Each passing day was a sentence unspoken, a chapter left unwritten, and in the gaps between their sentences, their story thrived. The world outside moved in a frenzied rush, but in their world, time slowed to a languid crawl. It was as if the universe itself conspired to stretch out the moments, to prolong the ache of not quite touching, not quite saying.
He thinks he can hear birds outside. The drip of a faucet. A passing group of scholars running down a winding street of Sumeru City.
Alhaitham's body settles against the headboard, the pillows providing a soft cushion for his still-recovering frame. His gaze remains fixed on Kaveh, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow upon his features, making him appear both ethereal and inviting. Warm.
Kaveh's question hangs between them, and Alhaitham takes a moment to consider his response. He's aware of Kaveh's hesitancy, and the fear of opening old wounds, but he also senses something deeper in Kaveh's eyes. "No, not in pain," he finally replies, his voice soft but steady. He meets Kaveh's gaze directly, his eyes searching and vulnerable. "I feel better today, actually."
As Kaveh mentions his appearance, the comment about his weight, Alhaitham can't help but chuckle softly, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. "I suppose I have lost a bit of weight," he concedes. "But it's not such a bad thing, is it? A little lighter, a little closer to floating away."
The humor in his words is a shield, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment. But underneath the jest, there's a plea, a silent invitation for Kaveh to come closer, to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them.
"I may be a bit cold, though," he says softly, the words carrying a weight of their own.
"Hey, that's not funny," he mutters under his breath with arms crossed. He knows there's nothing light in the situation, but Kaveh's feelings are also overly amplified. Had it not been for him dragging down Alhaitham in the cave, perhaps he would have taken on everyone without a beat.
Words feel heavy on his tongue, knotting in his throat while they come out, "you could have died."
At least losing weight is better than losing his life altogether. Kaveh glances at the book and picks it up so he can return it to the shelf. His fingers remain over the book's spine.
It has been a long while since they slept side by side. Kaveh looks at him in bed, thin and arguably miserable. The care in his statement is enough to draw Kaveh closer to him, close enough for him to sit at his side and push down the bedsheets. He avoids eye contact. "I can keep you warm if you want."
The wavering candlelight paints Kaveh's face with a soft, warm glow, and Alhaitham can't help but think that it's moments like these that etch themselves into the depths of one's memory. Time stretches, the world outside fades into insignificance. He feels he's staring at Kaveh for long minutes when it barely reaches a second.
As Kaveh mutters about the situation not being funny, Alhaitham feels a surge within him. The weight of Kaveh's concern presses against him like a comforting embrace. It's a sensation that both soothes and stirs the longing he's felt, an unspoken yearning for something deeper. Alhaitham's gaze drops, his fingers unconsciously tracing the patterns on the bedspread, and he wonders, vaguely, what it is about Kaveh that makes the air around him thicken when he comes near, when he pulls his sheets down—and he does shiver then, as the temperature shifts.
"I didn't," Alhaitham replies, his voice a soft, warm murmur. He shifts so he can settle deeper under the covers, inviting Kaveh to get in the warmth of their shared space as well. "You saved me. And I'm here."
The mattress below them molds to their combined weight as Kaveh carefully slips himself in. It's softer than the one he's using on the floor, but comfort is mainly derived from the fact he's finally in Alhaitham's breathing space.
Tension eases from his shoulders when their bodies feed off of each other's warmth and he turns on his side to face him. "You could have." He repeats gently, feeling all kinds of right sharing the bed with him like this. He watches the shape of his jawline and his other features as if he's internally committing him to memory, admiring him as if he's a piece of art he could never forget even if he did end up dead one of these days.
The intrusive thought has Kaveh sneaking his arm across Alhaitham's chest and tangling their ankles. "I was scared."
Thankfully, the side Kaveh has slipped into the bed is not his injured one, and that's enough for Alhaitham to slip into their olden familiarities and stretch his arm to the side, folding it into Kaveh's space so he can rest his head on his shoulder and use his arm like a pillow like before. They're already tangling themselves into each other like it's easy, what's one more nudge towards the comfort of them, he figures.
"You can't get rid of me that easily," he says lightly. He lets his head loll to the side towards the Architect with a sigh, his eyes losing the levity that so easily comes to him when he prods at Kaveh's feelings. He knows that admitting such a thing is immense. Perhaps as large and arduous as climbing the Wall of Samiel.
"I know. I was, too," perhaps telling Kaveh that he wasn't afraid because he knew he was going to take him to safety would be the most sensible thing to say, but Alhaitham, somehow, finds it better to be honest.
