It was a hindrance, [ alhaitham echoes, repeating the very factual things that kaveh has just stated. ] Now you certainly can buy a house, if that's what you wish to do.
[ in a way, this is reminiscent of the time they'd fallen out over their elaborate joint thesis - all emotional fury unleashed from kaveh's side, and too-blunt, thoughtless nonchalance from alhaitham's. perhaps a haravatat scholar should know better than anyone else in sumeru that history is destined to repeat itself, but dimly, the scribe is disappointed that he's been proven right for once.
logically, the debt disappearing should've been a positive thing, even to someone as loathe to understand social constructs as the scribe. for as long as kaveh had been indebted to dori, the tethers of the obligation had punctuated almost every other conversation, the source of most of the architect's woes. the reason he'd deemed it necessary to move in with alhaitham in the first place. a plight so shameful that he'd even refused to make it public where he lived, as if the discovery of staying in the scribe's second bedroom would be social suicide.
that's why alhaitham had to test this hypothesis.
wasn't that prudent, before they got entangled any deeper? the blonde had already changed him irrevocably over the past two months, mostly in ways that he's only just coming to understand now - and if he was going to let someone in past his guard, wasn't it only sensible to make sure they were there for the right reasons?
the taller man's face remains impassive, but he's quietly surprised to realise how much kaveh's words wound him, each syllable dropping like a dead weight; the one time he'd taken a gamble hoping to lose and clutched at an unwanted victory instead. ]
You're free of any obligation. [ he states, not moving a muscle. ] You can make of your future what you will without an external force holding you back.
[ Archons, he hates this. He hates how Alhaitham can look so calm, so impassive, so unaffected by any of this, while Kaveh's desperately trying to keep his legs from giving out underneath him. There's a horrific kind of finality about it, about the way the other speaks, and Kaveh suddenly knows with devastating clarity that this isn't just about him moving out, that they're breaking up, that he's somehow screwed up the one good thing he had in this world. ]
Alright, then... then... [ Propriety would dictate that he say thank you or something equally trite, but he can't make his lips even start to form the words. Before they found themselves together, thanking Alhaitham was hard, sometimes impossible— somehow now it feels beyond that.
(Besides, he doesn't want to thank him— he wants to cry, to scream, to ask what he did wrong, tell him he doesn't want this—) ]
So I'll... I'll stay with Tighnari for a few days while I get my things in order. And I'll— once I find a place, I'll come move my stuff out—
[ The panic is starting to well in his gut. He's going to be sick. He's going to lose control over his emotions and start to sob. He swallows hard, locks his fingers into a tight grip on his leggings, sucks in a sharp breath as he tries to keep himself steady. Fuck— ]
I'll see you later, Alhaitham.
[ Faltering steps take him out of the office, back through the wending rooms of the Akademiya. There are tears on his cheeks, there are people staring, but he doesn't notice any of them. And the second he's outside, Kaveh staggers into the nearest bush and promptly throws up. ] [ A few days turns into four, then five, and soon a week has passed without Kaveh really being aware of it. Living with the most well-adjusted couple in Teyvat is an exercise in torture for one so miserable. He finds himself unable to focus on work, offering excuses of sickness and promising to get back to work as soon as he can manage it, even if he feels as if he'll never be able to bring himself to work again.
It will get better, Tighnari tells him, and Cyno tries to make jokes, but they don't help. Nor does finding himself in the bottom of a bottle.
Kaveh has experienced heartbreak, but never like this.
But he can only wear out his welcome for so long, and a week into his moping, Kaveh decides he has to do something. So he takes his bags, empties them of what few things he brought with him here, and heads back into the city, shoulders straight and key in hand. It's a weekday, so Alhaitham should be at work— all he has to is get in, pack his bags, get out.
But the house is dark when he walks in, the caustic smell of alcohol burning his nostrils, and the few steps he ventures forward bring him face to face with a sight he never expected to see. ]
a week had gone by since kaveh had left the house with the sort of finality that demanded no doors between them be re-opened, and with that, everything in the world had gone more than slightly off-kilter. frustrating, annoying, aggravating even, that alhaitham had once been someone who'd prided himself on being so independent, so self-sufficient that he'd never need to rely on the presence or comfort of others to live his life, and his former partnerboyfriendroom-mate colleague had come along and ruined all that.
no, since he'd left, a house he'd once been content to have empty and silent before kaveh had moved in felt too big, so cavernous that his thoughts seemed to echo in reverb off the walls and back into his head as he sulked in there on his own. words on the pages of his books seemed to muddle together, blend into nonsense and fall off the paper, like even stories had lost their luster without that constant peripheral presence around to read in silence with. texts that told tales of epic adventure that wove a fairytale ending were even worse, and those books had ended up haphazardly around the floor once he'd gotten far enough through the plot to realise where it was going.
luckily, he'd made being scarce at the akademiya somewhat of a talent, one that'd he'd been leveraging far more the past few days as the quiet he once relished instead ate away at him. visual triggers around the house he'd even started to hide, things that evoked memories of the past two months and of the awful, dull ache of loss that alhaitham thought he'd gone to great lengths to close himself off to ever experiencing again.
none of it had worked, though, and even one of the akademiya's brightest couldn't devise an avoidance or coping method strong enough for the long rolls of paper he'd come across when moving all of kaveh's things back to his old room, mostly so he wouldn't have to look at them, be reminded of them. their shared study was full of the things, large architectural drafts for a wide range of structures that the blonde had worked on over the years he'd lived there - old drafts for former clients, more mundane requests for the local municipality or outer sumeru settlements, odd projects for buildings only someone with the imagination and technical prowess that a master engineer could dream up.
in the midst of carrying a large stack of them through the house, one had rolled off the top of the pile and the elastic holding it together snapped as it hit the floor, the grid paper unrolling itself as it was freed from its confines. a muttered swear of an old language under his breath, the scribe had (more carefully than he felt like) put the rest in the old bedroom before returning to pick up the errant plan.
alhaitham's not quite sure why he stopped to look at this one in particular, not after he'd set such strict rules for himself to compartmentalise all these things that weren't his, that seemed to burn him each time he laid eyes on them - but he does, and fuck, he wishes he'd listened to himself.
that's why it's currently what, five in the evening and not even the end of a normal workday and he's somehow found himself lounging on the wooden floor on the lounge, devoid of about half the things usually in it and still not quite numb enough for how much araq he'd drank over the past few hours. definitely trying, though, judging by the half full bottle in his hand and the empty one on the coffee table.
the house is unlit and it only distantly registers that someone has entered when a too-familiar voice speaks his name. briefly, alhaitham wonders if he has drunk too much if he's beginning to hallucinate, head cocking to the side from where he was resting it against the edge of the sofa only to see - well.
[ The last few days have been hard. So many hours Kaveh has spent lying awake and staring into the darkness, recounting the events of a week ago and trying to figure out where he went wrong. So many tears he has shed that for almost a whole day after it happened, he couldn't speak over the thickness clinging to his throat, leaving him hoarse and ragged. So many meals missed, the taste of even the sweetest fruits akin to desert sand on his tongue. Despite his best efforts this morning, he is disheveled, pale, thinner than he should be, with dark circles under his eyes and bitten fingernails.
Yet even without the benefit of a mirror, he's certain the scene before him looks a damn sight worse.
Stench of araq filling the house aside, everything else is laid out in front of him like a theater of misfortune, an exhibit of things gone wrong. The house, usually relatively clean from Kaveh's efforts, is a wreck; furniture that should be here is missing, books are strewn forgotten on the floor, a half-rolled blueprint lays discarded halfway down the hall. Alhaitham, usually so goddamn composed, is similarly wrecked; hair as mussed as if he's only just risen from bed, a faraway look on his face, a half-empty bottle of alcohol in one hand, his voice edged with emotion usually kept from it.
He looks as broken on the outside as Kaveh feels on the inside, and every muscle in the architect's body screams with the urge to rush forward, to take Alhaitham up in his arms and hold him, to tell him everything is going to be okay— But he holds his ground, even as his legs waver in place, his desperate hopes for once silenced in the face of the weight he's carried since their fight.
(Because how stupid would he feel if this turned out to be something entirely unrelated to him?) ]
I... came to get my things. [ His voice feels distant, foggy, like he's outside of his body and listening to himself speak. Watching as his brows crease, his lips part— then shut, then part once more. ] ...Are you alright?
[ What a stupid question when Alhaitham is clearly going to pieces in front of him. ]
Fine. [ the scribe replies with such force and immediacy, that it was obviously an untruth. ] Never better.
[ with a short groan, alhaitham draws himself up from the floor which is a sore task for someone with stiff limbs (he doesn't know how many hours he's been down there) and a distorted sense of balance thanks to the ridiculous amount of hard liquor he'd imbibed over the course of the afternoon. it ached to stand, sure, but it ached less than this emotional pain now renewed with kaveh standing right there.
despite the lack of slur in his words, it's clear that the scribe is fairly far gone as he half-stumbles while getting to his feet, a bare foot knocking over a stack of books as he rights himself. as they cascade to the floor, alhaitham mutters some archaic swear under his breath once again - because what's one more thing out of place in a house that was so out of balance anyway? as if he could've escaped ending up like this while wallowing in four walls of broken memories. ]
Your things, [ he repeats, not quite bringing himself to look at kaveh. he - just feels like he can't. ] - right. Moved them into your old room. Most of them, anyway. You have too many things.
[ and it's punctuated by a dismissive handwave in the direction of the blonde's former lodgings before alhaitham turns back to the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbing it and his glass to fill. he'd actually forgone the glass perhaps four drinks ago, but something about kaveh's presence both makes him want to clear the second bottle but at the same time, not look like a neanderthal doing it.
how embarrassing, that he still couldn't bring himself not to care what this one person thought of him. ]
Knock yourself out.
[ is his offer over the lip of the glass as he takes a drink, the burn not quite enough to overwrite the emotional discomfort he's feeling in this moment. ]
[ His eyes are halfway drifted back to the blueprint on the floor, left foot lifting in a tentative step, when Alhaitham suddenly lifts himself from the floor, a groan in his voice and a near-stumble in his step. The books that spill to the floor do so with a sound that sounds painfully loud, and Kaveh's step stutters, redirecting instead to bring him to his knees, to start picking them up and stacking them back as the other man curses above him.
