[ so, perhaps he'd expected some more low blows to come out of kaveh's mouth - some more insults about his character, maybe? about how little he cared about those around him, and that obviously alhaitham's interests could only be self-serving, like coming out tonight?
what he hadn't expected had been the blonde to actually throw a jab straight at his face, and to that end, he was actually quite unprepared.
they'd fought fraught and often, but had never come to the point of exchanging blows past angry words yelled down the corridors of a house that felt empty if either of them were missing from it. as the pain blossoms in the scribe's jaw, he's dimly aware he'd done at least something to deserve it - but that more rational part is drowned out for want of wounded pride, frustration, annoyance, why can't kaveh just pull his fucking head out and let him in.
taking a staggered step backwards (because kaveh wasn't weak by any means - he was all lithe, wiry muscle, a glass cannon in a beautiful vessel) a gloved hand reaches up to clutch his mouth where he'd been struck, the flash of something wild crossing his face for the briefest of moments. it was rare, so rare to see the scribe's resolve slip, but kaveh was the only one that could irk him so, worm his way into his goddamn brain and live there just as lackadaisical on the rent as he did in his real home.
without thinking, alhaitham closes the distance between them again with one furious stride and grabs kaveh by the shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt. part of him wants to simply throw the architect into the bush; kick him out, for good this time; perhaps, spend a great deal of time elucidating to him his many, many flaws; but despite the pain in his jaw, he can't bring himself to do any of those things.
the tears in kaveh's eyes act like his kryptonite - and while he's not going to turn this into a brawl, it only builds on his immense frustration at the situation. voice raised for the first time since they'd started this carry-on; ]
What the hell has gotten into you?
[ he demands scathingly, emerald eyes flashing as he stares kaveh down - searching, for answers that he was obviously not going to get. almost as quickly as he'd grabbed the blonde's slender shoulders, he lets them go like kaveh is white hot. maybe he remembers the more rational part of himself; that they're in public. maybe he just realises that perhaps, this is all a foregone conclusion anyway.
taking a step back, it's alhaitham's turn to curl his hands into fists, obviously trying to quell some of the rage bubbling up within. he couldn't let himself get sucked into this vortex - and there was obviously no point in being part of kaveh's tempest anyway. turning on his heel, he looks over his shoulder back towards kaveh - but down at the ground, not directly at him. ]
You won't have to worry about my 'help' at all in the future. How stupid I was, not to see that you were doing perfectly without it.
[ There's something unsettling about the look that crosses so briefly over Alhaitham's face as he lifts a hand to his mouth, a wild expression so different from the usual calm, stoic countenance he wears. For a single moment, the architect's lips part as if to offer an apology, but the words don't come; even if they did they'd be lost anyway in the way that the other charges forward and grabs him, all cold fury and digging fingers.
The anger and hurt is still bubbling and churning in his own gut, shining in the tears at the corners of his eyes, but something in that furious look staggers him into a shame that prevents him from acting further, even as Alhaitham drops his grip again and steps away.
What the hell has gotten into him, is the question on the scribe's lips... and the truth is: a lot. So much, in fact, that even lips loose from too much alcohol won't spill a word of it. So much that he would rather punch his way out of a situation than talk about it, lest his pride be left shattered.
Never mind that his pride is already in pieces at his feet.
...He's well and truly fucked things up this time, hasn't he?
For several long moments, all Kaveh can do is stand there as the scribe strides away, watching the broad shoulders of his departing figure in a silence that rings loud in his ears. And it feels like hours before he pulls himself away, slinking in the opposite direction in the search of something strong with which to drown this newest sorrow that he's just created for himself. ]
no subject
what he hadn't expected had been the blonde to actually throw a jab straight at his face, and to that end, he was actually quite unprepared.
they'd fought fraught and often, but had never come to the point of exchanging blows past angry words yelled down the corridors of a house that felt empty if either of them were missing from it. as the pain blossoms in the scribe's jaw, he's dimly aware he'd done at least something to deserve it - but that more rational part is drowned out for want of wounded pride, frustration, annoyance, why can't kaveh just pull his fucking head out and let him in.
taking a staggered step backwards (because kaveh wasn't weak by any means - he was all lithe, wiry muscle, a glass cannon in a beautiful vessel) a gloved hand reaches up to clutch his mouth where he'd been struck, the flash of something wild crossing his face for the briefest of moments. it was rare, so rare to see the scribe's resolve slip, but kaveh was the only one that could irk him so, worm his way into his goddamn brain and live there just as lackadaisical on the rent as he did in his real home.
without thinking, alhaitham closes the distance between them again with one furious stride and grabs kaveh by the shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt. part of him wants to simply throw the architect into the bush; kick him out, for good this time; perhaps, spend a great deal of time elucidating to him his many, many flaws; but despite the pain in his jaw, he can't bring himself to do any of those things.
the tears in kaveh's eyes act like his kryptonite - and while he's not going to turn this into a brawl, it only builds on his immense frustration at the situation. voice raised for the first time since they'd started this carry-on; ]
What the hell has gotten into you?
[ he demands scathingly, emerald eyes flashing as he stares kaveh down - searching, for answers that he was obviously not going to get. almost as quickly as he'd grabbed the blonde's slender shoulders, he lets them go like kaveh is white hot. maybe he remembers the more rational part of himself; that they're in public. maybe he just realises that perhaps, this is all a foregone conclusion anyway.
taking a step back, it's alhaitham's turn to curl his hands into fists, obviously trying to quell some of the rage bubbling up within. he couldn't let himself get sucked into this vortex - and there was obviously no point in being part of kaveh's tempest anyway. turning on his heel, he looks over his shoulder back towards kaveh - but down at the ground, not directly at him. ]
You won't have to worry about my 'help' at all in the future. How stupid I was, not to see that you were doing perfectly without it.
no subject
The anger and hurt is still bubbling and churning in his own gut, shining in the tears at the corners of his eyes, but something in that furious look staggers him into a shame that prevents him from acting further, even as Alhaitham drops his grip again and steps away.
What the hell has gotten into him, is the question on the scribe's lips... and the truth is: a lot. So much, in fact, that even lips loose from too much alcohol won't spill a word of it. So much that he would rather punch his way out of a situation than talk about it, lest his pride be left shattered.
Never mind that his pride is already in pieces at his feet.
...He's well and truly fucked things up this time, hasn't he?
For several long moments, all Kaveh can do is stand there as the scribe strides away, watching the broad shoulders of his departing figure in a silence that rings loud in his ears. And it feels like hours before he pulls himself away, slinking in the opposite direction in the search of something strong with which to drown this newest sorrow that he's just created for himself. ]