"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."
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.”
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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?"
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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."
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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.”
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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.
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"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.
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"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."
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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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beautiful
LMAOOO i'm so sorry
"is this a flirt? sorry, i have to go" LMAOO
JEEZ
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