His things, Alhaitham moved his things, and Kaveh doesn't know that feels so awful but it does, and he finds himself swallowing against the renewed thickness in his throat, promising himself once more that he will not cry, not this time. This is what the other man wanted, so—
Is this what Alhaitham wanted, though? Alhaitham, who is standing on wavering legs in front of him, filling a glass with creamy white liquor, pouring the scents of grape and licorice anew into the already-soaked room? Alhaitham, who bit out the word "fine" so quickly and forcefully that it practically tasted like a lie?
For the first time since this whole mess started to unravel in Kaveh's hands, he finds himself unsure. And perhaps it's for that reason he's driven back to his feet, books forgotten— or perhaps it's the fact that he hates how unsteady the scribe is, how he's irrefutably not himself in this moment— either way, the architect stands, reaches out, fingers closing over Alhaitham's wrist in an effort to stop him from continuing to lift the glass to his lips. ]
Please— Alhaitham, this isn't you. You don't— you're so drunk, please stop drinking.
[ He shouldn't touch. It's not his place, not anymore. But he can't help it, not when worry has temporarily displaced the sickness of the hurt and heartbreak he's been feeling. He'll leave, but— ]
I know you don't want me here, and I'll leave as soon as I can pack my things up. I just. I need you to be okay first.
[ is his curt response, pulling his wrist out of kaveh's grip like the touch seared his skin. here he was, doing his damned best to put all of this behind him in his best guess how, and he was being interrupted? perhaps his attitude is unwarranted, considering that this was largely his doing in the first place - he'd erred on the side of the other actually, genuinely, wanting a relationship, but in the end it had been every bit as alhaitham was himself. functional. practical. convenient.
the scribe takes a step back and sits heavily down on the sofa behind him, trying to physically exit from the conversation. this time he doesn't stumble, but he doesn't heed kaveh's suggestion either, the glass remaining firmly in his hand as he all but sits and waits for his former lover to do good on his statement and go clear his things.
if there are words, alhaitham certainly doesn't have them, so why bother? ever since he'd come across the plan that still lay unfurled on the floor in the darkness, his mind had been decidedly blank. nothing made sense to him, but yet these things rarely did anyway - because why would kaveh go to the extreme lengths of drawing up such an elaborate dream that he was happy to just walk away from? wouldn't planning a home, not just a house for the two of them indicate that there was supposed to be some future to it all?
how naĂŻve alhaitham had been to let his walls down.
the sooner they could part ways properly, the better. he's not quite sure how this all fell apart so spectacularly, but judging by past experience, it was probably what he deserved. ]
Moreover, you don't need to worry about me. [ a long draught as his fingers tense into the cushion of the couch. ] Go do what you need to.
Of course I need to worry! [ are the words Kaveh shoots back immediately, his voice rich and full with emotion, his hand falling uselessly back to his side. ] I love—
[ But he cuts himself off, head turning away from a gaze that won't even meet his, eyes closing in painful reminder. He's not allowed to say that anymore, is he? Obviously, that momentary, hopeful doubt was wrong— Alhaitham does want this, wants to push him away and make him leave; look at how quickly he's already hidden all of his things, put them away where he doesn't have to see them, doesn't have to be reminded of that one pathetic leech that doesn't know how to let him go. ]
...Alright. Fine.
[ Fine. Alhaitham says he doesn't need to worry? He won't. He came here to stop moping, didn't he? He came to pack up his things and move on, damnit, he doesn't need this. So, with unsteady steps of his own, he backs up, blinking against the mutinous stinging of his eyes, moving toward the hallway that leads to his room; he pauses only to pick up the blueprint on which his eyes fell before, trained eyes scanning the design of his own making.
For a moment, he forgets to be upset— instead, a warmth overtakes him for a breath, a fondness as he looks over each of the features in turn. The only thing he can think is that it's good this was left here, that it wasn't with him on the day this all happened, because in his rage he may have torn it up like did that one paper over which they fell out the first time. And it's good, he thinks, that it wasn't lost. Because it's beautiful, perhaps the most lovely thing he's ever dared to design, with a shared bedroom for the two of them and study rooms both individual and shared, all carefully and lovingly labeled. Others too, not labeled lest the dreamer let his fantasies get too out of hand, guest rooms by rights but reserved in his mind for a child, or children—
A heavy tear drops on the paper before Kaveh even realizes he's crying, smudging the graphite on the page. Kids, because he saw a future here, a future he's somehow lost to a potentiality that he can't even begin to understand. The whole thing makes him want to just pick up a bottle of his own, and drink himself into oblivion, and— ]
Fuck.
[ Before Kaveh can even process the thought fully, he's whirling back to face Alhaitham, shirt flying in a trail through the air behind him, ruby eyes alight and burning with something angry and pained and fingers clenched white-knuckled on the blueprint, crumpling its corner under the pressure. ]
This is why you're drinking, isn't it? [ His voice cracks as he surges forward to make up the ground between them again, drawing him closer to the couch and almost shoving the paper toward the other man. ] Because of this?
[ he only distantly registers kaveh's departure, the shroud of alcohol draping back over his consciousness as alhaitham tries to shut out whatever the other was up to - touching him, speaking to him, packing his things, coming, going. it had been a long time since he'd seen the bottom of more than one bottle, but it was doing at least a mediocre job of papering over the cracks in his defenses, keeping up the appearances of being held together even if it were by a thread.
he's staring blankly into the pale liquid, unaware that the blonde had even come back in the room when the scribe is mildly startled by a paper being waved in his face and that musical voice cutting through the clouds of his sulk like sun after rain. looking somewhat sourly down at the interruption, alhaitham realises that kaveh was offering him the very last thing he wanted to see right now - and barely, he restrains himself from snatching it off the other and tossing it away. ]
What does it matter why I'm drinking? [ he mutters into the glass, gaze averting back to staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. ] Like I said, your things were everywhere. I don't have a categorical knowledge of which one in particular that is.
[ but the way he says it belies the fact that isn't true; alhaitham's voice is so much more raw than normal, emotion snaking into his level words and corrupting them to betray true feeling. after a beginning of life where everything he'd wanted was taken away from him, the scribe had designed an existence where that simply couldn't happen - until now, until he dared to think about things outside himself.
in a more tired tone that sounds more like a rhetorical question than anything else, but important because kaveh still hasn't left his side; ]
[ But Kaveh once again cuts himself off, not in pain this time but because something inside him registers dimly that he can't just keep yelling his feelings when the other man is drunk and hurting, can't just keep getting more and more wound up until he can no longer make himself clear. Especially when the emotion crept into Alhaitham's voice belies feelings he knows the scribe would rather keep hidden, he needs to keep his head together now more than ever—
Trembling fingers place the offending image on the table. He's afraid, like he's never been before, to put his feelings into the space between them, to seek answers that might only serve to hurt him more in the long run. Not to mention that to do so is to risk deepening the chasm between them until there's no hope of recovery. If he's wrong—
But he's not wrong. He can't be, not when Alhaitham's voice hurts in consonance with his heart. When the other is drinking sorrows in alcohol in a way far too like his own bad habits. When everything in the house feels out of kilter and wrong, and not just because some pieces of furniture and paraphernalia are missing.
His breath shudders. ]
I want— I want you to stop lying to me. [ His voice, usually so melodic and strident, is soft to the point it nears a whisper, and he dares to sit by the other's side on the sofa, to reach out once more, long fingers curving gentle over the jut of a knee. ] I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but— but I can see through you anyway, so—
[ His eyes drop, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get his own emotions under some semblance of control. ]
When you paid off my debt to Dori... was it because you wanted me to leave?
[ Whatever the answer... whatever Alhaitham says, he can take it. ]
[ he responds flatly despite the couch shifting next to him, signaling that kaveh had decided to sit; despite the soft touch of the blonde's hand against his knee which he desperately tries to ignore. alhaitham still doesn't look towards him, like he knows that his own eyes give away far more than they usually do and that's uncomfortable, far too vulnerable for someone who'd built their entire existence around being unaffected.
kaveh's question, however, is ridiculous. the scribe pauses before finishing his glass, staring at the empty vessel for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table. ]
Why would that be the conclusion you drew from that? [ a rough voice murmurs, his tone edged with husk from the hard liquor and fatigue. the dark circles underneath his eyes already gave that away. ] Did I give any indication to that end?
[ with a tired sigh, alhaitham leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs, muscular form hunched. was there even any point in trying to talk through this now, when the damage had already been done? he'd already resigned himself to grieving, a process he was distantly familiar with, and he'd come to terms with kaveh's departure - at least, in a functional sense. ]
But, if you really need confirmation? No, it wasn't. [ if only the alcohol could do a better job of numbing - but some hurt was too deep to run from. ] I paid it off because I knew it bothered you. Knew living here bothered you.
It was to test whether or not you simply felt obligated to stay here because you had no other options.
[ You do lie, Kaveh wants to say, at least to me. You lied to me when you said you were fine, you lied to me when you said you don't know which piece of mine this is— you're lying now— But in truth, this argument is one where being right or wrong doesn't matter, in the long run. What matters is that Alhaitham is honest about this at the very least, that he tells the truth about this even if he wants to lie about everything else. And Kaveh is prepared for any answer, is steady and sure and ready to hear anything that the scribe might have to say—
Except in the end, he's not ready at all.
He makes it through the questioning in silence, eyes closed against the stinging. The fingers not resting on Alhaitham's leg tighten at his own side in response to the confirmation of the other's intent, the understanding that he read too far into actions that took him by surprise and caused hurt to them both— but he makes it through the admission with a press of his teeth into his lower lip.
But then Alhaitham says that it was a test, and Kaveh's entire world shatters under him. His breath catches in a sudden sob, his eyes flying open once more as his heart seizes in his chest.
Gods, he's never been more the fool—
Trembling hands reach out, snatching up the paper from the table once more, almost throwing it in Alhaitham's lap this time. ]
Does this look like the work of someone who feels obligated? [ The words come out, rough and broken, between snatches of breath. ] I designed this for us, Alhaitham, there's even— there are even bedrooms for kids because— because I love you, and I know it's way too soon to think about any of that stuff but I want to get old with you, and raise a family with you, and—
[ His fingers clench again, crumpling the paper beyond repair in one corner, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get some semblance of control over his voice. ]
But I thought— You paid it off so suddenly, and you didn't tell me about it, and— Archons, Alhaitham, I fucked everything up—
[ And perhaps later, he'll address the questions from earlier— why he drew that conclusion, why he felt that Alhaitham was giving such an indication. Perhaps later, there's something to be said about testing, about how Alhaitham needs to learn to trust Kaveh and his feelings in the same way that Kaveh needs to learn not to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Perhaps later, Kaveh can explain that he will always, always fail any test Alhaitham gives him because he'll always put what he thinks the other man wants ahead of his own desires.
