sempiternals | Hang up all my fragile thoughts

[So distracted and inherently frustrated by how distracted he is that Alhaitham only notices who's sitting beside him once he catches a whiff of his cologne past the nicotine coating the back of his throat. He takes a sip of his drink—a negroni, something that isn't entirely strong, but enough to take the edge of the frustration in his mind. He had been pent up all day. Wondering if the necklace had been delivered or if he had to wait a couple of days. If Pharos would say anything at all.

The fragrance beside him doesn't help.]

Rough day? [He asks, softly, before taking a sip; though he's sure that as much as he takes care of not showing a lot of his likes or dislikes in his voice, he'll be taken wrongly anyway.]

[ Oh, of all the fucking people that he could have found himself sitting next to, it has to be this insufferable—

Kaveh downs the whisky and raises it to the bartender to signal for another before he finally turns to look at Alhaitham, irritation written onto his face. He wants to say something smart, something like it was fine until you showed up, but that would be a lie, and he has a shitty poker face— shittier than normal when he's drinking.

So he shrugs, and raises his eyebrows. Noncommittal.

(Noncommittal, but dressed up for a night out, a flowy red shirt with the top few buttons undone, smart white pants, his new necklace sitting against his pale skin.) ]

You?

It could be worse.

[After all, while he had to take a few steps back on the programme, which was a mere hassle, the students were not a lost cause. After all, the hardest part of the whole thing is to have them frame their thoughts and think stylistically and understand why those styling decisions were made in something like narrative and dialogue. While frustrating, it was not what drew Alhaitham into this place, even if it's a cozy spot—warm mood lighting, a good bartender, soft music and not too crowded.

But the glint of Kaveh's necklace does catch his eye and he frowns, takes a longer, thoughtful sip. Everything seems to remind him of Pharos now. Perhaps it is true that red cars are all you see after pointing out about red cars. ] Thought you preferred gold.

[ There should probably be a question in there somewhere, like how do you know what I prefer, but if he's honest, Kaveh is too busy being stunned that the new professor has noticed anything about him at all, let alone enough that he feels comfortable commenting on it.

And he's correct, which is even stranger.

He reaches up, fiddles with the chain a little, and he's unaware that the smile on his lips has taken an almost dreamy quality as he laughs, shakes his head. ]

I do, yeah. But this was a gift from someone important. I wasn't about to tell him he chose the wrong color when he went to so much effort in the first place.

[ Plus, it was technically his fault— he wishlisted the item in the wrong metal in the first place. But he's not about to explain that. Not because he doesn't want to admit fault, he has no problem with that. It's more that... well, the wishlist would take some explaining, wouldn't it. ]

Anyway, I like it as it is.

[An eyebrow doesn't even jump at the smile, Alhaitham's gaze is fixed and unchanging as Kaveh explains how he got this from someone who he's obviously fixated on.

His mind goes instantly to ask the question of whether he should have bought gold for Pharos, too. He looks like someone who'd look better in gold, though he'd look good with anything.

He draws another sip, a little disgruntled at that last line of thought.] Sounds like he doesn't know you very well.

[ Kaveh's jaw drops when Alhaitham talks, and as his whisky is placed on the bar, he snatches it up and downs it without so much as a hint of hesitation, gesturing to the bartender for another— damnit, he'd planned on nursing that one, but then this asshole— ]

You don't know anything about him. [ There's an abrupt, angry bite to his tone as his cheeks turn pink. Again, it was his fault, and while Alhaitham doesn't know that, who the fuck is he to assume anything about...

He closes his eyes, takes a calming breath (it doesn't work) before fixing his co-worker with another glare. ]

Why do you care anyway?

[Why is he going at it with such abandon, is he heartbroken?

He doesn't look like it, dressed the way he is, shining in the dim lighting and catching the eyes of everyone in the room (not that there were many, anyway, and most of them were faculty, too. Alhaitham wonders if Kaveh didn't mind.) He seems like he wishes to forget. Alhaitham wonders why.

Though what he says is…] That's a good question, [he mutters as he sips on his drink again. He shouldn't really care, not really. He barely knows Kaveh, only knows him from his notes which he had studied extensively before setting foot on campus, and the way his nose scrunches when he's upset.] I guess I have an eye for aesthetics as well.

