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Since he was young, Kaveh has known he was a monster.
As is the case with most monsters, it is easy enough to hide. As his mother had often told him, the worst ones hid in plain sight. Convinced you they were one of you. Until they weren’t.
The monster who killed his father had pretended to be a friend, until he wasn’t.
And now Kaveh is a monster as well, and he has to live with that.
His fingers scratch the side of his neck, the bite long since healed but the scars still itching. His cape is carefully adjusted to cover the traces of abyssal corruption still evident over the old injury. Architecture, his dream, could only pay for so many semi-legally obtained bags of blood from Tighnari, the only one besides – no, Kaveh shouldn’t think about him – who found out about his true nature.
Calling it a condition seems too gentle.
It’s starvation and inhuman strength and senses too sharp; it’s bared teeth and jagged claws and hunger, hunger, hunger.
Since the Palace and his debt and his unwillingness to accept charity from Tighnari, Kaveh hasn’t had blood in nearly a month. It’s stretching his tolerance thin, the scent of life in Lambad’s too close and present to ignore.
He’s starving.
Alcohol only does so much to dull the ache of his hunger, but still, Kaveh finds himself with his face on the table on the brink of passing out most nights. He’s just started his second bottle tonight when a familiar voice sounds above him.
“How has realizing your ideals gone for you?”
<><><>
Kaveh forces down the hunger for as long as he can.
He’s being carried somewhere. Hands – warm hands, human hands – support him, setting him down on a divan, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. Words he thinks he said but probably shouldn’t have surface in his memory. A heartbeat, far too loud, echoes in his ears.
Kaveh blinks. Sees Alhaitham, blinks again.
He’s still there. Nearly a decade older, more defined, kneeling in front of him and checking his pulse.
He won’t find any. For a few days after feeding, Kaveh’s skin takes on a healthy glow and a human warmth and if someone were to listen closely (which they wouldn’t, because when has Kaveh let someone get close within the last near-decade?) they would hear a heartbeat, faint as it may be.
But Kaveh’s skin is ice cold, and he has no pulse. His complexion is grey, ashy.
“When was the last time you fed?” Alhaitham asks, voice measured.
Kaveh had told Alhaitham what he was – is – in the Akademiya after his mother left for Fontaine and could no longer supply her cursed monster son with blood bags. (She had left because of him, he knows this, he was only a reminder of what happened to her husband–)
“Why does it matter to you?”
Kaveh’s tone is harsh, edged with something approaching regret that he’d like to pretend is actually bitterness. They hadn’t parted on good terms, so why is he in Alhaitham’s house?
Alhaitham sighs, sitting next to him on the divan. “It was dangerous for you to have been in Lambad’s. If someone had ended up with a cut – say, in a brawl – you likely would have lost control.”
Does Alhaitham really think so little of him? Kaveh’s been pushing down the hunger for years now, he knows how to control the monster inside him.
A sigh as Alhaitham notices the expression on Kaveh’s face. “This isn’t wise. You need–”
“No.”
Back in the Akademiya, Alhaitham had volunteered his own blood for Kaveh’s consumption when he approached the edge of starvation like this. He isn’t going to let the man do it now, not like this.
Kaveh shouldn’t even be here, after the things he said–
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “And what’s going to happen if you don’t? On the way here, you told me what happened. You don’t have the mora to afford blood. Right now–” he pauses, taking a knife from the table, “–this seems to be your best option.”
He shouldn’t be offering. Kaveh is a monster who ruins all he touches, and Alhaitham is the one person who has seen through him.
And somehow, the one person who had stayed.
Until Kaveh ruined that too.
The knife nears the skin of Alhaitham’s arm. Kaveh winces, turns away, eyes shut tight, like that will somehow block the smell of fresh, warm blood–
It’s been years since he’s had warm blood. Cold blood tastes stale, rotten. It keeps him alive, and that’s what matters the most (though maybe he shouldn’t be, after everything he’s ruined just by being there). It doesn’t have to be fresh.
“Don’t,” Kaveh hisses, teeth gritted. “Just – don’t. I’ll have money soon. I’ll be able to afford it.”
Alhaitham hums. Kaveh, through closed eyes, can imagine him raising his eyebrows again, his smug little look of oh, really? that he likes to give Kaveh. “I doubt you’ve developed a taste for stale blood in the years since your graduation. I’m offering right now. If you require it, you can pay me back for it later. Whatever price you pay for stale blood.”
