Exhaustion is another factor of his life he can never shake off. Whether he’s up all night working on designs or making sure Alhaitham is healing properly, it makes no difference to him. “It’s too early to eat,” he tidies the portable table at Alhaitham’s side, rearranging the medicines and the extra gauze. “I’ll go warm up some water,” he glances at him with a strained look before he turns around to leave. He takes with him a few towels to soak in the hot water. The thoughts are scraping the back of his head each time he faces himself in the mirror. How Alhaitham is better off if he moved out, or how he almost lost him back there. Part of him is angry with the matra, too, and he intends on paying them a visit.
As Kaveh departs to warm some water, Alhaitham is left with his own thoughts and the haunting spectres of near-loss and exhaustion. The subtlest emotions flicker through his consciousness, fragments of existence and longing, intertwined like the strands of a delicate tapestry. The touch of Kaveh's fingers on his skin, the sound of his voice, the unspoken between them.
When the warm water comes in, swirling around the air and dampening it, Alhaitham feels his own skin roll up with goosebumps. Sensitive to everything.
As though thinking of what Kaveh is, he clears his throat. "I think Cyno will visit soon. I heard Tighnari say so."
He comes back with two bowls of warmed water. One of which consists of soapy elements and eucalyptus essence. The other is neutral and for cleaning. Kaveh prepares the damp towels at Alhaitham's beside and he's mostly silent and scrutinizing various options. "Maybe he can tell us why the Akademiya would let you go out on a mission like that by yourself in the first place," Kaveh's imagination is always running wild, but there is merit to his paranoia this time.
He sits beside him again. Kaveh might have sharp words of his own sometimes, he knows how they have gutted Alhaitham deeply and he regrets them. His hands are another story, they contradict every argument with pure tenderness as he wipes the cloth from clavicle to clavicle and around his neck. He's careful not to let any substance reach his wounds. "Is the medicine working?"
As Kaveh sits beside him again, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the coolness of the damp cloth, Alhaitham shivers, though he can't help but relax into his care. The tender caress of the cloth soothes him, and he leans slightly into Kaveh's touch, his eyes slowly closing as he assesses the fuzziness in his mind, his whole body starting to feel not quite like his own. "I think so," he clears his throat again, his voice not sounding like usual.
"I think you're underestimating how complex their plans were," he cautions, unable to. It must mean he's on the mend, to start arguing, right?
He shivers again, and finds himself pressing the back of his fingers against Kaveh's cheek, heat-seeking. "Are you alright?"
He grabs him by his hand so he can also lather every finger, tendon, and gently scrubs his way up to his shoulder. Motions are silent and his features furrowed, “stop talking, it’s clearly not good for you. It’s not like it’s my fault that they tricked us. If you knew how complex their plans were then why would you have thought it a good idea going to their hideout? And silly me for letting you.”
He turns away to squeeze off the towel, taking the fresher one to wipe off the essence off his skin. “Honestly, what was I thinking,” he’s still wearing a brace on his wrist, he must have punched someone at a wrong angle but for the most part he came out unscathed. He avoids eye contact while pushing back his hair to wipe his forehead. “I’m fine.”
"You weren't," is what Alhaitham says, Kaveh's admonishment about him speaking ricocheting off, apparently, and scattered somewhere across the bedroom floor. Alhaitham groans at the soreness of the muscles on his arms, the underside along his ribs, but aside from that, though, he does close his eyes, tilts his head towards the architect as his hair is brushed back like he was being petted and not cared for his injuries.
He does, however, open them to admit something. "Neither was I." He was unaware that this would get to this extent, and he'll be honest with himself: there was that spectre of fear that filled his lungs with something terrible when he was draped over his back. The idea that he'd never berate Kaveh, would never be bitten back, even through the warmth of his gestures, his presence. He had plenty of times wondered what it would feel like, for Kaveh to leave their home, and how cold and empty and dark everything would feel.
Worse than him feeling it, he didn't want Kaveh to feel the same.
Neither was I. A miscalculation that could have cost them their life. Kaveh carefully traces the clean cloth over the stunning lines of his features. The silence is gripping when Alhaitham actually quiets down, a taste of what his life would have been had he truly lost him.
Kaveh dips the cloth in water and squeezes off the excess. “That much is clear,” he responds softly and bitter, but he’s not angry with him. There’s more to this than just their own carelessness.
