[ and the folding of a house of cards. it begins like this: the backwards step that reverberates along the hardwood floors of alhaitham's apartment. in chess, the pieces cannot go backwards. it is a rule as ironclad as the game is old, more law than regulation; for all that you can discuss and prod and pry answers from era-defining plays and the psychology of players involved, there are certain things that are immutable. kaveh takes a single step back in the face of an advancing pawn, and alhaitham thinks -
that the walls of this apartment are not large enough to encompass the both of them. it would be the last time he thinks this, but the realisation comes first. there is always a first. a child saying yes to a stranger with a lifeline had his first. every other assent that comes after, then, are merely stones that follow the first, each laid down through relentless hands. kaveh looks away, and alhaitham looks - first at the line of his neck in the hallway light, and then, once again, back down to his board. ]
Order two portions from wherever that seems will deliver the soonest. [ in the shadows of the living room, alhaitham pulls out his credit card. he places it on the other side of the chessboard.
the sound is a soft rasp of plastic against wood. alhaitham's head lowers. ] Use my card.
[ good, kaveh thinks. there is, at least, an unspoken mercy at his behavior not being brought to light, or questioned, or acknowledged. there would have been clients before that would use it against him. exposing his weaknesses to them would be a death-sentence. here, there is no gratitude to be felt. instead, it comes in bouts of relief, and kaveh finds composure again. it has been a while since he has been this afraid. trauma, after all, doesn't go as easily. it settles its roots deep inside his skin, and feed off his existence.
it's always easier to relent and give in. that, kaveh has learned many, many years ago. life is kinder when one does not say no. he has scars, unseen, to back-up that belief. he takes one, then two, then three steps forward, and relents. what kaveh considers: the tea, the price, how long it would take to be prepared, and then, how long to be delivered.
They'll be here in fifteen minutes, [ is what he says, eventually, as he composes himself enough to approach the table again. he takes a look at the card, but does not take it yet. ] Anything else?
[ kaveh places the order. alhaitham listens to the cadence of his voice, not to the substance of it. it's deeper, but of course it is. the intervening years has filled out kaveh in ways that leave his younger self a mere figment of a shadow - the length of his hair, the shape of his face, the long line of his body and the way his fingers curve along the length of the phone. but he is still there, alhaitham thinks, that kaveh of years ago. that kaveh has never left him. it is in the steeped silence. it is in the gold of kaveh's hair and the red of his eyes. it's in the fear.
across the room, alhaitham continues to set the board. the pieces line themselves in orderly rows, the careful arrangement of which alhaitham knows in waking sleep. these are the pieces that have fought the battle most needed to be won. they now sit, prickled, in the gap between the act and the motion. the phone clicks off. kaveh speaks. and alhaitham, he lifts his head to look.
kaveh, like a polished mirror, looks back. he does not take alhaitham's card. ]
Come. [ alhaitham says. he gestures with the tip of his head. there is a seat across from him. the angle of his head says thus: sit with me. ]
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Date: 2023-07-08 11:18 am (UTC)that the walls of this apartment are not large enough to encompass the both of them. it would be the last time he thinks this, but the realisation comes first. there is always a first. a child saying yes to a stranger with a lifeline had his first. every other assent that comes after, then, are merely stones that follow the first, each laid down through relentless hands. kaveh looks away, and alhaitham looks - first at the line of his neck in the hallway light, and then, once again, back down to his board. ]
Order two portions from wherever that seems will deliver the soonest. [ in the shadows of the living room, alhaitham pulls out his credit card. he places it on the other side of the chessboard.
the sound is a soft rasp of plastic against wood. alhaitham's head lowers. ] Use my card.
establishing kvh's outfit to be this: https://twitter.com/iluvecstasy/status/1677230302186336258
Date: 2023-07-09 07:45 pm (UTC)it's always easier to relent and give in. that, kaveh has learned many, many years ago. life is kinder when one does not say no. he has scars, unseen, to back-up that belief. he takes one, then two, then three steps forward, and relents. what kaveh considers: the tea, the price, how long it would take to be prepared, and then, how long to be delivered.
the café nearby that sells pita pockets is his choice, and he places the order with the voice of a man who does not have the job that he does, that has not lived the life that he has, who is not nearly as broken as he is. to wear a well-polished mask is a necessity if he is to survive in this field of work. this much, kaveh has learned long ago. ]
They'll be here in fifteen minutes, [ is what he says, eventually, as he composes himself enough to approach the table again. he takes a look at the card, but does not take it yet. ] Anything else?
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Date: 2023-08-20 02:43 pm (UTC)across the room, alhaitham continues to set the board. the pieces line themselves in orderly rows, the careful arrangement of which alhaitham knows in waking sleep. these are the pieces that have fought the battle most needed to be won. they now sit, prickled, in the gap between the act and the motion. the phone clicks off. kaveh speaks. and alhaitham, he lifts his head to look.
kaveh, like a polished mirror, looks back. he does not take alhaitham's card. ]
Come. [ alhaitham says. he gestures with the tip of his head. there is a seat across from him. the angle of his head says thus: sit with me. ]