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indigently) wrote2023-01-23 02:27 pm
indigently) wrote2023-01-23 02:27 pmπͺπ ππ π πππ ποΈ
OPEN POST
action β’ text β’ canon β’ cross-canon β’ assumed cr
indigently) wrote2023-01-23 02:27 pm
no subject
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 muchβ because in this moment he could do anything, even admit his wrongs or thank the other man, if it meant more of thisβ
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 wantedβ neededβ 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 himβ he's been so good, and now in an instant of weakness he's allowed himself to cave, to believeβ
His eyes close against the sudden sting. ]
I, uhβ [ he clears his throat against the rising panic, and tries again ] βI 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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 laughingβ ]
What? [ he asks, and his voice is sharp, edged like annoyance, the last line of defense he has left. ]
no subject
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. ]
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 sayβ 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'tβ 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, butβ butβ [ he takes a breath, swallows against the lump in his throat. ] βBut 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 andβ 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?