Chapter Text
“Owch, Haitham that burns-”
“Quit crying, it’s not my fault you decided an open-back shirt was the pinnacle of fashion,” Haitham grumbled as Kaveh bopped his head with the edge of his hand, stopping him from applying the astringent to the scratches and bruises that littered his back.
“Kaveh, I am holding a bottle of pure rubbing alcohol in my hands and I have the level of dignity to pour it down your back if you so hit me again,” Haitham warned as he grabbed the tweezers again, picking out gravel from pale, bruised skin and wiping away blood with a damp rag.
Kaveh sighed, hunching his shoulders down in a way that told Haitham he was going into one of his episodes again. Kaveh was the Light of Kashawar, the Lamp that everyone flocked to like moths to a flame. Haitham, against all convictions and odds, was just one of many moths. Only he was allowed to hold the fire that was Kaveh so close though. Only he could see the Light of Kashawar so broken and beaten, only he was privy to such vulnerability. Any other moths, they left once the candle melted too small, going off to search for a new flame to die upon. Only a moth who could appreciate the candle that had been, only the moth who truly loved his flame despite how small it had grown stayed.
“You don’t have to do this,” Kaveh muttered, voice rasping. Haitham shrugged, applying a bandage to a cut that stubbornly refused to stop bleeding.
“No one ordered me to do this, so I must be doing this of my own accord. Now hold still, I have to clean this cut. Otherwise, it’ll get infected and we’ll have to amputate,” Haitham ordered. Kaveh huffed a laugh. It was small, and dull compared to the lovely chimes of his true laughter, but Haitham would take what he could get when Kaveh was in his moods.
“It’s a good thing you did, giving the money to the poor. Dehya told me they’re using it to construct a new orphanage and to fix up a new wing of the Birmaristan for expectant mothers at risk for complications. The money is doing good , Kaveh. You should be proud,” Haitham told him tepidly. Kaveh would either start crying, claiming he did not deserve the praise, or get angry, saying that he was lying by praising him because what had Kaveh done to deserve praise?
“That’s nice,” Kaveh muttered, not moving even as Haitham pinched his shoulder to try and gauge a reaction.
“I just told you the money you donated is being used for orphans and mothers, the two types of people you’re most passionate about, and all you can say is ‘that’s nice’? Gods, Kaveh, I’m not a mind reader. You have to tell me what’s going on up here, I can’t walk in blind,” Haitham sighed.
“You don’t have to care about me, you don’t have to love me. It’s rotten work, it’s a chore no one needs,” Kaveh whispered, blinking rapidly to fight tears.
“Well jokes on you, then, because it’s a chore I’ll gladly take. I don’t care how much it sucks, or what you spit at me to try and make me leave. I’m not going anywhere,” Haitham growled, sharply tugging the wrapping he had down around Kaveh’s scraped arm. Why didn’t he get it ? As intelligent as Kaveh was, he surely wasn’t stupid . If Haitham truly thought he was a chore, a waste of time, he would’ve been gone months- years - ago. He wouldn’t have brought him into his home, he wouldn’t have shown him any kindness if he thought he wasn’t worth his efforts. Who in the world had told Kaveh that he was a waste of time, worthless unless his heart laid bleeding upon the pavement, trod over by all who came in contact with him? It hadn’t been any of their friends, it hadn’t been his parents or Haitham himself. So that left Kaveh himself, and Haitham surely couldn’t fight Kaveh about being cruel to Kaveh.
“Why do you even care about me?” Kaveh spat, lacking the fire and spite he usually put in his words. Now, it just sounded hollow. As if he was asking himself, and Haitham knew he didn’t have an answer to that. Kaveh didn’t care about Kaveh, so he had to be asking Haitham.
“Because you don’t care about yourself, and if it takes me loving you to the end of this archon-forsaken world for you to see that you are worthy of love and care, then I’ll do it. You’re unhappy, and I don’t want to be the cause of your unhappiness,” Haitham muttered.
“I feel happy, it just doesn’t stay,” Kaveh cried, and he truly was crying now, fat tears running down his cheeks as Haitham continued to gently clean his wounds. “What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t it stay?”
“It’ll be okay, Kaveh.”
“No, it won’t, it’s never okay. I’m broken , Haitham.”
“Then we’ll fix you,” Haitham pressed his lips to the divet of Kaveh’s shoulder blades, the slope of bone and muscle like two bird wings upon his back, littered with cuts and purple bruises like the spilling of wine. “We’ll work, and talk, and medicine until you’re repaired again, and then maybe the happiness will stay.”
“What if the medicines don’t work? What if I feel worse?” Kaveh asked, so scared and small that Haitham felt he had to hide him from the world. Because how dare the world lay eyes upon someone so beautiful, and seek to destroy him?
“Then we’ll try again until it does work. Okay, habibi? ”
“Okay.”