He won’t accept it. He won’t.
“If you do that,” Kaveh hisses, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself like it’s going to protect him from anything– “I’m going to lose control.”
“And if I don’t,” Alhaitham points out. “You’re going to willingly starve yourself. Is that right?”
Kaveh doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want this, he tells himself. He doesn’t.
Oh, but he does, so so bad–
A droplet of blood beads against Alhaitham’s arm under the knife. The smell of iron and life hits Kaveh with a sudden force, saliva welling in his mouth as his fangs extend unconsciously.
He knows how he must look right now. The faint glow that takes over his crimson eyes, the way his fangs and claws show, the half-feral expression written between the lines of his face, the way he looks every bit the monster he is.
But over a decade of practice has made Kaveh good at this.
He is not going to lose control.
The knife only presses deeper, until blood drips down Alhaitham’s arm and his heartbeat is loud in Kaveh’s ears, a near roar.
He has Alhaitham pinned to the divan in a moment, the man looking up at him with something like – fear? – in his eyes. The scent of his blood fills Kaveh’s senses, rich and warm and alive.
The knife clatters to the floor.
“You’re taking from my arm only,” Alhaitham reminds him, surprisingly calm despite the situation. Kaveh could seriously hurt him right now, why is he– “I’m not interested in having to cover up a wound on my neck tomorrow. And let go of me first.”
Slowly, Kaveh backs away, shaking his head in a futile attempt to ignore the hunger. It burns inside him, aches, raw and starving and–
His claws are still digging into Alhaitham’s arm. He releases them, gaze still fixed on the trickle of blood. Alhaitham pushes himself back up, presents his arm to Kaveh. “I’d prefer if you got this over with before you lose control again. I would prefer to not have you starving within my house.”
Kaveh blinks, once, twice, before leaning in, pausing, like a predator hesitating before a kill. His fangs are extended, his claws bared, his senses narrowed.
His teeth sink easily into the soft skin of Alhaitham’s arm, the familiar taste of his blood flooding what remains of Kaveh’s conscious brain.
He drinks and drinks, until the arm is pulled away and a hand is placed over his chest and–
Alhaitham hums. “That’s enough. Your heart is beating again.”
Why’d he stop? Kaveh is still hungry, he’s still aching, he still wants more–
“Not tonight,” Alhaitham says. “Unlike your blood bags, I will suffer consequences if too much of my blood is taken.”
He wants he wants he wants–
“Go to sleep,” Alhaitham says, voice too gentle to be coming from Alhaitham’s sharp mouth, far more gentle than Kaveh deserves. “We will discuss your situation tomorrow.”
<><><>
It’s been a month. Kaveh pays rent, he pays back for the blood he took from Alhaitham that first night. He bickers with the man and demands he rearrange his ugly, tasteless furniture and critiques the lack of flavor he adds to the food he cooks.
While Kaveh is still capable of consuming regular, human food, the taste is dulled, muted. More of the echo of a taste. So Kaveh adds extra flavoring to his meals, until Alhaitham complains and the two of them start to make separate meals.
He has not asked Alhaitham for blood again.
Between his debt to Dori and the rent he owes Alhaitham, combined with the mora he must set aside for groceries and makeup to keep his appearance presentable, Kaveh has only had the spare mora for a single bag of blood from Tighnari.
Alhaitham has begun to notice, to pester him about it. To remind Kaveh of his former offer.
Kaveh does not take it. He will not take it.
What if he hurts Alhaitham? Out loud, he would sarcastically proclaim that the infuriating man deserved it, but the truth is, he doesn’t.
<><><>
It takes another week for Kaveh to get desperate enough.
This time, he is fully and painfully sober, enough to feel every ache and pain in his body. He sits hunched over a blueprint he’s been too distracted to complete, teeth grinding away at nothing.
Footsteps pad softly up to him. A similarly soft voice speaks.
“You’re doing this to yourself, Kaveh.”
Weary, gentle, bitter. Like Kaveh’s refusal to take care of his own monstrous needs is somehow a burden on Alhaitham, and honestly, it probably is. Because that’s all Kaveh can be these days, isn’t it?
A burden.
“Trying to squeeze some extra mora out of me?” Kaveh asks. “The rent I pay isn’t enough for you?”
Alhaitham sighs, exasperated. “Is that all you think I want?” he asks.
