sempiternals | the very worst part of you is me

[ the rest of the night had been at the very least, uneventful.

perhaps alhaitham had pettily locked the front door from the inside so kaveh couldn't get in, but it turns out that he hadn't tried anyway - likely still out barhopping until the small hours of the morning, and then passed out on a friendlier couch than he'd be able to find inside this house in particular.

even though the blonde hadn't kicked down his door looking for more trouble, alhaitham's mood remained decidedly sour even through until the next morning. he'd say that he doesn't like interruption to his routine and that's what's ruffling his feathers, but the truth is: his jaw still hurt (a faint bruise marring the skin) and he was still pissed off about the entire argument.

so, he'd done the only reasonable thing that came to mind and thrown himself into his work. headphones on, he'd retired before the sun had even come up to the study in the house because sleep had been evasive and his mind, busy. alhaitham's buried nose-deep in stacks of semiotic texts that required review to be added to the haravatat curriculum - a thoroughly menial, endless task, which was exactly what he needed to distract himself right now.

the most aggravating thing, though? as hard as he tried to concentrate on the words and the notes he was taking, unwelcome flashbacks to the previous night kept snaking in between the lines.

sighing in annoyance, he turns his headphones up louder. perhaps the volume would drown kaveh out, wherever he was. ]

[ The last few days have been difficult to say the least. Since the punch that nearly got him kicked out and the kiss that (also) nearly got him kicked out, Kaveh has been trying to keep his nose to the grindstone, to generally stay out of Alhaitham's way. Between the guilt and the discomfort— and the unstoppable, unshakeable feeling of rejection— it's been hard to look at the scribe for too long without getting upset or embarrassed over what happened.

The one and only upside, perhaps, is that he hasn't gotten cripplingly drunk since that night, but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't had the funds to do so, nor does he dare right now to steal any of his roommate's booze when things are so tense between them. And despite it technically being an upside, it doesn't feel like one when it means he has to deal with all the awkwardness and unhappiness while sober.

Because at least as far as he's concerned, things have been incredibly awkward between them.

He's not exactly sure, then, how they got here, tangled together on top of Alhaitham's bed, all long limbs and sweaty skin and not a lick of clothing between them. The scribe's muscled figure is dotted with the same dark bruises that highlight his own skin, an arm thrown haphazardly across his face as he voices sharp, unvoiced gasps to the air, the fingers of his other hand tangled in Kaveh's blonde hair and pulling him closer to the buck of his hips until the architect nearly chokes on him. The blonde himself is aching, heavy and hard with his own arousal, but every attempt to reach between his own legs is thwarted— he doesn't know how exactly, only that it is— as the scribe's voice breaks from its gasping to offer a sound of disapproval, voice edged with a teasing amusement unlike anything he's ever heard.

Maybe, if he stopped to think about it for even a second, he would realize that there's no way it can be real... but there's no room for thinking between the sensations of touch and feeling and pleasure. And so it's not until he wakes with a start that he realizes that it was just a dream, that he's alone in his bed, the dull grey light of morning peeking through the window and illuminating the mess he's made: the sheets tangled up around him and stained with the same translucent color that beads across his abdomen, his skin flushed and his lips half-open in a panting rhythm that matches the pounding beat of his heart.

To make matters worse, he's still half-hard, as if the untouched release inspired by the dream wasn't enough, and the images are printed on his brain like photographs that he can not only see but feel, leaving his hips arching against empty air.

With a low groan, Kaveh takes himself in hand— a hiss as his fingers touch feather-light against his own skin— and starts to stroke along his own length, head canting back with closed eyes as he sinks into his bed, chasing his release. ]

Edited 2023-02-22 10:41 (UTC)

[ at the very least, the house had been quiet as of late.

kaveh had been true to his word and turned up for the meeting with his darshan, although alhaitham had seen very little of him since. the extent of his knowledge was that the meeting had gone well and the client had been thrilled to contract the kshahrewar's finest mind, but that was only because of reports and missives that passed over his desk in his role as a scribe, not because of any deep conversations they'd shared.

on the contrary, he'd been doing his best to stay out of kaveh's way since their encounter the previous week for reasons that he thought were very legitimate. despite the mixed signals he seemed to be receiving from the architect, anyone with any measure of an analytical mind could correlate the fact that his presence directly triggered upset in the other - tears, emotional outbursts, anger - and so, he'd made himself very scarce. not a fan of working overtime for any reason, he'd simply spent more time in the daena libraries or in his rooms at the house, sequestering himself with anthologies of books that had been on his 'to read' list for a long time, but he'd been putting off because of other commitments.

