. He doesn't. But by the Archons, it helps.) ]
I love you. [ It's mumbled as he reaches to catch the other's hand, as he leans up to press a soft kiss to the other's mouth, something brief and chaste and desperately wanting to be more, held back only by the knowledge of where they are right now. It's only the second time he's dared say the words out loud, and the words are almost diffident this time, not forced to his lips by alcohol and anger as they were the last. Instead, it's a softly sweet need to show his appreciation, a want to convey just how grateful he is for the other's presence.
It's not enough, especially not when compared to how much Alhaitham has just said. But it will have to do for now; Kaveh just hopes the soft smile on his lips and the hold he's taken on the other's hand will take care of the rest of the unspoken words. ]
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so, alhaitham tries to choose his words more carefully, tries to watch his roommate from afar to at least make sure he had the space to deal with the slips in his façade. maybe he'd always been doing that. keeping tabs on (much less trying to protect) kaveh was like trying to bottle lightning though, which explains his less than stellar success rate at either thing, explains why he still has to watch him be upset even when he's standing right next to him.
it's frustrating as all hell, really, but somehow the irritation of the night fades into a lesser white noise as kaveh mumbles words alhaitham's still not quite sure he really understands and kisses him far sweeter than he deserves, the scribe reciprocating firmly in turn but hardly as rushed. ]
You're ridiculous, as usual. [ his low voice rumbles against the blonde's soft lips as they part, his expression neutral but a gentle fondness lingering in those turquoise eyes. ] Now, I believe there's several doddering higher-ups you haven't said hello to yet - probably a good idea to if that vacant sage position is ever going to filled, and the quicker it is, the sooner they'll stop asking me my opinions on it.
[ then it's alhaitham's turn to guide them both back out to the party, a large hand playing lightly on the small of his back in what could probably be interpreted as a friendly gesture if it were anyone else - but alhaitham didn't touch, not when it was anyone but kaveh.
they'd almost managed to rejoin the fray of the soiree when they're stopped in their tracks by yet another academic who couldn't take a hint that alhaitham was never here for conversation, insisting that he was required to settle a minor debate a few meters away. 'it'll only take a second,' the scholar pleads, and normally she'd be sent away with some scathing words about office hours - but, she's a senior in his darshan, and here alhaitham is, trying to play nice so that it would make kaveh's night easier.
oh, who had he become? ]
I'll just be a minute.
[ the taller man mutters reluctantly to his partner, his image the very definition of through with this - and slips away briefly to intellectually destroy the small cluster of haravatat scholars clustered near a bar table a few meters away. ]
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[ He's content to lean a little into the pressure of Alhaitham's hand at his back, enjoying the touch for what it is: something that would look perfectly benign to onlookers while actually being a sign of affection between the two of them. And somehow he finds that despite his usual vulnerabilities, his usual insecurities, he doesn't mind it that the other doesn't respond to his words. There's a lot of things in the world that Kaveh doubts, but the scribe isn't one of them.
Perhaps it helps that Alhaitham always says exactly what he means— even if it's caused them their share of problems in the past.
He's just picked up one glass of wine, in the midst of collecting another for his companion when they're suddenly approached by an academic with a question that apparently only Alhaitham can answer. Kaveh hands a second glass to his partner as he readies to depart. ]
Of course, [ he says, and there's a hint of a smile that curves the corners of his lips, in part amused at the reluctance in the other's voice as he leaves his side, in part at the fact that the scribe did so without making his unhappiness at the request known for all present. It's another reminder of how supportive he's being, and Kaveh can't help but feel warm all over at the knowledge. Who needs words, when Alhaitham shows his feelings through actions such as these?
It leaves the architect himself at a loose end for a moment or two, but he knows his partner is right— the best use of his time is to get face-time with the higher-ups he hasn't already greeted. So he seeks them out, smile readied on his face as he takes a few steps into the heart of the room, and stopped almost immediately by a hand on his arm, a tall man with a slight smile at his lips, something curious and calculating in his eyes.
"I just wanted to check," he says, his voice low and rumbling, "that you're okay, Kaveh."
