[ 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. ]
[ Perhaps the worst of it all is that Kaveh knows, logically, that all the things Alhaitham says are true. He wouldn't willingly spend time in the company of someone with whom he did not wish to spend time. He wouldn't bother to hide disdain held for another. He never has before, why would he start now?
But it's a logic answered on the other side of his brain by the memory that his own mother was okay with leaving him behind, by the knowledge that when it comes to the other man, he's often the exception rather than the rule— Alhaitham may be willing to eject anyone else from his life without a second thought, but Kaveh knows it wouldn't be that simple for him, even if the other man was ready to move on. After all, they're inextricably entwined, not so easily parted by something as little as will—
And so how is he able to answer a question such as that?
Kaveh looks up, meeting the fixed squareness of that gaze, and this time it's the elder who finds it hard to maintain the contact between their eyes. ]
Is it really as easy as that? [ His voice is soft, serious despite the sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ] This is part of who I am, Alhaitham. It will get easier in time but maybe it will never fully go away—
[ And that's why it's important for them to have this discussion, to learn, to figure out what they can do to make it easier for them in the future, when their insecurities and idiosyncracies try to play them off against one another. ]
Is there anything I could have said before this happened that would have reassured you? I told you I love you, but you still had reason to doubt.
[ There's no blame in his voice. This isn't Alhaitham's fault. Nor is it his. He understands that, logically, even though that dark part of his mind wants to crowd over itself in anger and guilt, hating him for confirming the fears that the other doesn't even want to admit to having. ]
[ is the quick, flat reply to kaveh's question - could he say more, do more - and that kind of offer is so inexplicably him to a fault that the scribe nips it in the bud straightaway. whatever they'd been building together so far was something that they'd constructed in tandem, but alhaitham isn't blind; he sees the small things that the other does that he'd never even think of, the way that he phrases things more eloquently and diplomatically than the scribe ever would.
the last thing that he wants is for kaveh to do more on top of the more he already does everywhere else. ]
It was nothing you did or didn't do, it was the circumstances we were given. [ a sigh, as he distantly considers revisiting dori to heist the money back. ] I suppose that's part of who I will always be too; I doubt there'll ever be a time where I wouldn't chase a theory if it pertained to something important to me.
[ the discomfort of the conversation is still present like a thick blanket draped over his body, and as a distraction response the taller man runs a hand through his unkempt hair in an attempt to smooth it back. in a measured tone edged with lethargy; ]
I don't know if anything I'm saying is helping, really. Where do things go from here? Do you move back in, and we act as if this was an idiotic misunderstanding? Do you stay wherever it is you're staying, and we start over?
[ after all, this was stretching beyond his knowledge of social constructs. it's not like he'd gone through relationships before, let alone semi-breakups, so he has no idea what an acceptable solution is. continuing with nonchalance; ]
As long as it results in this - [ he idly gestures between them: ] continuing, I love you, so I'm open to whatever solution you find most comfortable.
[ oh, and he doesn't even think about that as he says it, nor does he even notice. ]
[ Funnily enough, for the first time ever Kaveh isn't genuinely asking if there's more he could have done. In a way, the question is rhetorical— something to make Alhaitham realize that the feeling was something insidious, something that took them both in its grasp despite everything between them being otherwise perfect.
(That said, he still would have made an effort to do more had the other man told him he could, and so the scribe's quick rejection is probably a wise move on his part.)
But despite that small misunderstanding, the architect's message seems to have gotten across, and he finds his smile turning to something a little more fond.
The questions that Alhaitham poses are wise, sensible, and Kaveh has answers to all of them as well as queries of his own: If the other is happy with it, he wants to move back in. Chalking it up to a misunderstanding makes the most sense, but some vulnerabilities have been uncovered— on both their parts— that may mean they have to tread more carefully for a while. They'll need to learn to be better about communicating with each other.
And as for the scribe: does he want his money repaid to him? The guilt says doubtlessly yes, but the Kaveh who is learning, the Kaveh who is trying to be an adult man in a semi-functioning relationship, says it's a question that has to be asked. Does he want it repaid— and if not, should they start saving instead, putting money aside for that house Kaveh has designed for them, or for something similar, something they can dream together?
His lips are halfway parted in reply when Alhaitham continues talking, and drops— with the straightest, most stoic face he's worn in the whole time Kaveh has been in his orbit— a bomb so powerful the blonde nearly staggers off the bed in shock. His eyes wide, he stares, and the tears he's worked so hard on keeping back the last week (largely failing, but he tried) spring instantly to his eyes, brimming and overflowing before he can voice more than a single syllable in reaction. ]
Good tears— [ he gasps out with a wet, breathless laugh, lest Alhaitham misunderstand as he has before; he reaches up to brush the tears from his lashes, shaking his head. ] I love you too.
