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indigently) wrote2023-01-23 02:27 pm
indigently) wrote2023-01-23 02:27 pm
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[ It's all he can do not to break down in loud sobs; as it is, the sounds he makes are soft, sniffled into Tighnari's shirt as they shake his shoulders and the fingers with which he grips the other. He's not as strong as Tighnari thinks. He's a mess. He doesn't know what he's meant to do, how he's meant toā
A breath becomes a hiccup, and Kaveh tries to get himself back under control, trying in vain to breathe through the worst of it so that he might put himself at some sort of ease. ]
I don't want to do this, [ he says, and his voice is small, shaking with its last attempt to put the other man off helping him, to somehow allow him to run and hide with what limited alcohol he can afford. He's not going to kill himself on the stuff, isn't that enough?
Besides, he doesn't deserve to be happy anyway. ]
A breath becomes a hiccup, and Kaveh tries to get himself back under control, trying in vain to breathe through the worst of it so that he might put himself at some sort of ease. ]
I don't want to do this, [ he says, and his voice is small, shaking with its last attempt to put the other man off helping him, to somehow allow him to run and hide with what limited alcohol he can afford. He's not going to kill himself on the stuff, isn't that enough?
Besides, he doesn't deserve to be happy anyway. ]
I know you don't.
[ he says, softly, and tighnari's hand smooths up and down his back in warm and gentle circles. would that he could share kaveh's pain, alleviate some of the load, but this is the best that he can manage, all he can offer. whatever kaveh is going through, drowning himself in alcohol is only going to make it worse - he needs to be clear-headed to face his problems, and move forward. alcoholism is a slippery slope, and even someone as brilliant as kaveh isn't immune to its clutches. ]
I know it sounds like one of the hardest things you've ever had to face, but you aren't alone. I'm going to help you, just like you've helped me.
[ closing his eyes, tighnari presses another kiss to the crown of kaveh's blonde head, allowing it to linger. ]
It's getting cold. Let's get back inside, hmm?
[ he says, softly, and tighnari's hand smooths up and down his back in warm and gentle circles. would that he could share kaveh's pain, alleviate some of the load, but this is the best that he can manage, all he can offer. whatever kaveh is going through, drowning himself in alcohol is only going to make it worse - he needs to be clear-headed to face his problems, and move forward. alcoholism is a slippery slope, and even someone as brilliant as kaveh isn't immune to its clutches. ]
I know it sounds like one of the hardest things you've ever had to face, but you aren't alone. I'm going to help you, just like you've helped me.
[ closing his eyes, tighnari presses another kiss to the crown of kaveh's blonde head, allowing it to linger. ]
It's getting cold. Let's get back inside, hmm?
...Yeah, okay.
[ The tendrils of panic are ever-present, threatening to choke the life out of him, to throw him in a shallow pool and leave him to drown in it. In fact, perhaps the only thing that doesn't stop him from freaking out completely is the fact that he hasn't actually agreed to anything, hasn't actually told Tighnari he'll do it. He's sure the other would judge him just a little if he knew, would see it as more proof that this is something Kaveh needs, but that's okay. For as much as Kaveh loves him, the Forest Watcher just doesn't quite understandā
Something for which, of course, Kaveh is grateful. He wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone.
He pulls himself back, reaching up to smudge an embarrassing number of tears away from his eyes, his gaze not quite meeting the other man's. ]
[ The tendrils of panic are ever-present, threatening to choke the life out of him, to throw him in a shallow pool and leave him to drown in it. In fact, perhaps the only thing that doesn't stop him from freaking out completely is the fact that he hasn't actually agreed to anything, hasn't actually told Tighnari he'll do it. He's sure the other would judge him just a little if he knew, would see it as more proof that this is something Kaveh needs, but that's okay. For as much as Kaveh loves him, the Forest Watcher just doesn't quite understandā
Something for which, of course, Kaveh is grateful. He wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone.
He pulls himself back, reaching up to smudge an embarrassing number of tears away from his eyes, his gaze not quite meeting the other man's. ]
[ tighnari helps, reaching to thumb the tears from kaveh's eyes, his heart breaking at the sight of his face. still, he can't help but feel that this is a step forward. a small step, perhaps, but.. a step nonetheless.
and so they stand, and tighnari loops his arm through one of kaveh's as they walk back to gandharva ville, back to tighnari's cozy little home, where a warm light waits to greet them. the moment they arrive, he's immediately putting the kettle on. ]
Would you like a bath before bed?
and so they stand, and tighnari loops his arm through one of kaveh's as they walk back to gandharva ville, back to tighnari's cozy little home, where a warm light waits to greet them. the moment they arrive, he's immediately putting the kettle on. ]
Would you like a bath before bed?
[ Kaveh, who is usually so forward and outgoing, is a step behind Tighnari as they walk back to his place, his arm looped through the Forest Ranger's but his steps a little more halting than they might usually be. Despite the knowledge that he has an out, something about the whole thing is terrifying to the point that he doesn't really know what to do with himself.
So a bath sounds nice.
A bath with wine in hand sounds nicer, but he's a smart enough man not to ask for a drink right now. ]
Y-Yeah. Yeah I think I would, please.
So a bath sounds nice.
A bath with wine in hand sounds nicer, but he's a smart enough man not to ask for a drink right now. ]
Y-Yeah. Yeah I think I would, please.
[ he does have an out, and tighnari is very aware of that, very aware of the fact that kaveh hasn't technically agreed to anything, but.. tighnari still has to try. still has to have hope. changing something so drastic as this is a big ask, even if it's absolutely for kaveh's own good, and tighnari knows he must be fighting a silent internal battle here, wrestling with himself over what is the right thing to do, or perhaps, how to escape it entirely.
one step at a time. first, they need to get through tonight. ]
Great. I'll start it up for you.
[ so while the kettle heats, tighnari steps into the adjacent room to begin running the water. his home is not very big, not nearly so beautiful as alhaitham's, but it's still cozy, and clean, and more than enough. a few moments later he emerges again, flicking water from his padded fingertips. ]
I'll bring you some tea when it's finished.
one step at a time. first, they need to get through tonight. ]
Great. I'll start it up for you.
[ so while the kettle heats, tighnari steps into the adjacent room to begin running the water. his home is not very big, not nearly so beautiful as alhaitham's, but it's still cozy, and clean, and more than enough. a few moments later he emerges again, flicking water from his padded fingertips. ]
I'll bring you some tea when it's finished.
[ Tighnari might be thinking along the lines of taking a day at a time; for Kaveh, it's more about each moment. Each step on the way back to the other's place, each second ticking by alone as a bath is drawn for him, each instance of the pendulum swinging back and forth in his mind, traveling back and forth on an axis of indecision that leaves him feeling sicker with each oscillation.
To run, to pretend this conversation never happenedā
Or the other option he can't allow himself to accept even in his own mind.
When his friend comes back from drawing the bath, Kaveh offers him a wan smile, a slight nod in response to his words. ]
Mm. Okay. ...Thanks.
[ He's not sure what else to say, so he pads quietly into the adjacent room, disrobing and slipping into the heated water. Against the gathering cold of the night, the warmth feels delightful against his skin, but it's a sensation a far second to the tangle of feelings in his stomach and chest.
Archons, he feels like he's going to be sick. ]
To run, to pretend this conversation never happenedā
Or the other option he can't allow himself to accept even in his own mind.
When his friend comes back from drawing the bath, Kaveh offers him a wan smile, a slight nod in response to his words. ]
Mm. Okay. ...Thanks.