Brows lifting, Kaveh regards the man with a curiosity of his own. There's something vaguely familiar about him, he thinks, and yet he can't place him, can't work out exactly how they're meant to know each other, how the man knows his name and has the confidence to speak it with such familiarity.
His lips part, a question between them, but the other is still speaking: "I hope you don't mind my approaching you here. I thought it best to wait until the scribe was otherwise engaged..." ]
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no-one questions him abruptly leaving the group after satisfying the exact criteria his presence was requested for - after all, alhaitham wasn't known for his bedside manner, and the curt way he socialises is something the akademiya in a wider sense has simply gotten used to.
he doesn't expect, however, to find kaveh cornered not five meters from where he left him before he'd been dragged off. cornered, because the man talking to the blonde is too far in his personal space to be polite - even alhaitham recognises that - and there's something so familiar about that stature, that hair...
striding back over, the scribe catches the tail-end of one of the stranger's comments; "You know, we could always continue where we left off... as long as that thug isn't around, that is. You seemed so enthusiastic when we met." - and alhaitham stops a good few feet behind the man, body tensing like a cat raising its hackles at an enemy presence.
his eidetic memory isn't even required to place the voice and figure despite not being able to see his face, because the scribe categorically remembers everything - and his mind quickly flashes back to one of the images that still bothers him the most, still worms its way underneath his skin and eats away at him in quiet moments when his books were closed and kaveh wasn't around.
bare hands instinctively curl into fists, nails biting into the meat of his palms as stoicism and fury vy for control over each other, the rest of the party falling away to nothing as the scribe struggles to decide what to do next. he hates, hates that one insignificant piece of shit can rattle him so, but it's clear which side of the coin wins as the taller man closes scant few steps left between them and grabs kaveh's fling by the shoulder. ]
A thug, am I? [ he seethes, though his face remains even despite the cold fury rolling off him. somehow, that makes it all the more terrifying. ] And just what do you think you're doing here?
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And it's something that becomes clearer as he keeps talking, moves closer into Kaveh's bubble and starts murmuring something about continuing where they left off, about the scribe being a thug, about the architect's enthusiasm—
The recognition settles in his stomach in the same moment as he catches sight of Alhaitham over the man's shoulder, sees the invisible fury etched into his decidedly-calm features, watches the thoughts play back over his face like a theater performance of which Kaveh should be ashamed. Heat starts to come into his cheeks, and his lips part once more as if to offer some sort of explanation— what if his partner thinks he's allowing this to happen, seeking affection from someone else just because he can?— but they snap shut again in the next moment, silenced in the face of Alhaitham's words.
Sadly, the same is not true for the man crowded into his space, who meets the scribe's eyes with smug amusement in his own, an expression that says he has nothing to fear even in the face of that anger (and seriously, Kaveh is starting to wonder how any of these people got into the Akademiya in the first place when they're so stupid in the face of his boyfriend's irritation).
"So you own the Akademiya now?" he drawls, seemingly unperturbed by the taller man's fury. "I think it's clear I have just as much a right to be here as you. This is the House of Daena, last I checked, not the House of Asshat— If the Light of Kshahrewar wants to spend time with me, here, who's to stop him?"
A hand touches his behind, a deliberate grasp out of nowhere, and the man is halfway into a statement about freeing themselves from such pathetic company when Kaveh shakes him off, takes a step or two back as quickly as if he's been burned, anger coming to light in his own eyes.
Seriously, how could he have thought for even a moment that this guy was a good substitute for Alhaitham—? ]
You're assuming I want to spend time with you— [ he says, and he really should say the guy's name but to this moment he doesn't remember it ] —which I don't. I was drunk that night; the moment has passed. I'm not interested.
[ It should be enough to end the conversation.
It's not.
