sempiternals | How could your heart be stolen by a human?

[ Kaveh turns too once he's settled, facing Wriothesley with a small nod. ]

Right, got it.

...Thanks, Wriothesley.

[ Perhaps it's just the emotional exhaustion, or perhaps the comfort of having someone whom he cares about close by, but Kaveh falls asleep quickly, breathing evening out almost as soon as his eyes close. And despite the pain, and the unfamiliar bed, not once through the night does he wake up. He does, however, unconsciously shuffle in closer at some point, head nestled into the space between Wriothesley's neck and his chest, an arm curling around the older man's waist.

And, Kaveh dreams. He dreams that he's wound up in the arms of someone who loves him, who wants to be with him no matter how difficult he can get. He dreams that he builds palaces, grander than anything he's built before, something perfect for their future. He dreams that everything is perfect, and he never has to worry about anything again— not his father, not his funds, not his feelings. He's happy, he's healthy, he's whole.

It's a feeling, a fantasy that lasts even as his body starts to wake him after a night's rest, halfway between awake and asleep, face still nestled in a warm chest, a sleepy heartbeat.

Kaveh doesn't even open his eyes. His head tilts up, a tender hum on his lips as he captures those across from him in a soft, sweet kiss. ]

( The night rolls steadily through his slumber and he finds it oddly soothing having a warm body next to him. It's not often Navia stays over, and he's able to relax fine around her. Yet he feels a sense of relief having the thought of Kaveh in his mind, because better to have him here than not at all.

Dreams are rare and far between, and he normally ends up hearing names long lost to time in echoes and corridors. Images botched in red and more red, oozing across wealthy floors and staining fine carpets. He realizes he's been here before and he learns to tune out the visuals just in time to feel the warmth of reality on his lips.

He steadily begins coming back from a cold sweat, feeling Kaveh's arms around him. Wriothesley had unknowingly wrapped their legs together, holding him just as shamelessly around his waist.

He's greeted with Kaveh's closed eyes, realizing what it is. If he's awake or just sleepwalking, he doesn't miss his chance to hold him in place to purse his lips against him in return. Once, twice, tilting his head so they lock easier. Slow and sensual, and in a way lazy but just what he needs. )

[ The return purse of lips against Kaveh's own only helps him buy into the fantasy; he sighs in sleepy content, and when the head against his tilts, his own does too in answer, finding together the perfect angle for their mouths to find home. It's the kind of kiss that sends shivers of delight down his spine, the exact type he's been dreaming about, and so it stretches on, even as Kaveh finds himself more awake than asleep, the realities of the waking world not having permeated past the dreamstate.

Arms lift from the lock around Wriothesley's waist, fingers curling into the sleep shirt he wears, tugging him close(r, if it's possible), and he snatches the briefest of breaths before pressing in again, mouth parting, a slow swipe of his tongue over the other's lower lip.

There's a small part of him waking up from the fog, little by little, realizing that this isn't a dream, that this is actually Wriothesley, and his mouth kind of hurts, actually, kissing him like this. But it's a much quieter part of his brain, easily silenced by that leaning into this and everything it is, relishing in the extension of his dream. ]

Hm...

( So much can be done if he's just pressing up against his lips, so it's a matter of time before his tongue is dancing its way between them. Kaveh tastes much better like this, real and within his consent. Wriothesley slides his arm away from his waist so he can brush back hair behind his ear, clutching the unruly locks that way at his skull. Just as he did in the cabin, he's very precise with any move, bold even. Sure, he's still hiding under the hope an excuse exists somewhere in the universe for this, even if each passing second becomes more vivid.

He doesn't care. There's no other way Wriothesley can have him and besides, Kaveh initiated it. He pauses to breathe in, gasping, and fully opening his eyes before he grinds their hips together so there's more of him he can connect with.

That's when he starts easing back against his pillow, drowned in the spotlight of the sudden realization that there is no actual way to talk himself out of this one. Then, he remembers the words: I trust you. )

I'm sorry, Kaveh, I shouldn't.

