Alhaitham sits in front of him, so within reach. Yet nebulas away from the shadow they used to be. Kaveh’s hostility is a guarded anchor and what he believes will keep them bound. Because what else do they have otherwise?
“If you still want me going with you then I will. You seldom find yourself hurt, you should still talk to the sages, too. Perhaps they will let you have a matra join you when things like that arise. I can’t believe that guy still has followers, what a disgrace to Sumeru and its people,” the wine makes him ramble, but he’s not drunk yet. He just wants to feel numb enough.
Kaveh notices his wincing, but offers no words in regards. He simply sends odd a scolding with his gaze, and drinks more wine. To Kaveh, Alhaitham’s body speaks far louder, he always has.
On the surface of things, it would all look normal. Alhaitham's tendency to sit while leaning back, Kaveh's own to lean forward, making the table hold the weight of his chest. The snaps and comebacks and retorts are a constant, the challenge being volleyed between them. Nothing seems to have changed.
Except, underneath the table, their legs and knees used to bump, to rest on each other, ankles hooked, feet nudging each other to make a point, to add a little flare to innuendo, to tell the other to shut up after a particularly bad inside joke. Now, everything is quiet under the lacquered surface, even if Alhaitham's legs are still thrown forward, just a little sideways.
Alhaitham rolls his eyes in a way to tell Kaveh he knows, it's just something he can't avoid every now and then. He glances at his own cup of wine, perfectly aware that the alcohol in it would make his blood thinner. Things tend to spill out unannounced when too much of it is involved. But he reckons this quantity shouldn't be enough to cause damage.
He's been wrong before.
"I'll send word to Cyno," is his roundabout way of reassuring the architect. "Would you really go with me even if you were busy with a client, though?" He takes a sip of his drink, already knowing the answer, but still throwing the question, anyway.
Kaveh is hyperaware of everything that's missing. It's a lot more painful than anything else he has experienced, watching someone he yearns for feel farther and farther each passing day. He convinced himself long ago that they're not compatible, and so he suffers with every sip of wine.
"What's that about, I know you agree with me," he quips back at his demeanor and takes another bite of food. Kaveh pulls his ankles back under his chair to ensure they never touch Alhaitham. Every motion has thought, every thought drains him of energy. "I wouldn't be busy with a client, assuming you told me in advance when you plan to investigate the issue again. But the short answer is yes. Mehrak is quite useful when disputes turn physical."
"Yes, but you know how habits are difficult to tone down," he replies before he finishes his own wrap. He's tempted to order another. Maybe half of one, if Kaveh still wants to eat some more.
It's odd how absence works. Kaveh and Alhaitham are still present in each other's lives, it's odd when they have a day where they don't see each other at least once. And yet, it's as though their presence means absence.
He had once read that presence solidified relationships, and absence sharpened the feelings within them.
While he had wondered what happened if that were the case, when you had both, now he does know. It feels like a weapon, suffocating in its weight, hurtful in the edge of the void it creates. "I doubt we'll need to enter a dispute if we think about our approach carefully." He gingerly crosses his arms as he leans back, glancing at his own arm to check on the bandages Kaveh wrapped. "Tomorrow evening, then. There's space in my schedule."
It's apparent that Kaveh has had his fill with his wrap. He sets the plate aside so he can keep on his leisure drinking. Kaveh almost takes his words personally, the alcohol does offer him a padding to emotions in some cases. Truthfully, it's hard to tell what Alhaitham might be up against when Kaveh gets drunk.
There are reasons why Kaveh normally picks at Alhaitham's habit of disappearing in his free time. In real terms, none of them should be concerned with what the other does, yet they always find themselves exploring that line of thinking. At least Kaveh has a better idea now, as his gaze also roams to the wrapping on his arm. His innate curiosity about Alhaitham is not something he's willing to part with yet. "W-Wait, tomorrow?! But you haven't had a chance to heal yet! And the evening is the most dangerous time, too, are you crazy?"
That's when Alhaitham leans in and picks up the remnants Kaveh left on his plate. No 'are you going to eat that' or questioning look, he just goes for it. Despite the void their conflict created, the comfort between them still lingers; Alhaitham has no qualms about invading Kaveh's personal space, touching things that are still warm from the architect's touch, flicking sand out of each other's clothes.
That curiosity, though, is not something that his avian eyes have missed, but the Scribe has trouble understanding. Sure, even the ever-knowing Cyno wonders what he's up to, but he never really thought that just because he never replied to a non-existent question of where he was and what he was doing, that it would latch some odd air of mystery to him. Then again, in most cases, it's a good thing that no one ever actually comes forth to ask.
