[ midnight's eyes curve. kaveh thinks - when did he begin to notice these things. that at the apartment, the curve of midnight mouth had been wider; that here, the curve of his eyes is truer. kaveh looks down. midnight kisses his hand. for a moment, the action is divorced from its consequences. kaveh observes the kiss as if it were happening to someone else. in a sense, it is. in a sense, it isn't. it isn't until the pain registers again that kaveh realises - the nerves in his hands are dying. kaveh cannot feel the skim of midnight's lips. the blood red of kaveh's eyes widen. there had once been a sanctuary of light and warmth. kaveh had shattered it with his own hands. his mother's hands hand trembled in its aftermath. they trembled as leaves upon a tree, as the shaking, shifting desert beneath their feet, the one that swallowed kaveh's father. the one that swallowed her love. she could never hold a pencil again.
kaveh isn't the sargonian architect, who fought the inevitable until the day of reckoning came. kaveh didn't have years of therapeutic rehabilitation, the slow, painful relearning of how to walk again as a ten-year-old liberi fresh with grief, brought to tears by the mere prospect of dragging himself upright across the room on unresponsive feet. kaveh is merely kaveh, and kaveh has always been afraid. it sinks low, and slow, like simmering panic. but that wasn't a part of the script. ]
Enough to endure all of this for a while longer? Please, I'm hardly worth all that. [ says kaveh instead, and because he remembers to smile, with a wry twist of his lips. with effort, he nudges midnight's lips with his palm, just minute reproach in form. but midnight isn't cruel by nature, not to anyone but himself. kaveh thinks - there must be more at play here.
it clicks, or so he thinks: the door likely won't open unless they act out the entirety of the script. midnight must have realised that.
the realisation settles after a beat, much in the way of sinking resignation. kaveh shrugs. the gesture ripples unnaturally through him. ] Alright, alright, we'll play this out by the book, then. Where were we? 'Then, let me stay with you'. [ kaveh looks into midnight's eyes. ] "No. If you have any affection left for me, you will go."
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kaveh isn't the sargonian architect, who fought the inevitable until the day of reckoning came. kaveh didn't have years of therapeutic rehabilitation, the slow, painful relearning of how to walk again as a ten-year-old liberi fresh with grief, brought to tears by the mere prospect of dragging himself upright across the room on unresponsive feet. kaveh is merely kaveh, and kaveh has always been afraid. it sinks low, and slow, like simmering panic. but that wasn't a part of the script. ]
Enough to endure all of this for a while longer? Please, I'm hardly worth all that. [ says kaveh instead, and because he remembers to smile, with a wry twist of his lips. with effort, he nudges midnight's lips with his palm, just minute reproach in form. but midnight isn't cruel by nature, not to anyone but himself. kaveh thinks - there must be more at play here.
it clicks, or so he thinks: the door likely won't open unless they act out the entirety of the script. midnight must have realised that.
the realisation settles after a beat, much in the way of sinking resignation. kaveh shrugs. the gesture ripples unnaturally through him. ] Alright, alright, we'll play this out by the book, then. Where were we? 'Then, let me stay with you'. [ kaveh looks into midnight's eyes. ] "No. If you have any affection left for me, you will go."