[ It's the grind of Wriothesley's hips that not only causes the other to start backing away, but also fully awakens Kaveh from the dream, his eyes opening wide and blinking once, twice, at the taste of the other on his mouth. His own breath is short, partly from the kiss and partly from the fact that he is very quickly beginning to panic, abject mortification taking his features as he backs up in turn, unentangling his legs from the warden's, swallowing hard as he fights the urge to look away, to run. ]

I— no, I— [ Deep breaths. One, two, three. ] No, I'm sorry, I— I was mostly asleep still and I— I wasn't thinking—

[ But even as he's talking himself into a panic attack, Kaveh's rational brain, apparently better when he's half-asleep, kicks into gear, a curious thread reaching out to loop itself around the anxiety, leashing it tight and rearing it back, causing his words to fall flat and his eyes to soften, something wondering in his gaze. ]

You shouldn't? [ he asks, and his voice is as soft as the stillness of the deep ocean around them. ] Or you don't want to?

( That's one way to heat up the morning and forget his room is normally a frigid temperature. Wriothesley's panic is manifesting more within the realm of justice, and how he should have known better. This is just another way for him to excuse betraying Kaveh's trust, is it not?

His pulse is rampant through the veins on his neck, flashing hot underneath his cheeks and ears as he begins to cool himself down. So much can be done to stop a mountain of pent-up energy from ultimately, tragically falling on them.

Kaveh's question hangs low under the pressure, followed by a type of silence worth a million words. Wriothesley slides his hand away from his hair, tidying it again in the process as he swallows his pride. His voice is barely above a whisper, shattered through a rasp of his vocal chords not quite tuning this early. )

I don't know anymore, Kaveh. I'm not put off by it.

[ "I don't know anymore," Wriothesley says, and Kaveh blinks at him, taking several long seconds to comprehend. There's something on the Warden's face that almost looks like— anxiety, perhaps? the blonde recognizes it well enough— and for a moment he wants to tell him that if he's not put off by it, then what's the problem?

But then, suddenly and with devastating clarity, the other's words from the night before surface once more in his mind. "You confuse me, Kaveh," he said, and all Kaveh could say was "I'm sorry" because he didn't understand. But now...

He raises a careful hand, cups the other's cheek in it as he holds his gaze, vermilion eyes soft and understanding even through the bruises and swelling decorating his face. ]

Will you talk to me? [ he asks, his voice soft. ] Will you tell me what's going through your mind?

( He feels remnants of Kaveh’s lips against him, tingling unlike any other craving he’s used to. He’s not afraid to keep his gaze there, held onto a more secure Kaveh. Many factors should be considered if he decides on taking this route with him and most of them are not exactly beneficial.

His eyes search Kaveh’s face, every lash on him, every ruined vessel showing signs of blackening around his socket. He’s less swollen now, though. His hand is warm against his cheek and Wriothesley likes the feeling, so his eyes close, bracing himself. )

You.

[ For a moment, Kaveh is silent. He's not entirely sure what to think; on one hand, Wriothesley seems so unsure— on the other, he closes his eyes into that touch, tells Kaveh that what's going through his mind is him. And here, the blonde has to remind himself not to give in to hope quite so soon— tells himself that maybe it's just something physical for the other man, or maybe he's just confused by being around him so much—

But at the same time, it's a sweet answer, emboldening, and it inspires Kaveh to lean forward, to press his mouth to the other man's, a chaste kiss over as quickly as it's begun. ]

That's a start, [ a very, very nice start, ] but I'm gonna need for you to be more specific, Wriothesley.

( It started the moment he first met him, and for the longest time, Wriothesley wasn't sure how to face the truth. He doesn't have the time to return the affection on his lips, but his eyes open once again in surprise at it. The spark between them has been burning the entire time, perhaps that's something Kaveh can sense despite all the rejections.

Opening up to anyone is indeed a task on its own. )

I never wanted to mislead you, so of course I had to reject you, Kaveh.
Until I could figure out everything and in the process, I just ended up hurting you all the same.

Why would you want to get involved with someone who isn't sure of themselves?
I wouldn't.

( Well, he doesn't date to begin with which is why everything works out perfectly with Navia. Dating requires...Trust. Something he can't readily provide. )

That's all.

