the morning sun and the night sky.

[loans]

Comments

[haravatits]

[ no, alhaitham thinks. no, his are not. because he dreams of you.

instead, he says this: ]

I am not the one dreaming.

[ and he knows it is true. king deshret had built the foundations of his civilisation on sky and earth. he had envisioned a land where light and stars intertwined. he had given his heart to the dancing footfalls of a goddess amongst the reeds. the padisarah had become immortalised through his monument to love. there is now, still, a piece of the desert trapped in the eternity of an oasis never to move forward, never to be free. love is a fetter. alhaitham has never once allowed himself to be fettered. alhaitham is dreaming, but alhaitham is not. no, this dream is not his dream. king deshret dreams of purple padisarahs, and alhaitham lives out its consequences.

this is not alhaitham's dream.

it is also not solely king deshret's dream.

alhaitham's fingers fall into kaveh's in their most familiar configuration. fingers to valleys, palm to palm. in this dream, kaveh has his hands. this is not, in fact, the right dream. ]

Then, shall we talk about your memory instead? What is the last thing you remember that has transpired? Think back to the morning. Have the sumeru roses bloomed?

[loans]

[ the implication is one that draws a familiar smile on kaveh's face that only alhaitham has seen. it is bathed in sorrow, with melancholy for its nature. the implication, after all, is that this is kaveh's dream, and he finds it amusing. it could not be, and it should not be, for kaveh's dreams are not dreams, but nightmares. his dreams do not possess color, has never seen light.

he dreams, oftentimes, with a room. the room is black, either because its walls are painted such color, or for the lack of light. inside, there is nothing but kaveh, alone. there is no sound, no people, no voice to be heard, and no voice to speak. kaveh yells, and yells, and cries, and yelps. no one replies, no echoing is heard.

he exhausts himself, until he can no longer speak. the dream, then, ends, and repeats itself the following night.

this, too, cannot be kaveh's dream. this kaveh is a figment of alhaitham's imagination, he has to be. for what other reason would alhaitham hold his hand to gently? how else would he be able to feel the softness of a flower's petals, the warmth of skin against skin? if he removed the gloves, would the scales still be there? does alhaitham wish for them to be?

the padisarahs are gorgeous. kaveh does not look away from them. ]

The roses? Of course they... [ have they? can he remember it? ] They must have, right? It's the smell of Sumeru roses that announce the beginning of spring. I'm sure I could smell them...

[haravatits]

[ kaveh looks to the padisarahs. alhaitham looks to kaveh. that is how it has always been. that it would take a dream of kaveh's suffering for it to become reality is the bitterest pill. alhaitham has never shied away from the bitter; when it comes to kaveh, there are exceptions. there are always exceptions. but the truth that he pursues is not the truth that the world will accept. king deshret lies in slumber, and dreams of purple padisarahs. alhaitham hates the colour purple.

the smell of sumeru roses that announce the beginning of spring - kaveh is sure he can smell them. only, it has been some time since kaveh has been able to smell anything, and spring has long-since passed. alhaitham says nothing. he merely looks. ]

What of the colour of the anemones?

[loans]

[ he frowns, but does not look away. for a moment, it feels as though alhaitham would be gone if he dared look at him. ]

Why are you questioning me? You have eyes. Surely you could see their color. Or has your memory gone bad?

[ he frowns, because he does not, in fact, recall their color. the thought itself is as terrifying as his nightmares tend to be. kaveh has lost far too much, from family, to touch, to smell, to his dreams. what else is fate to take from him? the memories he so desperately clings to, on the days his legs give out on him? would he come to forget his father's voice, his mother's face? would he come to forget alhaitham, too?

his grip on alhaitham's hand tightens. this isn't his dream. ]

[haravatits]

[ this isn't his dream. kaveh's grip on alhaitham's hand tightens, and alhaitham knows that kaveh speaks the truth by omission alone. he does not remember. he cannot remember. the anemones were placed on his bedside table three days ago, the colour of a bleeding titian sunset. it had been, once, one of kaveh's favourite colours, though if you had asked him, perhaps he would have said that no colour on this earth could not please him. kaveh has not touched colour in such a long time. it may even be that kaveh no longer can perceive them. the eleazar has robbed him of so much.

the eleazar has also robbed alhaitham, though kaveh would not know it. not this kaveh, who is not the kaveh from three days past. the timeloops are destabilising. the nexus of dreams will worsen as time goes on. many such eleazar patients have fallen into eternal slumber because of it. but alhaitham does not do this for some yet undiscovered well of kindness and compassion. he is doing this for kaveh, no more and no less.

and so alhaitham squeezes kaveh's hand. he does so gently. ]

Kaveh, look at me.