[ in his sluggish state, alhaitham hadn't expected simple words to break the dam of kaveh's tears and for a moment he simply stares at the other with a blank, bemused look as the architect laughs the reaction off. it's incredibly silly, but somehow oddly endearing at the same time in that way that the blonde had always perfected - and with a quiet huff, the scribe shakes his head. ]
You're ridiculous.
[ because he is, they are, and even though he hadn't consciously thought about the phrase itself, alhaitham supposes it had merely become a solidified fact over the week they'd been apart. his mind never had trouble dispensing objective truths, and this one was no different - kaveh's departure had proven to him something which he'd half-thought was impossible, that someone had managed to become such an integral part in his life that continuing on without them was somewhat of an empty existence.
it surprises him a little, perhaps, but the scribe would never dare argue with evidence.
seeing the blonde cry still makes something twist inside him though, even if they were 'good tears' (a concept alhaitham will never understand), and so in a subtle, functional gesture of comfort, a large hand comes to rest on top of kaveh's knee.
perhaps it wouldn't make him stop crying, but it would make the taller man feel a little less conscious of the fact he'd let his hands go earlier. ]
Also, that's not an answer to anything I asked. I can offer more options, but I imagine they'll start becoming either more irrelevant or more absurd.
[ Alhaitham's words, the hand on his knee, serve to bring him out of the emotional well he created for himself and back into reality, another wet laugh as he lowers his hand to clasp over the one at his knee, tangling their fingers together, expression fond as he meets the other's eyes once again. Really, with such sweetness on the other's lips— no matter how calmly and factually the words were spoken— Kaveh has to fight back the urge to tell the scribe to just shut up and kiss him, that they can work out the details later, once one has slept off his hangover and the other has relaxed enough that he's not crying fresh tears into existence each and every minute.
But he knows Alhaitham well enough to know that such a demand will leave him without a moment's peace until they speak about it, and so he sighs, another shake of his head as he wipes at his eyes once more, a light brush of the back of his hand gathering as many tears as he can.
(Fruitlessly, of course, because they're immediately replaced with more.) ]
If you'll have me, I want to stay here with you— [ he says, thumb absently tracing patterns into the other's skin ] —and I don't want to start over, but I don't think it's as simple as just saying it was a misunderstanding, either. We have to learn from this, and get better about communicating these things, even when they're hard. That goes for me as well as for you.
[ He should probably give Alhaitham a moment to digest that, allow discussion about that part first and foremost, but the words are on his lips and he doesn't want to re-gather the bravery to speak them, so he charges on: ]
About the money you paid to Dori. Do you want me to pay you back? Or do we put that money instead to other dreams?
"If I'll have you." [ he repeats, his voice simply tired incredulity as if this was the stupidest hypothetical he'd ever heard. ] This house always was half your home, even if it wasn't in title. You can move back in when you desire.
[ because it had become that, hadn't it? a home, rather than a chattel. not that alhaitham was a particularly sentimental person when it came to things, but there'd perhaps been more than one reason he'd kept the house all these years even though kaveh had signed himself out of it. it had been born from their collaborative work, and to that end, had become a reminder of them.
alhaitham will put that two and two together eventually, when his head didn't feel like caving in. ]
If it's not starting over, then what does that look like? I'm unfamiliar.
[ the scribe sighs, not at the prospect of work, but at the prospect of not knowing. he deals in facts and certainties (which is an irony considering the highly strung emotional capacity of the blonde sitting in front of him) - and while he's willing to learn, alhaitham's still raw. ]
As for Dori - forget it. I wouldn't have paid it off if doing so would've put me in financial jeopardy, so you don't have to worry about it.
[ a pause, as he arches an eyebrow underneath a mess of silver hair. ]
After all, that was essentially the point of the whole endeavour.
Then consider me moved back in. [ The response comes quiet, quick. ] I'll have to pick up a few things from Tighnari's place later, but—
[ Whoops. Tighnari. Kaveh told the other he'd "be back later"— last night. He should probably contact the forest ranger sooner rather than later to let him know he's alright.
In a little while, though. Right now he wants to relax like this, enjoy the comfort of the man sprawled out against his side. Idly, his fingers tighten around the hand twined with his, lifting it to his lips so he can dot soft kisses along the crests of Alhaitham's knuckles as he listens to the other feel the words out.