On the other hand, he finds the answer rather obvious: what else would he be doing, if not reading in a quiet spot in town, pausing occasionally to consider what he just read, to rest his eyes in the environment around him, to bird watch, to have a drink or to look around the market? What else would he be doing if not working during his appointed schedule? It's not like he's been interested in anything (or anyone) else. Most of the things he's been doing that go out of his routine and relative peace are brought upon the people he had met while taking down Azar. Nilou, inviting him over to watch her latest show, or to fact check a script; Tighnari, when their work intersects somehow, and Cyno when he finds him haggling the price for a particular TCG card. Dehya, when work brings her into the city, and Candace, insisting, in that 'no other option available' manner of hers, on him staying for dinner when he comes by Aaru Village.
Kaveh, at home, taking care of groceries, telling him to join him in a game of cards and some drinks. When they both need coffee and they don't have any at home.
He takes a bite out of the wrap and takes his time chewing while he watches his roommate sputter. "That's exactly why we should go then; while the trail is still warm, and when it's most likely to find them in activity, is it not?"
He misses what it means to accompany him places, even their usual dinner plans like this. Kaveh, being far more sentimental, still struggles to make of Alhaitham a simple familiar face or a friend. The void of their meaning is a constant ache in his chest, one he often disregards in hopes that it rots away on its own. He doesn't talk about it to anybody, he's even reluctant to write about it in his sketchbook. Kaveh believes if he were to give it a definition, they might truly become permanently broken. Still, it's not any less painful than the shell he feels they are now.
He lets him take his leftovers. Kaveh would never pick a fight for it. Even when it comes to Alhaitham, he leans into the fulfilling sensation of giving. He finishes his second cup of wine. "That, ugh," he pinches his nose, "fine. I'll have to take the morning tomorrow to do some cleaning and pack anything we might need for the trip. But if your arm is still giving you issues," even if they are nonexistent, he's just concerned, "then it's okay to postpone," one could argue that his is tipsy commentary and that he's slowly forgoing the control of where his thoughts are heading. "You always think you're sooo invincible."
After years of living with Kaveh, and some others living with Kaveh, Alhaitham could pinpoint the tells in the architect's voice, body, and even the way he looks at him when alcohol makes his blood sing and the rage against any boundaries that had been weighing on the man lifts them off his shoulders.
The first tell: frustration, losing footing on his train of thought, then grasping it again with a vengeance. He had once heard that artists are fueled by inspiration, feeling, but also spite.
The Scribe reaches for his own glass of wine, and minutely shakes his head when he sees the person at the counter look over at them and wonder if they need another bottle.
He was still on his first glass, and Kaveh was a cheap drunk. They won't be needing more. Small blessings.
The second tell: worry. About his own affairs, only to be overrun by worries over other things, other people, be they close, or just someone he had seen that day. It concerns him, of course, because that's the core of Kaveh's being exposed, like the soft underbelly of a predator: a giving nature to its own detriment. Alhaitham knows he's no exception, and for a while, that didn't bother him. In fact, it made him feel—
—unnecessary. He stops in his tracks and pinpoints the third tell: heckling. "I have never claimed to be."
Kaveh knows deep down how frustration resonates in two ways: Alhaitham watching him self-destruct and words having virtually no effect in how Kaveh presents himself to the world. He's not just stubborn about his ideals, but he might never give up on his nature until he hits actual rock bottom. However it may make Alhaitham feel, if he feels anything at all, one thing is certain: there is no saving Kaveh.
As the minutes tick, his brain fizzles. The alcohol amplifies his already volatile reactions, not that he ever means true harm in bickering with him. If anything, it's the only thing that comes close to comfort. He crosses his arms. "Haah, as if you need to. With that attitude of yours," he hiccups, glancing over at the staff member silently nodding Alhaitham's signage. "I can tell that you think it . . . to some degree. Why wouldn't you ask for help in the first place? Hm?"
Their bickering is warm, and comforting, but dangerous if poked too much, if a wrong word is uttered. It's a bonfire, in that sense, the threat everpresent if the unpredictable breeze decides to peak. Alhaitham tilts his head after he's finished eating, hair falling onto one eye as he fixes the architect with the other pensively for a moment. He's comfortable with silences—prefers them, in fact,—but instead of thinking about the why, indeed, he's more curious about another thing, and he leans forward, his crossed arms resting on the table: "That's a very good question. Why wouldn't I?"