It’s the Akademiya.
“Can you turn on your side, I have to clean your back. Tighnari said you shouldn’t put your weight on your wound otherwise it won’t breathe.”
For all the reputation of Alhaitham being a difficult person to deal with, he surely follows well orders and does exactly as he's told. The motion isn't without its issues: it involves him twisting a little to pivot the axis of his hips, and then laying down in a different angle that maneuvers his ribs differently. He winces, a tsk of his tongue at just how silly it is for his body to warn him about the injury. He already knows, he doesn't need the extra reminders.
Kaveh cleans, Kaveh worries even as the days pass by. He spends more time at home taking care of Alhaitham, and is having to make meals entirely from scratch. Every night, he goes to bed thinking of the marring flesh forcing itself to heal and he somehow wears his pain as his fault. If he had just kept nagging him to stay or to have the matra accompany him, he wouldn’t have been laying in bed like he is now.
Housework feels twice as heavy knowing Alhaitham is out of commission. And if he lived alone, who would be here for him?
“Are you awake? I’m going to the Akademiya. It shouldn’t be long.”
"Do you have work?" his voice sounds a bit better, already able to at least argue with Kaveh in some instances, his shaking of irritation a sight that actually lights him up. Alhaitham gradually becomes more animated, and the prospects are good. Even Cyno had been impressed with how well he is recovering.
'I just have a really good nurse,' the Scribe had said. Cyno had snorted, told some sort of joke that granted him a smack upside the head by Tighnari, who claimed no one even in good health is supposed to endure that. Alhaitham had snorted, then, and it hurt his ribs.
It's getting easier to move. He reaches out to Kaveh's sleeve, slow enough that he wouldn't be able to startle him. Picks lint off the fabric and flicks it away.
“Kind of,” he says dryly as if the previous statement of him being assigned the role of a nurse still pinched a nerve or two. He’s relieved he’s coming back to his infuriating normalcy, at least. Even long after he leaves the house, he still feels the ghost of Alhaitham’s hand flicking away the lint off his shirt, feeling the immense gravitation of his heart swelling in his presence. He can’t stop thinking about his laugh, or his voice. Yet he’s seething for every other reason under the sun.
The matra never see what’s to come. At least Cyno isn’t here to witness Kaveh push open through Akademiya doors, and into the office. The real work is getting real answers, “you realize how much danger you put your own scholars without protection? We almost lost your precious scribe and I demand to know why you couldn’t have assigned him someone to him. I don’t even want to hear that he would have declined the treatment— put a leash on him for all I care. He could have — he could have died! You realize that?!”
“Mr. Kaveh— Sir—“ the young man looks around for help, fixing files to keep busy. There are times where Kaveh isn’t just the Light of Kshahrewar, but a lion. Some students try to peek into the office, murmuring behind their hands and books as Kaveh’s voice seeps out and into the echos of Akademiya walls. It’s not the first time his voice grabs people’s attention, though normally he’s fighting the Scribe himself— so this is a rare occurrence and the perfect opportunity to freshly squeeze gossip. “Fine. Don’t answer me. I’ll just talk to Cyno.”
Said gossip, of course, travels like the Withering. The matra talk to Cyno, who comes running to tell Tighnari, who in turn, throws a comment about how there are certain people readily throwing arms for the sake of Alhaitham's health once the Scribe shrugs (not without pain, but it's worth it to get the point and sentiment across) about how Kaveh seems to be taking his own injury.
He knows, of course. Kaveh's shoulders slope heavier with each brush of his fingers, as though he had been the one to slip the blade between his ribs. Alhaitham spends most of the time stopping himself from leaning into the touch, seeking a bit more of that warmth, but he suspects that would do more harm than good, that he would scare the Architect away by doing so.
Alhaitham had sighed, shaken his head. Respecting Kaveh means to let him be himself, not stifle him behind a gilded cage as he flaps his wings irritatingly, the thrum of it hitting the bars. Probably the same thrum in his ribcage whenever he nears, whenever he sees the care in his eyes before the guilt enshrouds it.
The room smells like him, he had realized when the medicinal herbs had faded. It's the most comforting he's ever felt.
"I'll talk to him," he promises the Ranger. Tighnari sighs, purses his lips in something that he wishes to say but doesn't. Alhaitham thanks him, squeezes the hand that he had placed on his shoulder, and tells him that he's injured, so he at least should let him pet his tail once.