[ In response to that, Kaveh mutters something very unflattering under his breath, pitched low enough so that Alhaitham wouldn't hear him even if he were standing with his ear to the blonde's lips.

When his next drink comes, he nurses it— even if it's somewhat too late for that— and leans back in his chair, fixing the other scholar with an appraising look. ]

If that's the case, you'd know that the fashion nowadays is to mix gold and silver anyway. Essentially meaning it matters very little what color of metal I'm gifted. Right?

[ It sounds like a question, but Kaveh's tone almost tries to end that line of discussion. ]

I didn't take you for the type to get wasted after class.

Oh? Is that the case?

[Disregard for rhetoric creates a double standard, but he doesn't care. It's a good thing he's nursing this last drink, though Alhaitham does ask for two glasses of water. If one of them is set next to Kaveh, it's none of his business, but he does intersperse his drinking with some.] So does that mean you're mixing silver with your hair?

[His eyebrows do arch at that last statement, however.] I don't. [He wants another cigarette already and feels for the box in his pocket, clenching his fist and returning it to the glass so he can control himself.] But I could say the same about you.

[ His business or not, two drinks was a definite decision, one that earns Alhaitham a glare on Kaveh's part as he sips at his own drink— and, yes, stops to sip at the water a little, too, even if he resents it.

What he resents more though is the comment his coworker makes about him mixing silver with his hair, presumably because it's gold.

Mister E has called his hair "gold" before. For someone as irritating as Alhaitham to echo something that someone so important has said—

Ugh. Seriously, he needs something stronger than whisky, at this point. For now, he shrugs. ]

Usually I prefer to drink at home. It's cheaper. [ Yeah, so Alhaitham called him out about his lack of wealth the other day. Who cares? ] But it felt like a bar kind of night.

[The 'starving artist' archetype does fit Kaveh to a T. Still, he acts and wears as though he's nothing of the sort, perhaps only the artistical side of him. The detailing in his shirt is obviously a pick of someone who tends to be picky with design, the cut of his trousers an evident result of a curated taste. It makes sense that his students were knowledgeable of how to frame a discussion or dissertation. For most people, that's enough to get them far.

While Alhaitham aims to build experts, not laymen, he still appreciates the effort.]

It did? How so? [Asked casually, as though it was not his business but still asking.] Celebrating something?

[ It's obvious from the way Alhaitham talks that he knows very much that the question he's asking is not his to ask. He sighs heavily, rolls his eyes in the other's direction. ]

First you ask if I've had a rough day, now you ask if I'm celebrating something... and you know it's still none of your fucking business, right?

[ Archons, why is he so invested anyway? Kaveh's sure he's made it perfectly clear he has no interest in talking to this arrogant son of a bitch, so why does he insist—

Fuck it. He's drunk enough to just ask it outright. ]

Why do you always talk to me?

[Alhaitham's eyebrows arch at that. The bartender's eyebrows arch at that. That sounds so much more than what it exactly is, and Alhaitham is sure that it has to do with the few drinks Kaveh has tasted already and nothing with what he intends to say.

At least he's a cheap drunk.]

Always, in this case, is merely twice. [He points out, considering they have seen each other across campus or even went past each other through hallways and rooms, but never really addressed each other other than that encounter in the classroom and right then.] But nothing is stopping you from saying you don't want to talk to me. I certainly wouldn't.

Yeah. [ It's said with emphasis, like Kaveh is agreeing to something, although it's hard to see what he might actually be agreeing to, given the fact that nothing in Alhaitham's statement invited agreement. But he then continues: ] Twice, and yet you decided you had the right to comment on my Mis— my benefactor— to tell me he doesn't know me like I want him to? What the hell is wrong with you?

[ He scowls more deeply and drinks the rest of the glass that he's holding. ]

So unless you've got something... something useful to tell me, like...

[ Kaveh blinks, and shakes his head. ]

Ugh, just leave me alone.

[A benefactor? Well, Kaveh was indeed an artist aside from his work at the college. It only makes sense for him to have people who would finance him one way or another. Even if that makes for little sense with how he still seems to be struggling. What kind of benefactor would that be?