[ As Wriothesley answers him with perhaps more words than he's ever heard the other speak in a row (unless talking about the Fortress), Kaveh is quiet, only listening, only watching the gentle surprise in those ice blue eyes. He doesn't even open his mouth until the other man declares that he's done, and even then the words come after a lift of Kaveh's hand, a gentle stroke of his thumb under the scar that underscores his right eye. Even then, he doesn't know what he's going to say until the words fall from his lips. ]

I'm angry with you. [ In spite of his declaration, his voice is still soft, still gentle, fingers still soft as they stroke over the skin. ] You did mislead me. You told me time and time again that there was nothing— while you were struggling with this.

[ His hand trails down, fingers tracing over the line of the other's stern lips. ]

You should have told me before. We could have figured it out together. I'm not quite as fragile as you think I am, you know.

( The silence before the storm isn't as bad as he thought in his mind. Kaveh had thrown at him so many loud words in the past, so many tears, he didn't expect this flavor of anger to land so tender on him.

This is the type of emotion Wriothesley can better understand. Quiet just like the middle of a field covered in snow. Before he knows it, the cold is biting into his bones. Kaveh isn't as harsh as that. )

There is still nothing, Kaveh. My issues aside, our lives are on completely different paths. I didn't think you were fragile, but as a friend, I didn't want to dump any more hurt than necessary. Yet every time, I seem to bring you nothing but tears and regrets.

( He takes Kaveh's wrist on his hand to move it away from his lips. The touch leaves him with tingles on it, it's a sensitive area. )

I've never been in a relationship, much less with a man and what I feel is something I should figure out on my own. We should avoid any type of disaster even if I think I'd want you.

[ "There is still nothing," Wriothesley says, but Kaveh's heartbreak goes from something quiet to something frustrated as the other man explains that he has apparently just decided for both of them that this isn't something that would work, that it would be a "disaster". His hand is pulled away from the other's mouth, and Kaveh lowers it again, and for a few moments he doesn't know what to say.

Then, he glares up at him. For once, his eyes are free of tears, but frustration shines there, alive and well. ]

Has it occurred to you that while you figured it out, lying to me the whole way, that you were hurting me worse than you would have if you'd just told me what was going on? You tell me you can't do this, but you kiss me like you love me. You decide unilaterally that we wouldn't work, when you don't even know what it takes to make a relationship work.

Why are you running away from me?

[ Try as he might, he can't hide the hurt in that last question, and after a moment his gaze drops from Wriothesley's face again. ]

You say all that as if you think it wasn't painful for me, either.

( The frustration is mutual in blue eyes, blazing like dry ice and cutting deep. Wriothesley shifts up on the bed so he can sit up. Of course, it hurt turning his back on him. It hurt deleting those pictures, it hurt turning him down over and over. If Kaveh had simply quit, left, and moved on, none of this would be something Wriothesley had to weigh in.

It hurt seeing him with the man at the bar. It hurt more seeing him with Mael just when he felt he could get somewhere with him. Or within himself. Maybe Wriothesley needs a man he can specifically experiment on without fear of hurting them. )

And you're the expert in relationships? You can't possibly think you can try to fill in my inexperience while simultaneously looking down on me like that. It makes you sound like the type of scholar you tend to dislike.

I know my way around other relationships. Professional ones, or friendships, to some extent, and even those aren't easy for me.

( Save for Neuvillette, whom Wriothesley has come to respect ever since his trial. After he became the Administrator, it took a heap of years to be where he is with him. Even then, he doesn't tell Neuvillette everything. He doesn't tell Navia everything.

His expression softens, and the bruising on his face is another reminder of how wrong Kaveh's presence fits in a place like this. Wriothesley would never ask him to stay. )

You have a life on the surface.

I never said that. I believe that it hurt you too. But here's the thing, Wriothesley: you chose that hurt. You chose to hurt me, and you chose to hurt you too— you chose, I didn't even get the option of a choice.