No matter how many displeasures stem from his past with him, Kaveh still secretly holds Alhaitham's wellbeing higher than his own. He owes him, after all. "That's...Exactly what I'm trying to say. Why wouldn't you?! You're being difficult. Or are you feigning your ignorance? Anyway, as much as I'd like to drink more wine, we have a long day ahead tomorrow."
He pushes his hands on the table to help himself get up, "it wont do either of us any good to stay up later than we need to, and you really need to rest your arm!"
"I merely wanted to hear if you had any assumptions about it," which, perhaps, is a little cruel, to have Kaveh voice and air out why he's not reaching out to him for help, albeit Alhaitham himself pegs it only onto how he is: not one to do so unless strictly necessary.
While mostly composed, Alhaitham is not without his tells himself. His eyes skim over Kaveh's form as he stands up, from those rather beautiful if deceptively strong fingers to the set of his shoulders as he pushes himself upright, the way his eyebrows knit just under that stubborn lock of hair. He's checking on him to ensure he won't fall or stumble and can in fact stand, regardless. That's what Alhaitham tells himself, anyway. There's a slight shift to the Scribe's face as he hears that last claim. Two, fast blinks, a curious slant of his own brow. "How does one rest an arm, exactly?"
“As opposed to answering my question properly in the first place-!” He’s not so out of his mind that walking will be an issue, even if he feels light as a feather. Before he leaves he turns to wave at the staff, showering them in drunken praise, “delicious as always—! See you soon!”
Kaveh is the one who grabs the door open for themselves to leave, more or less because he can’t actually keep still or keep hands to himself. The flow in his clothes normally disguises his true strength, not that he could take Alhaitham down by any means. He glances at him, his bandaged arm specifically, “you sleep on your side, and avoid using it too much.” It’s almost like he speaks from experience, which it could be. Spending so much time with materials in the field is bound to go wrong at some point, especially the heavier ones. “Are you still messing with me?”
The Scribe takes more measured, but methodical steps. A quick exchange of mora for the meal and drinks, some more to pay for the tab he has at the tavern (and he will never unhear the joke Cyno once said about a 'tabern'… 'Because tab. Tavern. Get it?') and a quick wave to follow after his roommate.
"Is it so wrong to want to hear what's on your mind first?" he asks, though frowns even if he does consider doing exactly that, a comment on how he usually sleeps on his back and if that's alright dying on his lips.
"How am I messing with you now?" It would, apparently, hurt Alhaitham to sound a little bit more earnest. Instead, it verges on exasperated, if weakly so.
“What’s the point in expanding on my line of thinking when I’m always met with some witty jab or critique of yours,” he sighs, gazing up at the silence of the night and how it caresses the leaves on tree branches. The moonlight passes through them just right, it makes interesting shapes that he can’t help but admire.
“You always mess with me,” he responds softly, dreaming, still absorbed in how the breeze feels through his clothes and hair. Every thought floats through his mind and he glances at him again. “Taking things so literally, and all. Anyway. You go on ahead. I want to stop by the pavilions. I should have brought my sketchbook.”
"And here I thought you enjoyed a divergent point of view," light refracts beautifully in Sumeru City, he'll give it that. Kaveh's crimson eyes get a little darker in the evenings, and somehow they always seem to capture the light. Once in the early years of their friendship, the then-aspiring architect had talked to him about how lighting was everything to an artist, be they architects, painters, sculptors, and even the latest trend from Fontaine, photographers. A young Alhaitham had noticed then, how light seemed to chase after Kaveh instead, how his eyes carried the littlest embers even when something reminded him of his parents, what could have been, what ifs. He had stared, oftentimes, serene when caught, unabashed.
He had named it appreciating beauty for once. At least that explanation had lasted for a while. When Kaveh looks at him, ruffled gently by the fragrant breeze of saffron and rose, he wonders how exactly it took him so long to realize it's not the case. "I'll go with you."
Kaveh will never cease his explanations to him on why and how art is so vital to their existence. He accepts that Alhaitham can't wrap his head around the concept, tragic as that is. They're like a sun and moon, opposites and yet equals, both giving meaning to the shift of night and day.
