Chapter Text
Kaveh entered the house. He hung his keys onto the hook on the wall, and Alhaitham froze from where he sat in his home office. Wordless, the architect took off his shoes and tapped into the living room before bee-lining to the kitchen.
With furrowed brows, Alhaitham lowered his pen, something like concern rising in his chest. Kaveh was anything but quiet. On bad days, he'd enter, loudly declaring his misery.
On even worse ones, he'd enter drunk, slurring and complaining and yelling. Alhaitham disliked it greatly.
But this silence was... worrisome. He had the urge to call his name, to see if he'd react as usual, with a quip and bared teeth.
A cupboard slammed closed. It broke the silence, and Alhaitham pulled his noise-cancelling earpieces off.
As expected, the first 'normal' behavior appeared — Kaveh grabbed a bottle of wine and filled a glass, gulping it down in fevor.
Intrigued enough, Alhaitham got up to observe further. He remembered exactly two past incidents where Kaveh'd came home this quietly.
One where he'd gotten attacked by an eremite gang for snooping around their inventory and one where he'd visited the grave of his father.
(It was the first time he'd seen him cry quietly, without screams, or laughter. It had hurt, watching him, and confused the scribe greatly. Rarely did he feel so strongly by looking at another human, and even more concerningly, he'd felt his own nose pricking. But he guessed the loss of a parent, he could relate to. And maybe, he cared more about the impulsive architect than he let on. Coincidentally, it was the first time they had hugged since their student years.)
It did not take Alhaitham long to walk to the living room, seeing Kaveh leaned over a kitchen island, already filling the next glass. It was a big one, not suited for alcohol, and Kaveh treated the wine as if it were water, barely tasting it, gulping like a man dying of thirst.
What the hell happened to you? He wanted to ask, but couldn't get his tongue to move, no less his locked jaw and frozen lips. Kaveh's hair was a mess, the clips nowhere to be seen — part of his cape was slipping off his shoulder, and most importantly his white shirt was covered in red.
Handprints. On his collarbone, his exposed chest, his throat. There was a bleeding cut on his cheek, too.
Crimson eyes burned into the Scribe.
"What?"
Icy anger. The word cut him as a blade would, and he recognized it — it surfaced when their arguments would cross a line, when one jab at Kaveh's beliefs had hit too close, too deep.
Something always shifted, and Alhaitham would reel back, words dying on his silver tongue. Kaveh would grow dangerously calm, mimic turning cold, eyes burning, yet dead. Raised arms would lower themselves, and the architect would say something that would reverberate in the scribe's head when he'd go to sleep.
The seconds of thought were halted by Kaveh, who'd slammed the glass into the marble of the counter, and filled it again to the brim.
"What happened to you?" He finally asked, walking towards the blond. Kaveh rolled his eyes and drank half of the glass. His cheeks were already dusting over pink, eyes burning, hands shaking as they held the crimson liquor.
"Obvious, isn't it?"
Alhaitham narrowed his eyes at him. Kaveh emptied the glass. Slammed it down. He suppressed a flinch to the noise, almost instinctively reaching up to activate his earpiece.
"Were you attacked? Or did you fall into a ditch? Perhaps a—"
Kaveh groaned. This time, he did not even bother to fill up his glass and pulled the bottle to his lips. Alhaitham grabbed it, ripping it from the architects shaking hands and holding it high above his head as Kaveh whined, red spilling from his lips.
His reach was fruitless, leaning over the counter, grasping at air.
"Kaveh."
A snarl.
At least he was louder now. More predictable. Drunk, loud, mad. His usual state. The ice remained in his gaze, stabbing through him. It should not be as chilling as it was — Alhaitham found himself stricken by an unusual alarm.
"Let me."
"You've had well enough, as this bottle has a quarter left."
Another sigh. At least the architect pulled his hand back. Some progress. The scribe looked at the handprints pointedly. "Again, what the hell happened?"
Kaveh swallowed. As he made no further attempts at getting the wine bottle back, he lowered his arm. The pang of iron and copper hit his nose.
Pulling the opened bottle closer, he furrowed his brows. While he knew that his roommate was certainly weird and didn't put it above him to buy some odd choices of drink, this wine certainly smelled ... strange.