But right now he can't bring himself to think of that, not when the only thing on his mind is how badly he's messed up, how he's hurt the other man by jumping to conclusions. ]
I thought for sure you were tired of this. Tired of me. So I— I said I'd move out— [ The sound on his lips as he cuts his sentence in half is nothing short of anguished, and he presses the heels of both hands against his eyes, his body hunching over in much the same way Alhaitham's is. His voice, when he speaks again, is a whisper: ] I'm so sorry.
[ this time he does actually cast his eyes down towards the plans that are thrust into his lap, though it's more of a cursory glance - alhaitham had read it all hours earlier, body tense and fingers crumpled into the paper as he'd skimmed over the thin blue lines and cursive notes. handwriting he'd gotten used to reading because kaveh was the sort of person who'd leave scribblings everywhere, jotting things down as inspiration struck no matter whether it was genius or nonsense.
however, he hadn't been prepared for what he'd picked up. alhaitham had assumed it'd just be another one of kaveh's many projects, client or otherwise, not - well, not a window into what had been going through the blonde's mind (at the time). he hadn't been prepared for the sheer amount of thought that had obviously gone into the design, especially since he'd been reading it after their relationship had all but split into a wide divide.
he hadn't been prepared for how much it had surprisingly, agonisingly, hopelessly hurt, either.
to have something within his grasp that he'd only experienced the fringes of or read about; to have some semblance of belonging and stability that was borne out of work other than his own. and - and, when kaveh mentions children of all things - not something that alhaitham had thought about in any detail because even the thought of a family was almost beyond his grasp and understanding - the scribe actually takes the battered roll of paper and unfurls it, looking over it again wordlessly even though he'd already memorised the contents.
the alcohol coursing through his system was so potent that his vision is almost swimming, but looking at the paper is an escape from meeting kaveh's eyes and giving away how disgustingly vulnerable he feels - so he just listens. reads. digests these... significant developments while trying to keep his emotions in check.
had they simply misunderstood each other again? was this damage irrevocable, or was there something to be salvaged if kaveh actually saw this - these four walls he'd drawn down in pencil on paper - in their future?
archons, his head is killing him and alhaitham knows that whatever he says next is probably going to be significant, but he's all out of fancy words and the sheer shift that he's been presented with would be fairly staggering for him even if he were sober. ]
A family.
[ is all he repeats to begin with, like the words were alien on his tongue. the scribe looks and sounds like absolute shit, but there's consideration in his tired voice as he seeks some comfort in things he actually understands - engineering, diagrams, sketches, paper.
even if they meant something emotionally significant, it was still solace.
some silence passes between the two as they sit side by side hunched over in a similar defeated fashion, alhaitham unsure in his drunken state what exactly to do next. the hurt in kaveh's voice still makes his heart twist even though he'd thought he'd closed himself off to that after his departure, and part of him desperately wants to reach over and fold into his arms the man that was his. had been. is?
he doesn't know. ]
Ironic. For perhaps the first time, I was disappointed that I thought I'd been proven right. [ he murmurs, fingers of his right hand tracing over some of the specifications kaveh had written - some details about acoustic soundproofing in the study he'd drawn for him, because if anything proved that he knew alhaitham better than anyone else, it was the house in this diagram. ] What could make you think I was tired of this? Of you?
You know I'm not good at this kind of thing. Unsurprising that it ended up like this.
[ For a few moments, Kaveh probably looks like a fish, hunched over as he is: his lips part, and then snap shut, and then part again, and then fall closed once more. For as few words as there are finding their way to Alhaitham's tongue, he has answers for each and every one of them, explanations and tears to shed,
(A family. Waking up together to the sound of their child— children, he thinks, wouldn't two be perfect— one silver-haired and playing with blocks or pets, one with his own blonde sitting on the couch and reading in a figure too like their other father for Kaveh to handle the cuteness. Waking up on some mornings instead to someone buried between them, waiting to be comforted after a nightmare, Kaveh shushing and comforting and soothing while Alhaitham reminds them in that ever-calm voice of his that nightmares are only visions and nothing to truly fear. Breakfasts: scrambled eggs on toast for one, fruit for the other, an echo of their parents, of Alhaitham's nose wrinkling when he gets Kaveh's fruit-laden plate by mistake—)
but Alhaitham is drunk, and Kaveh is exhausted, and the small part of him with any logical wisdom left is insistent that this is a conversation best saved for later, when they can talk this out with some degree of sense and sensibility for each others' thoughts and feelings.
And right now, he just needs to cry himself hoarse. How could he have fucked this up so badly?
(But how could Alhaitham not be tired of him? Alhaitham, whose fingers trace over the carefully scribbled notes about the soundproofing of the study Kaveh dreamed for him, Alhaitham who needs quiet and peace and all those things Kaveh is not, all those things a family could never be. Kaveh, who speaks too easily of his love and selfishly invades all of Alhaitham's space, taking as much of him as he can get and not always remembering to give back. Kaveh, who wondered for years why Alhaitham may have offered this living space to him, a chip on his shoulder far from cured by their falling together as they did. Kaveh, who is so terribly afraid in his heart of hearts of being left alone yet again that even the briefest thought of it had him running, hurting before he could be hurt. Alhaitham, who tested him— Alhaitham, who perhaps harbors some of those same fears, even if he'll never admit to them.)
Long fingers reach past the edge of the paper, tentative but determined, curling around those that trace across the page. ]
This doesn't have to be the end. [ His voice is shakier than he wants it to be, trembling over each word, leaving each syllable hanging in the air for a moment too long. ] We can talk about it— we should talk about it. But not like this, not when you're drunk— [ and not when Kaveh is so emotional that every word he says threatens to bring about an unceasing stream of tears. ] If I stay here, I— can we talk about it, Alhaitham?
[ there's so much alcohol coursing through his system that kaveh's delicate artist's fingers curling around his should just be a distant feeling, but it's real and so much more in focus than the rest of the world swimming around him right now. teal eyes rest on their joined hands in silence for perhaps longer than is comfortable, but time seemed to be both passing hideously quickly and sluggishly slow in this strange limbo they were in; feet half in an end and half in a beginning.
and yet here, even as far gone as alhaitham is, he'd be a fool to deny the heady sense of relief he was beginning to feel as the blonde's familiar grip tightens on his own, fingers that were stained in ink and chalks as often as they'd been threaded into the scribe's silver hair or mapping his skin. maybe that's why the finality of their parting had such a great effect on him - mm, if nahida were here, she'd share some insight into the samsara of their existence together as they orbited one another; the fact that they had become irreplaceable structures in each other's lives, that they gave and took in equal measures, that they were such distinct polar opposites yet maintained a fragile equilibrium that actually allowed them to realise themselves.
this hadn't been the first misunderstanding that had created a divide between them, and alhaitham is sure it wouldn't be the last, as much as he was loathe to admit. this was the dance they did, testing, pushing, challenging one another in ways that were well-meaning but often obtuse and misguided - but twice, twice was enough evidence that it was a cycle and not an exception.
that perhaps, as stupidly whimsical or fantastical as it might seem to say out loud, they would always gravitate back to each other again.
- and, since it would be stupidly whimsical to say such a thing out loud, the scribe gives his answer in physicality instead. for a man of words, they often failed him when kaveh was involved and given the current record of errors, alhaitham didn't trust his beleaguered mind to say the right thing; so instead, strong arms decisively, firmly reach around the architect's shoulders, enfolding him into an embrace that's perhaps a fraction tighter than he intends (but he's drunk, and moody, and would just really like to not have the other at a distance anymore.)
a deep exhale escapes the taller man at the warmth of kaveh's chest against his; at the impossibly soft locks of blonde hair that press against his cheek as the scribe buries his head in the crook of his shoulder; at the faint scent of padisarah and parchment that was inexplicably, indescribably kaveh.
it sounds like relief, but it also sounds like deep, irreplaceable fondness.
after what seems like an age, a muffled voice murmurs; ]
[ The relief that settles in Kaveh's chest, as those arms circle him and pull him tight and close, is profound— so much so that he forgets even to be surprised by the suddenness of the move. His breath catches in his throat, and when Alhaitham's face presses into his shoulder, so too does Kaveh's find the top of the other's head, leaving soft kisses and saltwater in soft silver strands. They can talk about it, Alhaitham agrees, and Kaveh's heart sings in answer. Despite everything, they're going to be okay. A hole opened up over the past week is papered shut again— there is work to be done, structural support to be fixed and strengthened, but for now, it's enough.
The minutes tick by, and Kaveh, who's usually so restless, who's used to marking each moment as an eternity, barely notices, so caught up is he in the feel of those arms, the sound of Alhaitham's breathing, the scent of sandalwood tickling his nose in pair with the sharp fragrance of the alcohol. His arms circle the other's waist in return, holding him close, and for the first time in the whole week, he feels as if he can relax, as if everything's going to be alright.
His grip doesn't loosen until he feels the slight slackening of Alhaitham's muscles, until the younger's breathing evens out against the crook of his neck, and suddenly Kaveh realizes he's exhausted. ]
Come on— [ he murmurs, shifting his weight so that he can stand, so he can pull the other man with him ] —let's get you to bed, Haitham. [ The nickname, affectionate and tender, something he's not sure he's ever said before, slips without him even realizing it.
Gathering Alhaitham into his arms as much as he possibly can— he's strong for his build, but he doesn't have the raw strength that his love has, that ability to hoist Kaveh into his hold like he weighs nothing— he half-carries, half-drags him from the couch to his bed and lays him out, crimson eyes soft with unshed tears and fondness alike. How could he have let it get this bad between them, he wonders, promises vaguely not to do it again—
Archons, he's tired.
Alhaitham's figure looks inviting, but it almost feels wrong to take advantage of that fact, and so Kaveh's ready to pull away, lifting himself back from the other— and finding himself quickly locked in by the strength of those arms, not willing to let him go even in the relaxation of sleep. (He's glad Alhaitham can't see his face, because it crumples at that, at the reminder of how badly he's hurt the other man, at the knowledge of how much he's going to have to do to make it up, to fix this.) And maybe he's selfish, but he's too tired to fight it— it's easy for Kaveh to lower his body, to lie alongside the other, to press his face into Alhaitham's shoulder with a sigh.
So tired.