[ He's not sure what else to say, so he pads quietly into the adjacent room, disrobing and slipping into the heated water. Against the gathering cold of the night, the warmth feels delightful against his skin, but it's a sensation a far second to the tangle of feelings in his stomach and chest.
Archons, he feels like he's going to be sick. ]
the wound is the place where light enters you; / post-interdarshan competition
haravatits
2023-05-18 09:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ when all is said and done, there are pieces outstanding. the recording of kaveh's will enacted upon sachin's inheritance. the processing of those who had meant to kidnap a dead man. the conclusion of a decades-long investigation into the lethality of a competition that should have only ever been about the progression of research. all that can come later, alhaitham knows. in the neat annals of alhaitham's life, the time allocated for matters of state and institution are carefully penned in between the regular working hours of nine to five. it is, in fact, all the time that alhaitham is willing to allocate to such matters. the after hours are his own.
tonight, four hours after the dramatic conclusion to the interdarshan competition, and a single hour after kaveh's dinner out, alhaitham meets kaveh in the front room of his house. he says, without need for explanation, ]
Sit.
[ in his hand, the first aid kit unfurls into its major components: gauze, tweezers, antiseptic, plasters of a variety of shapes and sizes, safety pins curled in balanced on the tension of spring and clasp. practised hands bring a basin of cool water. the towel is orange. it had been a part of a set debated for at the counter of a very bemused stallkeeper on treasure's street, the collateral damage, as it were, between alhaitham's general disinterest in colour and kaveh's need for all of them. it is handwoven and inexpensive; it had been chosen by alhaitham for the task because it is a towel, and because it is not one of the nicer ones in the household that kaveh would protest to using it for such a purpose. it is one less argument on the heels of a day that stretches, long, long, like lengthening shadows, as alhaitham sits behind kaveh on the divan and gestures for him to remove his shirt.
the wounds catalogued by a brisk flicker of alhaitham's eyes come hardly as a surprise. a day's laying in hot desert sand, the bruises and scrapes that come from being collateral damage between the general mahamatra and what is essentially a flying gremlin, the tussle and tumble from being sped across a racetrack propelled by nothing but mehrak's propensity to explode and a singular, stubborn ideal. all of it culminates in a story told through harsh, red lines across the pale of kaveh's skin, mottled purpling bruises the size of small dinner plates, and a bristling sunburn that pains to be perceived. alhaitham documents each with clinical detachment. he wets the towel. he wrings it until it is merely damp. he begins to clean.
it is, after all, not the first time has done so. it, too, will not be the last. ]
Lean forward. [ these are the words that break the silence. ] Do not slouch. Gravel has gotten in.
tonight, four hours after the dramatic conclusion to the interdarshan competition, and a single hour after kaveh's dinner out, alhaitham meets kaveh in the front room of his house. he says, without need for explanation, ]
Sit.
[ in his hand, the first aid kit unfurls into its major components: gauze, tweezers, antiseptic, plasters of a variety of shapes and sizes, safety pins curled in balanced on the tension of spring and clasp. practised hands bring a basin of cool water. the towel is orange. it had been a part of a set debated for at the counter of a very bemused stallkeeper on treasure's street, the collateral damage, as it were, between alhaitham's general disinterest in colour and kaveh's need for all of them. it is handwoven and inexpensive; it had been chosen by alhaitham for the task because it is a towel, and because it is not one of the nicer ones in the household that kaveh would protest to using it for such a purpose. it is one less argument on the heels of a day that stretches, long, long, like lengthening shadows, as alhaitham sits behind kaveh on the divan and gestures for him to remove his shirt.
the wounds catalogued by a brisk flicker of alhaitham's eyes come hardly as a surprise. a day's laying in hot desert sand, the bruises and scrapes that come from being collateral damage between the general mahamatra and what is essentially a flying gremlin, the tussle and tumble from being sped across a racetrack propelled by nothing but mehrak's propensity to explode and a singular, stubborn ideal. all of it culminates in a story told through harsh, red lines across the pale of kaveh's skin, mottled purpling bruises the size of small dinner plates, and a bristling sunburn that pains to be perceived. alhaitham documents each with clinical detachment. he wets the towel. he wrings it until it is merely damp. he begins to clean.
it is, after all, not the first time has done so. it, too, will not be the last. ]
Lean forward. [ these are the words that break the silence. ] Do not slouch. Gravel has gotten in.
[ Twenty-four hours before this very moment, Kaveh was stood in the same spot as he is now, talkingā and then yellingā to the Traveler and Paimon. Alhaitham is incapable of being nice, he said. My bags are packed, he said. I have a house picked out already for once the money is mine. I can't waitā
He said, he said, he said. But all for naught, of course.
His bags line the wall of his bedroom, packed for nowhere. The house he marked out will sell, but not to him. And maybe that's for the best, Kaveh thinks, when the alternative to an empty house is someone who, while he may be painfully, obtusely acerbic at the best of times, is standing in front of him right now with a first aid kit and a command on his lips. Someone who, as recent events have uncovered, spent his closely-guarded personal time on finding answers that benefited Kaveh alone.
It's with such knowledge that the blonde is obedient without complaint or even comment, sitting on the divan and divesting himself of his cloak and his shirt. His face is wan, drawn from the days of exhaustion and emotion all culminating in a conclusion that has left him wanting to burrow into the depths of his sheets and cry himself hoarse. Every last inch of him aches and stings, and even half-naked he doesn't dare to look down at himself. Not that it mattersā He knows all too well after all that Alhaitham will do that for both of them, seeking every stray mark and line and cataloging them in a memory practically eidetic.
Usually, Kaveh might complain about the supposed disinterest with which his roommate takes on such tasks. In the fragility of the moment, however, where a word too kind or a touch too tender might push him headlong into the spiral, he finds himself appreciating itā even as he grieves in his mind for the latest in a long line of hopes and dreams to be shattered by the cold touch of reality.
A diadem on the rainforest floor, a smirk on the fading lips of a long-dead ghost.
Alhaitham's words cut through the noise, grounding him, leaving him to nod as he bends forward in obedient response. Long fingers dig into a knee that aches almost as much as the rest of him, teeth gritting as if to get ahead of the pain that defines a dirtied wound on sunburned skin, no matter how gentle his carer's hands may be. ]
Alright. [ A single word, spoken instead of the "thank you" that burns on the tip of his tongue.
Kaveh's eyes squeeze shut. ]
He said, he said, he said. But all for naught, of course.
His bags line the wall of his bedroom, packed for nowhere. The house he marked out will sell, but not to him. And maybe that's for the best, Kaveh thinks, when the alternative to an empty house is someone who, while he may be painfully, obtusely acerbic at the best of times, is standing in front of him right now with a first aid kit and a command on his lips. Someone who, as recent events have uncovered, spent his closely-guarded personal time on finding answers that benefited Kaveh alone.
It's with such knowledge that the blonde is obedient without complaint or even comment, sitting on the divan and divesting himself of his cloak and his shirt. His face is wan, drawn from the days of exhaustion and emotion all culminating in a conclusion that has left him wanting to burrow into the depths of his sheets and cry himself hoarse. Every last inch of him aches and stings, and even half-naked he doesn't dare to look down at himself. Not that it mattersā He knows all too well after all that Alhaitham will do that for both of them, seeking every stray mark and line and cataloging them in a memory practically eidetic.