Staring into the crimson liquor, he heard the architect shift around, catching him lick his lips from the edge of his vision.
"....Was attacked by someone."
That got his attention. Raising both his head and eyebrow, the scribe looked back to Kaveh.
"What did you do?"
"Hah!? It's not.. It wasn't my fault, they just—" gesturing, the architect flinched at the way his muscles pulled with his motions.
This will go nowhere. Alhaitham could tell. He decided to drop the topic of his roommate's odd wine, placing it back on the counter.
"Mhm." He didn't believe him, not really — Kaveh was not a stranger to bar fights, dates gone wrong, sellers upset, eremites after him for not paying on time. There was always something.
But Kaveh was still injured and Alhaitham did not like the look of purple fingerprints on his throat.
"Sit down on the couch and take your bloody clothes off." He ordered, turning to get the medical aid kit from the bathroom, not bothering to look if the architect complied.
By a sigh and shuffling feet, he knew Kaveh was already doing so anyway.
Alhaitham returned shortly after, seeing the architect, shirtless, on the sofa. He was carding fingers through his ruffled hair, blood under his nails. The imprints had started to fade a little, dendro vision no doubt helping with the healing.
Huffing, he placed the kit on the coffee table and sat down next to his roommate. There were two other cuts on his chest, bruises along his side, some dark splotches on his arm. It looked like he'd been dragged, like he'd struggled to get away from… something. Someone.
Alhaitham bit down on his teeth and lifted the wet cloth he'd also gotten from the bathroom. "Lest you get the cushion dirty," he breathed, and crimson eyes flicked up to his face. "Lean back."
His contradiction was not lost on him, and Kaveh stared flatly, but stayed quiet and complied.
He wiped the blood off his cold skin, watching the architect shiver beneath the cloth when he'd graze over wounds.
It would not be them if he turned soft now, his only indication of care shown by the fact that he was cleaning his wounds gently, his other soft hand holding his shoulder steady.
Once Kaveh was no longer covered in blood, Alhaitham got to work on wrapping the wounds in bandages, not before rubbing a thin spread of salve over the aggravated skin.
They were silent as he did so, though Alhaitham felt the unwavering gaze of Kaveh on him the entire time.
After his side and arm were taken care of, the scribe turned to the bruised neck and collarbones, only to be stopped by a hand around his wrist.
Teal met crimson. His eyes looked darker, under the soft light of the lamp by the sofa, though somehow, they were more intense, icy fire, a contradiction within a contradiction.
Fitting for someone like Kaveh. But Alhaitham digressed.
"Kaveh," he began, the usual venom lacking in the roughness his name left his mouth. The grip on his wrist tightened. "Come on."
"I..." echoed the unfamiliar hush, as if he was as breathless as the scribe. "I'll be fine." ‘You don't have to do this.’
Kaveh disliked being taken care of. Being pitied, being gifted any kindness as he felt undeserving. Or so he sometimes sobbed, into pillows or blueprints, unbeknownst that Alhaitham stood behind his door, earpiece resting on his shoulders, hand twitching to grasp the handle, to enter.
Behind those gleaming eyes and blinding smile was an incalculable amount of pain.
Once, they were close enough to share those sorrows, to talk deep into the night, wasting time in the library, or staring at the waters below the Akademia, how the stars mirrored in the blue.
Now, there was a wall building itself, or it had begun rising years ago, Alhaitham didn't know, didn't acknowledge— the hand left his wrist. Watched as Kaveh averted his eyes and swallowed, nodding after a breath.
He stayed silent as he spread the numbing salve across bruised skin. His face stayed neutral, or so he hoped, thumb caressing the architects adam's apple, feeling it bob under his touch.
Blinking himself out of the haze built upon silence, Alhaitham leaned back and wiped his hands on the rag, sorting the items back into the kit. Kaveh stayed laying back into the cushion, chest rising and lowering slowly, calm.
With a sigh, the scribe got up, leaving him. "Go to sleep, Kaveh."
We'll talk in the morning, when you're not half-dead looking. Remained unsaid, though they both knew anyway.
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
Kaveh looked better. The usual gleam of life had returned to his eyes and Alhaitham felt relief wash over him as he made himself coffee.
