[ What is it? Alhaitham asks, and Kaveh suddenly realizes that he doesn't know what to say. His gaze drops, wet and reddened crimson eyes staring at the other's feet on the floor, his breath rattling in his lungs as he tries to sort through the myriad of emotions that had him barreling off of his own bed and to the other's room. He mimics the other by accident, arms crossing over his chest— a self-defense mechanism— as he responds with the only thing he can think of to say at the moment: ]
I'm not drunk.
[ His voice is sullen, a tremble hidden in its words. He shouldn't have come over here; he should have just agreed, let Alhaitham say they're not friends just like he's said himself so many times before now—
instead, he let it cut to his core and sting with the same ache from which he's been trying to run.
no subject
I'm not drunk.
[ His voice is sullen, a tremble hidden in its words. He shouldn't have come over here; he should have just agreed, let Alhaitham say they're not friends just like he's said himself so many times before now—
instead, he let it cut to his core and sting with the same ache from which he's been trying to run.
All he can do right now is insist. ]
I'm not drunk, so tell me.