Alhaitham will eventually find that Kaveh personally tended to his shredded clothes, stitching them meticulously and leaving it as if it were anew. He doesn't expect Alhaitham to use it anymore, but perhaps someday he will.
He comfortably finds his head against Alhaitham's bicep, shifting into familiar positions that bring nothing but bittersweet memories. He tilts his head to glance at him, once again feeling words lodged and wrecked at the back of his throat as if he's about to fight back.
That is, until Alhaitham finally stops relying on logic to comment. To peek into a window of his thoughts is satisfying enough for Kaveh, and he closes his eyes with is arm still around him. "You should try get some sunlight tomorrow. We can go up to the gardens."
Their bodies naturally gravitate toward each other, their limbs tangling like vines seeking sunlight. Kaveh's arm across his chest, their ankles entwined—it's a dance they've performed countless times before, a familiar embrace that brings a sense of home. A sense that they ripped apart and struck through.
Crumple a piece of paper, and righten it again: the folds and creases will be there, for as long as the paper exists. Is that really what they are?
Still, with Kaveh's breath ghosting the skin of his shoulder, he can't help but think that perhaps this closeness, this shared warmth, is what they both need right now. It's a balm for the wounds, both seen and unseen, that they've endured.
"Don't want to," he says, and it sounds petulant, even if he's only half-joking. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to go out or climb those steep streets. Just to catch something that he could try and open a window for. This is the perfect excuse for Alhaitham to do nothing at all, and Kaveh is not about to ruin it. His arm instinctively folds around Kaveh, as though the architect was suggesting to go right away, and wishing to anchor him in place. It's more of an illustration to his statement than anything else.
The room definitely becomes a lot chillier with night sinking around them. Kaveh's legs shift even closer to Alhaitham, tangling them as much as he can under the covers. He will never admit it how much he missed all this, holding onto him throughout the night. Breathing and dreaming with him.
Lately all he gets are nightmares or no sleep at all.
Part of him nags on the back of his head that he's only doing this as an apology for when he actually moves out. What they have now, this moment, is something worth cherishing. Kaveh smiles and gives his foot a nudge. Normally he'd jab his side, but he's still afraid of hurting him.
"What I meant to say is that we're going outside tomorrow. You have to stretch your legs and breathe fresh air. It's part of healing, so you can't say no," he speaks lazily as if he's also drifting away to sleep, but he can't help getting in a bit of a playful argument.
Kaveh's legs shift even closer, intertwining with his own beneath the covers. It's a familiar and comforting sensation, it feels complete. The subtle nudge to his foot makes Alhaitham chuckle softly, and he can't help but be endeared by Kaveh's playful argument, the warmth of their shared space, of Kaveh's presence, pressed close, is enough to chase away the chill.
His fingers, devoid of the usual precision, tangle affectionately in Kaveh's tousled hair, often artistically so, but ever since his injury, not so much. It's a gesture that feels natural, an unspoken way of saying he's missed this. The way Kaveh curls up against him, the way they're entwined as if they were two pieces of a puzzle finding their perfect fit.
"I'll think about it," Alhaitham concedes with a playful sigh, his voice warm and affectionate. His gaze meets Kaveh's, and he's struck by the softness in the architect's eyes as fatigue finally weighs on his features, the vulnerability that peeks through in moments like these. "I might need some support, though. And some coffee at Puspa."
"I know what you're doing," he rebuttals matter-of-factly after hearing that familiar chuckle seep from his lips. It wouldn't be a conversation with Alhaitham without him egging him on in some way. Yet his humor is inviting and warm, welcoming feelings to being released from long years of bottling.
His arm folds over Alhaitham's chest, more relaxed than ever. His heart beats wildly the moment their gazes meet. "Obviously, you do. That's what I'm here for. What do you think I've been doing this entire time, even while you lay in bed all day?" He rests his cheek against his shoulder again, getting comfortable enough to shut his eyes again.
It is then, as he's drifting away that his plague of thoughts make it out of him again, "I'm sorry, I got you hurt."
The room cradles them within its velvet embrace, a cocoon of warmth and whispered words, familiar banter. Kaveh's words assume a somber note, and Alhaitham maintains an unbroken gaze on the architect. They exist in the soft flickering of candlelight, faces bathed in an ethereal, golden glow, as Alhaitham's fingers dance from the golden tendrils to skim along Kaveh's jawline, a caress akin to a melancholic sigh.