Usually, Kaveh might complain about the supposed disinterest with which his roommate takes on such tasks. In the fragility of the moment, however, where a word too kind or a touch too tender might push him headlong into the spiral, he finds himself appreciating itā even as he grieves in his mind for the latest in a long line of hopes and dreams to be shattered by the cold touch of reality.
A diadem on the rainforest floor, a smirk on the fading lips of a long-dead ghost.
Alhaitham's words cut through the noise, grounding him, leaving him to nod as he bends forward in obedient response. Long fingers dig into a knee that aches almost as much as the rest of him, teeth gritting as if to get ahead of the pain that defines a dirtied wound on sunburned skin, no matter how gentle his carer's hands may be. ]
Alright. [ A single word, spoken instead of the "thank you" that burns on the tip of his tongue.
Kaveh's eyes squeeze shut. ]
[ kaveh thinks so audibly that his thoughts manifest as a third entity in this room. because those that are named hold no power over you, alhaitham names it: the entity is named grief. the uncovering of sachin's ploy is a single step towards closure. the disclosure to kaveh had been for the sole sake of binding a book shut with string dyed in blood - the final chapter laid to rest. the thing about the ending of a story is that it does not address the reader who must live with it. kaveh leans forward at alhaithiam's behest, and alhaitham reads the lines of tension in his body that have nothing to do with pain and discomfort. he reads grief.
a diadem on the rainforest floor. a smirk on the fading lips of a long-dead ghost.
another ghost, haunting the annals of kaveh's memory, a force unto itself. alhaitham does not remember his own father. even if he did, he is not under any illusion that the nonexistence well of his sympathy would allow him to relate. but alhaitham, too, knows loss. the draw of towel over kaveh's wounds elicits the faint squeeze of kaveh's eyes. alhaitham, too, reads this without needing to see it. it is plain in the shifting of the contours of kaveh's cheeks; it is plain in the tension of his body. this is a language that alhaitham has gained fluency in over time. wounds washed, he puts aside the towel, letting blood diffuse into the water basin. alhaitham take tweezers from the kit. he leans in.
apropos of nothing, this is what he says: ]
Our inkwells run low.
a diadem on the rainforest floor. a smirk on the fading lips of a long-dead ghost.
another ghost, haunting the annals of kaveh's memory, a force unto itself. alhaitham does not remember his own father. even if he did, he is not under any illusion that the nonexistence well of his sympathy would allow him to relate. but alhaitham, too, knows loss. the draw of towel over kaveh's wounds elicits the faint squeeze of kaveh's eyes. alhaitham, too, reads this without needing to see it. it is plain in the shifting of the contours of kaveh's cheeks; it is plain in the tension of his body. this is a language that alhaitham has gained fluency in over time. wounds washed, he puts aside the towel, letting blood diffuse into the water basin. alhaitham take tweezers from the kit. he leans in.
apropos of nothing, this is what he says: ]
Our inkwells run low.
[ Alhaitham knows. Of course he does. He's been able to see through Kaveh since they were students, calculating and classifying flaws in the same way he now does the blonde's injuries. The grief is his burden to carry, a ghost that has walked with him for nigh on two decades now, a cold hand that catches his wrist and holds him back whenever he allows himself too great a happiness. It guides him in everything he does, his own invisible horrorā and to his eternal consternation, Alhaitham can see it.
It's a small mercy that he says nothing about it as he cleans, leaving Kaveh to sit in tense silence as he tries to hold back tears desperate to fall. Twenty-four hours before this very moment, Kaveh was stood in the same room as he is now, talkingā Alhaitham is incapable of being nice, he said, but this moment proves such a statement to be categorically untrue. Alhaitham could, after all, be reminding him of the selfsame flaws that have landed him in such a position to begin with.
Insteadā Lord Kusanali bless himā he comments on their inkwells.
For a moment, Kaveh is just tired enough to wonder if his roommate's speech is euphemistic. It has, after all, been a long few days. One is physically and emotionally wounded, the other no doubt tired from the time and energy put into something he wouldn't usually doā and for another's benefit at that. But reason sees him through in the next moment; Alhaitham is nothing but logical, and while a scholar of words he may be, he always speaks plainly, always says what he means.
So Kaveh nods, weary crimson eyes creaking open a sliver. ]
Mm. I'll go to the bazaar tomorrow.
[ But the thought is in his mind now, one that won't leave quite well enough alone, and after a moment the sliver closes once more, fingers pressing white-knuckled into his knee. ]
...I'm tired, Alhaitham.
It's a small mercy that he says nothing about it as he cleans, leaving Kaveh to sit in tense silence as he tries to hold back tears desperate to fall. Twenty-four hours before this very moment, Kaveh was stood in the same room as he is now, talkingā Alhaitham is incapable of being nice, he said, but this moment proves such a statement to be categorically untrue. Alhaitham could, after all, be reminding him of the selfsame flaws that have landed him in such a position to begin with.
Insteadā Lord Kusanali bless himā he comments on their inkwells.
For a moment, Kaveh is just tired enough to wonder if his roommate's speech is euphemistic. It has, after all, been a long few days. One is physically and emotionally wounded, the other no doubt tired from the time and energy put into something he wouldn't usually doā and for another's benefit at that. But reason sees him through in the next moment; Alhaitham is nothing but logical, and while a scholar of words he may be, he always speaks plainly, always says what he means.
So Kaveh nods, weary crimson eyes creaking open a sliver. ]
Mm. I'll go to the bazaar tomorrow.
[ But the thought is in his mind now, one that won't leave quite well enough alone, and after a moment the sliver closes once more, fingers pressing white-knuckled into his knee. ]
...I'm tired, Alhaitham.
[ stone by stone, alhaitham builds a mountain from kaveh's wounds. the little pebble pile takes up less than a few centimeters of space on the low dining table. the human body, however, was not designed to accommodate even that many little stones. kaveh nods, and alhaitham reads into the motion the future: the bazaar tomorrow, kaveh spending money on trivial little trinkets of art, updates on the latest gossip on treasures street, a small waiting line of people explaining the myriad of ways kaveh should have kept his hard-earned fortune, a handful of keychains in exchange for mora meant to feed orphans. what it really means: a distraction. their inkwells will fill. the hollowness in kaveh will fill. that does not mean, however, that if given the same circumstances, kaveh would not choose the same things over again. it does not mean that alhaitham's hands stop.
next, the antiseptic. the cork on the little, colourless vial is popped. the scent of the bimarstan wafts in proximity. kaveh presses his fingers into his knee. his knuckles are the colour of a small, bright-hot star. alhaitham replaces the tweezers for another pair. ]
Were you expecting not to be? [ is alhaitham's rhetorical question. it addresses both: body, and spirit. the trials and tribulations of being dragged across a beaten rainforest path versus the mental fortitude it had taken to debate the ghost of a madman. but what alhaitham says is thus: ] Do you regret the decisions you have made?
[ and then, because this is alhaitham, he adds, in that selfsame tone: ] Cotton pads. Two of them.
next, the antiseptic. the cork on the little, colourless vial is popped. the scent of the bimarstan wafts in proximity. kaveh presses his fingers into his knee. his knuckles are the colour of a small, bright-hot star. alhaitham replaces the tweezers for another pair. ]
Were you expecting not to be? [ is alhaitham's rhetorical question. it addresses both: body, and spirit. the trials and tribulations of being dragged across a beaten rainforest path versus the mental fortitude it had taken to debate the ghost of a madman. but what alhaitham says is thus: ] Do you regret the decisions you have made?