The Akademiya is void of people this hour, it truly makes for a different sight in the gardens where bioluminescence thrives. He remembers the first time he first invited Alhaitham here in hopes he would find the scenery better to get lost in his books. "Take your headphones off. There's no way you can truly appreciate your surroundings this hour wearing them," otherwise, why bother following me? "Notice how the forest below almost appears black, yet in our minds we know that's not the case. Our minds fill in the absence of information with the facts we know. Put aside the facts for a moment, and you don't see a forest, or a tree, but different strokes in different shapes littered with kisses from the moonlight. Don't tell me you don't think it's beautiful, at least."
Steps slightly heavy with remnants of exhaustion from the previous night's ambush, the Razan Garden bathed in the soft glow of moonlight almost infuses him with some well-sought respite. Still, it’s a breathtaking sight. The glow of the flowers makes every edge in the night look fuzzy, the walkways between them winding and coiling. Alhaitham appreciates that the air is cool and moist, the city's temperature dropping as night enfolds Sumeru City in its embrace.
Alhaitham's attention is drawn to the pavilions that stand amidst the blooming flora as they wander through the garden. When the architect introduced this spot to him, he noticed Kaveh's occasional checkups. Which, Alhaitham had felt immensely thoughtful, perhaps unnecessarily so. Nowadays, as he walks through the garden, his steps echo moments with silent understanding, shared support, and even care. Hushed excited voices about something learned in class. Shared meals curled under a particularly large petal.
Vivid had been a word that Alhaitham attached to him as he studied its origins and what other languages used to convey the same thing. A metaphor for his passion and enthusiasm that permeates everything he touches, steps light and sure, movements graceful and fluid. Words weaving a tapestry of emotions. It was as if Kaveh's poetic expressions served as a mirror, reflecting the untold stories Alhaitham guarded in his heart.
Even now, Kaveh feeds some energy into Alhaitham, with it, an unwarranted and unaware pillar of support in his tiredness, breathing some sort of life into him. However, nowadays, appreciation would most likely get him a ‘Stop messing with me!’, he figures.
Because vivid is also the open wound on his arm and the one on their relationship. He knows both yearn for healing, resolution, ask for the natural closure of things. And yet, one is a delicate thing, something frail due to it being based on constant motion and change, but is slowly and surely (Alhaitham will make sure of that, regardless of the outcome) on the way to its mending.
The other, Kaveh wrapped it nicely, and it should heal even faster.
The headphones on his shoulders jerk with the way he cants his head. “‘Kisses from the moonlight’? Where did I read that before?”
Kaveh gracefully walks the line between contradiction and frustration. Alhaitham makes him regret many things, meeting him in the first place sitting at the core of his heart. Yet he treasures every memory, every thorn, every secret there is to him. Just what did he think of when he decided to follow him here? Kaveh wears a frown he glances over, scrutinizing, and admiring his features in full when the headphones are off.
As much as this hurts, Kaveh knows it's ultimately what he needs, what he deserves. His mother suggested companionship, but he doubts she meant that his state would be in constant agony. "Who knows, I'm just rambling," Kaveh leans against one of the columns, watching over the forest in the distance. "The breeze is nice," he adds, thinking it's best to keep the conversation simple so as to not ruin it entirely. Talking about art would be a waste of his breath in the presence of Alhaitham anyway.
Yet when he doesn't think about the abstract beauty of nature, he thinks about all the moments Alhaitham and him spent here. Moments worth grains of sand in a hourglass, moments he didn't think he'd never entirely lose so suddenly into a dune of time.
"I didn't say you had to stop," Alhaitham shifts his weight from one foot to the other, resting his good shoulder on the same column, just behind and to the side, a glance over the shoulder away. After spending so much time in this place, he knows that there's a better place to see the view, where the breeze is even better, and another day, he would have grabbed the architect's wrist, tugged him along to follow, and stand there instead.
He crosses his arms instead, finding purchase on something—anything—to stop his hand from moving.
Alhaitham is silent for a rather long while. He knows that something is bothering Kaveh, and it's not the rift between them, not the injury on his arm. Not those alone, anyway. The drink makes his filters grow looser, though, so if he wants to ramble away, the Scribe's headphones would still rest on his shoulders.
He knows he doesn't find the silence oppressive, or weighty. He's comforted by it, often. He also knows it may not be the case for Kaveh. "It is. It's coming from the South, that's why there's more moisture in the air."
There are certain emotions that even alcohol could never let Kaveh speak of. Unfortunately, those are precisely the ones that drown him. Kaveh leans over enough to give him a glance, “it’s been a while since we went to Port Ormos, I remember nights being like this all the time there.”
