indigently | 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[ kaveh melts. alhaitham looks. it reminds him, alhaitham thinks, a little of the gray-furred cat that their next-door neighbour raises as if it were her own child. the spoiled little gray thing was well-known in the neighbourhood for having the penchant for getting stuck up trees and down gullies and whatnot. it is a creature without a single shred of self-preservation. a riboshland tiger could look at it and wonder upon the downfall of its species. but the next-door neighbour adores it. the cat can often be found sunning itself along the invisible boundaries that divide their properties. on balmy nights, it will sit deign to sit in the lap of its owner as she rests in her chair on the patio, her hand moving ceaselessly across the long line of its pale body. kaveh is a little like that cat now: a little worn, a little melted, a little spoiled.

and perhaps a little obscene. though, alhaitham thinks, that is an observation to make for a different moment in time, within a different context. kaveh is molded beneath alhaitham's fingers; alhaitham considers masters of clay and stone. the act of creation has never been this easy, though it is likely equally worthwhile. ]

I took a few Amurta courses on human anatomy. The diagrams are simple enough to follow. [ the next knot, alhaitham finds purchase with a knuckle he worries away at it with just the bone-jut edge of his finger, slowly tracing a line to the nape of kaveh's neck, then up, where ear meets hair. ] Though it is my position that it has less to do with my skill, and more to do with the sorry state of your shoulders.

[ in that self-same tone: ] Don't wriggle. You will hurt yourself.

[ All good tunes should be answered with song. As such, Kaveh is as vocal in content as he is in frustration. This is a fact true of him whether he is enjoying some particularly appetizing dish, or indulging in something carnal— or, apparently, in the feel of strong fingers unwinding stress from his neck. Any obscenity is accidental, to be agonized over later, to be examined and picked apart the way he picks everything apart, staring in mournful discomfort at the pieces as he asks himself what he could have done differently.

But that is later. Right now, he is every part the spoiled cat Alhaitham imagines him to be, humming in response to the admonishment, sighing in answer to the finger tracing up the nape of his neck and to his hairline. Sense and self-preservation have departed in favor of comfort. His own arms stretch and circle, fingers flexing like paws in search of something to which he can anchor himself.

One hand finds Alhaitham's waist. The other, his chest.

If Kaveh were truly feline, he would purr in his content. Instead, he hums his acquiescence, refraining for now from any wriggling or further movement. It is this easy, it seems, to depower his brain, to move him from overthinking every last thing to thinking about nothing at all.

At the very least, this he realizes, and he chuckles, the sound husky with content and torpor. ]

I think my brain has gone to mush, [ he mumbles. ] If I'm permanently broken, it's your fault.

[ tighnari is no fool. he knows what kaveh is feeling, what he is thinking - they've been friends for so long now, been through so much together, and tighnari is emotionally intelligent enough to know what his friend must be experiencing. he's also dealt with addiction before, he's seen how it affects people, how it takes over their minds and clouds their judgment. it would have been strange if kaveh didn't want to bolt. right now, tighnari was a threat, trying to take away his source of comfort, however destructive it might have been.

he can only.. do his best to help. ]

Mmm.

[ lifting an empty cup from beside him, tighnari fills it with water and begins to wet kaveh's hair, from scalp to ends. he's quiet as he works, his padded fingers gentle, and before long, he's pouring out a palmful of shampoo. ]

I won't try to make smalltalk with you. I won't ignore what you're going through, right now. If you want to talk, I'm here. If not, we'll be quiet.

[ kaveh settles his weight along alhaitham's chest. his touch exists simultaneously in two disparate states. the weight of it is tangible. the intent of it is insubstantial. within alhaitham along the surface of his heart is the pinprick sensation of melting ice. kaveh's hand skims along the line of alhaitham's waist like an unasked question. this is a test, although kaveh does not know it. this is a test for alhaitham, and to this very day, alhaitham does not know if he passes it or fails it. the determinate for its benchmark is the result wanted, but alhaitham is not certain of that, either. the lack of certainty does not bother him. it has been some time since being right or wrong has mattered to alhaitham. not in this, never in this, where the inherent expectation of a label merely attributes a definition to something for whom the word to describe it has yet to be invented.

kaveh claims that his brain has turned to mush. if alhaitham asks, kaveh could likely calculate the exact chances of structure failure of any two composite materials that alhaitham names down to five decimal places. instead, alhaitham's free hand skims the long line of kaveh's back. kaveh's contentment is a warm thing. it seeps in with you, that sort of warmth. there had been a time where alhaitham's three divans had been the de-facto landing space for veritable towers of books, a household that was designed for books to exist with a little bit of space left over for people. kaveh fills the space with sound; the house has changed for it.

alhaitham thinks - ]

If this is all it took to break you, [ is what he says, ] you would not have made it this far.