[ and then, because this is alhaitham, he adds, in that selfsame tone: ] Cotton pads. Two of them.
[ He's quick to shake his head. Of course that's not what he thought. From the moment he chose to enter, he knew the championship would be difficultā not only physically, but for the emotions it represented, the guilt and grief wrapped up in the package of his history. Win or lose, Kaveh was destined to come out of the competition hurting:
defeat, the crushing blow to his ego and the pain of failing to set things right after so many years;
victory, stained and tarnished by long lost love, by the knowledge that the past can't be fixed by a dream, no matter how many tears he might shed;
a hollow where his heart should be, either way.
It's just that Kaveh hoped, thought, believed with all his heart that he would at least have the tournament winnings to soothe the worst of it, the first ingredient of the panacea he's sought since he was merely a child. He was not expecting the headache from a voice pressing unbidden into his mind. The anger and helplessness borne of the knowledge of what truly befell his father. The depraved morality of a man so broken even he couldn't bring himself to agree. And so with his winnings signed over and the celebratory dinner done, the aching hollow is back once moreā
Does he regret? No; not even for an instant. But the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes nevertheless, throat catching on so many words yet to be spoken. ]
No. I don't. I did what had to be done. [ Fingers unfurl from the tight press into his knee, reaching to take and give the cotton pads for which Alhaitham asks; the tremble that passes through him is evident in the movement, a hitched breath in place of a halted sob. ] I just... didn't expect it to be quite this hard.
[ The words aren't right, but for now they'll have to suffice. He falls silent, bracing himself for the inevitable stinging kiss of antiseptic against his wounds. ]
defeat, the crushing blow to his ego and the pain of failing to set things right after so many years;
victory, stained and tarnished by long lost love, by the knowledge that the past can't be fixed by a dream, no matter how many tears he might shed;
a hollow where his heart should be, either way.
It's just that Kaveh hoped, thought, believed with all his heart that he would at least have the tournament winnings to soothe the worst of it, the first ingredient of the panacea he's sought since he was merely a child. He was not expecting the headache from a voice pressing unbidden into his mind. The anger and helplessness borne of the knowledge of what truly befell his father. The depraved morality of a man so broken even he couldn't bring himself to agree. And so with his winnings signed over and the celebratory dinner done, the aching hollow is back once moreā
Does he regret? No; not even for an instant. But the tears prickle at the corners of his eyes nevertheless, throat catching on so many words yet to be spoken. ]
No. I don't. I did what had to be done. [ Fingers unfurl from the tight press into his knee, reaching to take and give the cotton pads for which Alhaitham asks; the tremble that passes through him is evident in the movement, a hitched breath in place of a halted sob. ] I just... didn't expect it to be quite this hard.
[ The words aren't right, but for now they'll have to suffice. He falls silent, bracing himself for the inevitable stinging kiss of antiseptic against his wounds. ]
Edited (eventually I will stop editing minor things and destroying your inbox (I'm sorry)) 2023-05-22 15:55 (UTC)
[ kaveh's head shakes. the world from kaveh's viewpoint must blur. perspective, alhaitham thinks. it is what it all boils down to. it takes a certain kind of perspective to look at the culmination of a lifetime's terrible luck and choose to draw lots. it takes a certain kind of perspective to look at the vast fortune of a madman and choose principle over self-liberation. it takes a certain kind of perspective to choose, again and again, that which sacrifices only the self, and then wonder at the trail of blood. there had been a joint project, once. a group of like-minded scholars with pinpoint alacrity, moving as one towards the knowledge buried and still-dreaming beneath golden sands. there had been a falling out, once. a splintering of esteem and need as the gulf between hard work and talent outstripped endurance. but it had been kaveh who had given himself away, piece by piece, until there had been so little left. by the end of things, there had been so little left.
perhaps, that day, only one person had learned.
today, alhaitham takes the cotton swabs from kaveh. his fingers carve out space between theirs like low-skimming asymptotes. kaveh's body heat lingers within the swabs, like a memory. alhaitham's tweezers dip each one into the little makeshift container of antiseptic. the colourless liquid permeates. the memory of warmth exchanges itself with the memory of something that aches, long and slow. alhaitham draws each cotton swab over kaveh's wounds with precision. it will not help, not with the sting, not with the rawness of an open wound made bare and barer still. it is, however, what must be done. all things that are hard are like this.
into the hush, with quiet tones measured not for gentleness, but for words that balance truth, and authenticity, and manner: ]
If you were looking for words of comfort, you would not be speaking of this to me.
[ if kaveh had ever sought words of conform for the third man in the room, he would not speak of them to a man never known to comfort. kaveh would not choose alhaitham. that is, if kaveh were to speak of them at all. one does not seek comfort for what a man thinks he deserves. kaveh -
well.
the next words come slow - and as with all things kaveh, half-exasperated, half-frustrated, half-fond. ]
You never change. They call me the lunatic, but I am not the one searching the range of paths before me, and choosing to walk the most difficult one time and time again.
perhaps, that day, only one person had learned.
today, alhaitham takes the cotton swabs from kaveh. his fingers carve out space between theirs like low-skimming asymptotes. kaveh's body heat lingers within the swabs, like a memory. alhaitham's tweezers dip each one into the little makeshift container of antiseptic. the colourless liquid permeates. the memory of warmth exchanges itself with the memory of something that aches, long and slow. alhaitham draws each cotton swab over kaveh's wounds with precision. it will not help, not with the sting, not with the rawness of an open wound made bare and barer still. it is, however, what must be done. all things that are hard are like this.
into the hush, with quiet tones measured not for gentleness, but for words that balance truth, and authenticity, and manner: ]
If you were looking for words of comfort, you would not be speaking of this to me.
[ if kaveh had ever sought words of conform for the third man in the room, he would not speak of them to a man never known to comfort. kaveh would not choose alhaitham. that is, if kaveh were to speak of them at all. one does not seek comfort for what a man thinks he deserves. kaveh -
well.
the next words come slow - and as with all things kaveh, half-exasperated, half-frustrated, half-fond. ]
You never change. They call me the lunatic, but I am not the one searching the range of paths before me, and choosing to walk the most difficult one time and time again.
[ The sting of medicine serves as a physical translation of the incisive words that speak to feelings Kaveh would rather hide. Despite this, he welcomes it, distraction that it is from the blurring sheen of wet glossing over his eyes, the aching vacancy where his heart drums to the tempo of years-old pain. Perhaps an excuse, even, if he's questioned about the glittering droplets that slip free when his eyes closed. It hurts, that's all, he can say. Alhaitham won't believe him, of course, but such a fact is apparently inevitable in the eyes of the gods, who have seen to it that the other man possesses somehow an almost-encyclopedic knowledge of Kaveh's heart.
Almost, because by some small mercy, he has been seemingly unable to ascertain the truth of Kaveh's greatest secret of all: his own place in it.
And usually, Alhaitham's appraisal of the situation would be correct; usually, Kaveh would refuse to seek comfort in the words of someone who offers only caustic honesty; usually, Kaveh would believe he deserves no comfort at all. But the weariness has settled into his bones, mental and physical exhaustion holding brain and body hostage, and the dark night of his grief seems even longer still in the face of knowledge found anew. Yet overlapping that is the knowledge that his roommate took time out of a schedule usually so selfishly guarded, sought answers for his benefit and his aloneā
Alhaitham may have no words of comfort for him, but he's somehow become Kaveh's soft landing nonetheless. Contrary to every expectation the architect could ever have held, the other has become the closest thing to "home" he's had in years; the only thing left waiting for him as pieces of himself have, over the years, been chiseled off and given away.