Kaveh's unsuspecting earlobe bears the brunt of an affectionate pinch, just a light squeeze. Alhaitham's voice lowers, ripples in his chest like the reflection of moonlight on a pond. "It is not your fault," he murmurs. The back of his thumb persists in tracing a stripe on Kaveh's cheek.
Guilt swims like an ever-present specter when Kaveh is concerned. It is in his nature to bear the burden of things he's not supposed to carry, to collect remorse like a rare and heavy gem. He wears this guilt like a shroud, like his own identity, regardless of the logic that insists otherwise. Alhaitham wishes not to add to that.
Perhaps the long-gone goddess of time appears to linger in the nocturnal interlude, the world suspended in intimacy, in these emotions that teeter on the edge of their own beings. Alhaitham draws near, tilting his head so he can rest his nose against the line of Kaveh's hair, his own eyes closing. His voice, as mellifluous as the night itself, whispers "Good night, Kaveh." There is no room for Kaveh to respond, no need for words within the language they have cultivated, one that the both of them still struggle to decipher entirely, and would probably need to write numerous books about.
The guilt bites into him, seeping into his bones like venom just to set him up with a plague of nightmares. He wakes up a few times throughout the night, clutching onto Alhaitham's body in cold sweat and palpitations. The candlelight has long burnt out and Alhaitham's room is so far back into their home that no light can enter this hour.
There are no manuals or books that could guide Kaveh out of his illness. He places blame in the wrong places not knowing the root cause. It's no wonder he runs in circles and gets lost among his thoughts.
Even sleeping with Alhaitham turns into his mind attacking itself: he's just using him now as means to anchor himself to better days. It's much easier than facing the reality of allowing himself the simple pleasure, the relief of sharing intimate spaces with him again.
It becomes unbearable after laying there for minutes, listening to him breathing. So Kaveh slips out of bed to get the day started. Sunrise should be near, anyway. He showers off the sweat of the night and gets dressed, turning back on his demons. He'll wake him up after he prepares their coffee, he decides. Best to beat the rush of people. As he's standing there grinding beans, he remembers Alhaitham requesting the Puspa Cafe coffee. It'll save more time if he goes and buys it now as opposed to waiting for Alhaitham. Walking all the way there would be difficult for him in his state. So he grabs his keys and some mora.
The walk helps him forget all about the night and by the time he returns the sun is already creeping up. He sets down the two cups of coffee on the table and sits at the edge of the bed. "Hey, I brought you the coffee you wanted." He reaches out to him to feel his forehead, pushing back his hair. "Do you want to shower first?"
Alhaitham stirs in his bed, frowning when the mattress is tilted a certain way that he's not expected, the sheets next to him are cold under his fingers as he folds his arm, and suddenly, a cool hand brushes across his forehead.
"Oh, good, you're still here," he grouses, his voice still laden with sleep, sand in his eyes, his eyelids fluttering open like they're weighty. He visibly relaxes when he spots Kaveh, slowly tensing when realizing that he was not where he was supposed to, and easing when noticing he had just—
—gone out? To get coffee? "What…?"
He clears his throat. "Coffee first," always coffee first. He can take a shower later. He needs to be awake.
"You must have been sleeping like a rock. Anyway, at least it doesn't feel like you have a fever," he reaches for the coffee cup from the night stand, staying perpendicular to Alhaitham and only shifting closer so he can hand over the coffee. The entire room grips them with the fresh scent of morning dew and fresh brew. Kaveh always insisted in adding a window to his room. Even during the day, it can be so dark here if it weren't for the light coming from the hallway.
Kaveh glances over at the wall full of books while sipping from his own coffee cup. It's Alhaitham's favorite blend, he's going to miss it whenever he moves. There are times he wishes he could unleash everything he thinks: What happened between us? He glances into his cup, still sitting in bed. "Do you feel any pain?"
He takes the cup with a nod of thanks, his fingers curling around the warmth it offers.
The familiar blend caresses his senses as he takes the first sip, and he can't help but relish the taste. It's a small indulgence, a simple pleasure. Yet he hadn't been able to drink it due to all the medicine being a shock to his body. He sighs, perhaps in a moment of vulnerability. But he's been vulnerable all this while and sees no purpose to try and deny it. "I've missed this."
His gaze follows Kaveh's to the wall of books, and he senses the unspoken questions that linger in the air. It's a topic they've skirted around for too long, a conversation that has remained buried beneath the weight of their shared history.
As Kaveh asks about his pain, Alhaitham takes a moment to assess his body. There's the familiar ache that comes with his injuries, but it's bearable. The physical pain, after all, pales in comparison to the emotional complexities that have woven their lives together.