He falls asleep in record time, tears drying in the fabric of the other man's shirt. ]
[ despite the tendrils of a powerful hangover sneaking into his mind, it's the best night of sleep alhaitham has gotten in the week since they'd parted ways at the akademiya. dreamless, but not in the corrupt sense of the past - rather the exhaustion was so thorough that even the scribe's mind was too tired to do much of anything else but rest, although there was a distant, comforting presence, a warmth that stayed alongside him through the night. he just wasn't fully aware that presence was actually kaveh, a prisoner to alhaitham's subconscious as the most instinctual part of his mind did its best to gather what it needed; reprieve. comfort. reassurance.
all things he'd never admit out loud and would brush off if ever asked, but the scribe's own body had betrayed him to speak for him.
that familiar warm feeling is why alhaitham is a little surprised to wake up to an empty bed - mm, the blonde's presence beside him at night had been something he'd gotten used to with a terrifying speed - but instead to the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee. with a quiet groan, he sits tenderly up in the bed as his sluggish mind starts ticking over again, the painful pounding behind his eyes all the reprimand he needed for thinking it was a good idea to drink so goddamn much last night. but, thankfully, he remembers everything up until - he assumes - he fell asleep on the couch or staggered in here.
sleep-glazed eyes glance at the coffee steaming away on the bedside table, one that couldn't have been made more than what, five, ten minutes ago? and there's a strange sense of deja vu spiked with irony that now he was on the receiving end of the hangover cure. it hadn't been more than two or three months since he'd been plying kaveh with a similar endlessly black brew as they'd stumbled over revelations and (sometimes poorly chosen) words together, and... well. the nostalgia, considering the door that had been re-opened last night, wasn't unpleasant.
the silver-haired man is just raising the cup to his lips and taking the world's longest sip as the object of said nostalgia re-enters the room, holding a coffee of his own. it's still a little odd to see him back in the house, even more so in alhaitham's bedroom considering the past week - but alcohol for the scribe does nothing for his confidence, only for his escape.
despite that, no words his mind can select seem good enough. evenly, his tired mind picks the most inoffensive opener he could think of; ]
Thanks for the coffee. [ but the habitual sass sneaks out anyway, because alhaitham is way too sore to resist. ] It's not terrible.
[ Despite the ease in his heart, and how little proper rest he has earned over the past week, for Kaveh sleep does not come so easily. Or, to put it more correctly, it comes and goes in bursts, lulling him into the world of dreams only to wake him with a start some time later, eyes open wide in the darkness and heart pounding in his chest until he's lucid enough to remember the events of the evening, to recognize the solidness of Alhaitham's form against him, wrapped around him,
until he recalls that he's not alone anymore.
Better than he's managed in a week, and hand in hand with the belief that it will only get better from here, but still restless— which is why (paired with the hangover, he's sure) Kaveh is awake in the end so much earlier than the other man, lying in the soft wash of morning light and listening to his breathing, thinking over how badly they nearly ruined things— again— over a misunderstanding. It's too much to bear, and in the end he gets out of bed early, not exactly wanting to leave but wanting to keep himself busy, and so by the time Alhaitham wakes up, Kaveh's things are back where they belong, the kitchen is cleaned, there's coffee on the table and the blonde is walking back into the other's bedroom with coffee of his own, and toast on a plate in his other hand, ready to work its magic on that hangover.
His eyes roll at the sass, and the rejoinder is quick to find his tongue, a joke that isn't funny, something about moving out, and Kaveh swallows its bitter taste as he shakes his head, moving to sit next to the other on the bed. ]
I moved my things back where they belong, [ he says instead, holding out the plate of toast. Where he belongs. He's not going anywhere. But still, he can't help but add a little snark of his own, even as his shoulder comes flush with the other man's: ] The house looked embarrassingly dull without them.
[ Worse than that, it looked wrong in a way Kaveh couldn't quite place. For all those months he'd made noise about moving out, finding his own space— when he finally did, even for a week, nothing about it was right.
He sips at his own coffee, gaze falling to the plate between them. ]
Mm. [ he acknowledges without words in lieu of taking another long drink from his coffee, the caffeine singing in his veins and chasing away the worst edges of the hangover. ] I hope you hung all those paintings straight.
[ the mattress dips as kaveh sits next to him on the bed, the graceful slant of his shoulder pressing against the scribe's own. one of the most frustrating things about the blonde was how perfectly together he always managed to look - unaffected and devastatingly beautiful even after the worst nights and most trying days. today, too, he looks simply radiant in the morning sumeru sunshine filtering through the window, long fingers angled around the round of his cup, while alhaitham is fully aware he looks like absolute shit.
fair enough too, considering to some degree, he still feels like shit, at least - physically. emotionally he's relieved, but even alhaitham isn't socially detached enough to think that what had transpired between them could be easily papered over or forgotten, much like their dramatic falling out after they'd written their cooperative thesis.
the taller man's eyes drop to the plate too, and even though he doesn't overly feel like eating he knows it's probably in his best interests to ingest something solid that wasn't alcohol or caffeine - so, with that even, unbothered expression of his, he takes a piece and bites into it.
it gives him a moment to think, turn over in his head how the atmosphere in the room feels like things had gone back to normal yet were completely different at the same time, only emphasised by kaveh's comment. after a brief silence, those intense teal irises fix back on the architect's face with a look far more focused than he felt. ]
This place feels strange without you in it. [ alhaitham offers, because he's still raw and unsettled by how much all of this had affected him, how quickly he'd sunk into ruin. of course he'd missed kaveh too. ] I hadn't realised just how many things you snuck in here.
[ and he finishes the slice of toast unhurriedly before following up: ]
[ The comment about the paintings is met with another roll of his eyes, but he's otherwise silent, watching as Alhaitham takes a piece of toast, bites into it, slowly makes his way through it in between an admission that cuts Kaveh to the core. And if he knew that the other was wondering how he looks so good he might laugh, because Kaveh feels like he's the one that looks like shit, that Alhaitham, despite his hangover, looks peaceful and relaxed in the morning sunlight—
But he does want to talk, and so he nods, putting the plate aside, reaching with newly-freed fingers to catch Alhaitham's hand in an echo of the night before, buttery remnants of toast on his fingers aside. Like always, there are hundreds of moving pieces that have come together in the very same pattern as they have before, forcing them apart before drawing them back together. And where Alhaitham recognizes the cyclical nature of it, accepts it as perhaps part of their story, Kaveh yearns to solve it, to find the parts that are wrong and fix them so they never have to go through this pain again.
The problem, perhaps, is that he has no idea where they're meant to start— apart, of course, from the very beginning. Which is...
Well. Perhaps the very beginning is a little too far out of his reach for now. But they can start from the beginning of this fight, at the very least. ]
Mm... You said last night that it was a test. Right? Paying off my debt with Dori. Will you tell me more about it?
[ Alhaitham was testing, he said, Kaveh's obligation to stay versus his want— but why? ]
[ alhaitham's gaze is even as he stares back at kaveh down long lashes, expression unreadable despite the state he was in. unlike last night when his defenses had begun to crumble, not enough focus or energy to maintain the nonchalance that he wears like a protective skin, the scribe had gone back to being his usual stoic self. it's somewhat of a relief to him really, because despite his inscrutable expression he's deeply uncomfortable at the question.
talking facts was easy - they were inarguable. rolled off the tongue like reciting a script, because there was nothing to question. this question? was hard. ]
I'm unsure what else there is to say about it.
[ alhaitham starts, his voice still somewhat hoarse from his escapades the previous night. fine araq was delicious, but it certainly burned on the way down. ]
It was something that had bothered you for some time, and seemed to intertwine with other issues you'd mentioned in the past. Mora isn't a particularly large concern of mine, so paying it off presented itself as an ingenious idea; one less thing that irritated you, and a litmus test for whether or not your old complaints were genuine.
[ either he doesn't think the 'why' is relevant to the explanation, or he's purposely avoiding it - either or, he seems satisfied with his answer. ]
Obviously, the results were not what I expected.
[ a pause, as his eyes flick between their entwined fingers and then back up to kaveh. the discomfort of the topic has obviously made the scribe physically shut off at least to some degree, the awkwardness of having to explain emotive, subjective matters causing him to stiffen slightly. ]
If we're asking searching questions, why did you immediately move out if you didn't feel obligated to stay here?
[ Perhaps, Kaveh thinks, he should have let them continue the conversation while Alhaitham was drunk. It wouldn't have been right, of course, but it would have been easier— right now, the architect can practically see the shell Alhaitham has projected around himself in his sober state, the stiffness to his form that comes from being forced to speak on his feelings—
Which means, Kaveh reasons, that there's more to it than the other man is letting on, that the "why" of the matter he's so carefully avoided is something deeper than he wants Kaveh to know— perhaps deeper than he knows himself. And he doesn't want to make the other man uncomfortable, especially not now, but if they want to fix this, to truly mend it and prevent similar things from happening yet again in their future, he needs to understand.
So, he tightens his hold on the other's hand, looks at him in silence for a moment, considering the things he's said, the things left unsaid, the things floating indecipherable in the space between them. ]
I promise I'll answer you— [ he replies, voice soft ] —but first I need you to trust me enough to tell me everything, Alhaitham. Even the parts you don't want to tell me.
[ The coffee is put aside with the plate, and Kaveh's free hand moves up to brush fingers along the younger's jaw, gently urging— without force, so that the other can resist if he wishes— Alhaitham to look at him instead of their tangled fingers. ]
If I don't understand why you were testing me, then I promise you that I'll fail every single test you design for me in the future, and I don't want to put us through this again.
[ with a sigh that could be just as much frustration as it was fatigue, alhaitham at least allows the other to tilt his head upwards. it was always hard to resist kaveh's almost innocent insistence, even if the scribe feels uncomfortable, vulnerable, annoyed at this situation that had arisen at least partly from his own creation. only a fool would put themselves into such an unwinnable position, and the thought of such is reflected on his face by a slight furrow in his brow; an imperceptible purse of his lips. ]
What makes you think I'm hiding anything from you? Or, that there's any more to it?
[ is the reply that he decides on, and despite it being rather blunt, alhaitham's tone isn't one of accusation but an actual genuine question. ]
Like I said, it was an experiment to remove any other significant outside factors or influences from the relationship. Dori's manipulation of you was what lead you here in the first place, so one could argue it has been the greatest influence on our circumstances.
You initially moved in because you had no other options, correct? So would it not be unreasonable to remove that barrier to see whether or not that sentiment was still the case before our situation got any more serious? More involved? What if you hadn't even realised yourself, that extenuating circumstances had birthed convenience?