Of course, the answer is as difficult as the question. Kaveh's never been in a relationship quite like this one, nor one as serious as this. Even by himself, Alhaitham warrants a certain degree of care... The blonde sighs, brows furrowing as he thinks it over. ] It doesn't look all that much different from before— [ is his eventual answer, his smile soft. ] Just... It's just a promise. If something happens, and one of us feels... insecure, or has doubts, or doesn't understand... then we talk about it instead of testing. Or assuming.
[ The smile fades in place, a more serious expression on his face even as he unfolds the fingers in his hand, his lips finding the other man's palm instead, kisses pressed into the skin. ]
I don't want to screw this up again.
[ As for the debt... well, later he'll remember to feel bad about it, but right now there's an excitement practically waiting under the seriousness of the needed discussion, a readiness to show Alhaitham everything he's planned for them and ask for input. ]
I can keep the intention of a promise. [ the scribe murmurs, eyes drifting to where kaveh's lips met the skin of his hand. ] Making commitments I can't keep seems disingenuous, when it appears neither of us have been motivated by malice. Even when we talk, we've repeatedly proven that it can just as easily devolve into an argument because of perspective. Emotion.
[ things he's still coming to grips with in their nuance, really. and it's so hard to focus on the conversation when he's torn between feeling like shit warmed up or frustratingly charmed by how beautiful kaveh looks as his lips graze his skin, doing something to stir up the flicker of feeling deep down inside him - but alhaitham is doing his best to put what he considers ephemeral concepts into words, because kaveh's right.
this all needed to be addressed, perhaps even breaking the issues down to their core components so there was absolutely no room for misinterpretation since they both seemed to run a mile with it; because the scribe doesn't want a repeat of the confronting emptiness of the past week. it felt too familiar, that hollow echo of pain just distant enough to be reminiscent of something else.
then the architect says something that makes alhaitham purse his lips in displeasure, the ghost of a frown on his face. ]
Don't say that. [ it comes out more as a demand than he intends, but the taller man had never bothered mincing words. ] It wouldn't be in the spirit of a new start if you took all the blame, when the very definition of a relationship is a fine balance.
[ For a moment, Kaveh almost wants to protest, wants to push the idea of the promise so that Alhaitham will realize how serious and important it is. But, as frustrating as it might be for him, he understands where the other is coming from, understands that the scribe won't make a promise he doesn't know for sure he can keep. And so he doesn't complain— but he is silent for a short while, trying to decide the best way to respond to him as his lips continue their lazy pattern of kisses over the palm of his hand.
The sudden sharpness of the other's voice makes him stop though, look up in mild surprise, and Kaveh can't help but laugh, his expression immediately fond as he shakes his head. ]
Believe it or not, I wasn't blaming myself. [ He lowers Alhaitham's hand back to his leg so that he can twist to face the other, his lithe fingers rising to cup the sharp sides of his face instead. ] We made this mess together— Maybe I should have been clearer. [ Kaveh's forehead rests against Alhaitham's, ruby eyes meeting emerald, that slight smile quirking the corners of his lips. ]
I don't want us to go through this again. Keeping the intention of a promise is fine— you're right, misunderstandings will probably happen anyway. [ When it comes to the two of them, they always do. ] We'll talk, we'll figure it out, we'll do whatever we have to do to make it right. I love you, and I don't want us to screw this up again.
[ And then, because he wouldn't be Kaveh if he wasn't seeking some sort of approval from the other man, his lips quirk a little more, a question in his expression. ] Better?
[ the soft brush of golden hair and cool fingers against his face is a welcome comfort to a difficult conversation and a pounding headache, eyes slipping closed as he simply enjoys. the warmth and proximity he'd been bereft of for a week still felt like a relief, even though they'd already spent the night tangled together; even though they'd been spoiled for touch since their reconciliation.
with a quiet huff that's mostly disbelief at his own sentimentality, long arms wind around kaveh's waist and come to rest at his sides. the way they're seated makes it difficult to reach too far forward, so instead the scribe settles for stroking a thumb slowly, rhythmically against the skin just above the hem of his pants - a soothing gesture more than anything else, but at the same time, alhaitham can't quite help himself from touching.
the morning didn't need to be anything more than this, but he realises he's loathe to let the other go so easily again - a thought that brings his sluggish mind back to one of the catalysts of the night before.