"I'm fine," he finally responds, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. But the unspoken words, the ones that have lingered in the shadows for far too long, still hang heavy in the room, waiting to be acknowledged. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."
The memories they own together even surpass the dust clinging to Alhaitham's book collection. Kaveh is halfway done with his drink, savoring the morning and the silence. They had many mornings like these, intertwined and satisfied. He glances at him, "I'm the one who's in your hair, you remind me any chance you get and I don't mind taking care of you a single bit. I'll go set up your shower," and just like that, he flees from the creeping conversation they're bound to rabbit hole into. Kaveh's afraid to ruin any semblance of peace they have now, even if it means shattering a moment of respite.
The water runs in the distance, filling up the buckets. One is slightly more soapy. He doesn't know if his scarring should still get wet or not. Last time he saw it, it seemed a lot less frightening.
He would have rather sat down and enjoyed the drink in their hands, the presence and warmth of them in the same room for a little while longer. There are moments when Kaveh will do what he will do, and Alhaitham can't really stop him because that would be changing who he is. Even if it does kill him bit by bit, Alhaitham can only work on easing the pain, note that there are little things that don't need Kaveh's own immeasured sense of responsibility.
He stays in his place on the bed for a while. "I don't feel like getting up," he states. Fully awake, almost like a challenge.
It’s not that Kaveh wants to change Alhaitham for who he is either— he has known all the sides lost to their time in the Akademiya, and he wishes they would someday resurface.
There’s nothing he can do to suture their differences now, but he’s worried that he had been in bed for so long, getting weaker and weaker.
“Wow,” he climbs into bed with him again, sitting up against the back. “If you want me to carry you, it won’t happen. The water will get cold. Or…did you want some privacy… to… you know.”
The water could get cold, but he could always make it run some more. Thankfully in Sumeru they're not suffering a power crisis like Fontaine, and Alhaitham can afford the bills.
Instead, he sighs and leans his shoulder against Kaveh's arm, letting himself sink under the cover until he allows his head to rest against the architect's shoulder. He's warm and bears the scent of the outside. By all means Alhaitham should be looking forward to going out and enjoy the sunlight, get a new book. His eyes are closed and his voice is neutral, except:
It has been weeks of him camping on Alhaitham's floor, giving him medicine, helping him clean, and cleaning after everything. He wouldn't want to impose on his private matters. He's surprised he doesn't have any visitors from the Akademiya. Surely by now he'd have some type of fling, assuming people were brave enough to approach him.
Kaveh tries peering down at him, tensing the moment the endearment slips out of his mouth. "I...What? Anyone would have thought so. It's normal and healthy. You're lucky I can't hit you, tch." Not that he'd hit him hard anyway.
"You never do even when you can," not hard, anyway. Maybe a shove, a flick of his fingers. He figures Kaveh is thinking the same things. The only instance where they diverge in their lines of thought is that Alhaitham stirs himself towards practicality, towards the sense and sensibility of things, whereas Kaveh leans on the impact of even the most intimate of decibels, on the meaning of it all to himself, but mostly towards others. The Scribe knows where this stems from, he can't really change that.
But he can make the other forget others a bit and focus on the present a bit more. The quickest, and often easiest, way is to rile Kaveh up. He's entirely there when he's irked, surfing the crest of their discussions, the foam of his anger almost never a relentless wave, but so much better than the constant riptide of his own self-worth.
While Kaveh wonders why he barely has visitors save Cyno, Nilou, Dehya, Tighnari, and Kaveh himself (Candance has actually sent a letter of well wishes), Alhaitham is amazed that so many people have actually gone out of their way to check on him. Thankfully, a lot of it was to not talk about his state. Just giving him a once-over and catching up.
As for flings. Ugh. He doesn't even want to bother. Not that there weren't attempts, but they were immediately shut down when Alhaitham looked at them in silence to hear whatever they had to say. He's not innocent to not know what they wanted, but he'd rather not even engage.
"You're under the assumption that I'm interested because I asked about your work. I'm not. I merely asked because I have a report to deliver by 5 today."
He doesn't understand why that person suddenly called him a bastard, red to the face.
"It is also normal and healthy not feeling like it," he adds, feeling the tension in Kaveh's body against his temple. Not disagreeing.
"Just you wait, then," he retorts very lazily without meaning a single word of it. It feels warm being able to lean against him like this, after all these weeks of the uncomfortable mattress. He truly did miss out on taking advantage, because now he's bound to soon go back to his room and the emptiness of his bed.