[ and then, because kaveh is a warm weight of a thing curled up against him, alhaitham digs his finger into the final knot. he holds it there as he leans in, alhaitham's lips ghosting the shell of kaveh's ears: ] In any case, the noises you make are your own. Take care to keep your voice down, unless you would like the neighbour to have the wrong idea.

[ If Alhaitham asked, Kaveh could calculate anything. He could find his brain again from amongst the nothingness that it has become and rebuild it the same way he would any structure, returning the ability he claims to have lost. If Alhaitham requested it of him, he could argue the significance of the connection between the form and function of a building, the necessity of contrast in design, the importance of the harmonic resonance between different elements of a build. He could even return to one of their old debates, retreading old ground and running in circles until they're both thoroughly exhausted with the other's point of view.

Such is the power of eased tension, of the fingers working to undo knots of stress and anxiety. Of the scent of soap and shampoo against his nose, and the soft, low-timbred voice murmuring in his ears. Kaveh sighs in content as that last tangle unwinds, his shoulders and neck feeling freer than they have in months.

Mm, perhaps Alhaitham is right after all, and the long nights hunched over a desk have done more damage than bitten-bloody lips and dozens of snapped pencils. His lips even part to say as much— because in this moment he could do anything, even admit his wrongs or thank the other man, if it meant more of this—

But he barely makes it past the first syllable before those lips ghost against his ear, the scribe's words bringing him back to himself with an abruptness that has those knots re-tightening in an instant, color flooding to his cheeks as the hand at Alhaitham's side flies to join that on his chest, a pressure on both to force separation, to push Kaveh out of the dreamlike state into which he's too easily allowed himself to slip.

For so long, he's wanted— needed— but he's always been so good at keeping the yearning at bay, telling himself again and again that there's too much between them for it to ever work, that they're too different, that Alhaitham is too good for him— he's been so good, and now in an instant of weakness he's allowed himself to cave, to believe—

His eyes close against the sudden sting. ]

I, uh— [ he clears his throat against the rising panic, and tries again ] —I should do the dishes. Right? Right. [ And his hands brace on Alhaitham's chest again to push himself free. If the other doesn't stop him, he'll flee to the kitchen. ]

[ there is a common liyuen saying with an illustrative story behind it. once upon a time, a merchant boasted of the wares he sold. 'this is the spear that can pierce all shields!' he proclaims, 'and this is the shield that can block all spears!' a child looked at him, and asked 'what happens when your spear meets your shield?' the merchant had no answer. the saying, then, illustrates: two contradictory principles, unable to coexist in this world. in this scenario, kaveh is like a creature trapped in the sliver of distance between contradictions, a walking paradox yet to be resolved. he stills beneath alhaitham's hands. it is not the stillness of a watching creature; it is the stillness of a creature considering fight or flight.

it is not unexpected. alhaitham is not disappointed. disappointment means having expectations. it means having a preconceived notion for the way events play out based on uncertain prediction. nothing about kaveh is easy to predict, but nothing about him is uncertain. kaveh had looked at the members of the research project, and reached out with both hands for an understanding that wasn't there. kaveh had been the one to hear his soul rendered bare and to turn away from it. kaveh had been the one to leave. you use reality for the basis of your predictions. you can use nothing else.

the chasm between want, and need.

in turn, alhaitham looks. kaveh pushes himself up from alhaitham's chest. in the moment, the third person in the room casts their shadow. but the third person in the room had always been there. it is a misnomer to think that the night is but one congruent darkness. individual shadows take form beneath a roaming mind; it is kinder to choose the now, rather than later.

alhaitham's hand rests along the nape of kaveh's neck. phonemes and phonetics form sound and meaning. alhaitham says his name: ]

Kaveh.

[ There is no need for Alhaitham to be disappointed; Kaveh is disappointed enough for the both of them. He was finally relaxing, finally starting to calm down, and now— Now, he is made of panic and embarrassment. For him to have lost himself to sensation so much that he might let fall all his defenses...

In the light of the moon as it filters through the window, his ruby eyes are wide as they stare down at Alhaitham. From where the scribe's hand sits at the nape of Kaveh's neck, he can likely feel his pulse dancing to the rhythm of anxiety. In counterpoint, the soft quick of his breath as he caves to his flight response; as he tries, because with a word, Alhaitham stops him in his tracks once more. Alhaitham says his name, and Kaveh falls momentarily silent, eyes fixed on his face.