[ Kaveh echoes the other, sitting up in the bed. He doesn't want to argue with him from a lying-down position. (It feels weak.) And at the same time, he's wondering: what about it has hurt the other man? If he's still trying to figure out his feelings, like he said, if he's still confused, then what about it is hurting him—? ]

Why are you putting words in my mouth? I never claimed to be an expert, either. And I'm not looking down on you! I don't think anyone is an expert in relationships. Don't you get it? They're not meant to be easy. Two people can be perfect for one another and it can still find a way to break.

[ Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, and he looks away. He's not crying for Wriothesley; he doesn't want the other man to think he is. ]

If something perfect can break, maybe something imperfect won't. The thing is, you'll never know until you try. Where I live— it doesn't matter. What matters is...

[ And for a moment, he trails off, frowning. There's something about the whole thing that just isn't adding up, isn't making sense in his head.

He takes a breath. Looks up at him once more. ]

Tell me how you feel about me.

You chose to keep approaching me even after I had said no, Kaveh. You can't pin that on me.

I'm not, that was sarcasm, but you shouldn't render down what I feel based on how much or how little experience I have in the field. Are you crying?

( He asks the moment Kaveh turns to look away from him. This is the worst. One wrong turn and they're back into the weeds, lost through the forest and yelling into the canopies without a way of finding themselves walking on the same path. Wriothesley slips out of bed so he can flick on more lights in the room. )

It matters.

( He says while making eye contact before pulling out some fresh clothes to change into. He stops by the bathroom door, offering a frown as he stands by the frame. )

I wish you lived here.

How could I not? In words you'd say one thing and in actions you'd say another. Of course I was going to pursue it. But that was my choice, just like you made yours— so you can't pin that hurt on me, either.

And I'm not rendering down your feelings! I'm telling you that you've acted based on assumptions that you could well be making incorrectly because you have nothing to base them on but your own conjecture. Any scholar trying that would be laughed out of the Akademiya— and no, I'm not!

[ A lie, but he's not about to explain the mess of his parents in the middle of this discussion, is he? Not that it is a problem, because Wriothesley is telling him it matters, dodging his question but practically answering it in the same breath, standing next to the bathroom door as he says—

Kaveh pushes himself out of bed and storms across the floor to the other's side. Lithe fingers press into Wriothesley's chest, push him back against the doorframe. Crimson eyes are bright— still with unshed tears, but also with determination. ]

Tell me how you feel about me.

Great. Nobody's fault, then. That makes this easier. You can go ahead and laugh at me. I shouldn't have to write you an essay to go over everything.

( He briefly closes his eyes when he sees Kaveh slip out of bed and storm his way over. His voice rings between the metal walls around them, penetrating and echoing yet going nowhere else. There are no pipes that would make sound travel outside this room for all of their privacy's sake.

He's not going to explain how he murdered his foster parents, either, even though it's an important point of contention.

He falls utterly quiet whenever Kaveh makes it in front of him, pushing him against the frame. Wriothesley folds his arms below Kaveh's hand, adding an extra barrier between them with his jacket and extra clothes folded over his forearm.

He's beautiful even on the verge of tears when he's happy or angry. So if he tells him, what then? The other issues don't magically disappear off of the table. )

I really hate repeating myself. I don't want you in anybody's arms but my own.

( He really did hate seeing Mael in bed with him, but even Wriothesley knows it's not worth of a death penalty. )

Asking anything more from you would be inhumane. You're already very familiar with this place, and that's all I'm going to share. Now, do you mind? I want to get dressed.

I'm not laughing at you! I'm trying to make you see why you're being ridiculous about this!

[ And maybe he'd press that angle more if Wriothesley didn't say something to make it even clearer, all without saying the actual words Kaveh needs to hear. And maybe he could argue, say that he's not repeating himself, because he's not actually saying it, he's just saying—

But what he does say rips Kaveh in half right at the core, even without his being fully honest. The blonde is silent for a moment or two, even as he's asked to step back so the warden can dress— No, actually, what he's asked is "do you mind?"

and you know what?

Kaveh does mind. ]

Then don't let me be in anyone else's arms. [ The words are softer than anything he's said so far, but decisive, and he ignores the request to instead slide his arms over Wriothesley's shoulders, behind his neck, standing a little taller to catch his mouth in another kiss. It lacks the dreamy sleepiness of earlier, something hurried and desperate about it, as if the blonde is praying to the Seven that he'll be answered. ]

I don't have anything else to say, Kaveh.

