Work Text:
The moon illuminated the room faintly and left light shadow silhouettes on the only person in the bedroom. It carefully shaped the rest of the objects - the crumpled curtains that hung in the wind as the whirlwind blew through the open window, the desk and sofa, which also left their small shadows, leaving dark spots in the already dark room. The daffodills that stood on the window sill also swayed to the rhythm of the wind and tried to remind the owner of their presence by ringing, but their efforts were in vain, for the architect was completely absorbed in himself.
Kaveh, sitting in the middle of the room in his so-called "creative mess," was hunched again over another drawing for some rich guy from Fontaine.
He sat in this posture for half the day - in the morning he was not yet sober, and at lunchtime he was again completely absorbed in Al-Haitham's company. But even in the evening he couldn't concentrate on the order - being alone he was completely absorbed in his thoughts, which, unfortunately, had not been positive lately.
Thinking about his own failures and misfortunes has never been rare for the architect, but on the contrary - something like a habit. And he couldn't say that his constant negative thinking didn't affect his self-esteem and well-being. Such thoughts, on the contrary, pushed him back to his old childhood habit, when the young genius often in a fit of emotion bit himself, or unintentionally spent sharp objects on his thin fingers, because of which he almost always wore patches.
In adulthood, the bites didn't go away, but on the contrary, they grew from childish attempts to find solace to a form of "cannibalism". Kaveh would often accidentally bite or bruise a piece of flesh. It could be a lip or cheek, sometimes even a hand or finger. But he did not pay much attention to it until one day he began to do it deliberately, as a way of relieving himself of sharp emotions, thus stopping himself from so often taking it out on Al-Haitham, who was dear to him.
And it wasn't helpful; on the contrary, it didn't seem to help and only made the voice that whispered in Kaveh's ear stronger:
Pitiful
Pitiful
Pitiful
And today was one of those days. There was no reason for it, of course, but Kaveh had forgotten the cause of his condition. Perhaps it had haunted him since his father's death, or perhaps it had been exacerbated after Kaveh's most scandalous quarrel with Al-Haitham. Of course, they were fine now, and to put it bluntly, their relationship was better than ever. But despite all the former scrive's reassuring words that it wasn't Kaveh's fault, and despite all the kisses and hugs he'd given him during his countless sleepless nights, he couldn't shake the guilt and shame of his past self. And on top of that he was burdened with obligations to himself and to the customer.
No matter how much the architect wanted to, it was hard to get through even a blueprint in his current state, and it pissed him off. It couldn't be that Kaveh, who was living his life, couldn't even begin to start sketching? As it was, Kaveh hadn't been capable of doing anything these past few days, only sleeping and drinking. Was he really that useless?
The blond raised his hand, rolled up his sleeve, and ran his fingernail sharply across the back of his palm, leaving a small arc-shaped indentation as well as a small trail of blood. Then he swiped again, and again, and again....
Finished with the scars on his fingers, Kaveh opened his mouth, setting his teeth between his thumb and index finger..
One
Two...
There was a knock at the door, one or two, and his only neighbour stepped inside.
- Kaveh, are you coming to bed tonight? Or are you going to stay up all night working on your project again?
Alhaitham leaned against the doorway and glared at Kaveh with a look that seemed to save him from inflicting another injury.
- Huh? What time is it?
Kaveh turned, quickly getting out of his thoughts, and looked at Haitham with a perplexed look.
- It's around twelve. - Alhaitham glanced at the wall clock. - 23:55, to be exact.
- Already? Kaveh glanced at the clock to see for himself that it was indeed 12. It wasn't hard to believe that the architect had spent six hours working to get to where he'd started, but it was a little disappointing.
He carefully stood up and walked toward Haitham, kissed him on the cheek, took his hand and led him behind him.
He didn't resist. Alhaitham had gotten used to Kaveh's tenderness and tactility during their time together, but he could not get used to his unexpected kisses after they had officially become a couple. So every time he felt the touch of someone else's peachy lips on his skin, he began to blush and go crazy.
Kaveh was amused. He liked to kiss the scribe's face, so he often used his advantage to confuse Haitham. He did the same thing this time. Kaveh realized that his partner would be more worried if he knew that Kaveh hadn't been working hard, but rather taking himself apart, bone by bone, nerve by nerve, so he quickly grabbed him and led them to the bedroom.
- You were right after all, working after a hangover was a bad idea.
- Was it? And a couple hours ago, someone was trying very hard to prove me wrong.
- Don't use my words against me! You know I don't remember half of what you told me.
- Of course you don't, Kavi. That's why I have to remind you.
Alhaitham grinned, followed by Kaveh.
Still, the architect really needed Alhaitham. Despite his "flattering" comments and their frequent quarrels, no one could distract Kaveh from his thoughts better than Haitham.
When the two boys had settled down, the scribe gently hugged Kaveh, and then, without further ado, kissed him on the top of his head and drifted off to sleep. Kaveh wanted to follow him, but couldn't. Thoughts of an unfinished or even uncompleted project were eating away at the architect, and Kaveh's fragile self-esteem was adding fuel to the fire. The useless, untalented architect was unable to shut up the active argument in his head, so he put his hand to his mouth.
Crackle
Under the sharp sound of flesh making contact with teeth, blood spurted out. The skin seemed to be completely bitten through, but it was only afterward that Kaveh seemed to be able to return from the terrible flood of thoughts back to the real world. Only reality didn't greet him with a smile on his face, but instead with annoyance and disappointment. His entire arm was covered in blood in a matter of seconds. Once again, in his own. The pain was surprisingly intense, Kaveh hadn't expected to be able to hurt himself so badly after all these years. Usually it wasn't big cuts, bites, minor stuff. Yes, sometimes they left small scars, yes, sometimes the pain he inflicted was unbearable, but the trauma he left himself now was nothing like any he had left himself in the past.