A mistake, perhaps; like this, for the first time in this whole night, Kaveh can truly see Alhaitham.

In the moonlight, emerald eyes hold his with an expression as complex as it is indecipherable; without knowing what they are, he can see the thoughts behind them as the scribe works through them, one after another. Under the glow, the sharp jut of Alhaitham's jaw is sharper still, accentuated by the shadows that press against it like kisses against the skin. Those same shadows are guilty too of obscuring the pink of his mouth, masking an expression Kaveh usually understands until it is unreadable, until he can't decide if the other is smiling, or frowning, or laughing— ]

What? [ he asks, and his voice is sharp, edged like annoyance, the last line of defense he has left. ]

[ kaveh looks. alhaitham allows it. it had always seemed to alhaitham that kaveh's eyes were like droplets of blood upon pale cotton. they stood out stark. there are those who associate red with aggression, with temper and the joyous passion of creation and the deep malice of rage. kaveh is, in fact, all of these things. the gregariousness of his nature does very little to obscure the fierce bite of his countenance. but neither does it obscure the gentle bruise of his soul. kaveh's eyes carry sorrow. they carry awe. they carry the softness that easily bleeds. maybe that's why his eyes are so red - all that blood from his heart with nowhere to go, showing itself in the windows to his soul.

what kaveh sees, alhaitham thinks - perhaps the shadows of the night cannot unveil. the gentle slope of alhaitham's brows, the silver fall of his fringe, the stolid contours of his cheeks and the flat line of his lips. there is blood between kaveh's teeth as he asks, a blade poised to point both at others and at himself, slipped so quickly that alhaitham can feel its bite. but that is kaveh. there are those who have not yet realised, that when kaveh is cornered, he does not flee - he fights.

in turn, alhaitham looks. his hand slides from the nape of kaveh's neck up along the contour of his cheek. it cards itself through the freefall of kaveh's hair. unbound from his clips, kaveh's hair winds down his shoulders. alhaitham pushes it back from his face, and observes the fall of the flyaways there along his temple. there are dishes to wash, and a countertop to clean. alhaitham's clothes are still soaked in the heat of kaveh's body. the premise that alhaitham only ever shows the world exactly what he means to show is false, because it assumes that there is no difference between the rest of the world and kaveh. it comes out unbidden, a single sliver of something that settles in equal parts frustration and amusement, fondness and weariness, all wrapped away into the singular tuck of alhaitham's unimpressed lips. for a moment, alhaitham looks tired. ]

Make tea. [ is what alhaitham says.

the palm of his hand skims the crown of kaveh's head, before it falls away. ]

[ As always, Alhaitham is waiting with an answer for the blade Kaveh pulls in his own defense; this time, it comes in the form of a gentle hand over his cheek, brushing back loose strands of his hair. It comes in an expression that Kaveh catches on his face even in the dim of the moon's light, a brief twist of his lips

But what Alhaitham offers, when his lips part, is not an answer. It's not what Kaveh is so sure he wants to say— despite having no idea what that might actually be. "Make tea," he says, and his hand falls. Kaveh's disappointment is unmeasurable in the same way that his want is. He bites his lip, and he nods, and his forearms stretch once more, pushing him up. Away.

He stands. He manages to smile, even if his eyes don't quite meet the scribe's. ] Okay, [ he says. ] Come out when you're ready. [ He leaves the room. Normality is restored.

Only it's not; Kaveh makes it barely three steps out of the living room before he turns on his heel and stalks back in, eyes wide and searching as they lift back to Alhaitham's face. The questions of earlier are pressing in on his mind, insisting on answers he's forever been too afraid to seek; the questions spill now unbidden from his lips, whether from his emotional or physical exhaustion or perhaps a mix of both. ]

Why are you being so nice to me? You don't— you're built on reciprocity, you don't give if you can't get back. You'd let someone drown if you thought it was their fate to do so. You tell me I give too much of myself without expecting anything back, that I shouldn't seek to help those who can offer me nothing, but— but— [ he takes a breath, swallows against the lump in his throat. ] —But you let me live here. You cover my tab, you patch me up when I get hurt, you listen to me and look out for me and— and don't tell me you didn't involve yourself with the championship for my benefit, because I know you're downplaying it by focusing on your interest in his research!