"Tch. Whatever you say. Come on, I know you're just being lazy but you can't lay in bed forever," and just like that, he flees from his own comfort and Alhaitham's warmth. When he's down from the bed he pulls back the sheets from his body. He has to clean them anyway to ensure his environment is clear from anything that could potentially infect his scarring.
"I have to clean your back and see if you need more bandages, too."
Yes, Kaveh has had some flings here and there, lonely nights that remind him who he truly wants to be embraced by. If only he could turn back the clock enough to prevent all the ugly things that cut Alhaitham and their relationship to the core. Perhaps then, he would still be in bed with him, lathering him with kisses.
As Kaveh rises and begins to pull back the sheets, Alhaitham experiences the dreaded sensation of the cool air meeting his warm skin. It elicits a shiver, a protest against the intrusion of the cold. He watches Kaveh as he prepares to leave the bed, and a subtle pang of loss courses through him. Their shared warmth, the comforting intimacy of their closeness, is something he's missed during these weeks of recovery.
"Very well," he responds with a resigned sigh, finally pushing himself to sit up. The sleepiness and weakness still cling to him, reluctant to relinquish their hold. His feet touch the cold floor, and it's enough to jolt him into a more wakeful state.
With measured steps, Alhaitham makes his way to the bathroom, not entirely pleased about the interruption but understanding the necessity of it. The tiled floor feels cool against his feet, sending a shiver up his spine.
If only everything didn't feel so heavily complicated, or if his stubbornness cleared for just a few minutes. Kaveh is tying up a band over his head to keep his hair out of the way of moisture.
"About time. Let me see," part of him still subconsciously seeks to lather him with touch, and his fingers graze over his bare shoulders, tracing the large wound on his back until his finger tips end up on the area Tighnari performed surgery on. It's all vivid pink, with some peeling. Perhaps being a vision bearer helps with all this.
He's just glad he's still here.
"Do you still want me to help you scrub your back? You look pretty good." In all senses, but he just makes it sound like he's referring to his progress.
The bathroom's sterile atmosphere and the scent of soap and cleanliness surround him as he waits, his sleepiness waning
Kaveh is already preparing himself and Alhaitham watches him, the sight of his familiar movements, the gentle precision of his hands, riveting in its own right. His fingers graze over Alhaitham's shoulders and back and the touch is electrifying and familiar, a reminder of the countless times they've been there against Alhaitham's skin, and he knows how deft they are at drawing numerous drawings on his skin, and how tight they get when they clench and grapple hard against his flesh. Alhaitham's breath catches for a fleeting moment, but he forces himself to focus on the objective practicality of the situation, even if his previous claim of 'not feeling like it' has been proven absolutely wrong. His gaze briefly meets Kaveh's as he carries a veneer of casualness at the rare compliment.
He knows he wants. There are so many combinations of those three words he can weave together from this moment alone.
His eyes lock on Kaveh's for a while and then slip down to where the architect's collarbone is instead.
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He thinks he can hear birds outside. The drip of a faucet. A passing group of scholars running down a winding street of Sumeru City.
Alhaitham's body settles against the headboard, the pillows providing a soft cushion for his still-recovering frame. His gaze remains fixed on Kaveh, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow upon his features, making him appear both ethereal and inviting. Warm.
Kaveh's question hangs between them, and Alhaitham takes a moment to consider his response. He's aware of Kaveh's hesitancy, and the fear of opening old wounds, but he also senses something deeper in Kaveh's eyes. "No, not in pain," he finally replies, his voice soft but steady. He meets Kaveh's gaze directly, his eyes searching and vulnerable. "I feel better today, actually."
As Kaveh mentions his appearance, the comment about his weight, Alhaitham can't help but chuckle softly, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. "I suppose I have lost a bit of weight," he concedes. "But it's not such a bad thing, is it? A little lighter, a little closer to floating away."
The humor in his words is a shield, a way to deflect the intensity of the moment. But underneath the jest, there's a plea, a silent invitation for Kaveh to come closer, to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them.
"I may be a bit cold, though," he says softly, the words carrying a weight of their own.
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"Hey, that's not funny," he mutters under his breath with arms crossed. He knows there's nothing light in the situation, but Kaveh's feelings are also overly amplified. Had it not been for him dragging down Alhaitham in the cave, perhaps he would have taken on everyone without a beat.
Words feel heavy on his tongue, knotting in his throat while they come out, "you could have died."
At least losing weight is better than losing his life altogether. Kaveh glances at the book and picks it up so he can return it to the shelf. His fingers remain over the book's spine.