Believe it or not, neither of them were morning people, so their bickering only began after they'd have breakfast, and it was because of this fact that the scribe actually enjoyed his first hours of the day.
Sitting opposite to each other, they ate in silence. Sentences burned on his tongue, but he washed them down with coffee.
The bruises had faded a little already, the ones around his neck turned to splotchy purple and blue. Wearing a fresh, soft looking beige tunic, it covered the bandages, excluding the ones on his lower arms.
He felt his eyes slip down to red streaks every now and then. In return, Kaveh’s gaze would latch onto his own face and he'd snap back to his plate.
It was a Saturday, so at least he didn't have to worry about going to the Akademia while still winded by the sight of… him. Injured. He felt a fool, letting himself be influenced this way.
"So." Alhaitham started, stepping into the living room as Kaveh laid on the couch, staring up to the ceiling. The bottle from yesterday was empty, he'd found it next to the trash. A 'remedy' would be his reasoning. Alas, this talk was not about the blond's alcohol consumption, but him getting jumped.
"So what?" Came the infuriating answer-question, and Kaveh raised himself by digging his elbows into the cushion.
"Why— how were you even attacked? And what happened to the guy?"
Kaveh smirked. His gaze seemed to darken, though it faded quick enough that one could've easily missed it, were Alhaitham any other than himself.
"Ah, I don't know, honestly," the architect began (lied), sitting up, "I was on the way home from Lambad and got pulled into a backstreet."
"Uh-huh."
"He got me pretty good but I— at the end I managed to overpower him. After that I dragged myself here." 'Overpower.'
"So he's still out there? Couldn't he have followe—"
"Oh, no no, 'haitham. He couldn't."
The scribe raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the couch and crossing his arms above his chest.
A grin slipped through the architect's lips. When he lifted his gaze to Alhaitham's, the chill from last night returned, the tingle rushing down his back.
He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the feeling of being pinned down by a needle, examined by— "Why not?" Alhaitham heard himself ask.
Kaveh's smile grew, stretched itself over teeth, and his eyes, glowing, alive, glinted.
"His legs were broken, after all."
Ah. He nodded. That'd do it, alright.
"Well, is our conversation finished, then? I still have some blueprints to work on."
Alhaitham rolled his eyes but nodded again. "I suppose so."
"Neat!" And so the architect pushed himself off the couch and sauntered back to his room.
Alhaitham could not shake the feeling that he was missing something, hearing the creak of Kaveh's door closing.
With a sigh, the scribe turned back to the kitchen area and busied himself by washing the dishes. Filling the sink with warm water, he poured soap into it, fingers drawing small swirls into the bubbling surface.
Kaveh, just what are you hiding?
❀❀❀
His roommate was odd. This, of course, was no surprise to Alhaitham — he had known him for well over a decade now, grazing near two. He was well aware of all of his antics and quirks, his expression and tone known and easy to read.
The scribe liked to think that they knew one another well. No doubt did Kaveh have the same skill of reading him, behind that floaty appearance startlingly intelligent and observant.
But it seemed as if there were a lot of things that they did not know. Of half-confessions under moonlight, hidden glances above crinkled pages, silent laughs shared in the wings of the night, shielded from the awakened world and all its awareness.
Days passed. Everything slipped back into routine, the bickering, the card games, eating at Lambad, coming home to a passed out architect on their sofa, applications upon applications piling on his office-desk.
Kaveh's wounds healed quickly, like they always did, and Alhaitham could almost forget that that night ever happened. And maybe that would be easier, to drop those burning questions, the curiosity of knowledge, of something new, sprouting from within him.
But he would not be himself without his hunger for the unknown.
And so, the roots persisted, grew, wrapped around his ribs and lungs and head. Because this was just an event of many. And Alhaitham would be damned if he did not solve the mystery that was Kaveh.
The shimmering gleam of moonlight pooled into the water's surface. Soft ebbs distorted the images, stars shaking, and Alhaitham leaned back on his arms, fingers ripping at the grass. Kaveh laid next to him, pale face staring up to the night sky.
He'd raised one arm, finger drawing stars together, mumbling about the parallel lines, the perspective, how he could base off a floor-plan with nothing but star-points to guide him.