“Yes!” Kaveh exclaims. “Since the moment I’ve gotten here, you’ve been attempting to bleed me dry!”
“Funny, that,” Alhaitham says. “I seem to recall you being the one attempting to bleed me dry.”
Kaveh hisses. “That isn’t funny, Alhaitham. Don’t make those jokes when I’m starving.”
An arm, placed on the table over Kaveh’s blueprints. The sleeve already rolled down, the old bite mark having only left a faint scar. An offering.
He can almost hear Alhaitham rolling his eyes as the man speaks. “If you stop being so loud with your projects late at night, I won’t ask for any mora this time. Being able to remove my headphones to sleep will be rewarding enough.”
He’s offering an easy way out. So why does Kaveh feel so bad taking it?
<><><>
He takes it anyway, of course, relishing the sweetness of his roommate’s blood far, far more than he should have. And again, a month later, when Alhaitham finds him sitting on the tiled floor of the bathroom, already half a monster.
It’s hard for Kaveh to adjust to this. Alhaitham, offering his arm to Kaveh, the two sitting on the floor so as not to get blood on Kaveh’s blueprints or bedsheets. All in return for simple, stupid things – a promise to do the dishes for the next few days, to stop working on his noisy projects so late, to stay away from Lambad’s for a week.
Kaveh continues to pay rent, to sleep in Alhaitham’s spare room. They bicker. They fight. Months pass. Alhaitham apparently takes part in some sort of coup while Kaveh is in the desert. He returns to find his roommate appointed as the Grand Sage – Acting Grand Sage, as Alhaitham is very insistent upon not keeping this job – of Sumeru.
When Kaveh returns, the first thing he does is fight with Alhaitham, and the second thing he does is drink his blood.
“You’ll be less frustrating of a roommate if you aren’t hungry,” Alhaitham says, holding his arm out like an offering.
And Kaveh takes it, because what else can he do?
Alhaitham shouldn’t be offering so soon after a fight, not even with how bad Kaveh looked upon returning from the desert. Skin ashy, face gaunt, pulse near-absent. He shouldn’t be putting an arm around Kaveh to steady him as he drinks, shouldn’t be speaking so gently.
Kaveh shouldn’t be here at all.
He has a monster, and Alhaitham seems to have forgotten it entirely.
<><><>
The first time Kaveh loses control, he assumes Alhaitham will kick him out.
It happens like this: Kaveh, pushing himself to the brink of starvation, claws gripping the sink, staring into the face of the monster he’s become. That he is. Kaveh, putting on makeup to hide the sallowness of his skin and forcing a smile even though he’s cancelled the two client meetings he was supposed to have that day, picking Alhaitham’s books off the tables and floors because seriously, can’t the man clean up after himself?
Kaveh, ignoring the hunger, shoving it down, because he and Alhaitham have been fighting lately and Kaveh’s work hasn’t been good enough lately and he doesn’t deserve Alhaitham’s charity, because that’s all it is, really.
Alhaitham, coming home injured after a fight with an assassin paid to bother him by some Akademiya researcher who was pissed that Alhaitham had rejected their research proposal.
The smell of blood, overwhelming Kaveh’s starving senses.
He’s on Alhaitham as soon as the door closes, pinning him to the ground, teeth bared in a snarl. He sees his own crimson eyes reflected in Alhaitham’s the predatory, hungry glint to them. His claws dig into Alhaitham’s injuries, tearing through the bandages. He sees the man wince.
It does not matter, because Kaveh wants. He is hungry, he is starving.
Alhaitham is struggling, and he’s a strong man, but he’s no match for a monster. Kaveh’s teeth hover over the injury on his shoulder, dip into the pool of blood forming there.
And then he remembers it’s Alhaitham, his roommate, his maybe friend maybe something else, and Kaveh forces himself away, wiping the blood off his teeth before he can taste any. He knows he won’t be able to stop himself if he does.
“I’m going to my room,” he says, voice shaking. “Mehrak, don’t let me leave it. I– I’m sorry, Alhaitham.”
And then he flees, before his monstrous hunger makes him do anything worse.
<><><>
The creaking of a door, the shuffling of boots being taken off. A knock on Kaveh’s door.
“I went to the butcher. I am aware you said animal blood was not as filling, but it’s warm.”