[loans]

[ he does not.

alhaitham asks, and he does not look away from the padisarahs. the purple, he imprints in his mind. the perfect, soft purple of real padisarahs. he will remember. he will remember. he will. he would not let the eleazar rob him of this, whatever this is. this dream that is not his. it couldn't be.

the shelves of his memories search for the color of anemones. he has seen them in so many of them, a rainbow field of anemones. which one is he supposed to recall? would he get it right? had there even been anemones at all, in his life, recently?

hadn't it been spring?

kaveh does, then, eventually look at alhaitham. ]

What is it?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh looks. alhaitham meets his gaze - green to red. purple has always been the colour in which red is swallowed by blue. there had been a river, once, that took the memories of all those that fell within it. stripped clean of their memories, the souls of the dead walked on past the veil, never to be seen again under the bright rays of dawn. alhaitham has never crossed the river. he knows someone who had; he knows someone who has. blue is the colour of the forgetting waters. it is the colour of the merciless, unceasing sky at the height of noon as it looks down upon a nation that lives on the corpse of a goddess. red is the colour of life; red is the colour of blood.

alhaitham's hand in kaveh's squeezes once more. the motion imparts, the motion is an ask, the motion is a plea. ]

The anemones were red. It is autumn. The padisarahs are real - and you will forget them. [ one can never mistake alhaitham for kind, let alone kaveh. kindness does not exist in him. there is an empty space where it once dwelt. it is not a space that king deshret can fill. it is not a space that the goddess of flowers can fill. alhaitham will not allow it.

kaveh's confusion is a unacceptable. the unending loop is unacceptable. alhaitham will not allow this, too. ]

I will remember them for you, until you are capable of remembering them again.

[loans]

[ in a land of dreams, the impossible becomes possible. one can never mistake alhaitham for kind, but his grip on kaveh's hand is gentle, and it grounds him down. he speaks, says words that if not kind, what else would they be? in a land of dreams, couldn't alhaitham be kind? isn't he, right now?

the anemones were red. spring has long ended. he will forget the perfect purple of real padisarahs. alhaitham will remember them all, until he won't. and then... ]

And if I don't remember?

[ and what if he's robbed of this, too? what if he's robbed of the color of the anemones, the passing of seasons, the purple of real and fake padisarahs, the way alhaitham is ever so kind to him? this burden is not his to carry. it belongs to kaveh only, and he pulls his hand back.

in a land of dreams, the eleazar is still there. over the thin cloth of his gloves, he feels them. the scales that have haunted him for so long. this, he won't forget. ]

[haravatits]

[ kaveh hasn't remembered. kaveh will remember. kaveh won't remember. the passing of past to present to future is a contentious thing amongst dreams. alhaitham, who lives in a world where dreams no longer exist, has had to come to terms with the uncertainty. it is not, however, uncertainty that he intends to keep. there are things one can do to mitigate. alhaitham intends to do all of it. above, the sky is cornflower blue. higher above, an eagle soards, unflinching in the lancelet light of the imagined sun.

kaveh pulls his hand back. alhaitham's own hand chases them. he takes hold - he refuses to let go. ]

Then I will remember, and remind you. [ the squeeze of his hand is like a plea. ] To do so, I need you to tell me. Kaveh, tell me what you love about padisarahs. What do you love about the sun? Describe it to me, so that I may keep these memories, until you are ready to remember again.