[ and as he's least dancing around the point that he's not quite sure he's trying to make, alhaitham exhales in a quiet, moody huff, disengaging their hands and crossing his arms over his chest. subconsciously defensive body language, because as much as kaveh says it's necessary, alhaitham hates this; hates being exposed. ]
Were our positions reversed, would you not wonder the same thing?
[ As Alhaitham speaks, crosses his arms defensively across his chest, Kaveh feels his face fall— not out of the rejection inherent in the release of his hand, but in response to the other's words, to the truth spoken in the spaces between them that perhaps even the scribe doesn't realize he's allowed to the surface: He was afraid.
Alhaitham, the architect realizes, was scared that he was in too deep, that he'd allowed himself to feel more deeply than he should for someone whom he couldn't whole-heartedly believe would stay by his side—
And Kaveh, seeing the other's actions through the lens of his own insecurities, made those fears into a reality.
He wants to cry. Instead, he casts his gaze down to his lap, his fingers now coming together to twine and twist against one another as he tries to sort the words in his head.
A breath. Two. And then he looks up again, his eyes bright and shining, but his gaze steady in a way his voice isn't. ]
You ask that question like I don't wonder that exact thing almost every day, Alhaitham, [ is the confession that comes next, fingers locking tightly together. ] Like it isn't the reason I decided to move out. I decided— by myself, out of my own fear—
[ and it's the closest he'll come to likening the two emotions together, enough that the scribe can make the connection for himself without the vulnerability inherent in having it told to him ]
—I decided that your actions meant you didn't want me here anymore. Because it's too easy for me to ask myself that question: how someone like you puts up with someone like me. How I got so lucky in the first place. How long it will take for— for you to get tired of me, finally.
[ tired and suffering from the worst hangover he'd subjected himself in years alhaitham may be, but even that kind of handicap wasn't enough to let kaveh's insinuation slip past him.
fear, really?
he almost wants to give some sort of retort to prove that actually, no, he's nothing of the sort but the words instead die on his lips as the other keeps talking. it absolves him of the need to recognise something truly ridiculous yet inarguably correct at the same time, a realisation that makes something awful twist inside him because alhaitham prides himself on being immovable, impervious, unaffected. having already experienced so much loss had necessitated closing his heart off to any other circumstance in which he could suffer it, which wasn't a small part of why he wasn't sumeru's most social individual, why he rarely got close to people, why this was proving so difficult.
his headache pounds in the background, and alhaitham suddenly feels very tired. ]
We're not very good at this.
[ - is the astute observation he offers as a sigh escapes him, fingers briefly raising to pinch the bridge of his brow as if it'd relieved some of the pressure of the headache, when in reality, what was affecting him most was the gravity of the situation. all the ridiculous things that kaveh was saying in his own direction, things that were factually untrue and - it's a huge mess.
a mess of subjectivity, of misinterpretations, of feelings, and briefly, alhaitham wonders if he could even begin to untangle them from one another. ]
Do you honestly think I'd willingly spend my time in the company of anyone I disliked? That I'd bother enough to hide that kind of disdain? Honestly, have you ever seen me interact with anyone else?
[ he murmurs, straightening up again. his tone is still purely explanatory, as if these were the answers to the most obvious question in the world - and to him, it was. fixing kaveh with a square gaze, his brow kinks in a slight frown. ]
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sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
no subject
[ in a way, this is reminiscent of the time they'd fallen out over their elaborate joint thesis - all emotional fury unleashed from kaveh's side, and too-blunt, thoughtless nonchalance from alhaitham's. perhaps a haravatat scholar should know better than anyone else in sumeru that history is destined to repeat itself, but dimly, the scribe is disappointed that he's been proven right for once.
logically, the debt disappearing should've been a positive thing, even to someone as loathe to understand social constructs as the scribe. for as long as kaveh had been indebted to dori, the tethers of the obligation had punctuated almost every other conversation, the source of most of the architect's woes. the reason he'd deemed it necessary to move in with alhaitham in the first place. a plight so shameful that he'd even refused to make it public where he lived, as if the discovery of staying in the scribe's second bedroom would be social suicide.
that's why alhaitham had to test this hypothesis.
wasn't that prudent, before they got entangled any deeper? the blonde had already changed him irrevocably over the past two months, mostly in ways that he's only just coming to understand now - and if he was going to let someone in past his guard, wasn't it only sensible to make sure they were there for the right reasons?
the taller man's face remains impassive, but he's quietly surprised to realise how much kaveh's words wound him, each syllable dropping like a dead weight; the one time he'd taken a gamble hoping to lose and clutched at an unwanted victory instead. ]
You're free of any obligation. [ he states, not moving a muscle. ] You can make of your future what you will without an external force holding you back.
no subject
[ Archons, he hates this. He hates how Alhaitham can look so calm, so impassive, so unaffected by any of this, while Kaveh's desperately trying to keep his legs from giving out underneath him. There's a horrific kind of finality about it, about the way the other speaks, and Kaveh suddenly knows with devastating clarity that this isn't just about him moving out, that they're breaking up, that he's somehow screwed up the one good thing he had in this world. ]
Alright, then... then... [ Propriety would dictate that he say thank you or something equally trite, but he can't make his lips even start to form the words. Before they found themselves together, thanking Alhaitham was hard, sometimes impossible— somehow now it feels beyond that.
(Besides, he doesn't want to thank him— he wants to cry, to scream, to ask what he did wrong, tell him he doesn't want this—) ]
So I'll... I'll stay with Tighnari for a few days while I get my things in order. And I'll— once I find a place, I'll come move my stuff out—
[ The panic is starting to well in his gut. He's going to be sick. He's going to lose control over his emotions and start to sob. He swallows hard, locks his fingers into a tight grip on his leggings, sucks in a sharp breath as he tries to keep himself steady. Fuck— ]
I'll see you later, Alhaitham.
[ Faltering steps take him out of the office, back through the wending rooms of the Akademiya. There are tears on his cheeks, there are people staring, but he doesn't notice any of them. And the second he's outside, Kaveh staggers into the nearest bush and promptly throws up. ]
[ A few days turns into four, then five, and soon a week has passed without Kaveh really being aware of it. Living with the most well-adjusted couple in Teyvat is an exercise in torture for one so miserable. He finds himself unable to focus on work, offering excuses of sickness and promising to get back to work as soon as he can manage it, even if he feels as if he'll never be able to bring himself to work again.
It will get better, Tighnari tells him, and Cyno tries to make jokes, but they don't help. Nor does finding himself in the bottom of a bottle.
Kaveh has experienced heartbreak, but never like this.
But he can only wear out his welcome for so long, and a week into his moping, Kaveh decides he has to do something. So he takes his bags, empties them of what few things he brought with him here, and heads back into the city, shoulders straight and key in hand. It's a weekday, so Alhaitham should be at work— all he has to is get in, pack his bags, get out.
But the house is dark when he walks in, the caustic smell of alcohol burning his nostrils, and the few steps he ventures forward bring him face to face with a sight he never expected to see. ]
...Alhaitham?
no subject
a week had gone by since kaveh had left the house with the sort of finality that demanded no doors between them be re-opened, and with that, everything in the world had gone more than slightly off-kilter. frustrating, annoying, aggravating even, that alhaitham had once been someone who'd prided himself on being so independent, so self-sufficient that he'd never need to rely on the presence or comfort of others to live his life, and his former
partnerboyfriendroom-matecolleague had come along and ruined all that.no, since he'd left, a house he'd once been content to have empty and silent before kaveh had moved in felt too big, so cavernous that his thoughts seemed to echo in reverb off the walls and back into his head as he sulked in there on his own. words on the pages of his books seemed to muddle together, blend into nonsense and fall off the paper, like even stories had lost their luster without that constant peripheral presence around to read in silence with. texts that told tales of epic adventure that wove a fairytale ending were even worse, and those books had ended up haphazardly around the floor once he'd gotten far enough through the plot to realise where it was going.
luckily, he'd made being scarce at the akademiya somewhat of a talent, one that'd he'd been leveraging far more the past few days as the quiet he once relished instead ate away at him. visual triggers around the house he'd even started to hide, things that evoked memories of the past two months and of the awful, dull ache of loss that alhaitham thought he'd gone to great lengths to close himself off to ever experiencing again.
none of it had worked, though, and even one of the akademiya's brightest couldn't devise an avoidance or coping method strong enough for the long rolls of paper he'd come across when moving all of kaveh's things back to his old room, mostly so he wouldn't have to look at them, be reminded of them. their shared study was full of the things, large architectural drafts for a wide range of structures that the blonde had worked on over the years he'd lived there - old drafts for former clients, more mundane requests for the local municipality or outer sumeru settlements, odd projects for buildings only someone with the imagination and technical prowess that a master engineer could dream up.
in the midst of carrying a large stack of them through the house, one had rolled off the top of the pile and the elastic holding it together snapped as it hit the floor, the grid paper unrolling itself as it was freed from its confines. a muttered swear of an old language under his breath, the scribe had (more carefully than he felt like) put the rest in the old bedroom before returning to pick up the errant plan.
alhaitham's not quite sure why he stopped to look at this one in particular, not after he'd set such strict rules for himself to compartmentalise all these things that weren't his, that seemed to burn him each time he laid eyes on them - but he does, and fuck, he wishes he'd listened to himself.
that's why it's currently what, five in the evening and not even the end of a normal workday and he's somehow found himself lounging on the wooden floor on the lounge, devoid of about half the things usually in it and still not quite numb enough for how much araq he'd drank over the past few hours. definitely trying, though, judging by the half full bottle in his hand and the empty one on the coffee table.
the house is unlit and it only distantly registers that someone has entered when a too-familiar voice speaks his name. briefly, alhaitham wonders if he has drunk too much if he's beginning to hallucinate, head cocking to the side from where he was resting it against the edge of the sofa only to see - well.
of course that was who it was. ]
What're you doing here?
no subject
Yet even without the benefit of a mirror, he's certain the scene before him looks a damn sight worse.
Stench of araq filling the house aside, everything else is laid out in front of him like a theater of misfortune, an exhibit of things gone wrong. The house, usually relatively clean from Kaveh's efforts, is a wreck; furniture that should be here is missing, books are strewn forgotten on the floor, a half-rolled blueprint lays discarded halfway down the hall. Alhaitham, usually so goddamn composed, is similarly wrecked; hair as mussed as if he's only just risen from bed, a faraway look on his face, a half-empty bottle of alcohol in one hand, his voice edged with emotion usually kept from it.
He looks as broken on the outside as Kaveh feels on the inside, and every muscle in the architect's body screams with the urge to rush forward, to take Alhaitham up in his arms and hold him, to tell him everything is going to be okay— But he holds his ground, even as his legs waver in place, his desperate hopes for once silenced in the face of the weight he's carried since their fight.
