@stillgrows : "Kaveh." When Kaveh turned at his name, Haitham reached out a hand to fix some hair near his ear—it had become tucked somehow, likely from Kaveh himself messing with it, and was sticking out as a loop. Once it was fixed, Haitham turned his attention back to his book without another word.
It’s no secret that Kaveh is prone to getting absorbed in his work. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time with the man could tell you that. His principles forbid him from doing anything half heartedly, becoming entirely engrossed in any project he's been tasked. The rest of the world seems to melt away in those moments, the only things within the room being himself and the select few objects and equations that make up his muse at the time.
Naturally, when one is so deeply fixated on a single subject, more minor things such as their surroundings and physical presentation slip out of focus. He is well aware that this is a habit of his. Therefore, when Kaveh is in his studio or out working on site, the architect portions off some of his acute focus in exchange for some general self awareness. Ideally, he would be able to devote all his attention to what he's working on. But neglecting the attention of his colleagues and clients would make him a discreditable architect, just as much as it would if he started cutting corners on materials, or settling for a generic design out of laziness.
However, in instances like today when he is alone in the comfort of his home, Kaveh discards this outside awareness in order to increase productivity. Here, if he starts to neglect subjects outside of his project, he's not effecting or harming anyone but himself. His reputation as a brilliant, reliable, and accomplished artist can remain untouched. The future of Kshahrewar, and the arts as a whole can rest safely knowing that its star has not yet dwindled.
Kaveh doesn't know when Al-Haitham entered the living room. He's been vaguely aware of the scribe's presence for the last few hours but he saw no need to waste his energy on acknowledging him. It would seem that the feeling is mutual, as his roommate had also failed to greet him upon entering the room.
Kaveh imagines Al-Haitham prefers it this way. His junior has always preferred the peaceful quiet, and is not eager to disrupt it for anything. He imagines Al-Haitham also prefers it when Kaveh specifically is quiet, as the scribe does not hesitate to comment or complain when Kaveh is disturbing the peace.
The thought makes Kaveh's brows twitch in annoyance, momentarily considering getting out his tools and making as much noise as possible in retaliation. But ultimately he discards this idea. Al-Haitham isn't worth the trouble, and besides -- It's not often these days that they can share a peaceful moment in the same space. With Kaveh pouring over his blueprints, and Al-Haitham reading his book at his side, content to share the comfortable silence together... It almost feels like the old days. It almost feels like nothing has changed, even though everything has.
But those days are over, and anything that resembles them is short lived. Someone has to break the silence first. Someone has to pull away the curtain and ruin whatever amicability is shared between them. Many days it's Kaveh's doing, the architect so mistrusting of any goodwill Al-Haitham may spare him that he seeks to reveal whatever hidden motive the other may have.
However, today Al-Haitham breaks the silence first.
Kaveh instinctively tenses at the sound of his own name, bracing for whatever snide remark his roommate has prepared for him or his work. Surely, that's what this is about, isn't it? He can't imagine what else would be deemed important enough to pull Al-Haitham from his precious book, especially not when he's outright ignored Kaveh when he was trying to talk to him last night in order to read it. Despite his better judgement, Kaveh turns to face the other, a sharp comment of his own resting on the tip of his tongue like a weapon.
Kaveh is prepared to defend himself from whatever criticism Al-Haitham has in store for him. But he's not prepared for what actually happens.
A look of alarm quickly replaces the frown on his face when he realizes how close his roommate is to him. Had he always been this close? Had Kaveh been so engrossed in his work that he'd missed Al-Haitham getting closer? More importantly, what does Al-Haitham think he's playing at getting so close to him? Can't he see Kaveh is in the middle of something? Does he think it's funny messing with him when he's got a looming deadline?
Kaveh stiffens as Al-Haitham reaches towards him, confusion now seeping into his startled expression. The scribe's hands find their way into Kaveh's honey blonde hair, freeing the strands that had gotten mussed with a tender ease. Kaveh is stunned into silence, unable to do anything but stare back at his roommate in utter incredulousness. Al-Haitham does not meet his gaze, keeping his eyes on his senior's hair.
Kaveh notes how focused Al-Haitham looks in this moment, his eyes steady and resolute. The sight brings forth an uncomfortable twinge to the pit of Kaveh's stomach, a sensation he's long come to associate with his former best friend but has never had a name for it. In his newfound disquiet, Kaveh feels suddenly compelled to take Al-Haitham's chin in his hand and make him look at him properly. All these years have passed and he still can't be bothered to show his senior proper respect, even when he's going as far as to mess with his hair.
But before Kaveh can deflect or give in to his impulses, Al-Haitham withdraws. The moment of intimacy, as confusing and unwarranted as it may be is over. Al-Haitham has returned to his book like nothing had even happened, like Kaveh wasn't there at all. Kaveh feels another twinge in his gut, a rush of indignant warmth rising to his chest and face. What in Celestia's name was that about? What kind of person just runs their hand through someone's hair without permission and then goes back to pretending they don't exist?
The architect scowls, standing from his seat and throwing his hands on his hips as he levels his irritated gaze on his roommate. “ Was that all? Is that seriously what you thought was worth interrupting my work? Honestly, Haitham does messing with me bring you so much enjoyment that you have to disturb me first thing in the morning? You know someday I should come into your office and disrupt you like that! See how you like it! ”
As if to make good on this threat, Kaveh gives into his own impulses and buries a hand in Al-Haitham's hair. The gesture is much rougher than when Al-Haitham had done it. Kaveh's hands are coarse and calloused from years of manual labor compared to the soft hands of a comfortable scribe. Not to mention the clear annoyance in the architect's movements as he briskly combs Al-Haitham's gray hair upward and out of his eyes.
Ordinarily such an obvious attempt at starting a fight would be met with disgruntlement and disdain from Al-Haitham. But yet again the scribe surprises him. At last he meets Kaveh's gaze, an uncharacteristic wide eyed look in his piercing eyes. The sight makes Kaveh stop dead in his tracks, feeling his stomach drop as he realizes what he's doing. He pulls his hand away with a speed that would suggest that Al-Haitham's scalp had burned him.
Even after Kaveh has withdrawn, Al-Haitham still stares up at him in silence. His gaze only makes Kaveh feel more agitated, the twinge in his stomach now so great that he feels may vomit at any moment. He'd made all that fuss, thinking he'd prefer it if Al-Haitham looked at him. But now Kaveh understands that this is much worse.
He's never been uncomfortable being the subject of others' gazes before. But no one looks at him like Al-Haitham does. No one seems to really see him like he does. That truth frightens him, frightens him so much that he had pushed his friend away because he hadn't wanted to be seen. He still doesn't want to be seen. Not like this. He doesn't know what to do with it.
“ I'm going to work in my room, ” It's Kaveh's turn to break the silence, abruptly announcing his departure. “ Don't you dare disturb me. My deadline is tomorrow morning and I only have two thirds of this proposal drafted, ”
Without sparing a moment to let Al-Haitham get one last word in, Kaveh haphazardly scoops up his blueprints and supplies and storms out of the room without another word. To his own frustration, despite his best efforts Kaveh is unable to return to his original state of focus once inside his bedroom. The twisting of his stomach lingers hours after the exchange in the living room. Worst of all, the image of Al-Haitham's brilliant eyes staring up at him has burned deep into his mind, searing through any and all designs Kaveh had been working on previously.