He wants to tell Alhaitham all of this, but the words feel caught in his throat. ]
That's not fair, [ is what he says instead. ] I'm not choosing the most difficult path. I know it seems that way to you, butā [ But such a topic is one on which they have never, can never, see eye to eye. Kaveh sighs, shakes his head. ]
Just this once, will you not argue with me about this?
Almost, because by some small mercy, he has been seemingly unable to ascertain the truth of Kaveh's greatest secret of all: his own place in it.
And usually, Alhaitham's appraisal of the situation would be correct; usually, Kaveh would refuse to seek comfort in the words of someone who offers only caustic honesty; usually, Kaveh would believe he deserves no comfort at all. But the weariness has settled into his bones, mental and physical exhaustion holding brain and body hostage, and the dark night of his grief seems even longer still in the face of knowledge found anew. Yet overlapping that is the knowledge that his roommate took time out of a schedule usually so selfishly guarded, sought answers for his benefit and his aloneā
Alhaitham may have no words of comfort for him, but he's somehow become Kaveh's soft landing nonetheless. Contrary to every expectation the architect could ever have held, the other has become the closest thing to "home" he's had in years; the only thing left waiting for him as pieces of himself have, over the years, been chiseled off and given away.
He wants to tell Alhaitham all of this, but the words feel caught in his throat. ]
That's not fair, [ is what he says instead. ] I'm not choosing the most difficult path. I know it seems that way to you, butā [ But such a topic is one on which they have never, can never, see eye to eye. Kaveh sighs, shakes his head. ]
Just this once, will you not argue with me about this?
[ the wounds sting. kaveh cries. the two things are not mutually correlated, nor mutually exclusive. nowhere in this world is there a separation so clear and clear cut. the act of knowing someone is messy; the act of taking them apart, too, must be so, even if it's oneself. that kaveh can use his wounds to hide the stinging of his wounds is one perspective. it is most likely true. but another perspective is thus: that kaveh can only allow himself to cry because of the stinging of his wounds. these, too, are not mutually exclusive. what alhaitham sees is thus: that grief and guilt have bitten each other in the throat, and have become impossible to untangle from one another. it is not the first time alhaitham has made this observation. the first time had been kaveh, still clad in his akademiya-issued kshahrewar whites, hands clutched around a rejected blueprint as a herbad denounced the integrity of his artistic creation. your mother had been better. be better. alhaitham had watched as kaveh swallowed it down, the anger, the fury, the pride, the grief, the guilt.
that day, kaveh had bled. the wounds were not visceral; the wounds were no less shallow. another truth: that kaveh can cry because his wounds sting does not mean, however, that alhaitham is blind. he sees the tears not in the wet trails of it brimming against the red of kaveh's bleeding eyes. he sees it in the hunch of his shoulders, in the set of his neck, in the bow of his head and the trembling of his arms. in no universe would alhaitham not see. tears are not the only evidence of their shedding. alhaitham sees this too: words caught in the net of kaveh's throat, and die. kaveh swallows them whole.
kaveh, who is so possessive of his vulnerability, his supposed sin of being made of something human and soft. alhaitham, who watches. ]
Fine. [ alhaitham says. the word comes as his tweezers lift. the last of the wound is clean. he sets his implements down. the gauze comes to his fingertips. his words follow: ] Speak, then. You assert that you do not regret the deed, and you see it as something that must be done.
[ he applies the first of the gauze. alhaitham's fingers are swift and sure. ] Was it the right thing to do? Begin there.
that day, kaveh had bled. the wounds were not visceral; the wounds were no less shallow. another truth: that kaveh can cry because his wounds sting does not mean, however, that alhaitham is blind. he sees the tears not in the wet trails of it brimming against the red of kaveh's bleeding eyes. he sees it in the hunch of his shoulders, in the set of his neck, in the bow of his head and the trembling of his arms. in no universe would alhaitham not see. tears are not the only evidence of their shedding. alhaitham sees this too: words caught in the net of kaveh's throat, and die. kaveh swallows them whole.
kaveh, who is so possessive of his vulnerability, his supposed sin of being made of something human and soft. alhaitham, who watches. ]
Fine. [ alhaitham says. the word comes as his tweezers lift. the last of the wound is clean. he sets his implements down. the gauze comes to his fingertips. his words follow: ] Speak, then. You assert that you do not regret the deed, and you see it as something that must be done.
[ he applies the first of the gauze. alhaitham's fingers are swift and sure. ] Was it the right thing to do? Begin there.
[ Kaveh's tears are, it could be said, a fact of life, a reflection of Alhaitham's stoicism in much the same way that his hair is gold to the other's silver, that the decorations back then on their Akademiya robes were Kshahrewar white and Haravatat black. As they always have, the pieces that make up the whole of their personalities are parallel in abstract; they move eternally in the same direction, never pulling closer together, never pushing further apart.
(Kaveh has sought to close it many times before, but their dichotomy is too rigid, their personalities too stubbornā
One thing, at least, that they have in common.)
At any other time, Kaveh's answer might be one borne of anger. Even in this moment, he almost allows himself to fall prey to old habits, a flickering heat sparking to life in response to a question Alhaitham surely knows has to irritate. It is however a fervor pressed into submission by sheer will, cooled by the sure press of gauze at his back. His roommate may lackā to a startling degreeā a proper sense of decorum, but he is wise beyond his years, and his questions framed around a singular reasonā in this case, likely the determination to see Kaveh sort through his feelings on the topic at hand.
An honest question deserves an honest answer.
The blonde sighs once more. ]
It was the right thing to do, [ he says, and he means it in spite of the waver in his voice. ]
From the moment I picked that diadem up, Sachin was in my head. He wouldn't stop, he wantedā [ His eyes are burning. He squeezes them shut, threads his fingers tighter into the material of his leggings. ] ...He was probably in my father's too, huh. [ A whisper of air sighs across his lips. ] That only makes me all the more confident about my choice. Sachin's research, his methodsā how many more people would he have destroyed in trying to find his answers? I know the choice I made is an arrogant one, but... it was also the right one. I would do it again, Alhaitham, if I had to.
[ Anything, he thinks, to prevent others from experiencing the pain visited on his family. ]
(Kaveh has sought to close it many times before, but their dichotomy is too rigid, their personalities too stubbornā
One thing, at least, that they have in common.)
At any other time, Kaveh's answer might be one borne of anger. Even in this moment, he almost allows himself to fall prey to old habits, a flickering heat sparking to life in response to a question Alhaitham surely knows has to irritate. It is however a fervor pressed into submission by sheer will, cooled by the sure press of gauze at his back. His roommate may lackā to a startling degreeā a proper sense of decorum, but he is wise beyond his years, and his questions framed around a singular reasonā in this case, likely the determination to see Kaveh sort through his feelings on the topic at hand.
An honest question deserves an honest answer.
The blonde sighs once more. ]
It was the right thing to do, [ he says, and he means it in spite of the waver in his voice. ]
From the moment I picked that diadem up, Sachin was in my head. He wouldn't stop, he wantedā [ His eyes are burning. He squeezes them shut, threads his fingers tighter into the material of his leggings. ] ...He was probably in my father's too, huh. [ A whisper of air sighs across his lips. ] That only makes me all the more confident about my choice. Sachin's research, his methodsā how many more people would he have destroyed in trying to find his answers? I know the choice I made is an arrogant one, but... it was also the right one. I would do it again, Alhaitham, if I had to.