it turns out that keeping an eye on kaveh was most of those commitments, and now he was giving him space, he had a lot more time on his hands.

the architect was often out late these days, presumably working on the project. they rarely saw each other, and when they did, words were hardly exchanged, let alone pleasant ones. but knowing his general schedule, alhaitham's fairly confident that he'd still be out for some time even though it was nearing midnight - so he's lounging lengthways on one of the deep green couches in the living area, a candle burning lazily behind him as he remains nose deep in the fourth book of his current anthology about early phonology in teyvat.

it was better this way, surely. even though it felt like something was intrinsically missing from his existence when they didn't interact (even if it was all combative and no pleasantry); even though the house felt strangely off, strangely empty. this way, he could let kaveh focus on a project that could genuinely turn his life around without worrying about having to yell at him, and that's alhaitham's strange, obtuse way of helping. ]

[ There was a time not even that long ago that the people of Sumeru, as a collective whole, took pride in the fact that they didn't dream. For his part, Kaveh has never been one of those people. On his trips to the further-flung reaches of the rainforest and desert, when the dreams were able to slip in unimpeded by his Akasha Terminal, he slept in vivid beauty, images of all sorts appearing to him in his sleep, uninvited but welcome. And while many scholars claimed that to dream was to be disconnected from wisdom, the architect always took a certain kind of pride in the ideas that came to his mind while he slumbered. He never talked about it, of course— it would have been akin to professional suicide— but he took pride in it nonetheless.

And now everyone can dream all the time, and there are certainly some among them who are bitter about it, but to Kaveh it's one of the real blessings that have come hand in hand with their freedom from the Akademiya's corruption.

Usually, anyway. Not this morning, when he's woken up with a raging headache and a scowl on his face on account of the dream still fresh at the edges of his mind. The cruelest one yet, because unlike the others it didn't stop purely at sex, but at something softer: with feelings, with soft kisses to the crown of his head and fondness reflected back at him from emerald eyes.

...Didn't he bring someone back home? And yet, his bedroom is empty and his door open—

And actually, he notices, hanging halfway off its hinges. Surprise lifts Kaveh's brows as a surprised exhale slips past his lips: ]

Okay, what the fuck?

[ Standing from the bed— and decidedly ignoring the way the world tilts around him, his center of gravity still disturbed enough that nausea seems likely to follow the pounding of his head at any moment— he scrapes his hair into a loose bun and pulls on the first errant pair of underwear (tight black shorts) that he sees before walking straight out into the living room, ruby eyes scanning the surfaces in front of him until they land on his silver-haired roommate, sitting with a book in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

Also, he's half-naked.

Kaveh swallows, his eyes scanning the muscled surface of the other's torso in a manner both completely obvious and completely unintended. And when he speaks, his voice isn't anywhere near as loud or strident as he intended for it to be. ]

Do you know what happened to my door? It's broken.

Edited 2023-03-03 09:58 (UTC)

[ tonight was a rare occasion.

alhaitham usually went to great lengths to avoid frivolous social engagements, especially when they took place after hours. anything outside of his contractual obligations were of no interest to him, even more so if it meant he had to stand around listening to 'small talk' - perhaps one of his largest annoyances, people using words without meaning to simply fill space instead of articulate an idea.

but, tonight was an exception. a great deal of tumult was still rumbling throughout the akademiya like a shockwave after the scandals of the past couple of months, and in a bid to try and get things back on track, the leadership had decided to try return to normality. restart research proposal analysis, maintain the standard of education they'd built up over the institution's history, and - try to fill all the remaining vacant positions.

he'd had to be plied to make an appearance, yes, but alhaitham has turned up anyway. it was a thing of ostentatious opulence, held in the downstairs of the house of daena - away from the books, but still beautifully designed by old hands of the kshahrewar. the party itself was lively, boisterous enough not to make anyone think that sumeru itself had come to the brink just two months earlier; the purpose, to formally celebrate the appointment of the new grand and haravatat sages, two more reasons alhaitham couldn't shirk.

at the very least, he's trying to make himself inconspicuous, loitering on the fray of the activity and leaning against the wall, glass of wine in hand. the scribe isn't close to the level of some of the ridiculous fancy dress in the room, but he's made enough effort to look nice enough people wouldn't bother him by bringing it up later, clad in a loose white linen shirt and black dress leggings. it's nearing the bare minimum, perhaps, but he still strikes an elegant, clean-cut vision, enough so that despite his efforts to escape the throngs people were still coming past to seek him out. talk.