So Kaveh groaned. Quietly, through gritted teeth. The architect himself couldn't hear the whispered "fuck", so, clutching his injured arm with his palm (seemingly in the hope of stopping the blood), he carefully got out of bed so as not to wake his neighbor, and went to get the first aid kit, which, in fact, might not be there.
The architect frantically tried to bandage his arm, but in vain. The bandages tangled as he tried to apply the cloth with one hand. What to speak of treating the wound.
Except that fortunately or unfortunately for Kaveh, his neighbor is a very sensitive sleeper. So not even 3 minutes into his attempts, Kaveh met a sleepy Haitham in the kitchen hallway, who was looking at the blond who's pathetically tried to stop the blood.
- Kaveh, what's going on?
And continues to stare pitifully at the guy in front of him. Kaveh was pissed off, he wanted to snap at him, to make some stupid joke. But there was no strength, and in addition his hand was still bleeding. So the only thing the architect could do was to look at Alhaitham with glassy eyes and wait for help.
Alhaitham approached from the side, gently took the lad's hand in his palm, examined it. Then he looked at Kaveh's face, which showed only weariness and hopelessness.
Haitham, on the other hand, looked at the architect with sadness, fear, and anxiety. He was used to being there for Kaveh when he needed to be, but it was painful to look at such an intimidated and seemingly broken partner, and frankly, the scribe was ready to cry at the sight.
But neither of them said a word in response to the stares, so taking out the alcohol, he continued.
- It will hurt a little now. Tell me if you can't stand it.
And he put a cotton disk on his arm.
The pain seemed to be strong enough to help Kaveh sober up, so he hissed through his teeth and clutched at the sleeve of Haitham's shirt.
- It hurts...
Haitham did not answer, he only began to treat the wound more carefully, repeatedly running alcohol over the wound, and then blowing, hoping that it would help.
Having bandaged the wound, Kaveh stopped looking in Haitham's direction. He turned away, not wanting to meet the one with whom he had to share his emotional pain. And Alhaitham did not insist. Perhaps his emotional intelligence was really not high, but thanks to a couple of years of living together with Kaveh, he began to understand him better than himself. Therefore, he left all sorts of questions for the morning, and now, he only hugged Kaveh, giving him the opportunity to give free rein to at least part of what he kept deep inside.
And the architect gave in, his chest burned with hatred and pain, and tears flowed from his eyes, warm, salty drops that stained the sage's white T-shirt, painting it a grayish color. He cried, or even sobbed into Haitham's shoulder, and Haitham only stroked his shoulder and kissed his temple tenderly in response.
- I'm so tired. - Kaveh tried to say through sobs, but it was hard to utter a word when his entire throat was pricking with sharp needles.
- I know, Kavi. - Alhaitham tried to do everything he could. He tried to use everything he knew, to remember all the methods that helped Kaveh calm down.
- Haitham, I'm hopeless. I live because of architecture, but I can't even do a stroke with the first serious customer. - Kaveh backed away. He hid his face in his hands, trying to wipe away the tears that never stopped flowing from his eyes. - It's too hard.
Alhaitham looked at the blond, then came a little closer, and kissed his temple, and then left a kiss next to his eye.
- Kaveh, you need to rest. You haven't slept for three nights straight, and you've been living on nothing but coffee and wine. The work won't come out if you can't function.
Alhaitham held Kaveh's hand, and then felt it suddenly yanked out of his grip.
- Rest? Haitham, are you serious? How can I rest if the work isn't ready? I can't afford another "vacation", I haven't even finished this project! If I don't finish it, that means I'm worthless. I can't do that.
- Then of course, you can try to start work over and over again and get the same result until your body stops supporting your life.
Kaveh wanted to snap back, to add another flattering comment to Haitham's remark, but he couldn't. Nothing came to mind, his neighbor was right again, and this made Kaveh even more angry and upset.
When the architect said nothing in response, Alhaitham softened and continued, wiping tears from the blond's eyes as he did so.
- Kavi, I admire your efforts and work, but sometimes even geniuses need a rest. You won't be able to continue if you constantly punish yourself for every failure.
Kaveh looked back at Alhaitham and took his neighbor's hand in his own, gently stroking his knuckles with his thumb.
- You're right, again. Sorry, I didn't mean to get angry.
The architect still didn't take his eyes off his partner's hand, trying with all his might to avoid eye contact.
- Kaveh, look at me.
Alhaitham looked at the blond, who carefully raised his head, looking straight at Haitham with red eyes and remained silent.
- Tomorrow, you'll give yourself a rest, eat normally, and then return to work, okay?
- Okay, yes. I'll try.
And after that, he looked away when Alhaitham pulled Kaveh towards the bedroom.
While both boys were lying down on the bed again, Kaveh seemed to remember why he took up architecture in the first place.
He loved the subtlety of this art, the symmetry, the approach. Perhaps architecture became a way out for Kaveh when his father died, while he was plaintively trying to repeat his mother's masterpieces and bring her to her senses.
Art was rooted in him, and his talent could not be lost, he understood this better than anything, and from such thoughts his soul became a little lighter.
Nuzzling his nose into Haitham's neck, under the scribe's caresses, he fell asleep, hoping that he would keep the promise he had given, for the most part, to himself that night. He would not allow himself to be punished anymore.