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It had been a almost two weeks since Alhaitham found Kaveh's note. Kaveh was still here, much to his dismay, but deep down he was glad. Glad Alhaitham had stopped him, kept him here for longer. But at this moment, he was sure he wasn't. He was standing at his desk, papers sprawled out in every direction, some fluttering to the floor. Designs upon designs, crumpled and discarded somewhere haphazardly. He ran a frustrated hand over his face, feeling a lump form in his throat.
What was he doing wrong? Why was this so damn hard? He had made hundreds of designs before, ranging from large to small, and this one, this infernal project, had completely stumped him. He was bitter and irritated, and had been so the past few days, often snapping at Alhaitham over the smallest things. Alhaitham never snapped back. Instead he just let the man take out his anger on him, watching in silence as he would huff away, slamming the door behind him.
They hadn't fought---of course, not counting the one-sided arguments Kaveh had with Alhaitham---since the incident. Alhaitham made sure to bite his tongue till it bled when Kaveh snapped at him. He knew the architect was struggling, and Alhaitham had no idea how to actually help, how to comfort, how to fully understand, so he sat in silence and gave Kaveh space. He felt that was the best choice for him. But, Kaveh would disagree. He thought Alhaitham was being cold again. After everything that had happened, he felt like he was being ignored.
Kaveh wanted Alhaitham to talk to him, offer words of encouragement, to show that emotion, that genuine care he did a few weeks ago, but it seemed that vulnerability was fleeting. That it would never return. Unbelievably frustrating. Everything was infuriating. Kaveh had been mostly okay for the past two weeks. Mostly. He hadn't cut, he hadn't gotten drunk to bury his feelings. He had been okay for once. Of course he was still sad, he still struggled to fall asleep at night, drowning in his thoughts, but he felt somewhat better.
That seemed to be short lived. Currently, there was a persistent urge to relapse, and he was desperately fighting it. It seemed the urge was winning, however, as his pent up anger and frustration was reaching a boiling point and he didn't know how to cope with it. He felt the dull ache on his thighs from the cuts that were still healing, scarring over. He ran his hand over the tops of his thighs, the pant fabric against the healing wounds. He felt the friction of the cloth rub against the scabs, some of them a little raw, but that slight sting satiated him momentarily.
He sighed, trying to shove the thoughts out of his head. He didn't need this right now. He didn't want it. What would Alhaitham think of him if he found out he relapsed? That he was weak, that he wasn't trying? That wasn't true. He was trying, so, so hard. Harder than he had ever tried for anything and he was failing. It was utterly pathetic. It was embarrassing.
These spiralling thoughts didn't help anything, as it only made the dull ache worse. Like a itch he needed to scratch. Cutting, for Kaveh, felt like a hit of a drug. It immediately silenced his thoughts while his brain was occupied with the pain on his thighs. He loved that blissful silence, he felt like he could finally take a breath. Kaveh didn't realize he was crying, his eyes glassing over as his vision blurred, frustrated tears spilling. Kaveh wiped at his face furiously.
"To hell with it!" Kaveh gritted out, his voice cracking. His hands searched the desk for that knife he used to cut paper, finding it under a pile of discarded designs. He snatched it, thumbing the blade. His heart was racing and his hands were shaking. He felt nauseous. In a spur of the moment, his rolled up his sleeves, looking at the near faded scars there. He hadn't cut on his arms for years as it was harder to hide, but this was the easiest purchase of skin at the moment.
He stared at the knife, frozen. Do it, his mind whispered venomously at him. He slowly pressed the knife to his skin, adrenaline coursing through his veins. In one swift movement, he dragged the knife across his skin, cutting through his flesh easily. Crimson beaded and spilled, dripping on his papers. He cursed under his breath, the sting satisfying that accursed urge for a moment, before it came back tripled. Kaveh slashed again. And again. And again.
He didn't realize he was sobbing, choked sounds spilling from his lips, his shoulders shaking as his breath heaved. His arm burned with vigor, but the last thing Kaveh could feel was the pain. Blood collected on his white sleeves, dripped down to the desk beneath him, on the papers, he didn't care. He couldn't care. He relished in the relief it brought him as he admired his work. Kaveh liked the way his scars and cuts looked. It made him look as sick as he felt. Made him feel validated for once.
It showed that this wasn't just all in his head, that this was real, that no one could downplay it, and it made him feel comforted. He watched as the blood trailed down his arm, warm. Then the guilt set in, closely followed by the panic. What have I done? He thought as he snapped back into reality. He quickly scampered for a rag somewhere on his desk. It had ink on it, but he couldn't care at the moment. He pressed the rag to his arm, hissing at the sharp pain that laced up his arm. He was still crying. Still so pathetic.