"You're both incorrigible," says the Amurta alumni with a sigh when Alhaitham sinks his fingers into the soft fur. "That sounds like a compliment."
"With you, Alhaitham? Everything sounds the way you want it to sound."
Kaveh's actions are a fraction of the raw emotions still converging in his core. The ones that fuel his anger, his sadness. When he returns home later that day, he sits by himself in their study. It's best if Alhaitham doesn't witness him when he's on the verge of snapping, and being bedridden has proved to inspire more nonsensical and irritating talk on Alhaitham's part.
The last thing he wants is to fight and dampen his health, even if, in his opinion, is warranted against all his invalid points.
Instead of drawing, he ends up writing a letter to his mother in Fontaine. The ink feels heavy against the paper, soaking into the material and permeating each letter with his special touch of instability. There are probably a lot more clients in Fontaine, anyway. Then he wouldn't have to burden Alhaitham with his extended stay here. Maybe for once Alhaitham would have a positive thing to say if he packed up and left.
"I heard that," he tells them as he's entering Alhaitham's room again. He immediately goes to reposition the burning essence that is giving Alhaitham's room the same scent as his. Soothing, like eucalyptus and lavender. "I thought you were on my side, Tighnari," he becomes sidetracked almost immediately, "oh, looks like you ran out of tea. I'll go make some more."
"I don't need—"It's too late, and the Scribe sighs. He knows what Kaveh is doing. A rolling stone gathers no moss, and the same goes for the architect's own attempts at not sitting still for too long, for fear of guilt and any other weight to latch on to him further, to make himself useful because he can't, and Tighnari himself has been adamant about it, rush recovery. He knows that somehow, Kaveh's mind tends to make him feel like a burden even though Alhaitham is the one to end up burdening him.
Still, when Kaveh does come back with the drink, and Tighnari finishes getting things ready for the next couple of days, deeming another estimate for how long it would take for Alhaitham to get back on track, leaving a pointed note to the Haravatat alumnus to 'Talk' with a capital T and forcing a nod out of him, he cradles the cup with both his hands, enjoying the way it warms his oddly cold hands.
"Do you wish to tell me what happened at the Akademiya?"
"Thank you, Tighnari," Kaveh escorts him to the door whenever he leaves, making sure to lock after. He waits until his footsteps disappear and then turns to turn off the living room lights. It's odd walking into Alhaitham's room lately since he's still camping there to ensure his comfort. Well, he'll be comfortable as long as he doesn't talk.
He's shifting into his mattress and rolling up the sheets when Alhaitham asks the question. This prompts him to sit up again, throwing him a deadpanned stare across the candlelit room. "The Akademiya is not as sharp as it used to be. And no, I don't want to talk about it. Should I get you a silly book so you can read yourself a bedtime story?"
He doesn't reply. Alhaitham shakes his head only. His body stirs, a quiet discomfort tugging at his senses as he shifts. The remnants of pain weave through him like a faint thread, but it's a far cry from what he was once feeling. His gaze settles on the cup of tea by his side, its now coldness telling him how long it's been since he asked and respected Kaveh's unwillingness to give him his side of the story.
His mind wanders, tracing the intricate lines of his circumstances, and the concern for Kaveh's well-being. Alhaitham understands the depth of Kaveh's care, and he knows that if he suddenly showcases a lot of autonomy he may as well tell the architect he's useless to his face.
Still, he needs to move. That tea moves fast within his body. He eases himself upright, the movement accompanied by a murmur of discomfort that dances across his body especially as he moves his legs sideways and he finally touches the cold flooring with his feet as he sits up.
Not so bad. Still, his eyes narrow softly as he looks at Kaveh in his makeshift bed. "I'd appreciate a silly book. If you pick one for me."
Kaveh is unable to shake off the memory of Alhaitham’s bleeding body draped over his back. Or how lifeless he had felt at the moment, like a light that could go out any second.
As much as it annoys him when Alhaitham pries into his business, Kaveh can’t help gravitating willingly to his aid. He kicks off the sheets and rises again— he’s still wearing his wrist brace.
“You probably read everything here anyway,” he mumbles to himself while grazing fingers across titles, squinting. “Agh, don’t move so much, you could irritate the scarring,” he comes back to him book in hand, leaving it at his lap. It’s about a study in cultural architecture and how it defines different groups of people. Kaveh’s name is among the authors.