It has been a long while since they slept side by side. Kaveh looks at him in bed, thin and arguably miserable. The care in his statement is enough to draw Kaveh closer to him, close enough for him to sit at his side and push down the bedsheets. He avoids eye contact. "I can keep you warm if you want."
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As Kaveh mutters about the situation not being funny, Alhaitham feels a surge within him. The weight of Kaveh's concern presses against him like a comforting embrace. It's a sensation that both soothes and stirs the longing he's felt, an unspoken yearning for something deeper. Alhaitham's gaze drops, his fingers unconsciously tracing the patterns on the bedspread, and he wonders, vaguely, what it is about Kaveh that makes the air around him thicken when he comes near, when he pulls his sheets down—and he does shiver then, as the temperature shifts.
"I didn't," Alhaitham replies, his voice a soft, warm murmur. He shifts so he can settle deeper under the covers, inviting Kaveh to get in the warmth of their shared space as well. "You saved me. And I'm here."
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Tension eases from his shoulders when their bodies feed off of each other's warmth and he turns on his side to face him. "You could have." He repeats gently, feeling all kinds of right sharing the bed with him like this. He watches the shape of his jawline and his other features as if he's internally committing him to memory, admiring him as if he's a piece of art he could never forget even if he did end up dead one of these days.
The intrusive thought has Kaveh sneaking his arm across Alhaitham's chest and tangling their ankles. "I was scared."
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"You can't get rid of me that easily," he says lightly. He lets his head loll to the side towards the Architect with a sigh, his eyes losing the levity that so easily comes to him when he prods at Kaveh's feelings. He knows that admitting such a thing is immense. Perhaps as large and arduous as climbing the Wall of Samiel.
"I know. I was, too," perhaps telling Kaveh that he wasn't afraid because he knew he was going to take him to safety would be the most sensible thing to say, but Alhaitham, somehow, finds it better to be honest.
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He comfortably finds his head against Alhaitham's bicep, shifting into familiar positions that bring nothing but bittersweet memories. He tilts his head to glance at him, once again feeling words lodged and wrecked at the back of his throat as if he's about to fight back.
That is, until Alhaitham finally stops relying on logic to comment. To peek into a window of his thoughts is satisfying enough for Kaveh, and he closes his eyes with is arm still around him. "You should try get some sunlight tomorrow. We can go up to the gardens."
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Crumple a piece of paper, and righten it again: the folds and creases will be there, for as long as the paper exists. Is that really what they are?
Still, with Kaveh's breath ghosting the skin of his shoulder, he can't help but think that perhaps this closeness, this shared warmth, is what they both need right now. It's a balm for the wounds, both seen and unseen, that they've endured.
"Don't want to," he says, and it sounds petulant, even if he's only half-joking. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to go out or climb those steep streets. Just to catch something that he could try and open a window for. This is the perfect excuse for Alhaitham to do nothing at all, and Kaveh is not about to ruin it. His arm instinctively folds around Kaveh, as though the architect was suggesting to go right away, and wishing to anchor him in place. It's more of an illustration to his statement than anything else.
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Lately all he gets are nightmares or no sleep at all.
Part of him nags on the back of his head that he's only doing this as an apology for when he actually moves out.
What they have now, this moment, is something worth cherishing. Kaveh smiles and gives his foot a nudge. Normally he'd jab his side, but he's still afraid of hurting him.
"What I meant to say is that we're going outside tomorrow. You have to stretch your legs and breathe fresh air. It's part of healing, so you can't say no," he speaks lazily as if he's also drifting away to sleep, but he can't help getting in a bit of a playful argument.
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His fingers, devoid of the usual precision, tangle affectionately in Kaveh's tousled hair, often artistically so, but ever since his injury, not so much. It's a gesture that feels natural, an unspoken way of saying he's missed this. The way Kaveh curls up against him, the way they're entwined as if they were two pieces of a puzzle finding their perfect fit.
"I'll think about it," Alhaitham concedes with a playful sigh, his voice warm and affectionate. His gaze meets Kaveh's, and he's struck by the softness in the architect's eyes as fatigue finally weighs on his features, the vulnerability that peeks through in moments like these. "I might need some support, though. And some coffee at Puspa."
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His arm folds over Alhaitham's chest, more relaxed than ever. His heart beats wildly the moment their gazes meet. "Obviously, you do. That's what I'm here for. What do you think I've been doing this entire time, even while you lay in bed all day?" He rests his cheek against his shoulder again, getting comfortable enough to shut his eyes again.
