[ 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 beauty— 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 floor— ]
What I'm feeling right now has nothing to do with my actions. This isn't guilt— [ 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.
—a 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.
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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 beauty— 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 floor— ]
What I'm feeling right now has nothing to do with my actions. This isn't guilt— [ 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.
—a 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.