[ 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 sayโ 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'tโ 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, butโ butโ [ he takes a breath, swallows against the lump in his throat. ] โBut 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 andโ 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: ]
no subject
But what Alhaitham offers, when his lips part, is not an answer. It's not what Kaveh is so sure he wants to sayโ 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'tโ 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, butโ butโ [ he takes a breath, swallows against the lump in his throat. ] โBut 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 andโ 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?