[ as always, alhaitham thinks, kaveh asks the wrong questions. from the very beginning, the questions had come as a deluge. no waterfall of the ali qapu could sustain it. has alhaitham enjoyed the slaughter of the lokapalan people? is kaveh to accept his fate? does the fate of the lokapalan slaves matter to alhaitham? why do you return my jewelery? why are you doing this? why? why? why?
why won't you touch me, kaveh asks. the wrong question again. alhaitham thinks, perhaps the right question can never be voiced: who is alhaitham, and what is kaveh to him? one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to interact with the world; one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to allow the world in. alhaitham has not allowed the world in, not once. not ever. there is no room within him for anything save for the sole purpose that he strives towards. he had once looked into the abyss of probabilities, and identified a door in a far-off, far-flung galaxy. he had looked at it, and put down the first flagstone of a path built towards this impossible destination. he had been ten, and he had been angry, and the world had seemed terribly small for it.
the question cannot be why. but it is in kaveh's nature to ask. three pills, every six months, and due in a fortnight - but not tonight. alhaitham only needed this in order to confirm the game afoot. his mouth is stained red as he looks at kaveh, really looks. kaveh's limbs tangle within the rope of sheets. he is agonised. he is unmade. and alhaitham - cannot be unmade. ]
Because [ alhaitham says, in a voice like tainted iron, with a rasp like rusted steel, ] it would please Azar too much, and please me too little.
[ the crucible of his self-control holds. alhaitham breathes in. the air is musk and honey-sweet. ] You do not want me, Kaveh. You merely need me. Is this how you wish to be?
no subject
why won't you touch me, kaveh asks. the wrong question again. alhaitham thinks, perhaps the right question can never be voiced: who is alhaitham, and what is kaveh to him? one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to interact with the world; one's fate is tied to the way an individual chooses to allow the world in. alhaitham has not allowed the world in, not once. not ever. there is no room within him for anything save for the sole purpose that he strives towards. he had once looked into the abyss of probabilities, and identified a door in a far-off, far-flung galaxy. he had looked at it, and put down the first flagstone of a path built towards this impossible destination. he had been ten, and he had been angry, and the world had seemed terribly small for it.
the question cannot be why. but it is in kaveh's nature to ask. three pills, every six months, and due in a fortnight - but not tonight. alhaitham only needed this in order to confirm the game afoot. his mouth is stained red as he looks at kaveh, really looks. kaveh's limbs tangle within the rope of sheets. he is agonised. he is unmade. and alhaitham - cannot be unmade. ]
Because [ alhaitham says, in a voice like tainted iron, with a rasp like rusted steel, ] it would please Azar too much, and please me too little.
[ the crucible of his self-control holds. alhaitham breathes in. the air is musk and honey-sweet. ] You do not want me, Kaveh. You merely need me. Is this how you wish to be?