[ the loss of something to keep his hands busy, he finds, makes him uncomfortable. it is nothing new. kaveh cooks when he can, cleans when his body allows him. when it does not, it is alhaitham who does both, and kaveh sits there, uncomfortable, inadequate. he is, after all, already imposing on alhaitham's hospitality. if he cannot do the bare minimum, what is there for him to do? if the eleazar takes away he last of his worth, what reason is there for him to keep living?
he replaces those thoughts with thoughts of breakfast. cold — he would make sure to wrap it next time with a cloth, to preserve some of its warmth —, and cinnamon next time, which kaveh imprints in his mind, and makes sure to remember.
his hands, kaveh rests on his lap. he does not know what to do with them. ]
Tomorrow. [ not next time, because next time implies the next time the eleazar allows him to cook without breaking or dropping anything. tomorrow. ] I should have at least woken you up. [ ... ] Sorry.
[ the eleazar has robbed him of the cold, but it has not robbed him of smell. alhaitham's cloak smells familiar, and it weighs in his heart. ] You didn't have to come after me, you know. I'm sure you are busy.
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he replaces those thoughts with thoughts of breakfast. cold — he would make sure to wrap it next time with a cloth, to preserve some of its warmth —, and cinnamon next time, which kaveh imprints in his mind, and makes sure to remember.
his hands, kaveh rests on his lap. he does not know what to do with them. ]
Tomorrow. [ not next time, because next time implies the next time the eleazar allows him to cook without breaking or dropping anything. tomorrow. ] I should have at least woken you up. [ ... ] Sorry.
[ the eleazar has robbed him of the cold, but it has not robbed him of smell. alhaitham's cloak smells familiar, and it weighs in his heart. ] You didn't have to come after me, you know. I'm sure you are busy.