( Kaveh is a scholar, a genius at that, he shouldn't have to listen to the words when everything is spelled clearly between words. Wriothesley is still trying to determine his own emotions so giving Kaveh the clear-cut answer he so desperately wants is still universes away.

He's not running from him, but from himself, and how frightening it is to leave his emotions in the hands of another. He's not handing out his heart on a silver platter just because someone asks him to.

Words muffle between their lips as Kaveh rushes his arms around his neck. Is this truly the right way to communicate when the conversation is over? Wriothesley tries to lean away from his kiss so he can at least voice whatever else is on his mind.

Kaveh...

He mutters as their lips collide more. Wriothesley pushes him back against the other side of the frame with the same energy, though most of the impact is cushioned by his arms wrapping up around Kaveh's waist. His breath is harsh against him and he pulls away after some labor.

This isn't right. It's not right that Kaveh keeps breaking his boundaries when there's a heap of issues to settle. As much as he likes kissing him, something about this is reasonably bitter. )

I need you to stop.

[ For a moment, it seems like it will be okay. That he's been forgiven the trespass he took to get them here and that maybe, where words failed them, the feelings between them can speak. But then Wriothesley pulls himself out of the kiss, tells Kaveh in no uncertain terms to stop— and the blonde does. He pulls himself away, folds his arms over his chest as if it will somehow fix everything, takes a deep, shuddering breath. ]

Okay. Alright. I get it.

[ Why, why does he keep fighting so hard for this? Every single time, all that happens is that he winds up alone and hurting, and Kaveh has spent his whole fucking life being both of those things, and he's tired of it—

He straightens up, and whatever tears he would usually cry don't come. Not this time. ]

I'm sorry. That wasn't like me, and I shouldn't have done it. I, um... you go ahead and change. I'll go back to my room, and— get ready for work, and once I've cleaned these I'll drop them back off to you, okay?

[ Maybe it really is just time for him to stop. ]

I'll see you later, Your Grace.

( There's a red line between persistence and betrayal and he knows that perhaps to some extent, he deserved betrayal. This is Kaveh handing him back the karma for subduing him with alcohol and kissing him. That's why it feels like poison, it feels like all the wrong steps are being taken just so they can race to the finish line.

He's hurting, too, especially as he watches everything built over the night collapse in front of him and leave him at ground zero. If he's going to live it up in his room again while he's still bruised to hell, he'll need to deal with Mael as soon as feasibly possible. )

Please see Sigewinne before you go back to work.

( He lets the rest of his words choke right under his tongue. He's unsure what else he's supposed to explain when he already said enough. He told Kaveh essentially the same thing he told Navia. Clearly, Navia's way of doing things isn't what's right for Kaveh, and what Kaveh wants isn't something Wriothesley can readily provide.

To think he'd ever hear the words "Your Grace" and feel them carve out a hole in his heart.

He grabs breakfast after he showers and changes with newly found rage specially made for Mael.

More guards are moving around the factory area and Kaveh's grounds, too. Surely it's because Wriothesley is upping the security after the incident.

Thanks to his network and Gardes, Wriothesley gets through the piping leading to the room where Mael's guys live in. It's no wonder he preferred Kaveh's room, but that ends today. )

Sorry, ladies.

You, come with me. We're going on a field trip. It'll be fun.

[ When Kaveh gets to the Infirmary, it's to be told that in NO UNCERTAIN TERMS is he going back to work that day. Instead, he ends up spending it alone in his room, sketching miserable image after miserable image until he gives up and buries himself in a pile of pillows and blankets. Sleep doesn't come easy either, though, and the architect spends the night tossing and turning trying to chase it, and by the time he goes back to work the following day, his bruises have faded, but the circles under his eyes are dark on a pale face.

He washes Wriothesley's clothes, and he's halfway through drying them when Mael comes into the communal laundry, flanked on either side by a lackey, and Kaveh's heart sinks into his stomach when he recognizes the other man, something almost impossible to do through the extent of the bruising on his face, and the sickening sneer twisting it into something ugly and cold. ]

Look who we have here, boys, [ he drawls, strolling into the laundry with the two of them a step behind, drawing invisible circles around Kaveh as the blonde seeks a way out. ] It's the guard dog's favorite bitch.