[ Anything, he thinks, to prevent others from experiencing the pain visited on his family. ]
[ kaveh speaks. the sigh that carves through him hollows him. the interdarshan competition has hollowed him. this, alhaitham can see, without ever laying eyes on kaveh's expression. the gauze goes around and around. he pulls it firmly against kaveh's skin, winding it around his chest in even, careful loops. the gauze begins to recreate the surface of kaveh's skin. slowly, the angry red lines of half-tended wounds begin to disappear beneath the snow-white of its surface.
alhaitham recalls a thought. kaveh, amongst the carved statues of masters lining the walls of the kshahrewar hall, each marbled body forever suspended in the dance of ordinary existence. alhaitham remembers thinking thus: that kaveh seems as if one with the petrified storytellers in eternal narration, that their bodies, carefully sanded of blemish and fault is that of the light that surrounds the heart of the kshahrewar. that looking at the display, one forgets that stone, too, can be shattered.
kintsugi. an artform from inazuma that involves shattering a piece of pottery, and then slowly, painstakingly piecing it back together. the fragmented pathways are filled in with gold. one forgets that the singular act of creation is a traumatic one. ]
Putting aside all reason and logic, if these choices you've made were the right ones to make, why do you sit and allow them to haunt you? [ alhaitham carefully brushes the flaxen aureate strands from kaveh's back. he pulls the bandaging just a little tighter. arrogant, and willful, and illogical - but kaveh. it has always been kaveh. the quiet of his voice seeps into the hush. ] Why is your head bent like some criminal, burdened and guilted by the presence of your own shadow?
alhaitham recalls a thought. kaveh, amongst the carved statues of masters lining the walls of the kshahrewar hall, each marbled body forever suspended in the dance of ordinary existence. alhaitham remembers thinking thus: that kaveh seems as if one with the petrified storytellers in eternal narration, that their bodies, carefully sanded of blemish and fault is that of the light that surrounds the heart of the kshahrewar. that looking at the display, one forgets that stone, too, can be shattered.
kintsugi. an artform from inazuma that involves shattering a piece of pottery, and then slowly, painstakingly piecing it back together. the fragmented pathways are filled in with gold. one forgets that the singular act of creation is a traumatic one. ]
Putting aside all reason and logic, if these choices you've made were the right ones to make, why do you sit and allow them to haunt you? [ alhaitham carefully brushes the flaxen aureate strands from kaveh's back. he pulls the bandaging just a little tighter. arrogant, and willful, and illogical - but kaveh. it has always been kaveh. the quiet of his voice seeps into the hush. ] Why is your head bent like some criminal, burdened and guilted by the presence of your own shadow?
[ to be honest, tighnari half expects that kaveh will bolt while his back is turned, leaving in the middle of the night to escape back to sumeru city while tighnari is occupied, so he's surprised, but happy, to find him still here.
he looks absolutely, abjectly miserable.
tighnari's heart twists with sympathy, and he draws a hand along kaveh's arm as he passes, before seeing to the tea. the house is quiet as tighnari works, save for the hum from his aquarium, and the bubbling of water as it simmers. filling two mugs with some pleasant, relaxing herbal mixes, tighnari steeps the tea, before gathering them into his hands and carrying them into the washroom, pushing the door open with his hip.
there's a wooden lip around the tub, and tighnari sets both cups onto it, before reaching to gently, carefully smooth his fingers through kaveh's soft hair. ]
Let me wash your hair for you.
he looks absolutely, abjectly miserable.
tighnari's heart twists with sympathy, and he draws a hand along kaveh's arm as he passes, before seeing to the tea. the house is quiet as tighnari works, save for the hum from his aquarium, and the bubbling of water as it simmers. filling two mugs with some pleasant, relaxing herbal mixes, tighnari steeps the tea, before gathering them into his hands and carrying them into the washroom, pushing the door open with his hip.
there's a wooden lip around the tub, and tighnari sets both cups onto it, before reaching to gently, carefully smooth his fingers through kaveh's soft hair. ]
Let me wash your hair for you.
[ It's easier to listen, when to speak is to fight against the tears, to hold them back as if somehow his doing so means that Alhaitham won't know. Never mind that the other knows him better almost than he knows himself, knows without seeing the damage the past few days have done to his soul. For where can one see oneself laid barer than in the mirror's reflection? Kaveh is broken; in the looking-glass, Alhaitham sees.
Of course, if he knew the other's thoughts had wandered to the topic of kintsugi, of all things, he'd be beyond surprised. Not least because he wouldn't have expected such a beautiful form of art to be present at all in his roommate's cognition, let alone at its forefront. Not most because more than twenty years later, Kaveh is so busy picking up the pieces of himself that he has not once stopped to consider how the gold has shaped and changed him, poured between his fragments as it has been over the years, both by himself and by others.
At the very least, in Alhaitham's eyes, the delicate gold threads that hold him together seem to be not something of beautyā but something to criticize. Kaveh sighs as fingers brush his hair aside, winces at the tighter pull on the bandaging, willfully lifts his head in response to the questioning.
But of course he doesn't understand it. Why would he, when he never has before now?
A diadem on the rainforest floorā ]
What I'm feeling right now has nothing to do with my actions. This isn't guiltā [ an addendum: ] not about breaking the diadem, at least. I made my choice for a reason. I'll stick by it. But...
[ But it all comes back to that one same thing: his father's smile as he walked out the door, the last one Kaveh ever remembers him wearing, a laugh and a promise on his lips. He would return victorious, and Kaveh would be king for a day. A promise swallowed in the end by a pit of sand.
āa smirk on the fading lips of a long-dead ghost. ]
I want to blame him. [ His voice is hoarse, his hand lifting to cover a mouth whose lips can't seem to stop trembling. ] But I can't. No matter what happened in the middle, it still started with me.
Of course, if he knew the other's thoughts had wandered to the topic of kintsugi, of all things, he'd be beyond surprised. Not least because he wouldn't have expected such a beautiful form of art to be present at all in his roommate's cognition, let alone at its forefront. Not most because more than twenty years later, Kaveh is so busy picking up the pieces of himself that he has not once stopped to consider how the gold has shaped and changed him, poured between his fragments as it has been over the years, both by himself and by others.
At the very least, in Alhaitham's eyes, the delicate gold threads that hold him together seem to be not something of beautyā but something to criticize. Kaveh sighs as fingers brush his hair aside, winces at the tighter pull on the bandaging, willfully lifts his head in response to the questioning.
But of course he doesn't understand it. Why would he, when he never has before now?
A diadem on the rainforest floorā ]
What I'm feeling right now has nothing to do with my actions. This isn't guiltā [ an addendum: ] not about breaking the diadem, at least. I made my choice for a reason. I'll stick by it. But...
[ But it all comes back to that one same thing: his father's smile as he walked out the door, the last one Kaveh ever remembers him wearing, a laugh and a promise on his lips. He would return victorious, and Kaveh would be king for a day. A promise swallowed in the end by a pit of sand.
āa smirk on the fading lips of a long-dead ghost. ]
I want to blame him. [ His voice is hoarse, his hand lifting to cover a mouth whose lips can't seem to stop trembling. ] But I can't. No matter what happened in the middle, it still started with me.
