[ night falls. night passes. the first day, kaveh misses breakfast. he wakes up at noon, five hours after his usual waking time. he does not address it, and continues on with his day. there is lunch, and he says nothing. there's dinner, and he says nothing, either. there's a gift, and here, kaveh wants to say something, whys and hows and what fors, but none of it is voiced, again. his corner of the room, he finds, is slowly being painted the traditional colors of lokapala. the marble on the walls, lighter. the view outside, an endless waterfall. the scent of parisarahs that bloom come spring. none of it is real.
kaveh leaves the tiny, neat box next to his sketchpad.
night falls. night passes. the second day, kaveh misses breakfast. he wakes up two hours past noon, and does not address it, either. the day continues on as intended; with lunch, with anxiety, with a gift. his corner of the room is no longer lokapalan. it bears gloom whites, mossy greens, colors he has come to despise. it ties him back to reality. the gift is not well-welcomed.
it starts slowly. summer, he thinks, is on its way. sumeru is always hit with it first, a tropical nation as it is. the heat always makes him sleepy, but it is not the reason he sleeps in. he should not be so hot. the cooling afternoon breeze would promise him so. then comes the inadequacy, the sweating, the lack of breath. kaveh knows what this is. he knows, too, that it's a fortnight too early. therefore—
of course. it makes sense, when he forces himself to think about it. how long has it been since the fall of lokapala? a man can only be so patient. an alpha, even less so. i wonder why prince alhaitham is so nice to you — he is not.
the door opens, and that familiar voice reaches his ears. ]
Get out!
[ it takes strength and will to voice words his body wishes not to speak. kaveh does no mind the tone of his voice, cares not for who might hear it. it is a ploy. it is a scheme. it is something that has been bound to happen the moment he was delivered to alhaitham's chambers, clad in golden manacles. a gift from war. kaveh sits there, in a corner of the room, behind the divan. curled up, with thoughts that are not his, and desires he does not claim. he forces himself to think of kurash and akram. they would be waiting for him. they are. there's so much he wants to tell them. like... like what?
he doesn't remember anymore. ]
Get out, [ less of a demand, and more of a plea. it is weaker, it is softer. it is words his body wishes not to speak, still. ]
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
"welcome back to rp", you say, forcing me to write this. sick in the HEAD!!!!!!!!!
Date: 2023-06-02 03:40 am (UTC)kaveh leaves the tiny, neat box next to his sketchpad.
night falls. night passes. the second day, kaveh misses breakfast. he wakes up two hours past noon, and does not address it, either. the day continues on as intended; with lunch, with anxiety, with a gift. his corner of the room is no longer lokapalan. it bears gloom whites, mossy greens, colors he has come to despise. it ties him back to reality. the gift is not well-welcomed.
it starts slowly. summer, he thinks, is on its way. sumeru is always hit with it first, a tropical nation as it is. the heat always makes him sleepy, but it is not the reason he sleeps in. he should not be so hot. the cooling afternoon breeze would promise him so. then comes the inadequacy, the sweating, the lack of breath. kaveh knows what this is. he knows, too, that it's a fortnight too early. therefore—
of course. it makes sense, when he forces himself to think about it. how long has it been since the fall of lokapala? a man can only be so patient. an alpha, even less so. i wonder why prince alhaitham is so nice to you — he is not.
the door opens, and that familiar voice reaches his ears. ]
Get out!
[ it takes strength and will to voice words his body wishes not to speak. kaveh does no mind the tone of his voice, cares not for who might hear it. it is a ploy. it is a scheme. it is something that has been bound to happen the moment he was delivered to alhaitham's chambers, clad in golden manacles. a gift from war. kaveh sits there, in a corner of the room, behind the divan. curled up, with thoughts that are not his, and desires he does not claim. he forces himself to think of kurash and akram. they would be waiting for him. they are. there's so much he wants to tell them. like... like what?
he doesn't remember anymore. ]
Get out, [ less of a demand, and more of a plea. it is weaker, it is softer. it is words his body wishes not to speak, still. ]