[Wouldn't it be funny if Kaveh really did reject him after all of this.
But a rejection would take more cognitive ability than Kaveh currently possesses. It would take thought, eloquence, and--most importantly--a deep and certain understanding of his own emotions, as well as Alhaitham's. Kaveh is not capable of any of that; he can't process anything beyond the static in his head, the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart.
Alhaitham does not move quickly. Kaveh watches as he shifts, as he closes the distance between them, and he knows that there is ample time to put a stop to this, should he desire to do so. He feels Alhaitham's grip on his hand loosen, and at the same time, he's absurdly, acutely aware of the trembling of his own hands, unsteady in a way that would be ruinous for his work. Alhaitham draws close, so close, close enough for Kaveh to smell the shampoo he uses, the same one he's used for years, that Kaveh likes to borrow when it seems like Alhaitham won't notice, telling himself it's just because it's gentle on his hair, not because it's a small piece of something familiar, a pathetic parody of an intimacy they never got the chance to have, all because neither of them can ever, ever keep their stupid mouths shut, because Kaveh is a cruel person at his core, only ever hurting the people he--
Never in a million years would Kaveh admit to imagining it, but Alhaitham's kiss is gentler than he thought it would be. Alhaitham has always been so stubborn, so unapologetic--and spoiled, quite honestly. He'd thought that this would be just the same: that Alhaitham would simply take what he wanted, self-assured in the results of whatever data he'd examined to determine that Kaveh would reciprocate, or perhaps too egocentric to care if he didn't. (Except he would, of course, because Kaveh only entertained such daydreams when he was either happy enough to imagine being unafraid of accepting Alhaitham's affection, or desperate enough to ignore the shame of pretending he was worthy of it.)
This, however, is so quintessentially Alhaitham that Kaveh immediately recognizes where his imagination went awry. Tender, steady, warm--Alhaitham is, and always has been, the embodiment of home. This is the true shape of that self-assuredness Kaveh pictured on his own; it is Alhaitham saying, with the calm certainty upon which he has built his life, This is who I am. This is how I feel. Everything else is out of my control, and I have made peace with it.
No, Kaveh does not reject him. He does not turn his head or push Alhaitham back. And in those long-distant fantasies, back when Kaveh was young and bright-eyed and too naive to recognize the pain of dreaming, he would always rest a hand on Alhaitham's face, would always trace the lines of Alhaitham's jaw or cheekbone back and around until he could tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Alhaitham's neck; he would smile against Alhaitham's lips, would say there's you, like the foregone conclusion to the story they'd been writing together.]
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the way I had a heart attack bc I almost accidentally deleted this wholeass tag 1/2
But a rejection would take more cognitive ability than Kaveh currently possesses. It would take thought, eloquence, and--most importantly--a deep and certain understanding of his own emotions, as well as Alhaitham's. Kaveh is not capable of any of that; he can't process anything beyond the static in his head, the rush of blood in his ears, the pounding of his heart.
Alhaitham does not move quickly. Kaveh watches as he shifts, as he closes the distance between them, and he knows that there is ample time to put a stop to this, should he desire to do so. He feels Alhaitham's grip on his hand loosen, and at the same time, he's absurdly, acutely aware of the trembling of his own hands, unsteady in a way that would be ruinous for his work. Alhaitham draws close, so close, close enough for Kaveh to smell the shampoo he uses, the same one he's used for years, that Kaveh likes to borrow when it seems like Alhaitham won't notice, telling himself it's just because it's gentle on his hair, not because it's a small piece of something familiar, a pathetic parody of an intimacy they never got the chance to have, all because neither of them can ever, ever keep their stupid mouths shut, because Kaveh is a cruel person at his core, only ever hurting the people he--
Never in a million years would Kaveh admit to imagining it, but Alhaitham's kiss is gentler than he thought it would be. Alhaitham has always been so stubborn, so unapologetic--and spoiled, quite honestly. He'd thought that this would be just the same: that Alhaitham would simply take what he wanted, self-assured in the results of whatever data he'd examined to determine that Kaveh would reciprocate, or perhaps too egocentric to care if he didn't. (Except he would, of course, because Kaveh only entertained such daydreams when he was either happy enough to imagine being unafraid of accepting Alhaitham's affection, or desperate enough to ignore the shame of pretending he was worthy of it.)
This, however, is so quintessentially Alhaitham that Kaveh immediately recognizes where his imagination went awry. Tender, steady, warm--Alhaitham is, and always has been, the embodiment of home. This is the true shape of that self-assuredness Kaveh pictured on his own; it is Alhaitham saying, with the calm certainty upon which he has built his life, This is who I am. This is how I feel. Everything else is out of my control, and I have made peace with it.
No, Kaveh does not reject him. He does not turn his head or push Alhaitham back. And in those long-distant fantasies, back when Kaveh was young and bright-eyed and too naive to recognize the pain of dreaming, he would always rest a hand on Alhaitham's face, would always trace the lines of Alhaitham's jaw or cheekbone back and around until he could tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Alhaitham's neck; he would smile against Alhaitham's lips, would say there's you, like the foregone conclusion to the story they'd been writing together.]