He voids every intimate occasion as if they didn’t exist, and after sometime listening to the wind caress between them, he sighs. “It’s getting too late,” so he starts his way down again, pausing only so he can wait for Alhaitham to catch up at his side. “And about earlier, you really wouldn’t want me to go on and on about abstract art and nature. Don’t act as if you really want go, it’s not necessary.”
Each glance is matched with a look back. Alhaitham only dodges his gaze to think about his own schedule, a very precious thing that he keeps in his mind. "I have business there in three weeks. Come with."
Forever moving, forever restless, Kaveh is someone who will shift and hem and haw, as opposed to Alhaitham's own mutterings and pacing when they're at home. While one is open about it, difficult to miss, the other prefers to do so behind closed doors, in the comfort of his living room or office. But he's used to this by now, even if he would have stayed in the garden longer. Alhaitham follows easily, though he's struck by the implication that he's not doing something out of his own will. There's something there that irks him, no matter how patient he tries to be. He can understand being unaware of something, being blind to someone's intentions, but when they're so plainly obvious, he can't help but wonder if this all stems from Kaveh's unwillingness to see. "Oh? Because I'm the kind of person to follow along with others just to please them?"
"Maybe," is the best he can muster without agreeing nor rejecting the offer. There's no telling how Kaveh will feel three weeks from now and he would rather not give Alhaitham any false promises. "You're right, that would imply you'd be pleasing me, Archon forbid," every word drips with venom as he carefully makes it down the ramp, "you don't have to tell me why you're putting up with me now, all I ask is that you don't make fun of me," rest in piece, Alhaitham. The alcohol doesn't help.
The seed is planted, and the idea will sprout eventually. Even though Kaveh is not without his whims and caprices, Alhaitham knows that if not in the next three weeks, sometime else could be considered. Now he knows that Kaveh misses Port Ormos, and that's something that he intends to work with.
Carefully, he walks just one step ahead of Kaveh down the slope, looking over his shoulder in case he stumbles or trips. While he's alright enough to be able to walk, he knows that Sumeru City is no stranger to topples even to its most veteran inhabitants. Some harsher darshans in the Akademya even use the streets as a means of hazing their younger scholars.
Which is just foolish, Alhaitham had always thought.
He walks there for support nonetheless, even if he does look up at the night sky and wonders if the doubt cast upon him is written in the stars. "Ah, yes. I must have entirely forgotten that I am the kind of person to seek the approval of everyone, even more so from the person that shares a home with me. Of course, there's absolutely nothing riveting about our conversations, despite our difference in opinions and perspectives. How silly of me."
The less Kaveh allows himself to see, the less he gets to mourn once distance inevitably splits them again. It is an understatement to point out just how much goes on in Kaveh's mind when he's this drunk, or when he's too emotional. First, there's everyone's issues that weigh him down, then there's the made up issues his mind convinces him could exist, and then there's reality at the pit of it all, wrenching his heart.
So to that, Kaveh says nothing. He feels guilty entering the house again after that exchange, yet he knows it might have been for the best. He hides away in the bathroom first, taking a quick shower; the tank is running low and it's not like he wants to leave Alhaitham without water. "See you tomorrow, then," he says once he's out and wearing a night gown that is just as stylish as something that could be worn in public. After that, he shuts himself in his room, but he hardly gets any sleep.
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“If you still want me going with you then I will. You seldom find yourself hurt, you should still talk to the sages, too. Perhaps they will let you have a matra join you when things like that arise. I can’t believe that guy still has followers, what a disgrace to Sumeru and its people,” the wine makes him ramble, but he’s not drunk yet. He just wants to feel numb enough.
Kaveh notices his wincing, but offers no words in regards. He simply sends odd a scolding with his gaze, and drinks more wine. To Kaveh, Alhaitham’s body speaks far louder, he always has.
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Except, underneath the table, their legs and knees used to bump, to rest on each other, ankles hooked, feet nudging each other to make a point, to add a little flare to innuendo, to tell the other to shut up after a particularly bad inside joke. Now, everything is quiet under the lacquered surface, even if Alhaitham's legs are still thrown forward, just a little sideways.
Alhaitham rolls his eyes in a way to tell Kaveh he knows, it's just something he can't avoid every now and then. He glances at his own cup of wine, perfectly aware that the alcohol in it would make his blood thinner. Things tend to spill out unannounced when too much of it is involved. But he reckons this quantity shouldn't be enough to cause damage.
He's been wrong before.