Then again, he's just been requested to leave, to stop talking.

And while he usually doesn't care about what other people say when he just points out the obvious...

he needs a smoke.]

Very well, [so he gets up from the bar stool, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and his lighter before he heads to the back door of the bar.]

[ It's an hour or so later, at least one more smoke break for Alhaitham and several more drinks for Kaveh, when the bartender finally cuts the latter off. The silver-haired teacher has finally done what Kaveh wanted and left him alone, and yet the blonde finds himself more and more frustrated, watching that long figure every time it gets up to leave, somehow hearing the rumble of that low voice over the top of the music pumping through the speakers.

And he hates, hates, how easy it is to hear Mister E in those words, with that tone.

When he stumbles out into the night, it's to lean against the doorframe, glowering at the other man. ]

You know those will kill you, right?

[Alhaitham's mind isn't exactly there as he smokes way too much for a night. He subtly tells the bartender to keep Kaveh's drinks on his tab—a subtle attempt at an apology without even needing to talk to the guy. But aside from that, he leans against the damp railing of a staircase that leads to the back of the bar, his eyes trying to focus on the soft glimmer of stars despite the light pollution of the neon sign of the establishment behind him.

He's thinking that he, too, should have bought something gold instead, to match the undertone of someone's flushed skin. Wondering if he likes it, anyway. If he'd defend E so strongly in the same way the teacher inside the bar had.

It's endearing, in a way. Even if strangely coincidental. As coincidental as the man in question coming out and snapping about his addiction. (Which, yes, he'll own up to.)

Alhaitham looks over his shoulder to make his teal eyes fix on reddened red.]

So does stress, and yet I don't see you taking measures against it.

[ He's not sure why he stopped here to grumble at the other teacher. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that he's been thinking about Mister E all night, and seeing the other man has made him frustrated about the necklace all over again. Maybe he noticed that his tab was smaller than it should be, and pieced together what happened. Or maybe he's just drunk, and needing someone to grouse at to make his own life a little less miserable.

More likely than not, it's a mix of all three, and Alhaitham's response definitely does not help.

The blonde's eyes narrow, and he storms across to close the space between them, an ugly snarl darkening a usually-pretty face. ]

You think I don't? I do everything I fucking can to get away from it! [ Not only has he been picking up extra hours at work, but there's the streaming job besides— Kaveh rarely feels like he sleeps anymore, and even then sometimes it doesn't feel like enough. His landlord is a bitch, his life is a mess, and there's no way around that. ]

If you're such a genius, then tell me something I can do that I'm not already fucking trying.

[Darkening that snarl may be, but perhaps it's the most honest Alhaitham has seen Kaveh. He's sweet, really, considerate, always willing to help, always willing to say yes to something that he has no business saying yes to. Alhaitham is new, but he can already see that Kaveh's control is bursting at the seams, fraying and frazzling him to a space where he can no longer keep a grasp on himself.

He needs to stop. Blowing the smoke out of his lips to the side so it doesn't hit him, he doesn't move his eyes from those red, flaming ones, which seem to be asking Alhaitham for one excuse, one simple, small excuse.

For what, he's not sure, but—] When was the last time you took a break? Had a day off?

I can't do that! [ comes the immediate response, eyes flashing, and if Alhaitham had any doubt at all that Kaveh is basically begging him for help, then the shattered look in the other's eyes will assuage it, confirm his suspicion.

Why it's Alhaitham he looks to even Kaveh wouldn't know, even if he were to be brave enough to admit to himself that that's what he's doing. Perhaps it's just how famously intelligent the other man is, or perhaps it's something else entirely. Either way, Kaveh feels like he's about to break, and the last thing he fucking needs— ]

I don't have the time for a day off. I don't have the mora for a day off. I'd love a break, Alhaitham, I'd love one so much but I just can't—

[He could say that he does have the time for it. He could, now that Alhaitham was there, take some days off for his own sake and Alhaitham would cover for his classes. There's such a thing as PTO, and mental health days nowadays. That would solve the mora issue, as well.

And yet, he doesn't want to point that out, because another person slips into his mind. Long dark hair and bright, sharp eyes, grinning down at him and shaking her head when she spots him.

