[ midnight breathes in. kaveh breathes out. on a cot meant for one, two men have made a nest in each other. there's a nostalgia there for a different time and a different place. kaveh's hands find their way into midnight's hair.
his callused fingers carve through them, the strands of it, the way sift like the murk of a long, wending river. this is an apology. it is a poor one. ]
I was the one who approached Alhaitham, you know. A Haravatat junior, all alone next to a flock of his Darshanmates, excluded from the crowd as if spurned. I thought he was in trouble. It turns out he was trouble. We became friends, you see. Two heads tipped together over the tables in the House of Daena, bent over so closely that a hit to one head would end somewhere in the other - the discussion, the debates, oh, the debates. You could hear us all the way down the Divine tree. I nearly wanted to throw him down it at times. But that's where we began.
Where we ended: we worked together on a thesis. "Decoding the Runes and Architectural Philosophy of the Ruins of King Deshret's Civilization". It was to revolutionise our understanding of desert-born structures and the language that came with it; it did, even in its incomplete form, update the standards of Sumeran building code, and improved the lives of countless desert-dwelling folk. Yes, we never finished the project. We had several other people in our group, all vying for the same vision. All brilliant, all warm-hearted. It wasn't long after the project began that the cracks began to show. In hindsight, I could say it now: there were those who couldn't keep up with us. But you know, Midnight. I had wanted them to try. And I had wanted Alhaitham to try.
One by one, they left the group. It didn't matter that I cajoled or coached, taught or carried - they left, and by the end of things, it was just Alhaitham and I. Alhaitham, who never agreed with my methods to keep them there. Myself, who never agreed to Alhaitham's apathy to their plight. Alhaitham was the first to point it out, you know - that I was driven by guilt. All of it. Not-kind, not-good, not-decent. Just guilt. I told him that I regretted him.
[ the guilt and the grief - and the anger. the anger that never died, only took on new forms as the years passed. it's too easy to admit this to midnight. midnight didn't deserve this, kaveh knew. he deserved the kind, the good, and the decent. but the only thing in this host club right now is kaveh - just kaveh. nothing more. ]
I burned our friendship that day. By the time we became adults, we didn't speak for years. But before I came here, Midnight, I was living with Alhaitham. It's a long story. Alhaitham was the one who reached out to me in my time of deepest need. I was ashamed to admit it, just as I am ashamed to admit it now. I regretted him; that guilt remains. I regret regretting him.
[ the lull: the silence seeps. kaveh's head tilts. suddenly, he feels weary beyond belief. beyond understanding. ]
You say you are the expert in such things, Midnight. [ kaveh says, into midnight's hair. ] Knowing the words said that cannot be unsaid, how can there still be love?
sorry it's backstory time again (tm)
his callused fingers carve through them, the strands of it, the way sift like the murk of a long, wending river. this is an apology. it is a poor one. ]
I was the one who approached Alhaitham, you know. A Haravatat junior, all alone next to a flock of his Darshanmates, excluded from the crowd as if spurned. I thought he was in trouble. It turns out he was trouble. We became friends, you see. Two heads tipped together over the tables in the House of Daena, bent over so closely that a hit to one head would end somewhere in the other - the discussion, the debates, oh, the debates. You could hear us all the way down the Divine tree. I nearly wanted to throw him down it at times. But that's where we began.
Where we ended: we worked together on a thesis. "Decoding the Runes and Architectural Philosophy of the Ruins of King Deshret's Civilization". It was to revolutionise our understanding of desert-born structures and the language that came with it; it did, even in its incomplete form, update the standards of Sumeran building code, and improved the lives of countless desert-dwelling folk. Yes, we never finished the project. We had several other people in our group, all vying for the same vision. All brilliant, all warm-hearted. It wasn't long after the project began that the cracks began to show. In hindsight, I could say it now: there were those who couldn't keep up with us. But you know, Midnight. I had wanted them to try. And I had wanted Alhaitham to try.
One by one, they left the group. It didn't matter that I cajoled or coached, taught or carried - they left, and by the end of things, it was just Alhaitham and I. Alhaitham, who never agreed with my methods to keep them there. Myself, who never agreed to Alhaitham's apathy to their plight. Alhaitham was the first to point it out, you know - that I was driven by guilt. All of it. Not-kind, not-good, not-decent. Just guilt. I told him that I regretted him.
[ the guilt and the grief - and the anger. the anger that never died, only took on new forms as the years passed. it's too easy to admit this to midnight. midnight didn't deserve this, kaveh knew. he deserved the kind, the good, and the decent. but the only thing in this host club right now is kaveh - just kaveh. nothing more. ]
I burned our friendship that day. By the time we became adults, we didn't speak for years. But before I came here, Midnight, I was living with Alhaitham. It's a long story. Alhaitham was the one who reached out to me in my time of deepest need. I was ashamed to admit it, just as I am ashamed to admit it now. I regretted him; that guilt remains. I regret regretting him.
[ the lull: the silence seeps. kaveh's head tilts. suddenly, he feels weary beyond belief. beyond understanding. ]
You say you are the expert in such things, Midnight. [ kaveh says, into midnight's hair. ] Knowing the words said that cannot be unsaid, how can there still be love?