[ 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.