Leave me alone, Mael—

[ Lips press to his ear— shh— and Kaveh feels something sharp at his throat. He swallows, larynx bobbing against the blade, trying to steady his breathing as the criminal breathes instructions in his ear. ]

Here's what's going to happen, bitch. You're going back to the Warden, and you're gonna tell him you lied, alright? That you couldn't keep your whore legs shut and somehow poor Mael got caught in the middle—

I said leave me alone! [ Kaveh shoves against the grip holding him, and things are suddenly moving too fast for him to comprehend. There's the flash of a knife— he dodges— blinding pain in an explosion across his chest, a splash of blood— Mael's lackeys are wide-eyed with panic— shit! this wasn't meant to happen, boss! you said we was just scarin' him!— they run— Mael lunges again and this time Kaveh is fast enough, eyes closing and a flash of green coiling around the man's feet like a vine, tripping him.

Kaveh runs.

And for the second time in three days, he knocks on Wriothesley's door, injured. ]

( He'd counted at least ten bruises on Kaveh's arms and face combined, so Wriothesley gives him twenty. In another circumstance, he would let his Gardes handle any incidents and punishments, namely consisting of solitary confinement.

This, Mael understands, is more than personal, and even Wriothesley can't hide the fact from him. Mael doesn't need the wording to understand the meaning behind each of his punches and perhaps if Kaveh hadn't confessed, he wouldn't have hit him this hard.

When he's back in his room for the day, he treats his fists first thing. Impacting bones that much does a number on him. From permanent scars and gashes cutting over his knuckles, to the bruising of punching itself. Even after they're wrapped and hidden behind the black bandages he wears, his fingers still show signs of bruising. His knuckles are still prominently swelled. )

Kaveh?

( He fastens the last bit of bandage before he exits the bathroom to open his door. Then something else takes over. Muted silence ringing between his ears the instance he's met with Kaveh drenched in blood. At first, he thinks it might be a red shirt he's wearing if it wasn't for the punch of iron hitting his nostrils. It's a smell he's far too familiar with.

A sight he hasn't seen in a long, long time.

Wriothesley moves quickly, pulling Kaveh in to guide him to the bathroom. He's not as dexterous with his beat hands. He drops the rolls of bandages and forgets about them, moving on to grabbing the first aid kit before the situation slowly permeates his brain. After a minute, he begins to listen again, searching Kaveh's face and examining for more injuries.

This is why. This is why they can't work. Or why Kaveh doesn't belong here. He shouldn't have to bleed to prove his point, Wriothesley never wanted it to come to this. He would ask what happened, but something else is far more pressing. )

We need to clean your wound immediately. Would you please have a seat?

( There's a chair in the bathroom near the powder area by the sink. )

Can you move your arms? I'll have to cut your shirt so I can see better.

Was it him? Yes or no.

I'm okay. I'm okay, Wriothesley.

[ Kaveh says it at least three times, but the words seem to fall on deaf ears. He's probably been hurt worse in the desert before, if he's honest, and he wants to tell the other man as much, but there's something between them in this moment, something fogging the warden's vision as he grabs Kaveh with swollen hands to drag him into the bathroom, to sit him down and ask if he can move, a flood of instructions and questions falling over him before he can event complete the first.

And in Wriothesley's eyes, something that frightens him, something faraway and distant and cold.

For now, all Kaveh can really do is let himself be swept along with the deluge of ice, so he lifts his arms to answer one question, and nods to answer another, and doesn't speak to answer until the other man is already working on it, knowing there's no point trying to stop him or slow him down.

Only once his shirt has been cut off does he open his mouth again— and then close it again, not really sure what to say. He could try to lighten the air, make a joke, say maybe he'll have a sexy scar now too. He could ask if it's as bad as it looked at first, now that he can see it more closely. There are a lot of things he could say or do— but none of them feel right.

Instead, he just says quietly once more: ] I'm okay. I got away.

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