The other student rolled his eyes, though his eyes remained soft, looking up from the water and following the other's sharp nail.
Despite having to draw and write pages upon pages (Archons, the amount of crumbled blueprints scattered around his desk was irritating—) Kaveh kept his nails a little bit longer, sharp almond form making it appear like a claw almost.
They helped him fiddle with materials for his architecture models, rip thin cloth, and were awfully good at catching Alhaitham off-guard by raking them across his back.
Alhaitham blinked, noticing he'd focused on nothing but the moving finger, Kaveh's tired, quiet voice buzzing into a pleasant background noise.
The clawed hand lowered itself, Kaveh's stream of thought coming to an end. His scarlet eyes flicked over to Alhaitham, shining bright in the dark, almost glowing.
"You could at least pretend to listen, Haitham."
His lips dragged themselves in a small smirk, "Then tell me something of substance, Kaveh."
The other huffed, sitting up. "You're so annoying."
"Me?"
Kaveh didn't have to look down to know he was raising his eyebrows in doubt.
"Yeah. You."
Alhaitham snorted, and the water listened to their conversation as the city slept.
Kaveh was sharp. He dressed himself softly, talked and smiled bright, warm, although he was always cold — his puppy eyes distracted from the sharpness of his tongue, his touch.
Only few knew him well enough to observe such things, even less understood. His eyes held a gleam in them, alive, smart, aware — his smile split his face, showing teeth, always showing teeth, baring his flashy white, —his nails dragged over surfaces, over skin, always leaving scratches, goosebumps behind.
Bathed in moonlight, he seemed ethereal. Smooth skin, golden hair, bronze at the tips, flowing around his perfect face. Untouchable, unbreakable, unearthly. He wondered how it would feel to kiss those wine-red lips of his.
Alhaitham shook his head, wondering how his mind had even come up with such thoughts. It had been a month, now, and he was still no closer to an answer.
He sat in his office in the Akademia, mulling over the pages upon pages of contracts and applications.
The Grand Scribe pressed another 'denied' onto the paper, flipping it over to the rest. Eyes scanning the next research paper;
Abyssal Corruption and Evolutionary Sub-Branches of Homosapiens — A Request for more Budget and access to higher level information in the Akasha by Zimri Arakh
Cursed Blood runs through the veins of humanity. Over five generations have passed since the Cataclysm and the surviving cursed have no doubt etched themselves into our DNA via mingling with the other nation's people. It has also been found that exposure to high levels of Abyssal Energy while in the womb can a imprint corruption onto the growing child inside. I began my research to assess and perhaps even manage to combat this risk factor.
For convenience, these corrupted humans will be titled CBH, Cursed Blood Homosapiens.
Depending on the amount of abyssal energy within a CBH, they show different features, strengths, and animalistic behavior. Notably, types are also influenced by the region they were born in. This paper focuses on Sumeru's branch of CBH's, as first discovered as "Rift Hound" variants in the rainforest and desert area. They have not been fully eliminated as first believed by major studies 200 years ago, but have evolved into humanoid creatures instead, the CBH archetype.
Due to its regional closeness to the fallen empire and highly adaptive nature, Sumeru has seen a stronger change to their features.
The known corruption appears to manifest in and around Withering Zones, as well as areas affected by the Cataclysm via battles taking place or burial grounds. I believe researching DBH's can teach us more about abyssal monsters and evolution when triggered by an external force — that is to say, I do not wish to use these conclusions to change human DNA, but to study the corruption present in our land to find ways to work against it. I believe that DBH may be more resistant to corruption, and could possibly even be of help when investigating those areas.
I request a budget of 50.000 Mora and access to the Abyssal Section of the Akasha.
Down below is the completed first findings and my analysis.
Alhaitham hummed, eyes drifting over the paper once more. This was something new, something that sparked even his interest. Folding the pages, he put them on the 'consider' spot, a little vacant in comparison to the denied ones next to his desk, on the floor, reaching to his thighs.
As he ordered the lose pages, the word 'vampiric' caught his eye in between lines. Folklore was nothing but humanity's explanation for things they did not understand yet.
Maybe it was time they did.