[loans]

[ in a land of dreams, alhaitham is kind, and he finds, too, that he's desperate. kaveh pulls away, and alhaitham chases after him, as though scared of losing him, as though kaveh would disappear into the wind and become the breeze itself.

it would be nice, would it not? he would be free. he would have no more worries. he would not need to wake in fear of his own body giving up on him. he would not be a victim and a servant of fate. he recalls, then, for a moment, the story of eleazar. born from king deshret's madness, the burden of grief. he had loved the goddess of flowers so dearly, yet heed none of her warnings. it is punishment that now those inflicted with eleazar cannot feel the flowers' soft petals anymore.

what do you love about padisarahs?

indeed. what does he love about them? ]

They are... pretty, of course. And their story is so sad. I find it comforting. [ his life is shrouded in pain, and so is the story of padisarahs. they're one and the same, he thinks. maybe it's the reason he's so attached to them. ]

The sun was warm once. [ was. kaveh does not correct himself. ] So many living beings have a need for it. It paints beautiful colors in the sky at sunrise and sundown. [ he lets out a breathy laugh here. ] Do you remember when I used to nearly pass out every time I was out in the sun for too long? But no matter what, I kept doing it. Is it lucky that it doesn't make me so dizzy anymore?

[ is there anything lucky in his inevitable fate? ]

[haravatits]

[ the had been warm, once. this year has been the construction of a shaded backyard, of palm-leaf umbrellas and the lapping of a basic aqueduct rigged from mathematical principles and constructed with alhaitham's own hands. they bring the temperature down in the back of alhaitham's yard, creating a simple sanctuary where one man can exist for a few minutes at a time, to peer at a merciless sun. this year has been balms and creams for kaveh's hands, lest the sun seeps too deeply into the eleazar scabs. this year has been mist flower corolla baths in its aftermath, because kaveh, who has calculated his limits down to the last relevant vector, refuses to allow them to define him.

alhaitham lets out a long breath. he holds kaveh's hand in his, letting the warmth seep in. in dreams, the sun is not nearly so. ]

By the fifth time, I had rigged a bell in the back yard. It reacted to Dendro energy released whenever you fell; it would sound throughout the house, and I would begin putting the mist flower corollas into the bath. Did you know that our purchases of such raised the prices of mist flower corollas by such an amount that the local tanneries began to complain? It would appear a few dozen commissioners went without their sumpterbeast boots this spring.

[loans]

[ the sound of his laugh is an echo. it is genuine, it comes from the heart. kaveh sees fit to laugh, in spite of everything. he laughs, mouth open, teeth out, dimples prominent. it makes his heart fond, his body warm. for a moment, there's no sorrow, no melancholy, no inevitable will of fate itself. for a moment, there's kaveh, alhaitham, and memories of better times. ]

They really weren't that needed. You could always have just pulled me back inside instead of letting me bake under the sun. You never did.

[ no, alhaitham never did. alhaitham, kind-hearted that he is, has rarely found will to chain kaveh down. he complains, yes. he complains, and scolds, and whines, and bickers with him. he makes it seem as though he couldn't stand kaveh's way of living, of being. kaveh, throughout the years, realized that's not quite what it is.

he disagrees, yes. but never once he has stopped kaveh from doing what his heart wished for.

there had been times his heart wondered if it's pity, above all else. kaveh has long locked away such concerns, loathe as he is to let them haunt him. but just like everything else in his life, routine that it is, the momentary joy is, too, momentary. the corners of his mouth slowly fall back into something far smaller, far weaker. ]

... I wish we could stay here forever. Would it be so bad? The sun is warm. I can feel your calluses. They're getting bigger. [ kaveh attempts a bigger smile. it does not go through. ] Isn't reality too cruel a thing?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh laughs. the sound carves through alhaitham. it hollows him.

if asked, alhaitham would pose this response: why would he? for it is something kaveh has decided to do for himself. in no universe would alhaitham ever stand in the way of what kaveh wants to do; in no way would alhaitham want to, even if the action results in kaveh's demise. kaveh, who has never allowed himself to want without guilt. alhaitham, who has never allowed himself to need beyond reason. they stand on opposing sides of a long path, but the bridge between them has always been this: their joined hands, the warmth of palm against palm, finger against finger. kaveh's hands are warm in the dream. it is how alhaitham knows that this is not the right dream.

each kaveh is his kaveh. this is not, ultimately, his kaveh. but in no universe could alhaitham look at kaveh and think - he can be left alone. ]

Even this dream is reality, for only reality can house dreams. [ is what alhaitham says. ] If the tools were to be placed in your hands, would you not build your own dream? One where the foundation is seamless; one where the creation is yours. Is that not so?