It is then, as he's drifting away that his plague of thoughts make it out of him again, "I'm sorry, I got you hurt."
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Kaveh's unsuspecting earlobe bears the brunt of an affectionate pinch, just a light squeeze. Alhaitham's voice lowers, ripples in his chest like the reflection of moonlight on a pond. "It is not your fault," he murmurs. The back of his thumb persists in tracing a stripe on Kaveh's cheek.
Guilt swims like an ever-present specter when Kaveh is concerned. It is in his nature to bear the burden of things he's not supposed to carry, to collect remorse like a rare and heavy gem. He wears this guilt like a shroud, like his own identity, regardless of the logic that insists otherwise. Alhaitham wishes not to add to that.
Perhaps the long-gone goddess of time appears to linger in the nocturnal interlude, the world suspended in intimacy, in these emotions that teeter on the edge of their own beings. Alhaitham draws near, tilting his head so he can rest his nose against the line of Kaveh's hair, his own eyes closing. His voice, as mellifluous as the night itself, whispers "Good night, Kaveh." There is no room for Kaveh to respond, no need for words within the language they have cultivated, one that the both of them still struggle to decipher entirely, and would probably need to write numerous books about.
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There are no manuals or books that could guide Kaveh out of his illness. He places blame in the wrong places not knowing the root cause. It's no wonder he runs in circles and gets lost among his thoughts.
Even sleeping with Alhaitham turns into his mind attacking itself: he's just using him now as means to anchor himself to better days. It's much easier than facing the reality of allowing himself the simple pleasure, the relief of sharing intimate spaces with him again.
It becomes unbearable after laying there for minutes, listening to him breathing. So Kaveh slips out of bed to get the day started. Sunrise should be near, anyway.
He showers off the sweat of the night and gets dressed, turning back on his demons. He'll wake him up after he prepares their coffee, he decides. Best to beat the rush of people. As he's standing there grinding beans, he remembers Alhaitham requesting the Puspa Cafe coffee. It'll save more time if he goes and buys it now as opposed to waiting for Alhaitham. Walking all the way there would be difficult for him in his state. So he grabs his keys and some mora.
The walk helps him forget all about the night and by the time he returns the sun is already creeping up. He sets down the two cups of coffee on the table and sits at the edge of the bed. "Hey, I brought you the coffee you wanted." He reaches out to him to feel his forehead, pushing back his hair. "Do you want to shower first?"
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"Oh, good, you're still here," he grouses, his voice still laden with sleep, sand in his eyes, his eyelids fluttering open like they're weighty. He visibly relaxes when he spots Kaveh, slowly tensing when realizing that he was not where he was supposed to, and easing when noticing he had just—
—gone out? To get coffee? "What…?"
He clears his throat. "Coffee first," always coffee first. He can take a shower later. He needs to be awake.
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Kaveh glances over at the wall full of books while sipping from his own coffee cup. It's Alhaitham's favorite blend, he's going to miss it whenever he moves.
There are times he wishes he could unleash everything he thinks: What happened between us?
He glances into his cup, still sitting in bed. "Do you feel any pain?"
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The familiar blend caresses his senses as he takes the first sip, and he can't help but relish the taste. It's a small indulgence, a simple pleasure. Yet he hadn't been able to drink it due to all the medicine being a shock to his body. He sighs, perhaps in a moment of vulnerability. But he's been vulnerable all this while and sees no purpose to try and deny it. "I've missed this."
His gaze follows Kaveh's to the wall of books, and he senses the unspoken questions that linger in the air. It's a topic they've skirted around for too long, a conversation that has remained buried beneath the weight of their shared history.
As Kaveh asks about his pain, Alhaitham takes a moment to assess his body. There's the familiar ache that comes with his injuries, but it's bearable. The physical pain, after all, pales in comparison to the emotional complexities that have woven their lives together.
"I'm fine," he finally responds, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. But the unspoken words, the ones that have lingered in the shadows for far too long, still hang heavy in the room, waiting to be acknowledged. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."
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He glances at him, "I'm the one who's in your hair, you remind me any chance you get and I don't mind taking care of you a single bit. I'll go set up your shower," and just like that, he flees from the creeping conversation they're bound to rabbit hole into. Kaveh's afraid to ruin any semblance of peace they have now, even if it means shattering a moment of respite.
The water runs in the distance, filling up the buckets. One is slightly more soapy. He doesn't know if his scarring should still get wet or not. Last time he saw it, it seemed a lot less frightening.
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He stays in his place on the bed for a while. "I don't feel like getting up," he states. Fully awake, almost like a challenge.
