“It’s ridiculous! It’s insanity!” You thump your emptied mug on the wooden table of the tavern. Opposite you is your unwilling victim, Kaveh, who flinches. He last saw you angry a week ago, although it never gets easier seeing you livid. “They’re telling me that I have to bow my head at them but they can’t do the same for me? Who do they think they are!”
Kaveh has his hands floating up and down, like you’re a wild beast and that gesture is any help in getting you to calm down. Having onlookers is not a problem. He has his own share of breakdowns in this bar, often attracting a seizable silent audience. But it’s you that he’s worried about.
“They are your relatives,” he reminds through hissy whispers. “If one of your uncle’s contact hears you tonight, you’ll be never hear the end of it.” Often, Kaveh is jealous of how deep your family’s connections run in Sumeru. When his parents left the world, he received nothing. You, on the other hand, have a whole future. On nights like these, however, he is reminded that not everything is sunshine and rainbows for you too.
“Hear me out. Tell me it’s not just me thinking how messed up all of this is.” You gesture for him to come closer. He does, offering an ear. You make no effort to lower your volume. “if you had a spouse—”
Kaveh sits straight. Where is this going? You can’t be drunk. You drank a mocktail. When you gesture him to return to his position, he would have ignored it if it wasn’t for the disappointment in your frown.
“If you had a spouse as miserable and messy as you—”
At his proximity to you, you easily slap an index finger on his lips. This time, it’s the shining lining along at the bottom of your eyes that makes him swallow his protests.
“Would you expect your spouse to change and yet love you as miserable and messy as you are?”
“No! That would be hypocritical of me.”
“Exactly!” You snap your fingers, leaning against the backrest of the chair like you can finally close your eyes peacefully. It’s short-lived though. The melancholy returns. You slouch and spread yourself atop the table, arms apart.
“I find it so hard to love them,” you confess, slow and soft. He barely hears it over the chatter of the bar. It doesn’t help that your cheeks are squished, limiting your jaw movements, and therefore, your articulation. Still, he knows what you said. This is a hot topic when both of you rendezvous at night.
A gentle minute of silence. He squirms, not liking the subtle tension.
And like a bubble, you burst.
“If I can’t love them, then I really am… They’ll be right I need to be fixed. I’m… I’m unlovable.”
“No you’re not!” It’s Kaveh’s turn to slam the table. In fact, the surge of energy he gets from hearing such preposterous things from your mouth makes him stand. His chair streaks back. Eyes turn to him. He should have seen this coming, that when you speak of your relatives with such contempt… “Let’s take this elsewhere. Come on, it’s better to talk about this at my place.” He grabs your arm but you resist.
“Kaveh, you don’t need to be good all the time. You can just admit that my pride is like a wart and it’s a pain in the ass for anyone, even you.”
“I’m not being good. I’m miserable and messy—” now it’s your turn to flinch “—which are qualities far, far away from good.”
“I don’t mean it that way…” you mumble.
“That’s not what you should be focusing on.” Gosh, was he also this hard to get through? At least not when he’s sober. He can understand if he’s drunk.
“My pride will kill me one day. Or maybe it already has.”
“If you really were prideful at your very core, I don’t think you will believe you’re unlovable. You would at least have a semblance of self-respect.”
It’s ironic, coming from someone like him. These words are words he hashed from what others have said about him. He feels sympathy for his friends, just a bit. He concentrates. Despite your state, he can list a few reasons why you’re lovable.
“Kaveh,” you say. In the midst of making his list, hearing his name mentioned in such a tender tone with your voice makes him blush. “How does someone love someone like me?”
He can’t quite look at you.
“We’ll figure this out after a nice nap at my place, alright?”
You stand from your table, wipe your nose with the back of your hand. With a small nod, you take the lead for the walk back. To the rest of the tavern, you might seem cold. You don’t wait for him when you pay at the counter. You don’t turn back when you step out to check if he’s following.
Thankfully, Kaveh doesn’t mind. He knows this is what you need, especially when you don’t want him to see you cry.
