That is fine. [He had known this would be the reaction he'd get. Never in a Million years would Kaveh be delighted that he had lost his control with two measly drinks. Or three. Or four. He had left the counter so he's not sure how many he had had anyway. He'll allow himself to wonder about Kaveh's potential reaction to his identity later, anyway.]
Well, I do. [Need coffee, he means. He points at a side of the kitchen.] And the hanger is in the kitchen as well, I placed our clothes in an electrical one so they'll dry faster, but I'm not sure if they're completely dry yet.
[He picks up a coffee grinder from a cupboard, gets a specific kettle from another. Then grabs a bag of coffee beans from a pantry. His movements are mindless but methodical—he's done this over and over again, like a ritual.] You're free to take a shower, too, and leave whenever you wish. I won't hold anyone here if they don't want to be.
[ His scowl only deepens. Of course Alhaitham is trying to decide what's best for him when that's not what he asked. He stalks over to the hanger and picks up his clothes— definitely not completely dry, but he doesn't care. ]
I'll put these on and leave. I'll shower when I get home, I don't need anything from you.
[ Fuck, he hates this. With the still-wet clothes in his hands, he just feels stupid, not confident (which is what he was aiming for). He keeps his head high though as he stalks back to the room and changes quickly.
He does, at least, fold what Alhaitham changed him into, and leaves it on the edge of the bed. ]
I'm leaving, [ he snaps as he storms past the kitchen. ] And I don't want to talk to you next time I see you.
[Alhaitham doesn't follow Kaveh to the door. He stays by the kitchen counter, his hands paused in the middle of grinding coffee beans, the coarse scent hanging in the air like a promise unfulfilled. The sound of Kaveh's departing footsteps echo through the apartment and a part of him wants to call out, to say something—anything—that might mend the chasm that's opened between them. But he knows better than to think words could bridge the gap now. Silence, he decides, is perhaps the kindest response he can offer to Kaveh's clear desire for distance.
Once the door clicks shut, the silence grows heavier, settling into the corners of the room with a palpable weight. Alhaitham resumes grinding the coffee beans, methodical, therapeutic even, but it does little to distract him from the replaying scenes of last night and this morning.
Kaveh's anger, his mortification, and the clear rejection sting, of course, but Alhaitham is no stranger to slipping it into a veneer of rationality. He pours water into the kettle, sets it on the stove, and waits for it to boil, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. He's always prided himself on his self-control, his ability to navigate the complexities of most relationships. Yet, with Kaveh, it seems he's perpetually at a loss, always one step behind, reacting rather than acting.
The kettle whistles, pulling him from his reverie. He prepares his coffee with practised ease, each step a part of a ritual that's as familiar as the back of his hand. Yet, today, the comfort he usually finds in this routine is absent. The coffee tastes bitter, a reflection of the morning's events, perhaps, or maybe just an oversight in his brewing process. He takes a sip, contemplating the latter as a metaphor for his interactions with Kaveh: too much heat, not enough patience.
He wonders, not for the first time, what it is about Kaveh that so thoroughly dismantles his composure. Is it the architect's passion, his vibrancy, the way he wears his heart so openly on his sleeve? Or is it the challenge he presents, a puzzle that refuses to be solved, pushing Alhaitham to confront the limitations of his emotional intelligence? Or rather, that somehow, even in person and without knowledge of their actual identity, they make each other feel seen.]
Can't be just that. [He mutters, and tsks his tongue when the coffee burns it.]
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sempiternals2023-10-04 01:27 am
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Well, I do. [Need coffee, he means. He points at a side of the kitchen.] And the hanger is in the kitchen as well, I placed our clothes in an electrical one so they'll dry faster, but I'm not sure if they're completely dry yet.
[He picks up a coffee grinder from a cupboard, gets a specific kettle from another. Then grabs a bag of coffee beans from a pantry. His movements are mindless but methodical—he's done this over and over again, like a ritual.] You're free to take a shower, too, and leave whenever you wish. I won't hold anyone here if they don't want to be.
no subject
I'll put these on and leave. I'll shower when I get home, I don't need anything from you.
[ Fuck, he hates this. With the still-wet clothes in his hands, he just feels stupid, not confident (which is what he was aiming for). He keeps his head high though as he stalks back to the room and changes quickly.
He does, at least, fold what Alhaitham changed him into, and leaves it on the edge of the bed. ]
I'm leaving, [ he snaps as he storms past the kitchen. ] And I don't want to talk to you next time I see you.
no subject
Once the door clicks shut, the silence grows heavier, settling into the corners of the room with a palpable weight. Alhaitham resumes grinding the coffee beans, methodical, therapeutic even, but it does little to distract him from the replaying scenes of last night and this morning.
Kaveh's anger, his mortification, and the clear rejection sting, of course, but Alhaitham is no stranger to slipping it into a veneer of rationality. He pours water into the kettle, sets it on the stove, and waits for it to boil, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. He's always prided himself on his self-control, his ability to navigate the complexities of most relationships. Yet, with Kaveh, it seems he's perpetually at a loss, always one step behind, reacting rather than acting.
The kettle whistles, pulling him from his reverie. He prepares his coffee with practised ease, each step a part of a ritual that's as familiar as the back of his hand. Yet, today, the comfort he usually finds in this routine is absent. The coffee tastes bitter, a reflection of the morning's events, perhaps, or maybe just an oversight in his brewing process. He takes a sip, contemplating the latter as a metaphor for his interactions with Kaveh: too much heat, not enough patience.
He wonders, not for the first time, what it is about Kaveh that so thoroughly dismantles his composure. Is it the architect's passion, his vibrancy, the way he wears his heart so openly on his sleeve? Or is it the challenge he presents, a puzzle that refuses to be solved, pushing Alhaitham to confront the limitations of his emotional intelligence? Or rather, that somehow, even in person and without knowledge of their actual identity, they make each other feel seen.]
Can't be just that. [He mutters, and tsks his tongue when the coffee burns it.]