The man chases him a step, that same faux-concern in his eyes that he wore at the start of the conversation, when he asked if Kaveh was okay. "Come on, baby," he says. "You don't have to pretend you don't want me. This jerk can't bully you here." ]
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that kind of transgression combined with such slimy, nauseating words makes alhaitham instantly stiffen, a cool, white fury snaking its way through his veins as his partner takes a step back in an attempt to escape; to get away from assault.
what happens next is purely instinctual, metered only by the fact that some part of his rational self is dimly aware they're still very much in public and that attention even on the fringes of such a lively party would still be relatively easy to draw. but nonetheless, a flash of green crosses the scribe's scowl almost faster than can be perceived as the heady sense of energy starts to lay heavy in the air - and in a fluid movement, alhaitham grabs the vahumana scholar by both shoulders and bodily shoves him back towards the side hall they'd just left a few moments ago. ]
Get over here.
[ he hisses, following the stumbling man into the relative darkness of the hallway in a stalk that resembled a carnivore circling their prey. what this piece of shit had to say about him, alhaitham couldn't care less - insults to him were like oil on water, and he'd been privy to enough of them over the years from those who disliked him. jerk, loner, cold, emotionless - he'd heard it all, and he couldn't give less of a shit.
but to have the audacity to touch his partner so intimately - against his will - it made the logic in his mind simply short circuit into fury, the taller man catching up with the culprit in question as they moved out of direct eyeline of the other partygoers.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?", the other splutters as he regains his footing and straightens out his robes, disheveled from the sheer force the scribe had shoved him with. "You have no right -"
despite being a scholar of words, alhaitham has had entirely enough of talking, and before the other can even manage to get a full sentence out, muscles flex fluidly under linen and he throws a solid punch straight at the man's face. ]
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His fault.
A softer, sterner voice at the back of his mind, though, reminds him that none of any of that gives this man the allowance to do any of the things he's done tonight. That he kept pushing after being turned down. That he touched when Kaveh was giving him no indication whatsoever that it was okay for him to do so. That he deliberately waited until the architect was alone. That none of that is on Kaveh. A stern voice that at least for now is able to talk down the rising gourd of shame and self-blame.
(A voice that, if he stopped to listen to it more thoroughly, he would realize sounds remarkably like Alhaitham.)
He's quick to follow as the scribe practically throws the man out of the main room, placing himself as carefully as he can in the archway that connects it to the hallway, attempting to block the sight of any nosy onlookers from seeing something he already knows is not going to be even remotely pretty—
A good thing too, is the dazed thought in his mind just moments later, as his would-be one-night-stand splutters in Alhaitham's direction, starts a verbal assault only to find himself thrown back and down by the force of the scribe's punch. His nose immediately begins to purple, crimson blood running down and over his lips— broken nose, the architect thinks— but it does nothing to mollify him as he starts to stagger back to his feet, the movements limp and shaky, voice rich with anger as he starts howling that how dare he, he'll have Alhaitham's job— ]
Alhaitham. [ Kaveh finally finds his own voice, hands trembling as they reach to grip the other's arm, a hold surprisingly strong despite the shake, despite the fact that his words are hushed and tripping over his lips. ] Don't. He's not worth risking your job.
[ And he's answered by the man on the floor, a low chuckle that sounds almost like a groan of pain, a knowing look levied at the pair despite the rivulets of crimson trickling over his mouth. There's a grin, something cold and angry and stained with red before he spits at the floor to clear his mouth enough to speak. "I get it now. You'll link yourself to whomever you need to for the renown, won't you?" Another laugh, another glob of red-stained saliva aimed at Kaveh's feet. "What a slut." ]
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[ - is his clipped reply to kaveh, because it's laughable such a worm of a human would be able to even remotely affect his job. and anyway? those things are so far from alhaitham's mind at this point because the scholar is (unfortunately) still conscious and spouting filth directly past him at the blonde again - mm.
unacceptable.
at the slur and the bloody spit that lands at the ground near their feet, alhaitham's jaw sets as he takes a step forward, bending down only to yank the man up on his feet by the front of his shirt. the sheer strength involved in holding up someone at least his height doesn't seem to even register to the scribe, fist bunched in the scholar's robes and holding his body weight as if he were a sack of feathers. their faces are only several inches apart at this point, more than enough for alhaitham to stare the other down with a look so cold in his eyes it'd shoot terror into the heart of a normal man. ]
You have two options. [ he murmurs lowly as the man scowls back at him, deep voice even but fringed with something unpredictable. ] Either you apologise to this esteemed member of the Kshahrewar, or I haul you in front of the General Mahamatra. I'm sure he - and the other members of the matra with him - would be thrilled to entertain you.
