kaveh, who loves colors, who loves the light, once light himself, has learned to accept the darkness, faux as it is. when he closes his eyes, he sees a new world. the blue of the sky is lighter, leaning towards green in pigmentation, but never too much to be out of place. there are no whites in the ocean above, and the sun is always bright, much bigger than it should be, but never hotter. on his skin, it is the perfect temperature, and he does not fall victim to it. the grass is a more vibrant green. the padisarahs are an intense purple. the anemones are not red, but pink, at the height of spring. the rosebushes outside alhaitham's home, vahumana yellow.
it is never dark, not when he's awake and closes his eyes, not when he sleeps, and dreams of an oasis so beautiful it is untouchable, unmoving. he dreams of dances, of calloused hands. he dreams of lives that do not belong to him, and then forgets it all.
he rouses, early. it has been one and a half hours since the sun has risen. there are tears in the red of his eyes, and an emptiness in his chest that suffocates him. kaveh cries, without meaning, without reason, unsure for whom his tears shed. kaveh, who never cries, does so until there is no more tears left to fall. he cries, as though in mourning. he cries for a memory forgotten.
today, his legs work. despite the exhaustion, kaveh follows his routine, for it gives him meaning and purpose. he rises, bathes, makes sure the scales still cover his body, and have not, magically, left somehow. he applies balm onto hands and legs, courtesy of tighnari, dresses himself. if he is not too clumsy with his touch, he makes coffee for two; cream, cinnamon, sugar and milk, for himself. black for alhaitham, who sleeps in his room, just across his own.
today, kaveh does not rouse alhaitham. he leaves breakfast ready, but does not eat. he sets the table (cloth matching silverware, silverware matching dishware, dishware matching the chosen flower of the day, that sits in the middle of the table), drinks his coffee, does the dishes, and leaves for the day. he does not, today, knock on alhaitham's door.
the anemones are red, the trees that decorate and support sumeru, orange. it is autumn, and kaveh, whose body no longer feels the warmth of the sun, or the chill of the autumn breeze, finds solace in the colors nonetheless. the eleazar, at the very least, has not robbed him of this. today, his legs do not feel weak, and kaveh braves a trip down to treasure street. he buys five rambutans, greets those who speak with him and those who do not, and spends the last of his strength to climb the divine tree. he greets akademiya students who wish him a good morning, pays respects to former teachers, politely declines their offer to have kaveh teach at the akademiya again, third time this month alone.
kaveh, who was once seen as the sun himself, ever surrounded by people, does not shine the way they remember, does not offer the same warmth. kaveh, who makes it to a secluded spot behind the sanctuary of surasthana, is often seen by himself, with alhaitham, or not seen at all. kaveh, who sits at last, who eats his rambutan, tries to remember. his dream, the reason his smiles never make it to his eyes today, and what brings him the will to cry. kaveh, who bleeds when cut, and bleeds for other people, whose heart is forever bleeding, does not understand the hole in his chest, and the hollowness of it. kaveh, who bears the weight of guilt and regret, finds his shoulders numb. kaveh, who is always a sunburst, can have his light covered by clouds, too.
kaveh, kaveh, kaveh. even his name, too, has lost meaning.
he sits, eats, mourns, and waits. he has left his heart behind, somewhere he does not recall. it will be found. it will be brought to him, if only he waits. ]
fanfic jumpscare, sorry.....
kaveh, who loves colors, who loves the light, once light himself, has learned to accept the darkness, faux as it is. when he closes his eyes, he sees a new world. the blue of the sky is lighter, leaning towards green in pigmentation, but never too much to be out of place. there are no whites in the ocean above, and the sun is always bright, much bigger than it should be, but never hotter. on his skin, it is the perfect temperature, and he does not fall victim to it. the grass is a more vibrant green. the padisarahs are an intense purple. the anemones are not red, but pink, at the height of spring. the rosebushes outside alhaitham's home, vahumana yellow.
it is never dark, not when he's awake and closes his eyes, not when he sleeps, and dreams of an oasis so beautiful it is untouchable, unmoving. he dreams of dances, of calloused hands. he dreams of lives that do not belong to him, and then forgets it all.
he rouses, early. it has been one and a half hours since the sun has risen. there are tears in the red of his eyes, and an emptiness in his chest that suffocates him. kaveh cries, without meaning, without reason, unsure for whom his tears shed. kaveh, who never cries, does so until there is no more tears left to fall. he cries, as though in mourning. he cries for a memory forgotten.
today, his legs work. despite the exhaustion, kaveh follows his routine, for it gives him meaning and purpose. he rises, bathes, makes sure the scales still cover his body, and have not, magically, left somehow. he applies balm onto hands and legs, courtesy of tighnari, dresses himself. if he is not too clumsy with his touch, he makes coffee for two; cream, cinnamon, sugar and milk, for himself. black for alhaitham, who sleeps in his room, just across his own.
today, kaveh does not rouse alhaitham. he leaves breakfast ready, but does not eat. he sets the table (cloth matching silverware, silverware matching dishware, dishware matching the chosen flower of the day, that sits in the middle of the table), drinks his coffee, does the dishes, and leaves for the day. he does not, today, knock on alhaitham's door.
the anemones are red, the trees that decorate and support sumeru, orange. it is autumn, and kaveh, whose body no longer feels the warmth of the sun, or the chill of the autumn breeze, finds solace in the colors nonetheless. the eleazar, at the very least, has not robbed him of this. today, his legs do not feel weak, and kaveh braves a trip down to treasure street. he buys five rambutans, greets those who speak with him and those who do not, and spends the last of his strength to climb the divine tree. he greets akademiya students who wish him a good morning, pays respects to former teachers, politely declines their offer to have kaveh teach at the akademiya again, third time this month alone.
kaveh, who was once seen as the sun himself, ever surrounded by people, does not shine the way they remember, does not offer the same warmth. kaveh, who makes it to a secluded spot behind the sanctuary of surasthana, is often seen by himself, with alhaitham, or not seen at all. kaveh, who sits at last, who eats his rambutan, tries to remember. his dream, the reason his smiles never make it to his eyes today, and what brings him the will to cry. kaveh, who bleeds when cut, and bleeds for other people, whose heart is forever bleeding, does not understand the hole in his chest, and the hollowness of it. kaveh, who bears the weight of guilt and regret, finds his shoulders numb. kaveh, who is always a sunburst, can have his light covered by clouds, too.
kaveh, kaveh, kaveh. even his name, too, has lost meaning.
he sits, eats, mourns, and waits. he has left his heart behind, somewhere he does not recall. it will be found. it will be brought to him, if only he waits. ]