𝒦𝒶𝓋𝑒𝒽 🏛️ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sempiternals2023-05-19 01:35 pm
indigently) wrote in sempiternals2023-05-19 01:35 pm
Entry tags:
I could be your perfect disaster | @admonishinginstruction
[ As he potters around the kitchen this morning, Kaveh has to remind himself for what feels like the hundredth time that the sun isn't actually shining more brightly than normal through the stained glass of the decorative windows. Nor does the sweet pomegranate juice taste even sweeter, or the umami scent of the eggs and meat frying on the stovetop reach his nostrils more richly than before. The difference is not in the world around him, but in Kaveh himself—
He's happy.
Something that just twelve short months and one day ago, he still thought he would never be.
The memory of the day after that still sits rich in the back of his mind, though, a first kiss in flickering candlelight, the earthy scent of frankincense in the air and the taste of wine on his lips. The barest ghost of a smile on lips that usually sit stoic. Strong fingers keeping him steady as his heart skipped approximately— impossibly— two hundred and thirty two beats. It has Kaveh smiling to himself as he gathers up the awarma egg mixture and spoons it onto the plate, finishing off with a sprinkle of spices.
It looks beautiful, even if he does say so himself: a stack of savory pancakes, their centers carved out in the shape of a heart and filled with awarma and scrambled egg, topped with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Around the pancake display, a moat of aloo gobi fills the dish to the sides, the curry garnished with fresh green herbs for a pop of color. It's an elegant display altogether, and as he adds the plate to the tray already loaded with a glass of juice and a steaming mug of coffee, he almost regrets the fact that it will be consumed.
But only almost, because he's spent weeks planning this, deciding on the perfect combination of dishes for this. ]
Mehrak! [ Kaveh calls, and waves his toolbox over, gesturing at the tray. ] Help me bring this to Alhaitham.
[ (He doesn't want to risk dropping it, after all.)
And so man and toolbox cross the space through the rooms, back to where Alhaitham is asleep in bed— a room technically belonging to the scribe, although in the year past, more and more of Kaveh's things have found themselves being moved in there too— and as Mehrak sets the tray on the bedside table nearest the slumbering man, the blonde moves to perch on the edge of the bed, to lean over and press soft lips to those still dreaming. ]
Alhaitham, wake up.
He's happy.
Something that just twelve short months and one day ago, he still thought he would never be.
The memory of the day after that still sits rich in the back of his mind, though, a first kiss in flickering candlelight, the earthy scent of frankincense in the air and the taste of wine on his lips. The barest ghost of a smile on lips that usually sit stoic. Strong fingers keeping him steady as his heart skipped approximately— impossibly— two hundred and thirty two beats. It has Kaveh smiling to himself as he gathers up the awarma egg mixture and spoons it onto the plate, finishing off with a sprinkle of spices.
It looks beautiful, even if he does say so himself: a stack of savory pancakes, their centers carved out in the shape of a heart and filled with awarma and scrambled egg, topped with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Around the pancake display, a moat of aloo gobi fills the dish to the sides, the curry garnished with fresh green herbs for a pop of color. It's an elegant display altogether, and as he adds the plate to the tray already loaded with a glass of juice and a steaming mug of coffee, he almost regrets the fact that it will be consumed.
But only almost, because he's spent weeks planning this, deciding on the perfect combination of dishes for this. ]
Mehrak! [ Kaveh calls, and waves his toolbox over, gesturing at the tray. ] Help me bring this to Alhaitham.
[ (He doesn't want to risk dropping it, after all.)
And so man and toolbox cross the space through the rooms, back to where Alhaitham is asleep in bed— a room technically belonging to the scribe, although in the year past, more and more of Kaveh's things have found themselves being moved in there too— and as Mehrak sets the tray on the bedside table nearest the slumbering man, the blonde moves to perch on the edge of the bed, to lean over and press soft lips to those still dreaming. ]
Alhaitham, wake up.