a murmur, with obvious reluctance; ]
If that's the case, there were other things that came up last night we should probably discuss; significant things. [ turquoise eyes open again to fix on kaveh's, if only to demonstrate that he was serious. after all, the plans that the architect had drawn, mentions of a future, much less a family - all things that would probably warrant definition before misunderstanding. ] - but, not right now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indigently) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sempiternals2023-02-11 10:39 pm
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
(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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
all things he'd never admit out loud and would brush off if ever asked, but the scribe's own body had betrayed him to speak for him.
that familiar warm feeling is why alhaitham is a little surprised to wake up to an empty bed - mm, the blonde's presence beside him at night had been something he'd gotten used to with a terrifying speed - but instead to the pleasant smell of freshly brewed coffee. with a quiet groan, he sits tenderly up in the bed as his sluggish mind starts ticking over again, the painful pounding behind his eyes all the reprimand he needed for thinking it was a good idea to drink so goddamn much last night. but, thankfully, he remembers everything up until - he assumes - he fell asleep on the couch or staggered in here.
sleep-glazed eyes glance at the coffee steaming away on the bedside table, one that couldn't have been made more than what, five, ten minutes ago? and there's a strange sense of deja vu spiked with irony that now he was on the receiving end of the hangover cure. it hadn't been more than two or three months since he'd been plying kaveh with a similar endlessly black brew as they'd stumbled over revelations and (sometimes poorly chosen) words together, and... well. the nostalgia, considering the door that had been re-opened last night, wasn't unpleasant.
the silver-haired man is just raising the cup to his lips and taking the world's longest sip as the object of said nostalgia re-enters the room, holding a coffee of his own. it's still a little odd to see him back in the house, even more so in alhaitham's bedroom considering the past week - but alcohol for the scribe does nothing for his confidence, only for his escape.
despite that, no words his mind can select seem good enough. evenly, his tired mind picks the most inoffensive opener he could think of; ]
Thanks for the coffee. [ but the habitual sass sneaks out anyway, because alhaitham is way too sore to resist. ] It's not terrible.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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? ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
But it's a logic answered on the other side of his brain by the memory that his own mother was okay with leaving him behind, by the knowledge that when it comes to the other man, he's often the exception rather than the rule— Alhaitham may be willing to eject anyone else from his life without a second thought, but Kaveh knows it wouldn't be that simple for him, even if the other man was ready to move on. After all, they're inextricably entwined, not so easily parted by something as little as will—
And so how is he able to answer a question such as that?
Kaveh looks up, meeting the fixed squareness of that gaze, and this time it's the elder who finds it hard to maintain the contact between their eyes. ]
Is it really as easy as that? [ His voice is soft, serious despite the sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ] This is part of who I am, Alhaitham. It will get easier in time but maybe it will never fully go away—
[ And that's why it's important for them to have this discussion, to learn, to figure out what they can do to make it easier for them in the future, when their insecurities and idiosyncracies try to play them off against one another. ]
Is there anything I could have said before this happened that would have reassured you? I told you I love you, but you still had reason to doubt.
[ There's no blame in his voice. This isn't Alhaitham's fault. Nor is it his. He understands that, logically, even though that dark part of his mind wants to crowd over itself in anger and guilt, hating him for confirming the fears that the other doesn't even want to admit to having. ]
no subject
[ is the quick, flat reply to kaveh's question - could he say more, do more - and that kind of offer is so inexplicably him to a fault that the scribe nips it in the bud straightaway. whatever they'd been building together so far was something that they'd constructed in tandem, but alhaitham isn't blind; he sees the small things that the other does that he'd never even think of, the way that he phrases things more eloquently and diplomatically than the scribe ever would.
the last thing that he wants is for kaveh to do more on top of the more he already does everywhere else. ]
It was nothing you did or didn't do, it was the circumstances we were given. [ a sigh, as he distantly considers revisiting dori to heist the money back. ] I suppose that's part of who I will always be too; I doubt there'll ever be a time where I wouldn't chase a theory if it pertained to something important to me.
[ the discomfort of the conversation is still present like a thick blanket draped over his body, and as a distraction response the taller man runs a hand through his unkempt hair in an attempt to smooth it back. in a measured tone edged with lethargy; ]
I don't know if anything I'm saying is helping, really. Where do things go from here? Do you move back in, and we act as if this was an idiotic misunderstanding? Do you stay wherever it is you're staying, and we start over?