"I'll send word to Cyno," is his roundabout way of reassuring the architect. "Would you really go with me even if you were busy with a client, though?" He takes a sip of his drink, already knowing the answer, but still throwing the question, anyway.
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"What's that about, I know you agree with me," he quips back at his demeanor and takes another bite of food. Kaveh pulls his ankles back under his chair to ensure they never touch Alhaitham. Every motion has thought, every thought drains him of energy.
"I wouldn't be busy with a client, assuming you told me in advance when you plan to investigate the issue again. But the short answer is yes. Mehrak is quite useful when disputes turn physical."
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It's odd how absence works. Kaveh and Alhaitham are still present in each other's lives, it's odd when they have a day where they don't see each other at least once. And yet, it's as though their presence means absence.
He had once read that presence solidified relationships, and absence sharpened the feelings within them.
While he had wondered what happened if that were the case, when you had both, now he does know. It feels like a weapon, suffocating in its weight, hurtful in the edge of the void it creates. "I doubt we'll need to enter a dispute if we think about our approach carefully." He gingerly crosses his arms as he leans back, glancing at his own arm to check on the bandages Kaveh wrapped. "Tomorrow evening, then. There's space in my schedule."
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There are reasons why Kaveh normally picks at Alhaitham's habit of disappearing in his free time. In real terms, none of them should be concerned with what the other does, yet they always find themselves exploring that line of thinking. At least Kaveh has a better idea now, as his gaze also roams to the wrapping on his arm.
His innate curiosity about Alhaitham is not something he's willing to part with yet.
"W-Wait, tomorrow?! But you haven't had a chance to heal yet! And the evening is the most dangerous time, too, are you crazy?"
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That curiosity, though, is not something that his avian eyes have missed, but the Scribe has trouble understanding. Sure, even the ever-knowing Cyno wonders what he's up to, but he never really thought that just because he never replied to a non-existent question of where he was and what he was doing, that it would latch some odd air of mystery to him. Then again, in most cases, it's a good thing that no one ever actually comes forth to ask.
On the other hand, he finds the answer rather obvious: what else would he be doing, if not reading in a quiet spot in town, pausing occasionally to consider what he just read, to rest his eyes in the environment around him, to bird watch, to have a drink or to look around the market? What else would he be doing if not working during his appointed schedule? It's not like he's been interested in anything (or anyone) else. Most of the things he's been doing that go out of his routine and relative peace are brought upon the people he had met while taking down Azar. Nilou, inviting him over to watch her latest show, or to fact check a script; Tighnari, when their work intersects somehow, and Cyno when he finds him haggling the price for a particular TCG card. Dehya, when work brings her into the city, and Candace, insisting, in that 'no other option available' manner of hers, on him staying for dinner when he comes by Aaru Village.
Kaveh, at home, taking care of groceries, telling him to join him in a game of cards and some drinks. When they both need coffee and they don't have any at home.
He takes a bite out of the wrap and takes his time chewing while he watches his roommate sputter. "That's exactly why we should go then; while the trail is still warm, and when it's most likely to find them in activity, is it not?"
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Still, it's not any less painful than the shell he feels they are now.
He lets him take his leftovers. Kaveh would never pick a fight for it. Even when it comes to Alhaitham, he leans into the fulfilling sensation of giving. He finishes his second cup of wine.
"That, ugh," he pinches his nose, "fine. I'll have to take the morning tomorrow to do some cleaning and pack anything we might need for the trip. But if your arm is still giving you issues," even if they are nonexistent, he's just concerned, "then it's okay to postpone," one could argue that his is tipsy commentary and that he's slowly forgoing the control of where his thoughts are heading. "You always think you're sooo invincible."
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The first tell: frustration, losing footing on his train of thought, then grasping it again with a vengeance. He had once heard that artists are fueled by inspiration, feeling, but also spite.
The Scribe reaches for his own glass of wine, and minutely shakes his head when he sees the person at the counter look over at them and wonder if they need another bottle.
He was still on his first glass, and Kaveh was a cheap drunk. They won't be needing more. Small blessings.
The second tell: worry. About his own affairs, only to be overrun by worries over other things, other people, be they close, or just someone he had seen that day. It concerns him, of course, because that's the core of Kaveh's being exposed, like the soft underbelly of a predator: a giving nature to its own detriment. Alhaitham knows he's no exception, and for a while, that didn't bother him. In fact, it made him feel—
—unnecessary. He stops in his tracks and pinpoints the third tell: heckling. "I have never claimed to be."