(Because how stupid would he feel if this turned out to be something entirely unrelated to him?) ]
I... came to get my things. [ His voice feels distant, foggy, like he's outside of his body and listening to himself speak. Watching as his brows crease, his lips part— then shut, then part once more. ] ...Are you alright?
[ What a stupid question when Alhaitham is clearly going to pieces in front of him. ]
no subject
[ with a short groan, alhaitham draws himself up from the floor which is a sore task for someone with stiff limbs (he doesn't know how many hours he's been down there) and a distorted sense of balance thanks to the ridiculous amount of hard liquor he'd imbibed over the course of the afternoon. it ached to stand, sure, but it ached less than this emotional pain now renewed with kaveh standing right there.
despite the lack of slur in his words, it's clear that the scribe is fairly far gone as he half-stumbles while getting to his feet, a bare foot knocking over a stack of books as he rights himself. as they cascade to the floor, alhaitham mutters some archaic swear under his breath once again - because what's one more thing out of place in a house that was so out of balance anyway? as if he could've escaped ending up like this while wallowing in four walls of broken memories. ]
Your things, [ he repeats, not quite bringing himself to look at kaveh. he - just feels like he can't. ] - right. Moved them into your old room. Most of them, anyway. You have too many things.
[ and it's punctuated by a dismissive handwave in the direction of the blonde's former lodgings before alhaitham turns back to the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, grabbing it and his glass to fill. he'd actually forgone the glass perhaps four drinks ago, but something about kaveh's presence both makes him want to clear the second bottle but at the same time, not look like a neanderthal doing it.
how embarrassing, that he still couldn't bring himself not to care what this one person thought of him. ]
Knock yourself out.
[ is his offer over the lip of the glass as he takes a drink, the burn not quite enough to overwrite the emotional discomfort he's feeling in this moment. ]
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His things, Alhaitham moved his things, and Kaveh doesn't know that feels so awful but it does, and he finds himself swallowing against the renewed thickness in his throat, promising himself once more that he will not cry, not this time. This is what the other man wanted, so—
Is this what Alhaitham wanted, though? Alhaitham, who is standing on wavering legs in front of him, filling a glass with creamy white liquor, pouring the scents of grape and licorice anew into the already-soaked room? Alhaitham, who bit out the word "fine" so quickly and forcefully that it practically tasted like a lie?
For the first time since this whole mess started to unravel in Kaveh's hands, he finds himself unsure. And perhaps it's for that reason he's driven back to his feet, books forgotten— or perhaps it's the fact that he hates how unsteady the scribe is, how he's irrefutably not himself in this moment— either way, the architect stands, reaches out, fingers closing over Alhaitham's wrist in an effort to stop him from continuing to lift the glass to his lips. ]
Please— Alhaitham, this isn't you. You don't— you're so drunk, please stop drinking.
[ He shouldn't touch. It's not his place, not anymore. But he can't help it, not when worry has temporarily displaced the sickness of the hurt and heartbreak he's been feeling. He'll leave, but— ]
I know you don't want me here, and I'll leave as soon as I can pack my things up. I just. I need you to be okay first.
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[ is his curt response, pulling his wrist out of kaveh's grip like the touch seared his skin. here he was, doing his damned best to put all of this behind him in his best guess how, and he was being interrupted? perhaps his attitude is unwarranted, considering that this was largely his doing in the first place - he'd erred on the side of the other actually, genuinely, wanting a relationship, but in the end it had been every bit as alhaitham was himself. functional. practical. convenient.
the scribe takes a step back and sits heavily down on the sofa behind him, trying to physically exit from the conversation. this time he doesn't stumble, but he doesn't heed kaveh's suggestion either, the glass remaining firmly in his hand as he all but sits and waits for his former lover to do good on his statement and go clear his things.
if there are words, alhaitham certainly doesn't have them, so why bother? ever since he'd come across the plan that still lay unfurled on the floor in the darkness, his mind had been decidedly blank. nothing made sense to him, but yet these things rarely did anyway - because why would kaveh go to the extreme lengths of drawing up such an elaborate dream that he was happy to just walk away from? wouldn't planning a home, not just a house for the two of them indicate that there was supposed to be some future to it all?
how naĂŻve alhaitham had been to let his walls down.
the sooner they could part ways properly, the better. he's not quite sure how this all fell apart so spectacularly, but judging by past experience, it was probably what he deserved. ]
Moreover, you don't need to worry about me. [ a long draught as his fingers tense into the cushion of the couch. ] Go do what you need to.
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[ But he cuts himself off, head turning away from a gaze that won't even meet his, eyes closing in painful reminder. He's not allowed to say that anymore, is he? Obviously, that momentary, hopeful doubt was wrong— Alhaitham does want this, wants to push him away and make him leave; look at how quickly he's already hidden all of his things, put them away where he doesn't have to see them, doesn't have to be reminded of that one pathetic leech that doesn't know how to let him go. ]
...Alright. Fine.
[ Fine. Alhaitham says he doesn't need to worry? He won't. He came here to stop moping, didn't he? He came to pack up his things and move on, damnit, he doesn't need this. So, with unsteady steps of his own, he backs up, blinking against the mutinous stinging of his eyes, moving toward the hallway that leads to his room; he pauses only to pick up the blueprint on which his eyes fell before, trained eyes scanning the design of his own making.
For a moment, he forgets to be upset— instead, a warmth overtakes him for a breath, a fondness as he looks over each of the features in turn. The only thing he can think is that it's good this was left here, that it wasn't with him on the day this all happened, because in his rage he may have torn it up like did that one paper over which they fell out the first time. And it's good, he thinks, that it wasn't lost. Because it's beautiful, perhaps the most lovely thing he's ever dared to design, with a shared bedroom for the two of them and study rooms both individual and shared, all carefully and lovingly labeled. Others too, not labeled lest the dreamer let his fantasies get too out of hand, guest rooms by rights but reserved in his mind for a child, or children—
A heavy tear drops on the paper before Kaveh even realizes he's crying, smudging the graphite on the page. Kids, because he saw a future here, a future he's somehow lost to a potentiality that he can't even begin to understand. The whole thing makes him want to just pick up a bottle of his own, and drink himself into oblivion, and— ]
Fuck.
[ Before Kaveh can even process the thought fully, he's whirling back to face Alhaitham, shirt flying in a trail through the air behind him, ruby eyes alight and burning with something angry and pained and fingers clenched white-knuckled on the blueprint, crumpling its corner under the pressure. ]
This is why you're drinking, isn't it? [ His voice cracks as he surges forward to make up the ground between them again, drawing him closer to the couch and almost shoving the paper toward the other man. ] Because of this?
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he's staring blankly into the pale liquid, unaware that the blonde had even come back in the room when the scribe is mildly startled by a paper being waved in his face and that musical voice cutting through the clouds of his sulk like sun after rain. looking somewhat sourly down at the interruption, alhaitham realises that kaveh was offering him the very last thing he wanted to see right now - and barely, he restrains himself from snatching it off the other and tossing it away. ]
What does it matter why I'm drinking? [ he mutters into the glass, gaze averting back to staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. ] Like I said, your things were everywhere. I don't have a categorical knowledge of which one in particular that is.
[ but the way he says it belies the fact that isn't true; alhaitham's voice is so much more raw than normal, emotion snaking into his level words and corrupting them to betray true feeling. after a beginning of life where everything he'd wanted was taken away from him, the scribe had designed an existence where that simply couldn't happen - until now, until he dared to think about things outside himself.
in a more tired tone that sounds more like a rhetorical question than anything else, but important because kaveh still hasn't left his side; ]
What do you want from me?
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[ But Kaveh once again cuts himself off, not in pain this time but because something inside him registers dimly that he can't just keep yelling his feelings when the other man is drunk and hurting, can't just keep getting more and more wound up until he can no longer make himself clear. Especially when the emotion crept into Alhaitham's voice belies feelings he knows the scribe would rather keep hidden, he needs to keep his head together now more than ever—
Trembling fingers place the offending image on the table. He's afraid, like he's never been before, to put his feelings into the space between them, to seek answers that might only serve to hurt him more in the long run. Not to mention that to do so is to risk deepening the chasm between them until there's no hope of recovery. If he's wrong—
But he's not wrong. He can't be, not when Alhaitham's voice hurts in consonance with his heart. When the other is drinking sorrows in alcohol in a way far too like his own bad habits. When everything in the house feels out of kilter and wrong, and not just because some pieces of furniture and paraphernalia are missing.
His breath shudders. ]
I want— I want you to stop lying to me. [ His voice, usually so melodic and strident, is soft to the point it nears a whisper, and he dares to sit by the other's side on the sofa, to reach out once more, long fingers curving gentle over the jut of a knee. ] I know you don't like speaking about your feelings, but— but I can see through you anyway, so—
[ His eyes drop, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get his own emotions under some semblance of control. ]
When you paid off my debt to Dori... was it because you wanted me to leave?
[ Whatever the answer... whatever Alhaitham says, he can take it. ]
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[ he responds flatly despite the couch shifting next to him, signaling that kaveh had decided to sit; despite the soft touch of the blonde's hand against his knee which he desperately tries to ignore. alhaitham still doesn't look towards him, like he knows that his own eyes give away far more than they usually do and that's uncomfortable, far too vulnerable for someone who'd built their entire existence around being unaffected.
kaveh's question, however, is ridiculous. the scribe pauses before finishing his glass, staring at the empty vessel for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table. ]
Why would that be the conclusion you drew from that? [ a rough voice murmurs, his tone edged with husk from the hard liquor and fatigue. the dark circles underneath his eyes already gave that away. ] Did I give any indication to that end?
[ with a tired sigh, alhaitham leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs, muscular form hunched. was there even any point in trying to talk through this now, when the damage had already been done? he'd already resigned himself to grieving, a process he was distantly familiar with, and he'd come to terms with kaveh's departure - at least, in a functional sense. ]
But, if you really need confirmation? No, it wasn't. [ if only the alcohol could do a better job of numbing - but some hurt was too deep to run from. ] I paid it off because I knew it bothered you. Knew living here bothered you.
It was to test whether or not you simply felt obligated to stay here because you had no other options.
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Except in the end, he's not ready at all.
He makes it through the questioning in silence, eyes closed against the stinging. The fingers not resting on Alhaitham's leg tighten at his own side in response to the confirmation of the other's intent, the understanding that he read too far into actions that took him by surprise and caused hurt to them both— but he makes it through the admission with a press of his teeth into his lower lip.
