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Kaveh has gotten used to empty anger rattling in his chest, strangling unfairness burning his throat and guilt pulling all his pride down to the ground. Weightless words and shallow defenses. Worn out paint.
It's more of a quiet sadness these days.
Bitter on the corners of his eyes, it stings just as painfully when a smile leaves Nilou's face after a long, long night.
He learnt to cry quietly and breathe tears out in relief with Nilou's hands in his hair, letting his tired eyes release the grip on the sorrow that was collecting dust here for years. Some days she joined him, brushing the same old grief of her own away. Others she would just keep him silent company and a solid shoulder. He appreciated both endlessly.
She's a special case in his books. Never picking a fight but coming out a winner after each one. Never carrying anger in the corner of her eyes or the proof of superiority on her tongue. Only a fierce gentleness in her painfully understanding look that never failed to tie the knots in his stomach so hard he could feel them in his throat.
There are things stored on top of her shoulders that Kaveh knows he can never realize. He doesn't try to act like he will in front of her or himself. Their artistry is a blessing found in dance with beauty, passion and wisdom, but it will never bridge the gaps that were never meant to be stitched by love.
Kaveh has learnt to be fine with that.
His fists are too weak to hold onto the bitterness. Maybe because he's growing old and soft. Or maybe Nilou didn't shift her eyes and he felt a little too understood to put up a usual fight.
Not that he doesn't know there's not a bone in his body able to hold any of his bottled up anger against her — it might just be impossible. Nilou dissolves the haze of empty offense and deconstructs his very palace of mind brick by brick. He can't pretend to put up a defense when she's already inside, hands warm and trusting on his beating heart.
She has a way of keeping it safe.
It scared him to death, at first.
Finding purpose without soaking in grief and rolling yourself on its canvas was never an option to him. Despite everything, he used his own blood for paint and bones for brushes. Art is inseparable from suffering. And that's the power held inside its bleeding, beating heart.
Nilou teaches him to bathe in joy and celebration of life. That costume feels too tight on his shoulders, a completely different size he's not quite grown into. Maybe one day he will find the right one.
He likes seeing her happy. He hates seeing her sad, but he still doesn't close his eyes when hers come to be filled with tears — he reaches out to wipe them until there's nothing left to cry for. That's what she would do for him. That's what she chooses to do, still. Despite all.
With her hand in his, warm and perfectly right inside his, he comes to think again. Maybe the door was there all along. Nilou just found the right key that fits right in with their home.
As long as they can keep dancing, Kaveh might be just fine with the steps.