[ after all, this was stretching beyond his knowledge of social constructs. it's not like he'd gone through relationships before, let alone semi-breakups, so he has no idea what an acceptable solution is. continuing with nonchalance; ]
As long as it results in this - [ he idly gestures between them: ] continuing, I love you, so I'm open to whatever solution you find most comfortable.
[ oh, and he doesn't even think about that as he says it, nor does he even notice. ]
no subject
(That said, he still would have made an effort to do more had the other man told him he could, and so the scribe's quick rejection is probably a wise move on his part.)
But despite that small misunderstanding, the architect's message seems to have gotten across, and he finds his smile turning to something a little more fond.
The questions that Alhaitham poses are wise, sensible, and Kaveh has answers to all of them as well as queries of his own: If the other is happy with it, he wants to move back in. Chalking it up to a misunderstanding makes the most sense, but some vulnerabilities have been uncovered— on both their parts— that may mean they have to tread more carefully for a while. They'll need to learn to be better about communicating with each other.
And as for the scribe: does he want his money repaid to him? The guilt says doubtlessly yes, but the Kaveh who is learning, the Kaveh who is trying to be an adult man in a semi-functioning relationship, says it's a question that has to be asked. Does he want it repaid— and if not, should they start saving instead, putting money aside for that house Kaveh has designed for them, or for something similar, something they can dream together?
His lips are halfway parted in reply when Alhaitham continues talking, and drops— with the straightest, most stoic face he's worn in the whole time Kaveh has been in his orbit— a bomb so powerful the blonde nearly staggers off the bed in shock. His eyes wide, he stares, and the tears he's worked so hard on keeping back the last week (largely failing, but he tried) spring instantly to his eyes, brimming and overflowing before he can voice more than a single syllable in reaction. ]
Good tears— [ he gasps out with a wet, breathless laugh, lest Alhaitham misunderstand as he has before; he reaches up to brush the tears from his lashes, shaking his head. ] I love you too.
no subject
You're ridiculous.
[ because he is, they are, and even though he hadn't consciously thought about the phrase itself, alhaitham supposes it had merely become a solidified fact over the week they'd been apart. his mind never had trouble dispensing objective truths, and this one was no different - kaveh's departure had proven to him something which he'd half-thought was impossible, that someone had managed to become such an integral part in his life that continuing on without them was somewhat of an empty existence.
it surprises him a little, perhaps, but the scribe would never dare argue with evidence.
seeing the blonde cry still makes something twist inside him though, even if they were 'good tears' (a concept alhaitham will never understand), and so in a subtle, functional gesture of comfort, a large hand comes to rest on top of kaveh's knee.
perhaps it wouldn't make him stop crying, but it would make the taller man feel a little less conscious of the fact he'd let his hands go earlier. ]
Also, that's not an answer to anything I asked. I can offer more options, but I imagine they'll start becoming either more irrelevant or more absurd.
no subject
But he knows Alhaitham well enough to know that such a demand will leave him without a moment's peace until they speak about it, and so he sighs, another shake of his head as he wipes at his eyes once more, a light brush of the back of his hand gathering as many tears as he can.
(Fruitlessly, of course, because they're immediately replaced with more.) ]
If you'll have me, I want to stay here with you— [ he says, thumb absently tracing patterns into the other's skin ] —and I don't want to start over, but I don't think it's as simple as just saying it was a misunderstanding, either. We have to learn from this, and get better about communicating these things, even when they're hard. That goes for me as well as for you.
[ He should probably give Alhaitham a moment to digest that, allow discussion about that part first and foremost, but the words are on his lips and he doesn't want to re-gather the bravery to speak them, so he charges on: ]
About the money you paid to Dori. Do you want me to pay you back? Or do we put that money instead to other dreams?
no subject
[ because it had become that, hadn't it? a home, rather than a chattel. not that alhaitham was a particularly sentimental person when it came to things, but there'd perhaps been more than one reason he'd kept the house all these years even though kaveh had signed himself out of it. it had been born from their collaborative work, and to that end, had become a reminder of them.
alhaitham will put that two and two together eventually, when his head didn't feel like caving in. ]
If it's not starting over, then what does that look like? I'm unfamiliar.
[ the scribe sighs, not at the prospect of work, but at the prospect of not knowing. he deals in facts and certainties (which is an irony considering the highly strung emotional capacity of the blonde sitting in front of him) - and while he's willing to learn, alhaitham's still raw. ]
As for Dori - forget it. I wouldn't have paid it off if doing so would've put me in financial jeopardy, so you don't have to worry about it.