But then Alhaitham says that it was a test, and Kaveh's entire world shatters under him. His breath catches in a sudden sob, his eyes flying open once more as his heart seizes in his chest.
Gods, he's never been more the fool—
Trembling hands reach out, snatching up the paper from the table once more, almost throwing it in Alhaitham's lap this time. ]
Does this look like the work of someone who feels obligated? [ The words come out, rough and broken, between snatches of breath. ] I designed this for us, Alhaitham, there's even— there are even bedrooms for kids because— because I love you, and I know it's way too soon to think about any of that stuff but I want to get old with you, and raise a family with you, and—
[ His fingers clench again, crumpling the paper beyond repair in one corner, a hitch in his breath as he tries to get some semblance of control over his voice. ]
But I thought— You paid it off so suddenly, and you didn't tell me about it, and— Archons, Alhaitham, I fucked everything up—
[ And perhaps later, he'll address the questions from earlier— why he drew that conclusion, why he felt that Alhaitham was giving such an indication. Perhaps later, there's something to be said about testing, about how Alhaitham needs to learn to trust Kaveh and his feelings in the same way that Kaveh needs to learn not to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Perhaps later, Kaveh can explain that he will always, always fail any test Alhaitham gives him because he'll always put what he thinks the other man wants ahead of his own desires.
But right now he can't bring himself to think of that, not when the only thing on his mind is how badly he's messed up, how he's hurt the other man by jumping to conclusions. ]
I thought for sure you were tired of this. Tired of me. So I— I said I'd move out— [ The sound on his lips as he cuts his sentence in half is nothing short of anguished, and he presses the heels of both hands against his eyes, his body hunching over in much the same way Alhaitham's is. His voice, when he speaks again, is a whisper: ] I'm so sorry.
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however, he hadn't been prepared for what he'd picked up. alhaitham had assumed it'd just be another one of kaveh's many projects, client or otherwise, not - well, not a window into what had been going through the blonde's mind (at the time). he hadn't been prepared for the sheer amount of thought that had obviously gone into the design, especially since he'd been reading it after their relationship had all but split into a wide divide.
he hadn't been prepared for how much it had surprisingly, agonisingly, hopelessly hurt, either.
to have something within his grasp that he'd only experienced the fringes of or read about; to have some semblance of belonging and stability that was borne out of work other than his own. and - and, when kaveh mentions children of all things - not something that alhaitham had thought about in any detail because even the thought of a family was almost beyond his grasp and understanding - the scribe actually takes the battered roll of paper and unfurls it, looking over it again wordlessly even though he'd already memorised the contents.
the alcohol coursing through his system was so potent that his vision is almost swimming, but looking at the paper is an escape from meeting kaveh's eyes and giving away how disgustingly vulnerable he feels - so he just listens. reads. digests these... significant developments while trying to keep his emotions in check.
had they simply misunderstood each other again? was this damage irrevocable, or was there something to be salvaged if kaveh actually saw this - these four walls he'd drawn down in pencil on paper - in their future?
archons, his head is killing him and alhaitham knows that whatever he says next is probably going to be significant, but he's all out of fancy words and the sheer shift that he's been presented with would be fairly staggering for him even if he were sober. ]
A family.
[ is all he repeats to begin with, like the words were alien on his tongue. the scribe looks and sounds like absolute shit, but there's consideration in his tired voice as he seeks some comfort in things he actually understands - engineering, diagrams, sketches, paper.
even if they meant something emotionally significant, it was still solace.
some silence passes between the two as they sit side by side hunched over in a similar defeated fashion, alhaitham unsure in his drunken state what exactly to do next. the hurt in kaveh's voice still makes his heart twist even though he'd thought he'd closed himself off to that after his departure, and part of him desperately wants to reach over and fold into his arms the man that was his. had been. is?
he doesn't know. ]
Ironic. For perhaps the first time, I was disappointed that I thought I'd been proven right. [ he murmurs, fingers of his right hand tracing over some of the specifications kaveh had written - some details about acoustic soundproofing in the study he'd drawn for him, because if anything proved that he knew alhaitham better than anyone else, it was the house in this diagram. ] What could make you think I was tired of this? Of you?
You know I'm not good at this kind of thing. Unsurprising that it ended up like this.
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(A family. Waking up together to the sound of their child— children, he thinks, wouldn't two be perfect— one silver-haired and playing with blocks or pets, one with his own blonde sitting on the couch and reading in a figure too like their other father for Kaveh to handle the cuteness. Waking up on some mornings instead to someone buried between them, waiting to be comforted after a nightmare, Kaveh shushing and comforting and soothing while Alhaitham reminds them in that ever-calm voice of his that nightmares are only visions and nothing to truly fear. Breakfasts: scrambled eggs on toast for one, fruit for the other, an echo of their parents, of Alhaitham's nose wrinkling when he gets Kaveh's fruit-laden plate by mistake—)
but Alhaitham is drunk, and Kaveh is exhausted, and the small part of him with any logical wisdom left is insistent that this is a conversation best saved for later, when they can talk this out with some degree of sense and sensibility for each others' thoughts and feelings.
And right now, he just needs to cry himself hoarse. How could he have fucked this up so badly?
(But how could Alhaitham not be tired of him? Alhaitham, whose fingers trace over the carefully scribbled notes about the soundproofing of the study Kaveh dreamed for him, Alhaitham who needs quiet and peace and all those things Kaveh is not, all those things a family could never be. Kaveh, who speaks too easily of his love and selfishly invades all of Alhaitham's space, taking as much of him as he can get and not always remembering to give back. Kaveh, who wondered for years why Alhaitham may have offered this living space to him, a chip on his shoulder far from cured by their falling together as they did. Kaveh, who is so terribly afraid in his heart of hearts of being left alone yet again that even the briefest thought of it had him running, hurting before he could be hurt. Alhaitham, who tested him— Alhaitham, who perhaps harbors some of those same fears, even if he'll never admit to them.)
Long fingers reach past the edge of the paper, tentative but determined, curling around those that trace across the page. ]
This doesn't have to be the end. [ His voice is shakier than he wants it to be, trembling over each word, leaving each syllable hanging in the air for a moment too long. ] We can talk about it— we should talk about it. But not like this, not when you're drunk— [ and not when Kaveh is so emotional that every word he says threatens to bring about an unceasing stream of tears. ] If I stay here, I— can we talk about it, Alhaitham?
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and yet here, even as far gone as alhaitham is, he'd be a fool to deny the heady sense of relief he was beginning to feel as the blonde's familiar grip tightens on his own, fingers that were stained in ink and chalks as often as they'd been threaded into the scribe's silver hair or mapping his skin. maybe that's why the finality of their parting had such a great effect on him - mm, if nahida were here, she'd share some insight into the samsara of their existence together as they orbited one another; the fact that they had become irreplaceable structures in each other's lives, that they gave and took in equal measures, that they were such distinct polar opposites yet maintained a fragile equilibrium that actually allowed them to realise themselves.
this hadn't been the first misunderstanding that had created a divide between them, and alhaitham is sure it wouldn't be the last, as much as he was loathe to admit. this was the dance they did, testing, pushing, challenging one another in ways that were well-meaning but often obtuse and misguided - but twice, twice was enough evidence that it was a cycle and not an exception.
that perhaps, as stupidly whimsical or fantastical as it might seem to say out loud, they would always gravitate back to each other again.
- and, since it would be stupidly whimsical to say such a thing out loud, the scribe gives his answer in physicality instead. for a man of words, they often failed him when kaveh was involved and given the current record of errors, alhaitham didn't trust his beleaguered mind to say the right thing; so instead, strong arms decisively, firmly reach around the architect's shoulders, enfolding him into an embrace that's perhaps a fraction tighter than he intends (but he's drunk, and moody, and would just really like to not have the other at a distance anymore.)
a deep exhale escapes the taller man at the warmth of kaveh's chest against his; at the impossibly soft locks of blonde hair that press against his cheek as the scribe buries his head in the crook of his shoulder; at the faint scent of padisarah and parchment that was inexplicably, indescribably kaveh.
it sounds like relief, but it also sounds like deep, irreplaceable fondness.
after what seems like an age, a muffled voice murmurs; ]
We can talk about it.
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The minutes tick by, and Kaveh, who's usually so restless, who's used to marking each moment as an eternity, barely notices, so caught up is he in the feel of those arms, the sound of Alhaitham's breathing, the scent of sandalwood tickling his nose in pair with the sharp fragrance of the alcohol. His arms circle the other's waist in return, holding him close, and for the first time in the whole week, he feels as if he can relax, as if everything's going to be alright.
His grip doesn't loosen until he feels the slight slackening of Alhaitham's muscles, until the younger's breathing evens out against the crook of his neck, and suddenly Kaveh realizes he's exhausted. ]
Come on— [ he murmurs, shifting his weight so that he can stand, so he can pull the other man with him ] —let's get you to bed, Haitham. [ The nickname, affectionate and tender, something he's not sure he's ever said before, slips without him even realizing it.
Gathering Alhaitham into his arms as much as he possibly can— he's strong for his build, but he doesn't have the raw strength that his love has, that ability to hoist Kaveh into his hold like he weighs nothing— he half-carries, half-drags him from the couch to his bed and lays him out, crimson eyes soft with unshed tears and fondness alike. How could he have let it get this bad between them, he wonders, promises vaguely not to do it again—
Archons, he's tired.
Alhaitham's figure looks inviting, but it almost feels wrong to take advantage of that fact, and so Kaveh's ready to pull away, lifting himself back from the other— and finding himself quickly locked in by the strength of those arms, not willing to let him go even in the relaxation of sleep. (He's glad Alhaitham can't see his face, because it crumples at that, at the reminder of how badly he's hurt the other man, at the knowledge of how much he's going to have to do to make it up, to fix this.) And maybe he's selfish, but he's too tired to fight it— it's easy for Kaveh to lower his body, to lie alongside the other, to press his face into Alhaitham's shoulder with a sigh.
So tired.