His gaze is intent on him and every shadow cast by the candlelight. It’s expected that there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but Kaveh brushes hair out of the way so he can properly press the back of his hand to it, “no fever. That’s a good sign.”
The weight of Kaveh's concern brushes against Alhaitham's skin like a ghostly caress, and he does his best not to lean into it. Still, he looks up from the book sitting in Alhaitham's lap like a fragment of their own story, and he thinks he does feel warm, a gentle flame flickering through Alhaitham's being. In that fleeting contact, it's as though Kaveh decided to place a white canvas upon which Alhaitham feels transparent, painting his emotions, colouring both the yearning and the restraint.
His lip twitches. The candlelight bathes Kaveh's features in a golden glow, casting shadows that dance across his face.
"I appreciate this," Alhaitham murmurs. His fingers trace the cover of the book, a tactile connection to the world Kaveh has offered him, but he doesn't just mean the fetching of a book, it's not just the care.
It's everything.
Before Alhaitham allows himself to be carried away by the currents of this moment's intimacy, to surrender to the enigma of Kaveh's presence, and to lose himself in the silent symphony of their shared space, he does look down, shifts his weight and braces his feet and hands to get ready to get up after he sets the book on his bedside table. "I do need to go, though."
Anytime he makes contact with Alhaitham his chest becomes wrenched and his soul becomes more starved than ever. It pains him that Alhaitham has to thank him at all for his display of basic human decency, and yet part of him is satisfied. Still, he's the one living under his roof. There's nothing he could ever do to match that.
"Seriously..." He mumbles under his breath, lifting the sheets off of him and helping him shift to the edge of the bed. It's not like he can't walk at this point...The worst of their days are over in that regard. Even so, Kaveh helps him on his feet, lingering close in case he loses his balance: he shouldn't have given him so much tea. What else is he supposed to do, though? Staring at him until he gets better?
He only helps him to the bathroom door. He has seen enough of his nudity in the past few weeks and frankly, he can do without it. It's not like Alhaitham's hands are broken, he can grab his own cock.
Steps careful and deliberate as he walks towards the bathroom, still making sure that no wrong motion would pull at his stitches, worsen the state of the rib or the torn fibers in between them. Try as he might act well-defined, Alhaitham finds himself envious of Hydro-holders and their liquid precision of movements, which is inane in itself, as they're oftentimes mercurial. Nature, in all forms, finds balance in all forms. It shapes the way people relate to each other as well.
He can feel Kaveh's presence lingering, a silent reassurance in the way his gaze follows him, a shadow that, despite subtly fussy, somewhat still dances alongside his movements. The weight of Kaveh's concern still clings to him, and the amusement in the back of Alhaitham's throat tastes bittersweet.
As he enters the bathroom, Alhaitham's gaze falls upon his reflection in the mirror. His own image seems almost foreign to him after weeks of confinement. The person staring back is not just someone who had fallen ill, but someone who had been cared for in ways he never expected. Kaveh's gestures, both grand and subtle, somehow go beyond mere physical assistance.
Send him to Aaru Village. He must be going mad.
His fingers find the cool surface of the sink. The unsteadiness he feels is only part of an all-encompassing vulnerability that he's not sure he can show or confront in its entirety.
Still, the quiet conversations danced on the edge of the bed, fussing and nagging and overbearing concern, and the way their gazes held just a beat longer than necessary. It's a dance of emotions that both exhilarates and terrifies him, particularly because he's not sure he can bring it to himself in this state to solve. One wrong motion and Kaveh will break free, he feels, running from all of the care, the weight, from Alhaitham, from himself, from the idea of them.
Ah, idealists, letting mere concepts slip between their fingers instead of just feeling them dig into their skin firsthand.
Entering the room once again, Alhaitham catches a glimpse of Kaveh as he adjusts the sheets, his expression a mixture of concern and something deeper that Alhaitham can't quite decipher. He's drawn to Kaveh, drawn to the enigma of their connection, but he's also grappling with his own fears and insecurities.
Their eyes meet briefly, and he thinks there may be something. It may be the medicine. Alhaitham's lips part as if he wants to say something, but says nothing, instead sitting on the edge of the bed once again, and then carefully shimmying into the covers and resting against the headboard, the book in his hands. He looks up at Kaveh.