[loans]

[ would he? if the tools were to be placed in his hands; rulers, compasses, several different types of pens and pencils, the drafting board his mother had left for him. if he were given the chance to sit on his chair, before a blank canvas, would he build his own dream? a fantasy dream, where he is healthy, where he is happy. a dream where his family is together, alive and well, where his mother smiles and his father pets him on the head. a dream where eleazar does not haunt him, or anyone else.

a dream that even alhaitham would be part of.

all of that is, ultimately, a dream. his reality is nothing like that. ]

Are you not the one who ever saw fit to ground me back to reality, so I don't go off chasing my ever so unrealistic ideals? If this dream is reality, then why must we suffer so, even here? [ there is a squeeze of a hand that does not let go. ] Wouldn't it be too cruel to be haunted even by dreams?

[haravatits]

[ if this dream is reality, why must we suffer so? kaveh uses the word 'we' with such cavalier ease, when in reality, the only person who suffers here is kaveh. alhaitham does not suffer. he has a task to complete, a monumental undertaking that he will accomplish regardless of the purple of the padisarahs and the wings of the bird soaring overhead. it is a task that he has chosen for himself; it is a task where failure is unacceptable.

still, kaveh poses the question, and in no universe would alhaitham fail to respond. he shakes his head. ]

Is that what you would like for me to say to you, now, Kaveh? [ alhaitham exhales, low, in the way of a sigh. ] They did not believe it when you claimed that we have rubbed off on one another.

nvm don't use those icons. alhaitham is too handsome...

[loans]

[ it would not, no, but it would be an alhaitham response, and an alhaitham response is comforting. it would make this alhaitham real, genuine. an alhaitham is kind, and considerate, but still alhaitham.

he attempts a smile, again. it does not go through, again. it weighs in his heart. ]

Do you not think we have? You've grown kinder. [ or is it pity? kaveh does not voice it, but it shows in his eyes, red and bleeding. ] Years ago, I scolded you one too many times for not being considerate.

[ another squeeze of alhaitham's hand. ] What is this, then?

:sparkles:

[haravatits]

[ only kaveh can look at the maw of alhaitham's desires and his relentless pursuit of want, and call it kind. alhaitham does not dispute it. it would not be worth the energy. only kaveh would believe in the existence of a kinder alhaitham when no such man exists; only kaveh could find comfort in it.

instead, alhaitham squeezes back. finger-to-finger, palm-to-palm, their pulses lined as if one, a creature tethered through veins and arteries, two hearts weighing like stone. ]

You should know what it is not. [ alhaitham says, and collects the bleeding red of kaveh's eyes against his palm. he brings their joined hands together, and presses the fleeting warmth of a kiss to his knuckles. ] I am incapable of pity. This is true, even now.

[loans]

[ he is see-through in a way that only alhaitham's eyes can do it. he is seen, he is read, unspoken wonders answered nonetheless. alhaitham is kind. the kiss is warm. it leaves a scar more than it heals his wounds, but kaveh does not shy away from the touch. isn't he used to pain by now? ]

Then, what is it? It is not pity, and you do not see yourself as kind. Why else would you be here, so adamant to hold my hand, so gentle with your touch?

[ the padisarahs, suddenly, do not seem as purple. the sun is hiding behind grey clouds, and it is cold. it's despair given form, and kaveh's reality. ]

Are you, then, Alhaitham created out of my own dreams and wishes? Is that the only way you would be so nice to me? You know that's not true.

[haravatits]

[ alhaitham thinks - that kaveh cannot think of another reason for why alhaitham would hold his hand so gently says more about kaveh than it does about alhaitham. however, there has only ever been one answer to the question that kaveh poses. ]

No, I am not. [ he says, because it is the truth. alhaitham is not a creation of kaveh's dreams and wishes. kaveh's dreams and wishes would not, and should not, include him.

he shakes his head once more. ] Though it is equally true that I am not your Alhaitham, just as you are not the Kaveh that I know.

[loans]

[ an ordinary person would laugh, perhaps, accuse alhaitham's words of being a joke, or say that he has, at last, gone crazy. an ordinary person would dismiss the words, and perhaps a more paranoid one would take them far too seriously.

kaveh, who's not ordinary in the least, finds poetry in the words. this alhaitham is not his alhaitham, for his alhaitham does not hold his hand so gently. his alhaitham does not chase after him as though he will be gone, so soon, in the beat of a heart, the blink of an eye. his alhaitham worries, but shows it behind layers and masks as though a treasure to be uncovered. kaveh always does.

he had dreamed, once, of an alhaitham that had gone mad at kaveh's death. he wonders which alhaitham that would be, if his own would fall to such depravity. ]

What is your Kaveh like, then, and how much does he differ from me?