He falls asleep in record time, tears drying in the fabric of the other man's shirt. ]
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all things he'd never admit out loud and would brush off if ever asked, but the scribe's own body had betrayed him to speak for him.
that familiar warm feeling is why alhaitham is a little surprised to wake up to an empty bed - mm, the blonde's presence beside him at night had been something he'd gotten used to with a terrifying speed - but instead to the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee. with a quiet groan, he sits tenderly up in the bed as his sluggish mind starts ticking over again, the painful pounding behind his eyes all the reprimand he needed for thinking it was a good idea to drink so goddamn much last night. but, thankfully, he remembers everything up until - he assumes - he fell asleep on the couch or staggered in here.
sleep-glazed eyes glance at the coffee steaming away on the bedside table, one that couldn't have been made more than what, five, ten minutes ago? and there's a strange sense of deja vu spiked with irony that now he was on the receiving end of the hangover cure. it hadn't been more than two or three months since he'd been plying kaveh with a similar endlessly black brew as they'd stumbled over revelations and (sometimes poorly chosen) words together, and... well. the nostalgia, considering the door that had been re-opened last night, wasn't unpleasant.
the silver-haired man is just raising the cup to his lips and taking the world's longest sip as the object of said nostalgia re-enters the room, holding a coffee of his own. it's still a little odd to see him back in the house, even more so in alhaitham's bedroom considering the past week - but alcohol for the scribe does nothing for his confidence, only for his escape.
despite that, no words his mind can select seem good enough. evenly, his tired mind picks the most inoffensive opener he could think of; ]
Thanks for the coffee. [ but the habitual sass sneaks out anyway, because alhaitham is way too sore to resist. ] It's not terrible.
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until he recalls that he's not alone anymore.
Better than he's managed in a week, and hand in hand with the belief that it will only get better from here, but still restless— which is why (paired with the hangover, he's sure) Kaveh is awake in the end so much earlier than the other man, lying in the soft wash of morning light and listening to his breathing, thinking over how badly they nearly ruined things— again— over a misunderstanding. It's too much to bear, and in the end he gets out of bed early, not exactly wanting to leave but wanting to keep himself busy, and so by the time Alhaitham wakes up, Kaveh's things are back where they belong, the kitchen is cleaned, there's coffee on the table and the blonde is walking back into the other's bedroom with coffee of his own, and toast on a plate in his other hand, ready to work its magic on that hangover.
His eyes roll at the sass, and the rejoinder is quick to find his tongue, a joke that isn't funny, something about moving out, and Kaveh swallows its bitter taste as he shakes his head, moving to sit next to the other on the bed. ]
I moved my things back where they belong, [ he says instead, holding out the plate of toast. Where he belongs. He's not going anywhere. But still, he can't help but add a little snark of his own, even as his shoulder comes flush with the other man's: ] The house looked embarrassingly dull without them.
[ Worse than that, it looked wrong in a way Kaveh couldn't quite place. For all those months he'd made noise about moving out, finding his own space— when he finally did, even for a week, nothing about it was right.
He sips at his own coffee, gaze falling to the plate between them. ]
I missed you.
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[ the mattress dips as kaveh sits next to him on the bed, the graceful slant of his shoulder pressing against the scribe's own. one of the most frustrating things about the blonde was how perfectly together he always managed to look - unaffected and devastatingly beautiful even after the worst nights and most trying days. today, too, he looks simply radiant in the morning sumeru sunshine filtering through the window, long fingers angled around the round of his cup, while alhaitham is fully aware he looks like absolute shit.
fair enough too, considering to some degree, he still feels like shit, at least - physically. emotionally he's relieved, but even alhaitham isn't socially detached enough to think that what had transpired between them could be easily papered over or forgotten, much like their dramatic falling out after they'd written their cooperative thesis.
the taller man's eyes drop to the plate too, and even though he doesn't overly feel like eating he knows it's probably in his best interests to ingest something solid that wasn't alcohol or caffeine - so, with that even, unbothered expression of his, he takes a piece and bites into it.
it gives him a moment to think, turn over in his head how the atmosphere in the room feels like things had gone back to normal yet were completely different at the same time, only emphasised by kaveh's comment. after a brief silence, those intense teal irises fix back on the architect's face with a look far more focused than he felt. ]
This place feels strange without you in it. [ alhaitham offers, because he's still raw and unsettled by how much all of this had affected him, how quickly he'd sunk into ruin. of course he'd missed kaveh too. ] I hadn't realised just how many things you snuck in here.
[ and he finishes the slice of toast unhurriedly before following up: ]
You wanted to talk?
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But he does want to talk, and so he nods, putting the plate aside, reaching with newly-freed fingers to catch Alhaitham's hand in an echo of the night before, buttery remnants of toast on his fingers aside. Like always, there are hundreds of moving pieces that have come together in the very same pattern as they have before, forcing them apart before drawing them back together. And where Alhaitham recognizes the cyclical nature of it, accepts it as perhaps part of their story, Kaveh yearns to solve it, to find the parts that are wrong and fix them so they never have to go through this pain again.
The problem, perhaps, is that he has no idea where they're meant to start— apart, of course, from the very beginning. Which is...
Well. Perhaps the very beginning is a little too far out of his reach for now. But they can start from the beginning of this fight, at the very least. ]
Mm... You said last night that it was a test. Right? Paying off my debt with Dori. Will you tell me more about it?
[ Alhaitham was testing, he said, Kaveh's obligation to stay versus his want— but why? ]
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talking facts was easy - they were inarguable. rolled off the tongue like reciting a script, because there was nothing to question. this question? was hard. ]
I'm unsure what else there is to say about it.
[ alhaitham starts, his voice still somewhat hoarse from his escapades the previous night. fine araq was delicious, but it certainly burned on the way down. ]
It was something that had bothered you for some time, and seemed to intertwine with other issues you'd mentioned in the past. Mora isn't a particularly large concern of mine, so paying it off presented itself as an ingenious idea; one less thing that irritated you, and a litmus test for whether or not your old complaints were genuine.
[ either he doesn't think the 'why' is relevant to the explanation, or he's purposely avoiding it - either or, he seems satisfied with his answer. ]
Obviously, the results were not what I expected.
[ a pause, as his eyes flick between their entwined fingers and then back up to kaveh. the discomfort of the topic has obviously made the scribe physically shut off at least to some degree, the awkwardness of having to explain emotive, subjective matters causing him to stiffen slightly. ]
If we're asking searching questions, why did you immediately move out if you didn't feel obligated to stay here?
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Which means, Kaveh reasons, that there's more to it than the other man is letting on, that the "why" of the matter he's so carefully avoided is something deeper than he wants Kaveh to know— perhaps deeper than he knows himself. And he doesn't want to make the other man uncomfortable, especially not now, but if they want to fix this, to truly mend it and prevent similar things from happening yet again in their future, he needs to understand.
So, he tightens his hold on the other's hand, looks at him in silence for a moment, considering the things he's said, the things left unsaid, the things floating indecipherable in the space between them. ]
I promise I'll answer you— [ he replies, voice soft ] —but first I need you to trust me enough to tell me everything, Alhaitham. Even the parts you don't want to tell me.
[ The coffee is put aside with the plate, and Kaveh's free hand moves up to brush fingers along the younger's jaw, gently urging— without force, so that the other can resist if he wishes— Alhaitham to look at him instead of their tangled fingers. ]
If I don't understand why you were testing me, then I promise you that I'll fail every single test you design for me in the future, and I don't want to put us through this again.
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What makes you think I'm hiding anything from you? Or, that there's any more to it?
[ is the reply that he decides on, and despite it being rather blunt, alhaitham's tone isn't one of accusation but an actual genuine question. ]
Like I said, it was an experiment to remove any other significant outside factors or influences from the relationship. Dori's manipulation of you was what lead you here in the first place, so one could argue it has been the greatest influence on our circumstances.
You initially moved in because you had no other options, correct? So would it not be unreasonable to remove that barrier to see whether or not that sentiment was still the case before our situation got any more serious? More involved? What if you hadn't even realised yourself, that extenuating circumstances had birthed convenience?
[ and as he's least dancing around the point that he's not quite sure he's trying to make, alhaitham exhales in a quiet, moody huff, disengaging their hands and crossing his arms over his chest. subconsciously defensive body language, because as much as kaveh says it's necessary, alhaitham hates this; hates being exposed. ]
Were our positions reversed, would you not wonder the same thing?
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Alhaitham, the architect realizes, was scared that he was in too deep, that he'd allowed himself to feel more deeply than he should for someone whom he couldn't whole-heartedly believe would stay by his side—
And Kaveh, seeing the other's actions through the lens of his own insecurities, made those fears into a reality.
He wants to cry. Instead, he casts his gaze down to his lap, his fingers now coming together to twine and twist against one another as he tries to sort the words in his head.
A breath. Two. And then he looks up again, his eyes bright and shining, but his gaze steady in a way his voice isn't. ]
You ask that question like I don't wonder that exact thing almost every day, Alhaitham, [ is the confession that comes next, fingers locking tightly together. ] Like it isn't the reason I decided to move out. I decided— by myself, out of my own fear—
[ and it's the closest he'll come to likening the two emotions together, enough that the scribe can make the connection for himself without the vulnerability inherent in having it told to him ]
—I decided that your actions meant you didn't want me here anymore. Because it's too easy for me to ask myself that question: how someone like you puts up with someone like me. How I got so lucky in the first place. How long it will take for— for you to get tired of me, finally.
[ His smile trembles on his lips. ]
I guess that answers your first question, too.
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fear, really?
he almost wants to give some sort of retort to prove that actually, no, he's nothing of the sort but the words instead die on his lips as the other keeps talking. it absolves him of the need to recognise something truly ridiculous yet inarguably correct at the same time, a realisation that makes something awful twist inside him because alhaitham prides himself on being immovable, impervious, unaffected. having already experienced so much loss had necessitated closing his heart off to any other circumstance in which he could suffer it, which wasn't a small part of why he wasn't sumeru's most social individual, why he rarely got close to people, why this was proving so difficult.
his headache pounds in the background, and alhaitham suddenly feels very tired. ]
We're not very good at this.
[ - is the astute observation he offers as a sigh escapes him, fingers briefly raising to pinch the bridge of his brow as if it'd relieved some of the pressure of the headache, when in reality, what was affecting him most was the gravity of the situation. all the ridiculous things that kaveh was saying in his own direction, things that were factually untrue and - it's a huge mess.
a mess of subjectivity, of misinterpretations, of feelings, and briefly, alhaitham wonders if he could even begin to untangle them from one another. ]
Do you honestly think I'd willingly spend my time in the company of anyone I disliked? That I'd bother enough to hide that kind of disdain? Honestly, have you ever seen me interact with anyone else?
[ he murmurs, straightening up again. his tone is still purely explanatory, as if these were the answers to the most obvious question in the world - and to him, it was. fixing kaveh with a square gaze, his brow kinks in a slight frown. ]
What reassurance do you need?
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