With a soft exhale, Alhaitham sets the book aside on the bedside table, the action a symbol of his decision to remain in this shared space a little longer, not raising the walls of the book covers. The choice is deliberate. So is the motion of his hand and then how he looks at the Architect.
And as the candlelight continues to cast its golden glow, painting shadows that dance across Kaveh's face, he says nothing. Just waits.
Suffering on his own is a lifestyle long ingrained in him. While he might go on endlessly about the most trivial matters, like furniture, or food, or coffee beans, he has gradually become reserved when it comes to emotions pertaining Alhaitham. The last thing he wants is another conversation that would reopen his wounds, or end up hurt all over again in the process.
"What?" He asks dryly once his gazes catches on. His gaze doesn't linger on him too long, but when he glances at him again frozen from doing his task, something looks broken in his eyes. Terrified. He's tired of having to wake up at night sweating cold, thinking of what his life would have become had they taken Alhaitham from the world.
"Are you in pain?" His eyes are cast down again at the mattress on the floor. He abandons fixing it and walks over. It's almost a red flag when Alhaitham refuses a book. "You look thinner, you know."
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."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
“It’s too early to eat,” he tidies the portable table at Alhaitham’s side, rearranging the medicines and the extra gauze. “I’ll go warm up some water,” he glances at him with a strained look before he turns around to leave. He takes with him a few towels to soak in the hot water. The thoughts are scraping the back of his head each time he faces himself in the mirror. How Alhaitham is better off if he moved out, or how he almost lost him back there. Part of him is angry with the matra, too, and he intends on paying them a visit.
no subject
When the warm water comes in, swirling around the air and dampening it, Alhaitham feels his own skin roll up with goosebumps. Sensitive to everything.
As though thinking of what Kaveh is, he clears his throat. "I think Cyno will visit soon. I heard Tighnari say so."
no subject
He sits beside him again. Kaveh might have sharp words of his own sometimes, he knows how they have gutted Alhaitham deeply and he regrets them. His hands are another story, they contradict every argument with pure tenderness as he wipes the cloth from clavicle to clavicle and around his neck. He's careful not to let any substance reach his wounds. "Is the medicine working?"
no subject
"I think you're underestimating how complex their plans were," he cautions, unable to. It must mean he's on the mend, to start arguing, right?
He shivers again, and finds himself pressing the back of his fingers against Kaveh's cheek, heat-seeking. "Are you alright?"
no subject
He turns away to squeeze off the towel, taking the fresher one to wipe off the essence off his skin. “Honestly, what was I thinking,” he’s still wearing a brace on his wrist, he must have punched someone at a wrong angle but for the most part he came out unscathed. He avoids eye contact while pushing back his hair to wipe his forehead. “I’m fine.”
no subject
He does, however, open them to admit something. "Neither was I." He was unaware that this would get to this extent, and he'll be honest with himself: there was that spectre of fear that filled his lungs with something terrible when he was draped over his back. The idea that he'd never berate Kaveh, would never be bitten back, even through the warmth of his gestures, his presence. He had plenty of times wondered what it would feel like, for Kaveh to leave their home, and how cold and empty and dark everything would feel.
Worse than him feeling it, he didn't want Kaveh to feel the same.
no subject
Kaveh dips the cloth in water and squeezes off the excess. “That much is clear,” he responds softly and bitter, but he’s not angry with him. There’s more to this than just their own carelessness.
It’s the Akademiya.
“Can you turn on your side, I have to clean your back. Tighnari said you shouldn’t put your weight on your wound otherwise it won’t breathe.”
no subject
no subject
Housework feels twice as heavy knowing Alhaitham is out of commission. And if he lived alone, who would be here for him?
“Are you awake? I’m going to the Akademiya. It shouldn’t be long.”
no subject
'I just have a really good nurse,' the Scribe had said. Cyno had snorted, told some sort of joke that granted him a smack upside the head by Tighnari, who claimed no one even in good health is supposed to endure that. Alhaitham had snorted, then, and it hurt his ribs.
It's getting easier to move. He reaches out to Kaveh's sleeve, slow enough that he wouldn't be able to startle him. Picks lint off the fabric and flicks it away.
no subject
The matra never see what’s to come. At least Cyno isn’t here to witness Kaveh push open through Akademiya doors, and into the office. The real work is getting real answers, “you realize how much danger you put your own scholars without protection? We almost lost your precious scribe and I demand to know why you couldn’t have assigned him someone to him. I don’t even want to hear that he would have declined the treatment— put a leash on him for all I care. He could have — he could have died! You realize that?!”