unfortunately for them, his attention is directed more towards the center of the room; the hub of activity - for there's an exuberant blonde right in the middle of it all excitedly chatting to the scholars around him, obviously far more in his element than alhaitham is. ]

[ Today started like any normal weekday in Alhaitham's home has over the month since they've started dating. Kaveh woke in tune with his boyfriend's first stirring from sleep, lazily leaving soft kisses over the scribe's jaw and throat before the other dragged himself reluctantly out of bed. Crimson eyes creaked half-open, the blonde lay sprawled in the covers, watching as the other man dressed to go to work. And when Alhaitham left, it wasn't before receiving a demanded kiss, a reminder that his lunch was already packed for him, waiting on the kitchen counter. After that, Kaveh allowed himself to drift back off to sleep, a short nap before he rose to prepare for the day ahead.

It was a short way into his morning chores, as he gathered up the day's mail, that the trajectory he had planned changed, dramatically: with a letter from one Lord Sangemah Bay, declaring the remainder of his debt paid off— in full. Chores forgotten, perturbation and confusion permeating the whole of his thought, Kaveh set off in haste for the Palace of Alcazarzaray, seeking an urgent audience with its master— surely, he asked, there was some mistake? His debt was, after all, colossal in extent; while he saw a time in the future it would be paid, that time was not now. But Dori informed him with glee that every last mora was back where it belonged, lining her gilded pockets, and that that Akademiya Scribe himself was responsible.

"Oho, he may be just as pig-headed and dishonest as those other scholars, dear Kaveh," she informed him, voice alight with glee, "but he is certainly not without means for himself! He must have taken a liking to you, I suppose~ Either way, you should count your blessings, hmm?"

Kaveh is not counting his blessings. To the contrary, something about the whole thing has left a sour taste in his mouth that he can't quite place, an uncomfortable anxiety that sits deep in his lungs as if waiting to be choked out. He can't decide whether he should be angry or upset, humiliated or just confused— and somehow, he's all of them at once.

So, no: all in all, today is not going even remotely as he thought it would.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's at the Akademiya, ruby eyes glinting with unshed tears, long fingers clenched into fists as he storms through its elegant rooms; he bellows Alhaitham's name before he even reaches the scribe's office, and, perhaps judging his disheveled state as something not worth tangling with, the matra posted outside makes very little attempt to stop him as he slams the door open with a strong push of his arm. The scribe is not alone, but Kaveh's in too deep to stop. He stands in the doorway, trembling with brimming emotion as the question falls from his lips, words splintered and sharp: ]

Why was I just informed that you paid off my debt?

Edited 2023-05-27 12:08 (UTC)

[ the few days kaveh had been away had come and gone with relative ease, all things considered.

alhaitham had gotten a chance to catch up on the small amount of work that had slipped the week before - not that anyone had noticed but him, but he was (as always) a fan of catching up to consequences before they could find him. if anyone at the akademiya had wondered about the scribe's terrible mood and slipperiness during that time, no-one had mustered enough courage to mention it, to alhaitham's delight. small talk was bad, but personal small talk was even worse; not something he'd ever care to entertain, and it's a relief that the resting baseline of intimidation he'd constructed was strong enough to keep the gossips away.

he'd also tidied (!!!) the house after the mess it had been in from moving everything into kaveh's room and then hurriedly back out again, putting things back in their rightful places, hanging artwork he never would've chosen properly. while chores had been purely perfunctory tasks in the past, alhaitham strangely finds them meditative now as nights pass rearranging books or setting the study back into the proper orientation.

if questioned, he'd argue that he simply likes things in their rightful places - which isn't entirely untrue - but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't some satisfaction gained in (reluctantly) placing decorations purchased and argued over back where they belonged, or organising the blonde's work desk the way he prefers it. it's ridiculous, really, that a chore feels like contributing to something bigger than oneself - but alhaitham had been repeatedly surprised over the past few months, pleasantly and unpleasantly, so he's getting rather used to it.

come early evening, the scribe is at his own desk in the shared study poring over a linguistic primer loaned to him by madam faruzan - "oh, you'll love this!" - face illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lamp on his desk and right hand taking stupidly cursive notes into a journal.

kaveh hadn't mentioned exactly when he'd be back - such was the rather laissez-faire existence that he led - but at the very least, it was supposed to be tonight. so; he's occupying himself, a task that proves very easy for him. ]

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