[ If he's honest, Kaveh has no idea what he's expecting Alhaitham to say or do in response to his words. He feels like he's left himself too open, made his feelings too obvious; the heaviness of the other man's silence doesn't help, either, and it's with a choked sigh that he picks at the cake, apparently unsure if he's meant to eat it or tear it to shreds in his anxiety. In the end, as the silence stretches on, uncomfortable and oppressive, he settles for putting a small piece of it between his lips as if somehow it will prevent him from wedging his foot further between them instead. His eyes sting with warning, and he chews the mouthful, trying for slow, trying for steady—

And then Alhaitham finally speaks, and Kaveh nearly chokes.

Somehow, the scribe has pieced together two and two to come up with seven, a fact as embarrassing as it is a relief. And it's tempting, so tempting, to let him believe it, if only to stop this line of questioning— but Kaveh can't lie about this, can't will himself between Tighnari and Cyno even to save his own skin. So he shakes his head, a gathering thickness in his throat; if nothing else, the confusion on his face should show Alhaitham that he's genuine. ]

What? I don't have feelings for Tighnari. [ It would be wisest, perhaps, to end the statement there, but ever the over-achiever, Kaveh continues: ] Anyway, it's not just about love. There are other things too, it's just—

[ His words melt into an oddly-strangled noise as he realizes what he's said. And then, for the second time in mere minutes: ]

Never mind.