[ His voice has sharpened again, pitched with anger and frustration coming so suddenly from somewhere Kaveh can't even place, fingers clenching into fists at his sides. His eyes are wet, but he doesn't look away. Instead, he asks once more the question he asked earlier, the same question that allowed Alhaitham so easily to fold him into his arms and comfort him in ways he has never deserved: ]

What do you want from me?

[Simple, a flip of a page before Alhaitham spends a couple of moments in silence. If Kaveh is being attentive enough, he'll notice that he's not exactly reading — his mind is fuzzy enough not to go further than 3 words at a time, and he's actually thinking of Kaveh moaning into a kiss because someone decided to hike up their body a little higher and creating friction.

A slight cant of his head.]

I'm not sure you'd act like that, anyway.

[ Admittedly, he wasn't being attentive enough a few moments ago; when Alhaitham speaks though, his head lifts and his brows raise, fixing the other with a bemused look— and it registers, vaguely, that he's not really reading—

(Which of course begs the question: what is he doing?)

He chuckles, something throatier than normal thanks to the alcohol, and reaches with the bottle, making sure to offer it to Alhaitham once again lest he drink it all himself. ]

Stop thinking about how I sound when I'm making out with someone, pervert.

[ Not that he actually thinks the other is doing anything of the sort. That would be ~~nice~~ ~~convenient~~ unlike him.

And then, because Kaveh's still tipsy from before and the extra alcohol isn't helping matters any, he continues, tone conversational: ] What about you? I can't imagine you're the noisy type either.

[ continued. ]

Madam Faruzan!! You can't just ask someone that!!!

I suppose not. I apologize, that was rather blunt of me.

Still, I am curious as to what the young people are interested in.

[ Ah... now he feels bad. ]

I'd be happy to explain it as much as I can, senior.

I just... would much prefer not to talk about my own sex life.

[Hm…]

What else should we talk about?

Tell me, what are the things youngsters are into now?

[He looks a second too long at the bottle in Kaveh's hand before he takes it, as though he's afraid of missing it when he reaches for it. He frowns at the amount of wine inside, wiggling the bottle slightly, takes another sip.

He scoffs.] So I can't think about how you sound when you make out, but you can think about me? I find that hardly fair.

Do you mean... with regards to sex? Or just in general?

In general.

Please do enlighten me on what you know.

Uh... let's see. Recently, scholars have been very interested in trying to do things in more "efficient" or "useful" ways. For example, chilling a glass of wine with frozen grapes instead of ice, which would dilute it. Or something called "temptation bundling"— pairing a task you don't want to do with the reward. Like studying and drinking a milkshake at the same time.

They call them "life hacks". Sometimes they're quite good, like those ones. Other times... not so much.

These "life hacks" seems like making things much more complicated than they should be. While I agree that it helps with doing mundane tasks simpler, wouldn't it be easier to just do it?

But I will admit, adding frozen grapes to wine is a rather ingenious idea. I approve! Anymore of these "life hacks" you are willing to share with me?

Hm...

You can rub an ajilenakh nut on wooden furniture to hide any scuff marks or scrapes.

If you have a deep-dish candle that needs lighting, you can light a dry pasta noodle and use that to reach the wick.

Green onions can be regrown to use multiple times by putting them in a cup of water.

Proof-read your own writing sentence by sentence, but backward. It's harder to mentally fill in the gaps of the mistakes you've made if you do this.

You young ones are pretty creative! I never thought of using a dry pasta to light a candle or to read sentences backwards to ensure the everything is well written.

I feel myself growing older just reading those methods.

Never claimed it was.

[ He's trying for smug, but instead he sounds thoughtful. He caught the look on the other's face, the wiggle of the bottle before he sipped, and now he's wondering if it's worth trying to go back out to the living area for more. ]

But you at least have a book. [ Even if he's not really reading it anymore. ] I have nothing to entertain me other than the wine. [ And then, a dramatic sigh. ] And that's not gonna last much longer.

[ He eyes Alhaitham in appraising silence for a moment or two. ]

I don't suppose you have more hidden in your room?

[The frown Alhaitham throws Kaveh's way is thoughtful, unbothered by how unwavering it is, and even more so with the pleasant fuzz in his head that tells him not to care that much about what happens.] They're not hiding.

[He points out. Specific, even as he takes another swig of the bottle and settles back on the chair, getting comfortable. If Kaveh wants more he can come get it.] But there are more, sure. You'll have to go past them to get them, though.

Ah, I'm sorry, Madam Faruzan. That wasn't the point of the exercise...

To be honest, I didn't think of those things either. I was told by others. So it's nothing to do with your age!!

𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

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for @localgrandma, getting a good workout of his shocked icons

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