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As the minutes tick, his brain fizzles. The alcohol amplifies his already volatile reactions, not that he ever means true harm in bickering with him. If anything, it's the only thing that comes close to comfort. He crosses his arms. "Haah, as if you need to. With that attitude of yours," he hiccups, glancing over at the staff member silently nodding Alhaitham's signage. "I can tell that you think it . . . to some degree. Why wouldn't you ask for help in the first place? Hm?"
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He pushes his hands on the table to help himself get up, "it wont do either of us any good to stay up later than we need to, and you really need to rest your arm!"
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While mostly composed, Alhaitham is not without his tells himself. His eyes skim over Kaveh's form as he stands up, from those rather beautiful if deceptively strong fingers to the set of his shoulders as he pushes himself upright, the way his eyebrows knit just under that stubborn lock of hair. He's checking on him to ensure he won't fall or stumble and can in fact stand, regardless. That's what Alhaitham tells himself, anyway. There's a slight shift to the Scribe's face as he hears that last claim. Two, fast blinks, a curious slant of his own brow. "How does one rest an arm, exactly?"
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Before he leaves he turns to wave at the staff, showering them in drunken praise, “delicious as always—! See you soon!”
Kaveh is the one who grabs the door open for themselves to leave, more or less because he can’t actually keep still or keep hands to himself.
The flow in his clothes normally disguises his true strength, not that he could take Alhaitham down by any means.
He glances at him, his bandaged arm specifically, “you sleep on your side, and avoid using it too much.” It’s almost like he speaks from experience, which it could be. Spending so much time with materials in the field is bound to go wrong at some point, especially the heavier ones. “Are you still messing with me?”
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"Is it so wrong to want to hear what's on your mind first?" he asks, though frowns even if he does consider doing exactly that, a comment on how he usually sleeps on his back and if that's alright dying on his lips.
"How am I messing with you now?" It would, apparently, hurt Alhaitham to sound a little bit more earnest. Instead, it verges on exasperated, if weakly so.
Tabern. Goodbye
“You always mess with me,” he responds softly, dreaming, still absorbed in how the breeze feels through his clothes and hair. Every thought floats through his mind and he glances at him again. “Taking things so literally, and all. Anyway. You go on ahead. I want to stop by the pavilions. I should have brought my sketchbook.”
i'm so sorry
He had named it appreciating beauty for once. At least that explanation had lasted for a while. When Kaveh looks at him, ruffled gently by the fragrant breeze of saffron and rose, he wonders how exactly it took him so long to realize it's not the case. "I'll go with you."
we love cyno here
The Akademiya is void of people this hour, it truly makes for a different sight in the gardens where bioluminescence thrives. He remembers the first time he first invited Alhaitham here in hopes he would find the scenery better to get lost in his books.
"Take your headphones off. There's no way you can truly appreciate your surroundings this hour wearing them," otherwise, why bother following me? "Notice how the forest below almost appears black, yet in our minds we know that's not the case. Our minds fill in the absence of information with the facts we know. Put aside the facts for a moment, and you don't see a forest, or a tree, but different strokes in different shapes littered with kisses from the moonlight. Don't tell me you don't think it's beautiful, at least."
he's lovely when he keeps his mouth shut
Alhaitham's attention is drawn to the pavilions that stand amidst the blooming flora as they wander through the garden. When the architect introduced this spot to him, he noticed Kaveh's occasional checkups. Which, Alhaitham had felt immensely thoughtful, perhaps unnecessarily so. Nowadays, as he walks through the garden, his steps echo moments with silent understanding, shared support, and even care. Hushed excited voices about something learned in class. Shared meals curled under a particularly large petal.
Vivid had been a word that Alhaitham attached to him as he studied its origins and what other languages used to convey the same thing. A metaphor for his passion and enthusiasm that permeates everything he touches, steps light and sure, movements graceful and fluid. Words weaving a tapestry of emotions. It was as if Kaveh's poetic expressions served as a mirror, reflecting the untold stories Alhaitham guarded in his heart.
Even now, Kaveh feeds some energy into Alhaitham, with it, an unwarranted and unaware pillar of support in his tiredness, breathing some sort of life into him. However, nowadays, appreciation would most likely get him a ‘Stop messing with me!’, he figures.
Because vivid is also the open wound on his arm and the one on their relationship. He knows both yearn for healing, resolution, ask for the natural closure of things. And yet, one is a delicate thing, something frail due to it being based on constant motion and change, but is slowly and surely (Alhaitham will make sure of that, regardless of the outcome) on the way to its mending.