[haravatits]

[ the padisarahs are dim. the sun sets into monochrome. the eagle continues to soar. a bird's flight cannot be stopped by the changing of flowers or the disappearance of the sun. a bird will continue to fly until it cannot. the world is of no consequence to a bird. alhaitham, having received the question, merely allows his head to cant.

there is a wry crinkle to the corners of his eyes as he breathes out in the way of a sigh. ]

You would ask that of me while looking the way you do. And you assert that I am the terrible one.

[loans]

Is it too cruel a question?

[ despite all, the words and the sentiment, a breathy laugh escapes his throat, for the irony of it all is amusing. there's no surprise in the lack of answer, no. alhaitham, his or not, is still alhaitham. they are all fundamentally him, and kaveh knows alhaitham.

even in a dream, his body succumbs to fatigue, but this time, kaveh finds that the drowsiness is comforting. he should fear for the day to come, whether he will rouse at all, whether he will be able to move his legs or he will be bedridden. here, he thinks, there's no such fear.

the padisarahs and their color, their smell. the sun, and the many colors it paints the sky. the chipping of birds, the flapping of their wings. the way the breeze makes the grass underneath his feet dance. it's paradise. kaveh would not be surprised if he's already dead. ]

Tell me, then. How do you differ from my Alhaitham?

[haravatits]

[ the strength of kaveh's hand shifts. the padisarahs bloom. the sun emerges from its clouds. the dream, alhaitham thinks, is coming to an end. like the coming of a storm, the world shifts in vibrant bloom. one last entreaty to the radiance of a sun, a final celebration of life before the encroaching darkness. above, the clouds begin to sway. above, the eagle angles for a dive.

alhaitham, who only ever has had attention for but one, solitary individual, holds kaveh's hand. gently, he guides kaveh to sit. he is weak. this is paradise, and he is weak. ]

Do men not grow even when the most nominal amount of time has passed? Are you the same Kaveh as you were at the beginning of this dream? I am the Alhaitham you will meet in seven days; if you were to ask what differs between my present self, and my past self, I would assert that it is the time that has passed, and it is the distance I have walked.

Sit. Rest.

[loans]

[ kaveh shoos away the awkwardness that creeps up from the bottom of his stomach, and accepts defeat. his legs are thankful when he finds room to sit on the grass, soft upon touch, and he does not let his hold on alhaitham's hand go. he tugs on it instead, and knows alhaitham will sit with him. time and time again, he would succumb to kaveh's whims, and what harm would there be in this? ]

Then, who is to say I'm not your Kaveh, and you're not my Alhaitham? No matter the time, it will always be like this. 'Kaveh' and 'Alhaitham' exist outside of our reach.

[ it's a comforting thought. no matter what, they will come together, whether kaveh is on his deathbed and alhaitham has barely witnessed the eleazar withering away at his body, or whether kaveh is still ever so full of energy, believing himself to be the exception to the eleazar's curse, only to meet an alhaitham who has seen kaveh fall victim to it, as so many others do. ]

Who's to say we are even 'Kaveh' and 'Alhaitham', really? Rtawahist Darshan is keen on believing in reincarnation. Are we all, then, just victims of a fate we cannot fight against?

[haravatits]

[ kaveh sits, and alhaitham, because he, too, is weak, sits with him. their limbs knock against one another, two men sitting face-to-face, knee-to-knee, ankle-to-ankle, their heads bowed amongst a field of purple. an eagle soaring above would not know where one man began and another ended save for the silver of alhaitham's hair and the gold of kaveh's. to the flowers, however, perhaps they were no different after all. the padisarah scatter so that they are not trodden. they sway with the building breeze, their petals unfurled. a last, profuse bloom.

victims, kaveh says.

alhaitham, who has never believed himself a victim to anything, merely shakes his head. ]

Is that the stance you have taken on, Rtawahist? I see you have chosen to switch to the Darshan you are least suited for.