[ a hand swats at alhaitham's, though the vahumana scholar's strength is no match for the scribe's. when he realises that physical retaliation in this position would be somewhat futile, he spits for a final time directly in the taller man's face and then laughs; a horrible, dark thing.
"Like I'd apologise to someone happy to whore themselv-"
- but, he doesn't get to finish his sentence because before he can get out one last epithet at kaveh, alhaitham turns on his heel and bodily drags the other man with him whether he likes it or not. minor scuffling ensues, but the scribe is like an immovable object at this point, his grip like iron as he tugs the other out of the hall and into the party.
pausing for a moment as he reaches kaveh, the silver-haired man gives him an inscrutable look and frowns, face still stained with blood. ]
Stay here. [ he states simply, quiet enough for only the blonde to hear. like this were a normal sequence of events to transpire. ] I don't want you to get involved - unlike me, you have something to lose.
[ because kaveh had been the life of the party just a short time ago, had been inspiring those around him, proving to the remnants of the akademiya why he's exactly what they needed to move forward - and alhaitham doesn't want to sacrifice that future, not on the back of one pissant.
and so, he re-enters the party dragging the culprit behind him, intent on seeking out the general wherever he may be. the matra would not look favourably on sexual harassment, especially right under their noses. ]
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Slut.
It's hardly the first time such words have been aimed at him, but they sting, make his gut twist itself in ugly knots at the knowledge that he's worth that little to someone— even if that someone is an asshole like this guy, who isn't worth the thoughts Kaveh's wasting on him.
He nods mutely in response to Alhaitham's command, and it's not until his partner storms back through the arch with the scholar in his grip— the scholar whose cold blue eyes are fixed on Kaveh's face, an expression glinting behind the irises that for once in his life the architect is entirely unable to read.
And it's only once he's watching the pair move across the room— watching the figures parting for the scribe's stalking figure, watching the way heads turn and then bow together, hearing the drone of concerned murmurs starting to overtake the warmer buzz of conversation that had previously been filling the air— that he remembers vaguely he should have wiped the bloody spit off his partner's face.
Archons, he's going to be sick—
Part of him feels like he should watch what's going on, try to keep eyes on the party, make sure Alhaitham's okay, but he almost can't bear it, instead finds himself scuffing the gob of bloody spit into the stone floor, drinking too deep from his wine glass and wishing he had another.
Whore. Needy, clingy, desperate whore.
What a surprise then, the insidious little voice reminds him, that he's been so frustrated about Alhaitham not taking him to bed. Even an actual stranger knows it's all he's good for. How is he meant to keep the other man around otherwise? ]
Shut up.
[ He whispers it to himself, the fingers of both hands curling into fists as he scuffs his shoes over the floor again, feet falling into a pacing, back-and-forth rhythm over the width of the hallway. ]
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"is that - the former grand sage?" "who's that with him? they didn't get into a fist fight at a professional affair, did they? how barbaric -" "keep your voice down! of course the scribe of the akademiya wouldn't stoop to such a level."
the hubbub is, of course, interspersed with further insults from the man in alhaitham's vicelike grip, mostly directed at his captor. but, the conversations, the yelling, all of it fades to white noise because at least the culprit is distracted for the moment; at least he's too focused on the scribe to smear kaveh's name in the dirt, and at least the commotion was enough to attract the attention of the general mahamatra without having to cross the entire hall floor.
looking decidedly unaffected, alhaitham hands off the man in his custody to a pair of matra who had joined cyno on his approach who get an equally loud and vulgar list of epithets. it's not unnoticed that the general's eyes flick between the scribe and the scholar's broken nose in a scrutinising manner - nothing would ever get past him - but as an aside and in confidence, a few murmured words from alhaitham to the general explains (at least) what's needed to be known for now. judging from the minute narrowing of crimson eyes and the curtness with which kaveh's attacker is then escorted from the room by the matra guard, the scribe almost feels pity for him.