“Mr. Kaveh— Sir—“ the young man looks around for help, fixing files to keep busy. There are times where Kaveh isn’t just the Light of Kshahrewar, but a lion. Some students try to peek into the office, murmuring behind their hands and books as Kaveh’s voice seeps out and into the echos of Akademiya walls. It’s not the first time his voice grabs people’s attention, though normally he’s fighting the Scribe himself— so this is a rare occurrence and the perfect opportunity to freshly squeeze gossip.
“Fine. Don’t answer me. I’ll just talk to Cyno.”
no subject
He knows, of course. Kaveh's shoulders slope heavier with each brush of his fingers, as though he had been the one to slip the blade between his ribs. Alhaitham spends most of the time stopping himself from leaning into the touch, seeking a bit more of that warmth, but he suspects that would do more harm than good, that he would scare the Architect away by doing so.
Alhaitham had sighed, shaken his head. Respecting Kaveh means to let him be himself, not stifle him behind a gilded cage as he flaps his wings irritatingly, the thrum of it hitting the bars. Probably the same thrum in his ribcage whenever he nears, whenever he sees the care in his eyes before the guilt enshrouds it.
The room smells like him, he had realized when the medicinal herbs had faded. It's the most comforting he's ever felt.
"I'll talk to him," he promises the Ranger. Tighnari sighs, purses his lips in something that he wishes to say but doesn't. Alhaitham thanks him, squeezes the hand that he had placed on his shoulder, and tells him that he's injured, so he at least should let him pet his tail once.
"You're both incorrigible," says the Amurta alumni with a sigh when Alhaitham sinks his fingers into the soft fur. "That sounds like a compliment."
"With you, Alhaitham? Everything sounds the way you want it to sound."
no subject
The last thing he wants is to fight and dampen his health, even if, in his opinion, is warranted against all his invalid points.
Instead of drawing, he ends up writing a letter to his mother in Fontaine. The ink feels heavy against the paper, soaking into the material and permeating each letter with his special touch of instability. There are probably a lot more clients in Fontaine, anyway. Then he wouldn't have to burden Alhaitham with his extended stay here. Maybe for once Alhaitham would have a positive thing to say if he packed up and left.
"I heard that," he tells them as he's entering Alhaitham's room again. He immediately goes to reposition the burning essence that is giving Alhaitham's room the same scent as his. Soothing, like eucalyptus and lavender. "I thought you were on my side, Tighnari," he becomes sidetracked almost immediately, "oh, looks like you ran out of tea. I'll go make some more."
no subject
Still, when Kaveh does come back with the drink, and Tighnari finishes getting things ready for the next couple of days, deeming another estimate for how long it would take for Alhaitham to get back on track, leaving a pointed note to the Haravatat alumnus to 'Talk' with a capital T and forcing a nod out of him, he cradles the cup with both his hands, enjoying the way it warms his oddly cold hands.
"Do you wish to tell me what happened at the Akademiya?"
no subject
He's shifting into his mattress and rolling up the sheets when Alhaitham asks the question. This prompts him to sit up again, throwing him a deadpanned stare across the candlelit room. "The Akademiya is not as sharp as it used to be. And no, I don't want to talk about it. Should I get you a silly book so you can read yourself a bedtime story?"
no subject
His mind wanders, tracing the intricate lines of his circumstances, and the concern for Kaveh's well-being. Alhaitham understands the depth of Kaveh's care, and he knows that if he suddenly showcases a lot of autonomy he may as well tell the architect he's useless to his face.
Still, he needs to move. That tea moves fast within his body. He eases himself upright, the movement accompanied by a murmur of discomfort that dances across his body especially as he moves his legs sideways and he finally touches the cold flooring with his feet as he sits up.
Not so bad. Still, his eyes narrow softly as he looks at Kaveh in his makeshift bed. "I'd appreciate a silly book. If you pick one for me."
no subject
As much as it annoys him when Alhaitham pries into his business, Kaveh can’t help gravitating willingly to his aid. He kicks off the sheets and rises again— he’s still wearing his wrist brace.