[ kaveh speaks. alhaitham listens as if at the end of a long tunnel. beneath his fingers, kaveh is here. in his mind, kaveh is somewhere else. he is back in the desert, where quicksand and sinkholes lurk beneath the slumber of golden sands. he is back in the rainforest, where a diadem sits on the rainforest floor. he is back in his mother's house, a child at the door, waiting for a father who will never come home. kaveh is here. he is also not here. in no universe can kaveh go where alhaitham cannot follow. that does not promise alhaitham the ability to reach.
the gauze continues. alhaitham's fingers continue. the final slip of gauze is tucked in. the medical tape seals the loop. alhaitham's hands clinical run over the white of the bandaging. he feels for gaps and looseness of gauze, and then, deeming his handiwork adequate, reaches around kaveh for bandaids. it takes him a moment to speak. when he does, it's with the deliberation of a man feeling the shape of words upon his tongue, phoneme by phoneme, as thought is etched into sound, sound takes on form and form becomes meaning. ]
I did not tell you what I did so that you can pass on your blame. [ alhaitham states this with the quiet conviction of a man who knows the sun and the stars and the measure of a man who has been compared, at some point in time or another, to both. ] No evidence in the world will shift the path chosen by your heart. We have argued for years. Every permutation of that argument has passed between us, through you. Little enough will convince you to do so. This, I have learned. It has little to do with who is right, or wrong. It has everything to do with who you are.
[ his words are punctuated by the crinkle of paper. the bandaid is carefully smoothed over a middling scratch along kaveh's side. the next finds its way to a minute cut on his arm. ]
If even I did not expect so, what gave you the expectation that you could? You blame yourself for being unable to blame him. [ a weary, ironic beat. ] I blame you for having me voice the absurd.
the gauze continues. alhaitham's fingers continue. the final slip of gauze is tucked in. the medical tape seals the loop. alhaitham's hands clinical run over the white of the bandaging. he feels for gaps and looseness of gauze, and then, deeming his handiwork adequate, reaches around kaveh for bandaids. it takes him a moment to speak. when he does, it's with the deliberation of a man feeling the shape of words upon his tongue, phoneme by phoneme, as thought is etched into sound, sound takes on form and form becomes meaning. ]
I did not tell you what I did so that you can pass on your blame. [ alhaitham states this with the quiet conviction of a man who knows the sun and the stars and the measure of a man who has been compared, at some point in time or another, to both. ] No evidence in the world will shift the path chosen by your heart. We have argued for years. Every permutation of that argument has passed between us, through you. Little enough will convince you to do so. This, I have learned. It has little to do with who is right, or wrong. It has everything to do with who you are.
[ his words are punctuated by the crinkle of paper. the bandaid is carefully smoothed over a middling scratch along kaveh's side. the next finds its way to a minute cut on his arm. ]
If even I did not expect so, what gave you the expectation that you could? You blame yourself for being unable to blame him. [ a weary, ironic beat. ] I blame you for having me voice the absurd.
[ It's probably something of a miracle that Kaveh doesn't bolt, in the long run. Certainly, the desire to do so exists, strong and beating in sync with his heart, but the respect and love he holds for Tighnari holds him back, keeps him in the tub despite the growing panic in his gut.
And so he's still there when the other comes back in, eyes closed against the tears threatening to well in their depths; they open for a moment at the sound of the cup placed gently on the lip of the tub, close again at the feel of fingers in his hair, and he nods at the words, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. ]
Yeah... okay. That sounds... that would be nice. Thanks.
[ His fingers are trembling as they reach for the cup, taking it in both hands to bring it to his lips. ]
And so he's still there when the other comes back in, eyes closed against the tears threatening to well in their depths; they open for a moment at the sound of the cup placed gently on the lip of the tub, close again at the feel of fingers in his hair, and he nods at the words, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. ]
Yeah... okay. That sounds... that would be nice. Thanks.
[ His fingers are trembling as they reach for the cup, taking it in both hands to bring it to his lips. ]
[ Just one short day ago, Kaveh stood in this room, talkingā and then yellingā about how crazy Alhaitham made him feel, about how he was ready to leave, how he had a house picked out. All for naught, but the truth in his words still stands: the scribe makes him feel crazy.
Not because he's unfair, but because he sees. Impassive coppered emerald gems watch every step Kaveh takes in this world and see through the masks he wears, perceive without effort through walls he's so careful to place between himself and the others in his life. And then lips curve in a hint of an ironic smile, reading all those things and more like a laundry list of Kaveh's faults, those things that are true but shoved between the spaces of his world in the hope no one will see.
Alhaitham always sees, and Kaveh hates itā because it reminds him of how he hates himself.
He swallows the guiltā he triesā and closes his eyes against the feeling of the other man papering over his wounds, doing physically what neither of them can hope to do emotionally. It has everything to do with who Kaveh is, Alhaitham says, and to that end the blonde finds himself wondering: if not for his peace of mind, thenā ]
Then why tell me? [ he asks, and his teeth chew absently at a fingernail, ruining further the well-defined shapes in which he usually takes pride, though dented and broken from the physical work of the last few days. ] You can't lie to me, Alhaithamā you took on extra work for this, this opportunity to research Sachin's involvement in everythingā
[ Thank you, he wants to say, but he doesn't. ]
ābut if you knew before telling me that it would not change things, why tell me at all? Did you hope against your better judgement that I'd finally see the light somehow? [ There's a bitter, nearly sarcastic tone to his voice as he laughs. ] Or is it merely that you believe that, as a citizen of Sumeru, such knowledge is owed to me?
Not because he's unfair, but because he sees. Impassive coppered emerald gems watch every step Kaveh takes in this world and see through the masks he wears, perceive without effort through walls he's so careful to place between himself and the others in his life. And then lips curve in a hint of an ironic smile, reading all those things and more like a laundry list of Kaveh's faults, those things that are true but shoved between the spaces of his world in the hope no one will see.
Alhaitham always sees, and Kaveh hates itā because it reminds him of how he hates himself.
He swallows the guiltā he triesā and closes his eyes against the feeling of the other man papering over his wounds, doing physically what neither of them can hope to do emotionally. It has everything to do with who Kaveh is, Alhaitham says, and to that end the blonde finds himself wondering: if not for his peace of mind, thenā ]
Then why tell me? [ he asks, and his teeth chew absently at a fingernail, ruining further the well-defined shapes in which he usually takes pride, though dented and broken from the physical work of the last few days. ] You can't lie to me, Alhaithamā you took on extra work for this, this opportunity to research Sachin's involvement in everythingā
[ Thank you, he wants to say, but he doesn't. ]
ābut if you knew before telling me that it would not change things, why tell me at all? Did you hope against your better judgement that I'd finally see the light somehow? [ There's a bitter, nearly sarcastic tone to his voice as he laughs. ] Or is it merely that you believe that, as a citizen of Sumeru, such knowledge is owed to me?
[ the room reverberates with it: the sorrow, the confusion, the deflection of which sends shards of sound and intent spinning out into the hush of an unknown galaxy. kaveh, who sits at the centre of it, wrapped in gauze and the curtain of fervor. alhaitham who observes the spiral of its nebula from just outside of its gravitational pull. no, that is an imprecise statement. for alhaitham has never been outside of kaveh's reach.
the gauze rests. another bandaid finds its way against the curve of kaveh's neck where a shard of the diadem's ricochet has caught it. alhaitham's fingers are slow and sure. ]
For you to preface your statements like so implies that I have lied to you in the past. But Kaveh, when have ever I lied to you in ways that matter?