He was beginning to panic, feeling the chill of fear take root in his stomach. How was he going to hide this, and damnit, he got it on his shirt. He muttered strings of curses under his breath, his eyes wide, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding as fast as possible. How could he be so stupid? The realization of the consequences of his actions started to set in, and it made him feel ill. He set down the rag on his desk, and tugged his sleeve down. It was late at night, and in the dark he rushed to the bathroom, planning to wash off the blood and try to scrub at his shirt.
Alhaitham was still awake. He was worried as he read his book. He had been worried for weeks, months even. He knew way before Kaveh left that note, that Kaveh wasn't in the best place. Ever since the Akademiya, Alhaitham knew that, and he cursed himself for not knowing how to help. He tried to distract himself from his thoughts by reading a book, but so far that was proving unsuccessful. Books were a source of comfort, something that had rhyme and reason that he could understand, but for once in his life he found himself rereading sentences, unable to understand them.
Then he heard a door click open and slam. Kaveh. He sounded angry, as he had been for days. Archons, Alhaitham wished he had the resources to help him. He hated seeing him suffering more than anything. Despised it. Alhaitham, unbeknownst to his own feelings, didn't know why he felt this way. He just knew that he did, and that he didn't know what to do. He sighed heavily, placing his book down on his bed, and decided to at least check up on him. He couldn't just do nothing.
He checked Kaveh's room, cracking open the door to see what exactly was keeping Kaveh up so late. The room was dimly lit by a lamp on the desk, the warm glow cascading. Walking over his desk, he took in the state of it. Crumpled designs, spilled ink, and a bloodied rag and knife. His stomach dropped to his feet in a sudden rush of panic. Had Kaveh attempted again? Was it because he was frustrated that he couldn't work out this project? He quickly rushed out of the room, about to yell for Kaveh. He was afraid he wouldn't get an answer, that silence would be the only reply.
But before he did, the bathroom door opened, and out emerged Kaveh, his shirt in his hands. His shirt was wet and dripping onto the floor and Alhaitham could see light pink stains in certain areas. Alhaitham was flood relief, a breath escaping him, assuming Kaveh might have just spilled red ink on himself and the desk, and had tried to clean it up---but that was wishful thinking, and Alhaitham knew that. His relief was short-lived when his eyes scanned over Kaveh, taking in the state of him. There were bandages wrapping his arm, blood seeping through and staining the cloth. Kaveh was frozen, unable to move.
He was like a child who had been caught doing something he knew he wasn't supposed to. Guilt, shame, embarrassment. They all flooded him as he stood there, panicking. He opened his mouth, the voice coming out of it sounding foreign.
"Alhaitham- I- I just- Well-" he stuttered, before cursing, anger suddenly searing through him. "Just move, get out of my way!" He shouted, shoving past Alhaitham. Kaveh immediately felt bad, worsening his guilt. He didn't know why he had to react like that, why he was so angry. There was no reason to harbor such animosity, and most of all, to have it so undirected that it affected everyone he was around, including himself.
Alhaitham spoke, almost sternly. "Kaveh, wait," and despite himself, Kaveh froze, feeling another lump in his throat form. He turned around slowly to face the man, afraid of what might be said, but there was only silence. Alhaitham studied him, his eyes scanning him carefully, and Kaveh could see that same hurricane of emotions in his eyes as he did the day Alhaitham found his suicide note. Kaveh was afraid of those emotions, of what they entailed. Alhaitham took a breath, slightly shaking, just slightly.
"Are you...are you okay?" Alhaitham hesitated, speaking those words. It was an idiotic question. Of course Kaveh wasn't, why did he even ask? Kaveh was silent for a few beats, silent enough that Alhaitham wanted to apologize for asking such an ignorant question.
"No..." a soft voice spoke. Kaveh was a wreck, his eyes threatening to spill yet again. Kaveh hated crying, hated it with every fiber of his being. It was overwhelmingly embarrassing. He sometimes wished he could remain as apathetic appearing as Alhaitham on some days.
"Do you want to talk?"
Kaveh shook his head.
"Do you want me to just sit with you?" Alhaitham asked carefully, almost disbelieving of the words coming out of his mouth. Sit with him? That was stupid, how could that possibly even help? He felt anger at himself for not knowing what to do.
"Yes..."
Alhaitham looked up at him, surprised. He had certainly not expected that in the least, yet he would follow it through. He led Kaveh back to his bedroom, taking the dripping shirt from him---hanging it up the chair to dry---and made sure Kaveh was in bed. He sat next to him, and Kaveh just basked in his presence. The simple fact of knowing he had someone with him, comforted him to the point he began to drift into sleep. He hadn't expected Alhaitham to offer to stay with him, and more so expected him to yell at him, argue with him, berate him for hurting himself. Yet...he didn't. He allowed himself to sleep, knowing someone was really there for him.
Whether Alhaitham could express it properly or not, Kaveh realized he was painstakingly trying, and that was enough to know. That Alhaitham cared.
Yes, perhaps it was a burden still carried, but now Kaveh knew, that it was a burden shared.