the general scorned was not a person to trifle with, and by assaulting kaveh - trifle he had.
the matter dealt with, alhaitham makes his way back across the hall to where he'd left kaveh, completely ignoring the fact the volume in the room had dropped significantly since he'd emerged. no, he was more concerned with rolling up his sleeves because one was now stained with the blood of a scumbag, and it was going to take a great deal of effort to launder it out.
ducking back under the curtain that hung across the side hall entrance, his eyes come to rest on kaveh - pacing back and forth, but thankfully, where he'd left him.
this of all times was probably the most worthwhile to have actually listened to alhaitham's 'advice'. ]
It's been resolved.
[ he states simply, the tone as neutral as if this had been a matter to solve that had crossed his desk that day. though, after a short pause the scribe offers a quieter; ]
Are you - ... alright?
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At the very least, the force of effort keeps him from suffering a complete meltdown, his energy spent maintaining at least even a narrow barrier between the events of the night and his proclivity for self-hatred. After all, with everything his partner has done tonight on his behalf, the last thing he should have to deal with upon coming back is a panicky, tear-stained boyfriend.
Oh, but he wants to go home.
Despite his best efforts, the distress is still written clearly over his face by the time the other man emerges from the main area into the darkened hallway. Kaveh crosses the floor in quick steps as soon as he speaks; suppressing the very real temptation to throw himself into the other's arms like something in an Inazuman light novel, he instead reaches up, using his fingers and the cuff of his shirt sleeve to wipe away the remnants of the scholar's blood smeared on his face. ]
I'm alright. [ His voice is soft, his eyes searching as they scan over every square inch of the scribe's face. It's a lie, of course it is, but in Kaveh's mind it's a necessary one with how much Alhaitham just put on the line for him— whether the other man sees it that way or not. His other hand though, the one not skimming over the scribe's face, tells the truth of the matter in the way it finds purchase in the material of Alhaitham's shirt, an attempt by Kaveh to ground himself against his partner's immovable form.
The closest thing to home he can get right now.
He swallows, closes his eyes. He's alright. ]
How about you? Are you okay?
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the soft pull on the fabric of his shirt is a signal that neither of them really wants to be here anymore - not that alhaitham had remotely wanted to be here in the first place - but the night was still relatively young, and he knows that kaveh still has things to do, people to meet, charm to lay on. at the very least, he'd be able to continue on with his night with relatively little interruption considering he'd been kept out of the eye of the storm; as for alhaitham, he's expecting some sort of early call into his office tomorrow morning by the general for further explanations and probably a disciplinary 'don't punch others on campus'.
fair enough for the matra to state, but the scribe would do it again in a heartbeat. ]
Why wouldn't I be? [ he replies plainly, as if it was silly he'd have an answer anything but 'fine'. ] I wasn't the target. You, however...
[ and the horrible insults, spat with vitriol just a short time before cross his mind again, the taller man frowning as his sentence trails off. there's a brief pause as alhaitham simply looks back at kaveh searchingly because he knows that those kinds of words would've hurt him straight to his core - especially someone as sensitive and emotionally vulnerable as he is. if he'd seen one thing over the years they'd spent around one another, it was kaveh's uncanny ability to paper over the fractures and wounds of his psyche to save everyone else the trouble of worrying.
unfortunately, nothing escapes alhaitham's unwavering gaze.
wordlessly, the scribe pulls the other into a firm, secure embrace, his face resting on the blonde hair on the crown of kaveh's head as his arms encircle his partner entirely. he's still not very good with saying the 'right' things in emotionally charged situations, but it's plain that kaveh's hurting - and he hates that. perhaps this would help, in some small way; perhaps this would remind him that he's not alone, even if it's all alhaitham can confidently do to comfort him. ]
You deserved none of that.
[ a quiet murmur sounds against kaveh's hair, the scribe's tone somewhat bitter. ]
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