[ a mirror is a reflection of what one allows themselves to show. alhaitham, who has always looked to the mirror of kaveh's existence, knows - that perhaps, fundamentally, alhaitham does not know how. not when it comes to kaveh.
the nail file is an addition to alhaitham's pouch that he has never really used for himself. he slips it out from its case. his hand reaches around kaveh, gently, to take his wrist between his fingers. alhaitham's weight leans forward and settles against the slope of kaveh's back. his chin hooks over kaveh's good shoulder. in the night, they are a creature of matching veins and arteries, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, bone to bone.
alhaitham speaks, low. ]
My intentions were clear, and continue to be so. [ his fingers slide up to kaveh's, where he disentangles nail from teeth. alhaitham begins to file. ] Sachin's research interested me. Objectively speaking, the quality and genius behind his theorems and construction of studies are worth learning from regardless of the conclusions that he has drawn for them. My interest was drawn also based on the coincidence between Sachin's circumstances and the circumstances of your father's disappearance. It seemed to me that there was much to learn from knowing the truth.
[ a second finger. the leveling of the file. alhaitham continues: ] Out of ignorance and a misplaced sense of guilt, you had no choice but to blame yourself. You cannot make choices if you do not know. I gave you the information so that you can now choose, knowingly, what you wish to believe, and what you wish to do with it.
[ the third, alhaitham carefully lifts to the wan glow from the stained glass of his window. the sliver of moonlight highlights a particularly nasty-looking jagged edge of a chewed nail. he presses the nail file to it. alhaitham's voice does not waver. ]
Just as you ask me of my thoughts, so do I ask you: Kaveh, do you regret having learned what you have?
the gauze rests. another bandaid finds its way against the curve of kaveh's neck where a shard of the diadem's ricochet has caught it. alhaitham's fingers are slow and sure. ]
For you to preface your statements like so implies that I have lied to you in the past. But Kaveh, when have ever I lied to you in ways that matter?
[ a mirror is a reflection of what one allows themselves to show. alhaitham, who has always looked to the mirror of kaveh's existence, knows - that perhaps, fundamentally, alhaitham does not know how. not when it comes to kaveh.
the nail file is an addition to alhaitham's pouch that he has never really used for himself. he slips it out from its case. his hand reaches around kaveh, gently, to take his wrist between his fingers. alhaitham's weight leans forward and settles against the slope of kaveh's back. his chin hooks over kaveh's good shoulder. in the night, they are a creature of matching veins and arteries, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, bone to bone.
alhaitham speaks, low. ]
My intentions were clear, and continue to be so. [ his fingers slide up to kaveh's, where he disentangles nail from teeth. alhaitham begins to file. ] Sachin's research interested me. Objectively speaking, the quality and genius behind his theorems and construction of studies are worth learning from regardless of the conclusions that he has drawn for them. My interest was drawn also based on the coincidence between Sachin's circumstances and the circumstances of your father's disappearance. It seemed to me that there was much to learn from knowing the truth.
[ a second finger. the leveling of the file. alhaitham continues: ] Out of ignorance and a misplaced sense of guilt, you had no choice but to blame yourself. You cannot make choices if you do not know. I gave you the information so that you can now choose, knowingly, what you wish to believe, and what you wish to do with it.
[ the third, alhaitham carefully lifts to the wan glow from the stained glass of his window. the sliver of moonlight highlights a particularly nasty-looking jagged edge of a chewed nail. he presses the nail file to it. alhaitham's voice does not waver. ]
Just as you ask me of my thoughts, so do I ask you: Kaveh, do you regret having learned what you have?
[ Patch by patch, Kaveh's wounds are covered over in the anticipation of their healing. Word by word, Alhaitham takes him apart. When has he ever lied, asks the scribe, and the architect cannot answer, because he the answer is that he has not, at least to Kaveh's knowledge. And yet the blonde feels somewhere deep down that there's more to the full truth than words allowā that the younger man has chosen exactly the right verbiage to reveal what he wants and no more. After all, there are still questions to be asked, questions that concern why exactly the scribe feels that the so-called coincidence warranted his attention.
Or perhaps it's just wishful thinking, the hopeful reach of a man who desperately wants such actions to be taken out of care.
(Care like the last of the plasters laid onto his skin, slow and sure. Care like the chin hooking over his uninjured shoulder, bringing them together that coppered eyes might see him in the dim. Care like the fingers that pull his from his own teeth, smooth over their lengths to file away the jagged edges of Kaveh's fears.)
Care, perhaps, is wrong. What Kaveh wants isā ]
I don't regret it, no. [ His words are soft; they tremble in time with his heart and with his fears. He's barely managed to stop his tears, yet the gentle motion of Alhaitham's fingers working the file makes him want to start all over again. ] To the contrary, itā I know for sure now that I did the right thing today. With the diadem. [ And Kaveh sighs, because now they're talking in circles, and they still haven't met one another in the middle.
Perhaps they never will. ]
What do you want from me, Alhaitham? [ Kaveh's voice breaks over the words. The hand not being cared for reaches up to rub at his eyes, to pinch at the bridge of his nose as if it will stop the Archons-damned urge to sniffle, to flutter helpless in the air for a moment or two before a finger slips between his pouting lips to wreak havoc on its nail even as the scribe repairs the damage done to another.
He doesn't understand. Where Kaveh has never been outside of Alhaitham's reach, the architect feels as if the scribe is leagues away from his own. Alhaitham is always three to five moves ahead of everyone else, a master of the game calmly watching as others try to make sense of what he has done. Kaveh understands him better than anyone elseā and yet he doesn't understand him, is left so often questioning or wondering or hopingā
Skin gives under the nip of his teeth, a bloom of red metal on his tongue. Kaveh winces, but says nothing. ]
Or perhaps it's just wishful thinking, the hopeful reach of a man who desperately wants such actions to be taken out of care.
(Care like the last of the plasters laid onto his skin, slow and sure. Care like the chin hooking over his uninjured shoulder, bringing them together that coppered eyes might see him in the dim. Care like the fingers that pull his from his own teeth, smooth over their lengths to file away the jagged edges of Kaveh's fears.)
Care, perhaps, is wrong. What Kaveh wants isā ]
I don't regret it, no. [ His words are soft; they tremble in time with his heart and with his fears. He's barely managed to stop his tears, yet the gentle motion of Alhaitham's fingers working the file makes him want to start all over again. ] To the contrary, itā I know for sure now that I did the right thing today. With the diadem. [ And Kaveh sighs, because now they're talking in circles, and they still haven't met one another in the middle.
Perhaps they never will. ]
What do you want from me, Alhaitham? [ Kaveh's voice breaks over the words. The hand not being cared for reaches up to rub at his eyes, to pinch at the bridge of his nose as if it will stop the Archons-damned urge to sniffle, to flutter helpless in the air for a moment or two before a finger slips between his pouting lips to wreak havoc on its nail even as the scribe repairs the damage done to another.
He doesn't understand. Where Kaveh has never been outside of Alhaitham's reach, the architect feels as if the scribe is leagues away from his own. Alhaitham is always three to five moves ahead of everyone else, a master of the game calmly watching as others try to make sense of what he has done. Kaveh understands him better than anyone elseā and yet he doesn't understand him, is left so often questioning or wondering or hopingā
Skin gives under the nip of his teeth, a bloom of red metal on his tongue. Kaveh winces, but says nothing. ]
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