The other, Kaveh wrapped it nicely, and it should heal even faster.
The headphones on his shoulders jerk with the way he cants his head. “‘Kisses from the moonlight’? Where did I read that before?”
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Kaveh wears a frown he glances over, scrutinizing, and admiring his features in full when the headphones are off.
As much as this hurts, Kaveh knows it's ultimately what he needs, what he deserves. His mother suggested companionship, but he doubts she meant that his state would be in constant agony. "Who knows, I'm just rambling," Kaveh leans against one of the columns, watching over the forest in the distance. "The breeze is nice," he adds, thinking it's best to keep the conversation simple so as to not ruin it entirely. Talking about art would be a waste of his breath in the presence of Alhaitham anyway.
Yet when he doesn't think about the abstract beauty of nature, he thinks about all the moments Alhaitham and him spent here. Moments worth grains of sand in a hourglass, moments he didn't think he'd never entirely lose so suddenly into a dune of time.
clutches chest, that's such a good last line <3
He crosses his arms instead, finding purchase on something—anything—to stop his hand from moving.
Alhaitham is silent for a rather long while. He knows that something is bothering Kaveh, and it's not the rift between them, not the injury on his arm. Not those alone, anyway. The drink makes his filters grow looser, though, so if he wants to ramble away, the Scribe's headphones would still rest on his shoulders.
He knows he doesn't find the silence oppressive, or weighty. He's comforted by it, often. He also knows it may not be the case for Kaveh. "It is. It's coming from the South, that's why there's more moisture in the air."
:’) thank you <3 they kill me
Kaveh leans over enough to give him a glance, “it’s been a while since we went to Port Ormos, I remember nights being like this all the time there.”
He voids every intimate occasion as if they didn’t exist, and after sometime listening to the wind caress between them, he sighs. “It’s getting too late,” so he starts his way down again, pausing only so he can wait for Alhaitham to catch up at his side. “And about earlier, you really wouldn’t want me to go on and on about abstract art and nature. Don’t act as if you really want go, it’s not necessary.”
so frustrating and yet.
Forever moving, forever restless, Kaveh is someone who will shift and hem and haw, as opposed to Alhaitham's own mutterings and pacing when they're at home. While one is open about it, difficult to miss, the other prefers to do so behind closed doors, in the comfort of his living room or office. But he's used to this by now, even if he would have stayed in the garden longer. Alhaitham follows easily, though he's struck by the implication that he's not doing something out of his own will. There's something there that irks him, no matter how patient he tries to be. He can understand being unaware of something, being blind to someone's intentions, but when they're so plainly obvious, he can't help but wonder if this all stems from Kaveh's unwillingness to see. "Oh? Because I'm the kind of person to follow along with others just to please them?"
kaveh so dumb :(
"Maybe," is the best he can muster without agreeing nor rejecting the offer. There's no telling how Kaveh will feel three weeks from now and he would rather not give Alhaitham any false promises.
"You're right, that would imply you'd be pleasing me, Archon forbid," every word drips with venom as he carefully makes it down the ramp, "you don't have to tell me why you're putting up with me now, all I ask is that you don't make fun of me," rest in piece, Alhaitham. The alcohol doesn't help.
smh
Carefully, he walks just one step ahead of Kaveh down the slope, looking over his shoulder in case he stumbles or trips. While he's alright enough to be able to walk, he knows that Sumeru City is no stranger to topples even to its most veteran inhabitants. Some harsher darshans in the Akademya even use the streets as a means of hazing their younger scholars.
Which is just foolish, Alhaitham had always thought.
He walks there for support nonetheless, even if he does look up at the night sky and wonders if the doubt cast upon him is written in the stars. "Ah, yes. I must have entirely forgotten that I am the kind of person to seek the approval of everyone, even more so from the person that shares a home with me. Of course, there's absolutely nothing riveting about our conversations, despite our difference in opinions and perspectives. How silly of me."
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So to that, Kaveh says nothing. He feels guilty entering the house again after that exchange, yet he knows it might have been for the best. He hides away in the bathroom first, taking a quick shower; the tank is running low and it's not like he wants to leave Alhaitham without water.
"See you tomorrow, then," he says once he's out and wearing a night gown that is just as stylish as something that could be worn in public. After that, he shuts himself in his room, but he hardly gets any sleep.
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beautiful
LMAOOO i'm so sorry
"is this a flirt? sorry, i have to go" LMAOO
JEEZ
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