You just need to bone, she had said, exasperatedly, as he sighed in frustration.

Perhaps he does understand where Kaveh is, and what he's feeling. They merely have different ways of coping with it.

So perhaps the situation is similar.] How's your love life, nowadays? Maybe releasing some tension would help.

[ If Kaveh was slightly less drunk, and if Kaveh hadn't spent the last several hours managing to overlay Alhaitham's voice with Mister E's words (after all, the sober part of him can tell that, frustrating as he is, Alhaitham is really only trying to help him with they money situation, just as Mister E always does), the question probably would have earned the other man a death stare and another round of cursing.

Instead, Alhaitham is met with a silent, contemplative look that lasts for all of three seconds before he launches himself the rest of the way between them, grabbing the other man's cigarette and dropping it on the asphalt under them before he seizes Alhaitham's shirt and yanks him into a firm, hungry kiss.

He tastes of cigarettes, but Kaveh's too drunk to care. The other is right, the tension lately is just too much and if he can get rid of it somehow— ]

My love life sucks, [ he rasps against the other's mouth. ] I've caught feelings for a guy who only knows me as pixels on a screen, so—

[He'll hand it to Kaveh, Alhaitham is thoroughly surprised by this.

Of all things, he was not expecting his colleague to launch lips-first into him, he's about to complain about his cigarette, his shirt, and then—

—nothing. He doesn't respond for the most part, his hands coming up to curl around the round of those shoulders (the strongest part of him, really, tapered as Kaveh is), to push him away.

And then Kaveh confesses a half-complaint, a half-grievance, something to latch onto to excuse and justify all of this, the alcohol breath, the anger, the need.

A benefactor, the necklace, 'pixels on a screen'. The need for money, lack of time.

The undeniably attractive need to please.

What would be the odds? Alhaitham leans into another kiss, this time cradling his face, tilting his head just so and slotting their lips together into something less frustrated, more controlled, more present. He needs to check something, so he skims one of his hands down, tracing over his neck, his clavicle, kneading at his chest with a swipe of his thumb over where the nipple should be, and then lower to pull him closer by the waist.]

[ Even drunk, Kaveh is entirely sure he'll be shoved away. What he's doing— seeking physical solace in a man whose attention he has done nothing but spurn and insult— makes absolutely no sense, after all; if their situations were reversed, he'd be shoving Alhaitham back and asking what the fuck he thinks he's doing—

And yet after a moment where it seems like that is exactly what's about to happen, hands on his shoulders as if ready to push, Alhaitham instead cups his face and kisses back, and Kaveh's breath catches in his throat.

Oh, this works very nicely.

The other teacher is a better kisser than he could have imagined, strong and almost possessive in action; in Kaveh's fantasies, Mister E has pulled him close by the waist in the exact same way. It's the thumb over his chest that takes him by surprise, a breathless sound against the other's mouth as it brushes metal; even through the fabric of his shirt, it's sensitive, leaving him aching for more. ]

I want you to fuck me.

[ It's abrupt, perhaps, a declaration made barely thirty seconds into a make-out that neither of them could have predicted happening. But Kaveh is drunk, and his brain is working overtime, painting images and connections where he knows that none exist, leaving him with a strange desire to prove that he's more than just those same pixels about which he complained. ]

[His arm weaves around his waist and holds tighter, guides him onto the (damp and cold, sorry, Kaveh) wall of the building, bracing his weight on one arm and encasing him from anyone's sight, but only because Alhaitham's knees almost buckle at the request and—

It's him, it's him, the odds of the person wearing the same necklace and the same piercing and his issues and the way his gasps sound the same, his—. He's opening his mouth to kiss him deep again, to stop himself from calling out his monicker, to shush him from making other inane claim when this—

His thoughts are scattered. He can only breathe in lungfuls of Kaveh into himself, press close into his warmth by weaving a knee between the architect's as though that would help him with soothing the ache under his skin that Pharos had left in him. Alhaitham's hand on his waist unwinds, but not without giving Kaveh's hip a possessive squeeze, and then reaching up to stroke at his cheek with the back of his fingers.

'Who is Pharos obsessed with?' his brain shouts out, only to be shut down immediately.]

You're drunk. [He whispers, so warm, so fond.]

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