𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉 🏛️

[indigently]

OPEN POST

action • text • canon • cross-canon • assumed cr

Comments

[haravatits]

[ kaveh looks. alhaitham allows it. it had always seemed to alhaitham that kaveh's eyes were like droplets of blood upon pale cotton. they stood out stark. there are those who associate red with aggression, with temper and the joyous passion of creation and the deep malice of rage. kaveh is, in fact, all of these things. the gregariousness of his nature does very little to obscure the fierce bite of his countenance. but neither does it obscure the gentle bruise of his soul. kaveh's eyes carry sorrow. they carry awe. they carry the softness that easily bleeds. maybe that's why his eyes are so red - all that blood from his heart with nowhere to go, showing itself in the windows to his soul.

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. ]

[indigently]

[ 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 say— 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't— 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, but— but— [ he takes a breath, swallows against the lump in his throat. ] —But 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 and— 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?