Work Text:
the rain that beats itself against the paned glass also serves to obscure the hammering of kaveh’s latest midnight project, but haitham’s senses refuses to calm down. somewhere in the house a window is open; the wind rushing tinkles the wind chimes kaveh had hung up last week—delicate constructions of glass and stone and metal—
a distant, musical crash. thunder.
haitham’s grating, low-level frustration turns cold.
by the time he gets up and makes his way to the hall, kaveh is already out. light spills along the floor, more than enough to illuminate the damage done.
“kaveh,” he says. the rain drowns him out, so he flicks on the lamps, lifting a hand to cover his eyes so he can examine the scene without suffering in the sudden glow. his roommate’s hair is falling out of its clips, pulled out in frustration. he’s yet to change into his nightclothes. haitham’s body balks at the thought of staying in his own day wear for that long, even though he’s modified it to be comfortable and sustainable.
kaveh’s head jerked in his direction when the lights came on. he’s never still, this man, hands still moving shakily to gather the pieces. he’s looking somewhere between the shards of stone and metal wire and haitham’s feet. “i’ll clean it up,” he says briskly. it doesn’t conceal the frantic tone underneath. “go back to sleep.”
“i wasn’t sleeping,” haitham says. “or i wouldn’t have woken up.”
“right,” kaveh mutters. “you sleep like the dead, i forgot.”
bullshit. haitham doesn’t say that. he’s been known to exercise some control over his tongue once in a while, usually when he’s too tired to put too many words together and kaveh is clearly too high-strung to be reasoned with at all—though the simultaneous occurrence of those two states is rare and necessary: the latter by itself is an irresistible opportunity to needle kaveh and the former alone drives haitham to avoid all company until he can face people again.
“when’s this draft due?” he asks, lowering his hand.
“two days ago,” kaveh answers, tart. “i had it all down, but then i thought of a new way of doing the supporting pillars—”
another self-made problem. all the funding clearance in the world, were haitham inclined to provide it, will not save kaveh from his tendency to determine that the only viable path goes through a minefield.
frequently, the only thing haitham can do for him is invent kinder obstacles.
“get up,” haitham commands.
“i’m picking these up,” kaveh protests.
haitham crosses the room and prods kaveh gently with one foot. “and putting them in what dustpan? go fetch one.”
“do you have to be so high-handed? fetch it yourself!”
haitham puts his foot down innocently. “ouch,” bad idea. “ow, fuck, archons—”
“did you step on the glass?” kaveh’s ire turns to concern so laughably fast. “oh, no. why do you have to be so careless? i was handling it just fine. i’ll get the first aid kit, just a second—sit down, alright, don’t put any weight on it.”
“get a dustpan,” haitham calls after him.
he sits down on the couch. his foot is bleeding, though not severely. he’d picked one of the smaller pieces on purpose, but this plan had many flaws. it’s the best he can do on short notice. kaveh returns with the dustpan, a broom and a first aid kit, wearing his house slippers and carrying haitham’s. he sets them all down and examines haitham’s foot.
“this is so much blood,” he says worriedly.
it drips onto the carpet. haitham thinks he’ll ask the lady who cleans for them every week to come a couple days early this time. he does not think about his foot. his pain tolerance is excellent, but not when his nerves are already scattered. if he considers the pain for too long, or its consequences, he might start panicking.
kaveh wedges out the piece of glass, dropping it onto the dustpan. he applies the salve so gently that it hardly tickles, and bandages the foot. haitham swallows down a whimper.
“there’s a bottle of painkiller in my bathroom cabinet,” he says. “will you get it?”
kaveh flutters a little, anxious and unsure, but finally does as asked.
haitham stands up carefully, gingerly. the pain isn’t too bad. maybe he can take tomorrow off, and sleep on it. should be fine in a couple of days. and because the pain isn’t too bad, he picks up the broom and dustpan and swiftly gathers up all the pieces kaveh has formed into a neat little pile, and then the ones that fell out of his reach. those are mostly glass. he’s done by the time kaveh emerges from his room, holding the little bottle and saying, “it was on your desk, not in the bathroom—would it trouble you so much to give precise directions so i don’t waste my time?”
“a minor experiment in your observational skills,” haitham says.
kaveh pauses. “what’s the verdict?”
“inconclusive. help me roll up this carpet, i can’t stand.”
“inc—haitham, did you sweep up?”
“i can’t stand,” haitham lies patiently.
“you—insufferable man—no, don’t get up.”
“wasn’t going to,” haitham draws his legs up to let kaveh fold. his expression seems confused, conflicted. there’s more there that haitham refuses to expend energy decoding. “sit down.”
“no,” kaveh says. “i have to get back to work.”
“you haven’t even started sketching,” haitham responds. “sit.”
in the silence that follows, the rain returns to haitham’s awareness of the world as though it hadn’t left. he’s heard so many people describe the sound as soothing, but to his ears there’s nothing worse than the constant bewildering patter of water against the roof, against tile and glass and stone and leaf. when he was a child he’d hide in the closet when it rained at night. now he’s older, and lies in bed unmoving, thinking of all the days full of lectures and people that have been worse. if he can bear those he can bear this too.
he shouldn’t have to. but the world is neither nice nor fair.
kaveh sits. “what?”
“what about the supporting pillars?”
hesitation. “well, the site is near port ormos, facing the sea. with the wind and the rain, i was thinking about erosion, but i couldn’t figure out a way to have porches on both sides—which the client won’t budge on—and make the structure resistant to water damage, but then i thought of these pillars—angling them to guide the wind through. i just thought, then, what about the walls? can i make the whole building guide a storm through without taking any hits? i was testing out ideas, since there is a storm right now…”
“i see,” haitham says. he knows enough about architecture to follow when he speaks, just as kaveh knows enough about languages to follow haitham’s ramblings. “well, i’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“i don’t need platitudes from you,” kaveh mutters. “i know you don’t mean that.”
“when have i ever doubted your genius?”
“you doubt me all the time.”
“your ideals,” haitham says. “not your intellect. not you.”
he hates how sincere it sounds in the wet night air. he resolved, once, to never explain himself to kaveh. he wouldn’t waste his breath correcting misunderstandings when kaveh’s shaky sense of self was built on the conviction that haitham’s condescension was a result of derision. kaveh’s towering delusions threaten to bury them constantly, but they are both proud men. too proud to admit fault, or ask for clemencies long since granted and abused.
“haitham,” kaveh says softly. “why did you sweep up?”
“because you were being stupid,” haitham says sulkily. hates explaining himself to kaveh, who should get it—he’s as clever as haitham is. “picking up pieces with your bare hands—what would you do if you hurt yourself? would your client understand?”
kaveh doesn’t respond. haitham doesn’t look at him.
“anyway, you never listen to anything i say,” he finishes.
“because you only choose the most hurtful ways of conveying meaning.”
“a sharp knife is more likely to find its target.”
“and cut through everything in its way.”
“collateral damage.”
“people, haitham.”
haitham sticks his foot out. “what is this, then?”
kaveh’s breath hitches.
thick grey predawn light soaks through the open window. the shadows where it meets the lamp’s yellow are darker than either could make alone. haitham gets up and limps in the direction of his bedroom, saying, “let me know when you figure it out.”