“You probably read everything here anyway,” he mumbles to himself while grazing fingers across titles, squinting. “Agh, don’t move so much, you could irritate the scarring,” he comes back to him book in hand, leaving it at his lap. It’s about a study in cultural architecture and how it defines different groups of people. Kaveh’s name is among the authors.
His gaze is intent on him and every shadow cast by the candlelight. It’s expected that there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but Kaveh brushes hair out of the way so he can properly press the back of his hand to it, “no fever. That’s a good sign.”
no subject
His lip twitches. The candlelight bathes Kaveh's features in a golden glow, casting shadows that dance across his face.
"I appreciate this," Alhaitham murmurs. His fingers trace the cover of the book, a tactile connection to the world Kaveh has offered him, but he doesn't just mean the fetching of a book, it's not just the care.
It's everything.
Before Alhaitham allows himself to be carried away by the currents of this moment's intimacy, to surrender to the enigma of Kaveh's presence, and to lose himself in the silent symphony of their shared space, he does look down, shifts his weight and braces his feet and hands to get ready to get up after he sets the book on his bedside table. "I do need to go, though."
To the bathroom, he means.
no subject
"Seriously..." He mumbles under his breath, lifting the sheets off of him and helping him shift to the edge of the bed. It's not like he can't walk at this point...The worst of their days are over in that regard. Even so, Kaveh helps him on his feet, lingering close in case he loses his balance: he shouldn't have given him so much tea. What else is he supposed to do, though? Staring at him until he gets better?
He only helps him to the bathroom door. He has seen enough of his nudity in the past few weeks and frankly, he can do without it. It's not like Alhaitham's hands are broken, he can grab his own cock.
no subject
He can feel Kaveh's presence lingering, a silent reassurance in the way his gaze follows him, a shadow that, despite subtly fussy, somewhat still dances alongside his movements. The weight of Kaveh's concern still clings to him, and the amusement in the back of Alhaitham's throat tastes bittersweet.
As he enters the bathroom, Alhaitham's gaze falls upon his reflection in the mirror. His own image seems almost foreign to him after weeks of confinement. The person staring back is not just someone who had fallen ill, but someone who had been cared for in ways he never expected. Kaveh's gestures, both grand and subtle, somehow go beyond mere physical assistance.
Send him to Aaru Village. He must be going mad.
His fingers find the cool surface of the sink. The unsteadiness he feels is only part of an all-encompassing vulnerability that he's not sure he can show or confront in its entirety.
Still, the quiet conversations danced on the edge of the bed, fussing and nagging and overbearing concern, and the way their gazes held just a beat longer than necessary. It's a dance of emotions that both exhilarates and terrifies him, particularly because he's not sure he can bring it to himself in this state to solve. One wrong motion and Kaveh will break free, he feels, running from all of the care, the weight, from Alhaitham, from himself, from the idea of them.
Ah, idealists, letting mere concepts slip between their fingers instead of just feeling them dig into their skin firsthand.
Entering the room once again, Alhaitham catches a glimpse of Kaveh as he adjusts the sheets, his expression a mixture of concern and something deeper that Alhaitham can't quite decipher. He's drawn to Kaveh, drawn to the enigma of their connection, but he's also grappling with his own fears and insecurities.
Their eyes meet briefly, and he thinks there may be something. It may be the medicine. Alhaitham's lips part as if he wants to say something, but says nothing, instead sitting on the edge of the bed once again, and then carefully shimmying into the covers and resting against the headboard, the book in his hands. He looks up at Kaveh.
With a soft exhale, Alhaitham sets the book aside on the bedside table, the action a symbol of his decision to remain in this shared space a little longer, not raising the walls of the book covers. The choice is deliberate. So is the motion of his hand and then how he looks at the Architect.
And as the candlelight continues to cast its golden glow, painting shadows that dance across Kaveh's face, he says nothing. Just waits.
no subject
"What?" He asks dryly once his gazes catches on. His gaze doesn't linger on him too long, but when he glances at him again frozen from doing his task, something looks broken in his eyes. Terrified. He's tired of having to wake up at night sweating cold, thinking of what his life would have become had they taken Alhaitham from the world.
"Are you in pain?" His eyes are cast down again at the mattress on the floor. He abandons fixing it and walks over. It's almost a red flag when Alhaitham refuses a book. "You look thinner, you know."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
beautiful
LMAOOO i'm so sorry
"is this a flirt? sorry, i have to go" LMAOO
JEEZ
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)