Alhaitham leaves it at the door, left in a large mug like it’s some sort of new coffee blend, and Kaveh cautiously takes it, unwilling to meet his roommate’s eyes. There are new bandages on his arms, and his injuries have been carefully cleaned so he no longer smells of blood. Kaveh is grateful for that.
After he drinks the blood and feels confident he isn’t going to attack Alhaitham as soon as he’s close enough to hear the man’s heartbeat, Kaveh joins him in the sitting room, unable to look him in the eye.
“You should have told me you were hungry,” Alhaitham says quietly. “We could have avoided this whole scene if you had. But there were miscalculations on my part as well. I failed to consider how me arriving home injured would impact your hunger. I was partially delirious after being attacked. So I apologize for that.”
Kaveh startles, because he is the one who should be apologizing right now. “No!” he hisses. “I should have just told you that I was hungry a week ago. What if I killed you?”
Alhaitham shrugs. “You didn’t. We just have to be more careful from now on.”
So they are. Kaveh programs Mehrak to restrain him if he loses control, and Alhaitham writes out a plan for when Kaveh will take his blood.
And they move on.
<><><>
Kaveh is used to wanting. Ever since becoming a monster, he has wanted.
He is not used to this new kind of wanting. It is different, but it is just as aching, just as raw. He feels it when he looks at Alhaitham, stares at the lines of his face and the color of his eyes. It is not hunger, not desire.
It is just a want.
The next time he feeds, he allows himself to lean into Alhaitham, to feel the warmth of the human’s skin against the cold of his. Kaveh thinks about how he has let himself un-know Alhaitham after their fight, how he has let himself forget the smoothness of his voice and the softness of his hair and the way the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so subtly when he’s feeling smug, the way you can only see it if you’re really looking for it.
He wants to be wanted.
But Kaveh is a monster, and that is not something a monster deserves.
<><><>
The Inter-Darshan Championship passes. Alhaitham is offered a chance to leave his stuffy government job, and he takes it. Kaveh is offered a chance to leave Alhaitham’s house, and he does not take it.
He wonders if he made the right choice.
That night, Alhaitham allows Kaveh to drink until he is full for the very first time in years, until Alhaitham’s eyes are half-lidded and his hands unsteady. Both of them know that this is not a good idea but they do it anyway, and Alhaitham, voice slurring, leaning against Kaveh, whispers,
“I’m glad you didn’t leave.”
And Kaveh does not know what to think of that, but he is glad he didn’t leave, as well.
<><><>
After that night, something changes. Kaveh still critiques Alhaitham’s horrendous choice of home decor and Alhaitham still critiques Kaveh’s larger-than-necessary amount of seasoning in their food, but it is softer. Domestic, almost.
Often, at night, they will sit next to each other on the divan, Kaveh working on his blueprints while Alhaitham leaves, and one will gaze at the other with something open and raw approaching affection, but will turn away upon being caught in the act.
They both say nothing of this, by mutual unspoken pact.
But Kaveh still feels the want.
And more than that, is a desire to give. He has taken from Alhaitham so long – his hospitality, his time, his blood.
He does not want to take and take until Alhaitham has nothing left.
(Because Alhaitham would let him if he asked, wouldn’t he? With the way he looks at Kaveh like the architect is the sun he spins around, the earth he is grounded to.)
Kaveh has to remind himself that he is still a monster.
All he exists to do is take.
<><><>
After Kaveh has fed, Alhaitham asks him questions. About his internal temperature, how long it takes for his pulse to start up again. What food tastes like, if the blood of humans and animals is different. If each human’s blood has a different taste. If Alhaitham’s blood tastes different on certain days.
The scribe keeps Kaveh’s answers in a journal, and he never does more than ask questions. He’ll eye Kaveh’s fangs and ask what they feel like in his mouth, ask how it feels when his claws emerge, ask when Kaveh’s heart starts beating again.
He does not touch, not after the first night.
A month after the championship, as Kaveh once again nears the relentless ache of his monstrous hunger, Alhaitham does not offer his arm, but his neck.
“It’ll be easier to drink from here,” he points out.
“If that’s the case, we could have done this from the beginning,” Kaveh snaps, but without any real malice. Just impatience. He’s waiting, waiting to sink his teeth into Alhaitham and feel the warmth of his skin and fill the voids in his stomach and heart.
Alhaitham only hums. “If you would prefer to stick with the arm, be my guest. I simply get tired having to keep holding it up.”