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There’s nothing he can do to suture their differences now, but he’s worried that he had been in bed for so long, getting weaker and weaker.
“Wow,” he climbs into bed with him again, sitting up against the back. “If you want me to carry you, it won’t happen. The water will get cold. Or…did you want some privacy… to… you know.”
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Instead, he sighs and leans his shoulder against Kaveh's arm, letting himself sink under the cover until he allows his head to rest against the architect's shoulder. He's warm and bears the scent of the outside. By all means Alhaitham should be looking forward to going out and enjoy the sunlight, get a new book. His eyes are closed and his voice is neutral, except:
"The Light of the Kshahrewar has a dirty mind."
beautiful
Kaveh tries peering down at him, tensing the moment the endearment slips out of his mouth. "I...What? Anyone would have thought so. It's normal and healthy. You're lucky I can't hit you, tch." Not that he'd hit him hard anyway.
LMAOOO i'm so sorry
But he can make the other forget others a bit and focus on the present a bit more. The quickest, and often easiest, way is to rile Kaveh up. He's entirely there when he's irked, surfing the crest of their discussions, the foam of his anger almost never a relentless wave, but so much better than the constant riptide of his own self-worth.
While Kaveh wonders why he barely has visitors save Cyno, Nilou, Dehya, Tighnari, and Kaveh himself (Candance has actually sent a letter of well wishes), Alhaitham is amazed that so many people have actually gone out of their way to check on him. Thankfully, a lot of it was to not talk about his state. Just giving him a once-over and catching up.
As for flings. Ugh. He doesn't even want to bother. Not that there weren't attempts, but they were immediately shut down when Alhaitham looked at them in silence to hear whatever they had to say. He's not innocent to not know what they wanted, but he'd rather not even engage.
"You're under the assumption that I'm interested because I asked about your work. I'm not. I merely asked because I have a report to deliver by 5 today."
He doesn't understand why that person suddenly called him a bastard, red to the face.
"It is also normal and healthy not feeling like it," he adds, feeling the tension in Kaveh's body against his temple. Not disagreeing.
"is this a flirt? sorry, i have to go" LMAOO
"Tch. Whatever you say. Come on, I know you're just being lazy but you can't lay in bed forever," and just like that, he flees from his own comfort and Alhaitham's warmth. When he's down from the bed he pulls back the sheets from his body. He has to clean them anyway to ensure his environment is clear from anything that could potentially infect his scarring.
"I have to clean your back and see if you need more bandages, too."
Yes, Kaveh has had some flings here and there, lonely nights that remind him who he truly wants to be embraced by. If only he could turn back the clock enough to prevent all the ugly things that cut Alhaitham and their relationship to the core. Perhaps then, he would still be in bed with him, lathering him with kisses.
"I'll wait in the bathroom."
JEEZ
"Very well," he responds with a resigned sigh, finally pushing himself to sit up. The sleepiness and weakness still cling to him, reluctant to relinquish their hold. His feet touch the cold floor, and it's enough to jolt him into a more wakeful state.
With measured steps, Alhaitham makes his way to the bathroom, not entirely pleased about the interruption but understanding the necessity of it. The tiled floor feels cool against his feet, sending a shiver up his spine.
"I'm here."
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"About time. Let me see," part of him still subconsciously seeks to lather him with touch, and his fingers graze over his bare shoulders, tracing the large wound on his back until his finger tips end up on the area Tighnari performed surgery on. It's all vivid pink, with some peeling. Perhaps being a vision bearer helps with all this.
He's just glad he's still here.
"Do you still want me to help you scrub your back? You look pretty good." In all senses, but he just makes it sound like he's referring to his progress.
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Kaveh is already preparing himself and Alhaitham watches him, the sight of his familiar movements, the gentle precision of his hands, riveting in its own right. His fingers graze over Alhaitham's shoulders and back and the touch is electrifying and familiar, a reminder of the countless times they've been there against Alhaitham's skin, and he knows how deft they are at drawing numerous drawings on his skin, and how tight they get when they clench and grapple hard against his flesh. Alhaitham's breath catches for a fleeting moment, but he forces himself to focus on the objective practicality of the situation, even if his previous claim of 'not feeling like it' has been proven absolutely wrong. His gaze briefly meets Kaveh's as he carries a veneer of casualness at the rare compliment.
He knows he wants. There are so many combinations of those three words he can weave together from this moment alone.
His eyes lock on Kaveh's for a while and then slip down to where the architect's collarbone is instead.
"Please," he says softly.
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