[ a pause, as he arches an eyebrow underneath a mess of silver hair. ]
After all, that was essentially the point of the whole endeavour.
no subject
[ Whoops. Tighnari. Kaveh told the other he'd "be back later"— last night. He should probably contact the forest ranger sooner rather than later to let him know he's alright.
In a little while, though. Right now he wants to relax like this, enjoy the comfort of the man sprawled out against his side. Idly, his fingers tighten around the hand twined with his, lifting it to his lips so he can dot soft kisses along the crests of Alhaitham's knuckles as he listens to the other feel the words out.
Of course, the answer is as difficult as the question. Kaveh's never been in a relationship quite like this one, nor one as serious as this. Even by himself, Alhaitham warrants a certain degree of care... The blonde sighs, brows furrowing as he thinks it over. ] It doesn't look all that much different from before— [ is his eventual answer, his smile soft. ] Just... It's just a promise. If something happens, and one of us feels... insecure, or has doubts, or doesn't understand... then we talk about it instead of testing. Or assuming.
[ The smile fades in place, a more serious expression on his face even as he unfolds the fingers in his hand, his lips finding the other man's palm instead, kisses pressed into the skin. ]
I don't want to screw this up again.
[ As for the debt... well, later he'll remember to feel bad about it, but right now there's an excitement practically waiting under the seriousness of the needed discussion, a readiness to show Alhaitham everything he's planned for them and ask for input. ]
no subject
[ things he's still coming to grips with in their nuance, really. and it's so hard to focus on the conversation when he's torn between feeling like shit warmed up or frustratingly charmed by how beautiful kaveh looks as his lips graze his skin, doing something to stir up the flicker of feeling deep down inside him - but alhaitham is doing his best to put what he considers ephemeral concepts into words, because kaveh's right.
this all needed to be addressed, perhaps even breaking the issues down to their core components so there was absolutely no room for misinterpretation since they both seemed to run a mile with it; because the scribe doesn't want a repeat of the confronting emptiness of the past week. it felt too familiar, that hollow echo of pain just distant enough to be reminiscent of something else.
then the architect says something that makes alhaitham purse his lips in displeasure, the ghost of a frown on his face. ]
Don't say that. [ it comes out more as a demand than he intends, but the taller man had never bothered mincing words. ] It wouldn't be in the spirit of a new start if you took all the blame, when the very definition of a relationship is a fine balance.
[ he adds as an afterthought; ] - apparently.
no subject
The sudden sharpness of the other's voice makes him stop though, look up in mild surprise, and Kaveh can't help but laugh, his expression immediately fond as he shakes his head. ]
Believe it or not, I wasn't blaming myself. [ He lowers Alhaitham's hand back to his leg so that he can twist to face the other, his lithe fingers rising to cup the sharp sides of his face instead. ] We made this mess together— Maybe I should have been clearer. [ Kaveh's forehead rests against Alhaitham's, ruby eyes meeting emerald, that slight smile quirking the corners of his lips. ]
I don't want us to go through this again. Keeping the intention of a promise is fine— you're right, misunderstandings will probably happen anyway. [ When it comes to the two of them, they always do. ] We'll talk, we'll figure it out, we'll do whatever we have to do to make it right. I love you, and I don't want us to screw this up again.
[ And then, because he wouldn't be Kaveh if he wasn't seeking some sort of approval from the other man, his lips quirk a little more, a question in his expression. ] Better?
no subject
[ the soft brush of golden hair and cool fingers against his face is a welcome comfort to a difficult conversation and a pounding headache, eyes slipping closed as he simply enjoys. the warmth and proximity he'd been bereft of for a week still felt like a relief, even though they'd already spent the night tangled together; even though they'd been spoiled for touch since their reconciliation.
with a quiet huff that's mostly disbelief at his own sentimentality, long arms wind around kaveh's waist and come to rest at his sides. the way they're seated makes it difficult to reach too far forward, so instead the scribe settles for stroking a thumb slowly, rhythmically against the skin just above the hem of his pants - a soothing gesture more than anything else, but at the same time, alhaitham can't quite help himself from touching.
the morning didn't need to be anything more than this, but he realises he's loathe to let the other go so easily again - a thought that brings his sluggish mind back to one of the catalysts of the night before.
a murmur, with obvious reluctance; ]
If that's the case, there were other things that came up last night we should probably discuss; significant things. [ turquoise eyes open again to fix on kaveh's, if only to demonstrate that he was serious. after all, the plans that the architect had drawn, mentions of a future, much less a family - all things that would probably warrant definition before misunderstanding. ] - but, not right now.
Later.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)