Kaveh scoffs. “Of course you do. Lazy ass. What are all those muscles even for, anyway?”
“You’ll find that one’s muscles work significantly less well when your blood is actively being taken from you. As I’ve mentioned earlier, whatever is in your bite also leaves my arm numb.”
“I can’t bite your neck,” Kaveh mutters, cold fingers tracing patterns over the back of Alhaitham’s hand. His claws and fangs are already starting to show, but within the comfort of Alhaitham’s (his) house, he no longer minds it. “I might hurt you. Again. I don’t think I could live with myself if I did that.”
Alhaitham only narrows his eyes. “You hardly live with yourself as is. I’d prefer to remain in a more comfortable position while we do this.”
He sighs, leaning back on the divan’s armrest as he stares down Kaveh. “Anyway, you programmed Mehrak to immobilize you if you lost control again. I trust her capabilities because I trust yours.”
Comments like these are becoming more frequent, Alhaitham openly admitting to admiring Kaveh’s handiwork. In the end, it’s what does him in.
Teeth meet the skin of Alhaitham’s neck, Kaveh draped over him, forcing himself to be as gentle as possible despite the hunger. Blood flows freely, sweet and rich and metallic, and Kaveh drinks until he feels Alhaitham start to go limp in his hold.
When Alhaitham asks if Kaveh’s heartbeat has started again, Kaveh doesn’t answer. Instead, he presses Alhaitham’s hand to his chest, lets the warmth spread through him, and asks his own question:
“Is there a reason you don’t check yourself?”
Alhaitham stares, something in his eyes uncertain. “Is that a challenge, Kaveh?”
“Maybe,” Kaveh admits, tilting forwards once more. Not towards Alhaitham’s neck, but his face, still-clawed hands rising to rest over the bite mark. Alhaitham’s gaze turns questioning, lifted up to face Kaveh.
Kaveh stares into his face, and he wants. “Archons, Haitham,” he mutters, a claw brushing the edge of his roommate’s cheek. “I can’t– I can’t want this.”
Alhaitham only hums.
Then Kaveh tilts forwards and kisses him, mouth still stained with Alhaitham’s own blood. It’s gentle, soft, no open mouths or questing tongues. Kaveh has had enough of love borne of violence and sharp teeth. Alhaitham leans into Kaveh, hums softly, arms slowly sliding around the architect’s shoulders as he leans back on the divan, drawing Kaveh to lean on top of him.
Alhaitham sighs, a release. “I had been curious when you would work up the courage to do that. You had been staring at my lips for some time now. One would think you were more interested in them than my blood.”
Kaveh folds his arms, settling himself against Alhaitham. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll let you interpret that how you will.”
Kaveh huffs. “You’re infuriating. You know that, don’t you?”
Alhaitham nods.
“Still,” Kaveh sighs, tracing the edge of the gem on Alhaitham’s chest, “You know as well as I do what I am. I’m not going to suddenly become human just because you–”
He pauses. Collects himself. “I’m a monster, Haitham. Sooner or later, I’m going to seriously injure you.”
A warm hand traces Kaveh’s face, wiping the blood away from the edge of his mouth. Alhaitham hums. “I am prepared to accept that risk. If your aim is to get rid of me, dear senior, you are going to have to try a lot harder than that.”
Kaveh frowns. “I still don’t get why you would willingly let a monster stay in your home this long. Look, Haitham, I’m not…”
“Not what?” Alhaitham asks. “Kaveh, I have let you stay in my home this long. I have known humans far more monstrous than you could ever be, and if you are a monster, then very few Sumerians could still be considered human.”
“I drink blood,” Kaveh reminds him. “Human blood. Archons, I’ve been drinking your blood for months.”
Alhaitham closes his eyes, leans into Kaveh. “And I will continue to let you drink it as long as you require. If I recall correctly, you have never committed an act that could be deemed monstrous to acquire blood, even if it would have served you better in the end. I would like for you to stay here. What more do I have to say to convince you to do so?”
Kaveh kisses him once more, blood staining both their lips. “I want to stay,” he says at last. “You don’t have to convince me. I think… I just have to convince myself.”
“Of what?”
Kaveh sighs, arms winding around Alhaitham’s waist. “That I deserve to stay.”
A monster does not get to want. A monster does not get to be wanted. A monster does not deserve warmth, or a home.
But maybe, Kaveh is just Kaveh, and eventually, he will be able to convince himself of that.