He pulled the front page back out, stamping the green sigil of approval onto it, signing his name.
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
"Would it kill you to accept defeat when you're clearly wrong?" He hissed, arms crossed.
Kaveh reeled back, frowning, huffing, sharp teeth slipping under drawn out lips, always shining.
"You're the mistaken one, for Archons sake!" The architect snapped, a hand placed on his hip, the other waving around.
It's early noon, and in their true fashion of no conversation being able to end in anything but an argument, they'd come to the topic of the correct way of transmitting elemental energy into objects without disturbing its stability.
"Being an architect, I'd at least expect you to know this." Ignoring the baseless retort, Alhaitham narrowed his eyes.
A satisfying bristle appeared on the others face, a growl escaping his throat, bleeding into a hiss. The scribe watched it closely, noting down each change of expression.
This may be the easiest experiment he'd ever done.
"The fuck’s up with you today? And of course I know how it's done! It's different for almost every material and each one has a formula, some of which I fucking discovered myself!"
Kaveh walked around the sofa, coming closer, stopping a mere two steps before Alhaitham.
He stared straight ahead, both of them about the same height, although Kaveh was an inch taller, his usual slouch made them appear equal. Still frowning, teeth bared as his jaw was tense, open, red burning into teal.
Alhaitham had never intended to win this argument, purposely choosing the wrong interpretation of a catalyst formula. If he wasn't distracted by his own pride to lay down facts and convince others, he could more easily observe.
And he got to see Kaveh's passion and anger, which was definitely another small positive.
He'd already gotten a lot of information, nothing particularly new but if placed in a different context, it would be helpful. Should he go even further? (For science, of course.)
Their usual arguments revolved around morality, of softness and vulnerability and how loyalty was a wretched thing chaining humans to ideals that will only hurt them in the end. Mixed with quips about the others intelligence, skills and knowledge — those were somehow more infuriating than debating morale.
Alhaitham knew it was the pride that they both held, the irrefutable proof of their degrees and achievements.
"Cat got your tongue?" Kaveh's quip pulled him from his thoughts, making him blink back at the architect.
"I'm just thinking of all the productive things I could've done instead of talking to you."
Kaveh's eyes narrowed, staring blankly at him. "You started this! Saying I know nothing of construction and the help of visions—"
He tilted his head, deciding he'd collected enough information. "How else did you manage to shatter the bulb in your bedroom?"
"I—” Kaveh broke off. The lamp had stood on his desk, shards littering its surface, its glowing gem broken into pieces.
Alhaitham had entered the room in slight alarm at the loud noise, seeing Kaveh standing frozen. There had been a slight smugness glinting in the cacophony of blue-green eyes.
"I wasn't trying to push dendro into it, it just broke from the surrounding energy field." The architect said, rubbing his temple. "I underestimated my power, that's all. Now get off my dick, damn."
"I don't recall ever being on yo—"
"Haitham!"
His lips pulled up into a small smile, and Alhaitham didn't hold it back this time. Kaveh had calmed a little, cheeks reddening from the comment. Nonetheless, the experiment had been a success, and the scribe managed to steer back into lighthearted teasing.
"Anyway, I'm guessing you'll need a new one soon, no?"
The blond nodded, stepping back. Ever the night owl.
"Stores are closed today because of the Day of Flowers, so we'll get a new one tomorrow."
"We?" Kaveh had begun to sort his hair, shifting the clips tighter, looking up in slight surprise.
"Yes, we, because I also need to get something. Might as well."
The architect shrugged. "Alright."
❀❀❀
Alhaitham sat on his bed, study in hand. His back leaned into pillows, head knocking against the wall.
Sumeru's CBHS: Vampirism and Ferality
The common cursed archetype in Sumeru are described as vampires — unnaturally strong, cold blooded and filled with a want/crave/need for human blood. Over centuries of feeding on humans, absorbing the contents and processing them, has led them to take on a more humanoid form.
The very first leads of this evolution was discovered two years after the Cataclysm. A village near Avidya Forest had been mauled by a rapant monster, described as a bipedal Rift Hound, with the ten residents sucked dry.
These 'cannibalism' murders exist up until today — sparsely and not as brutal as the Prime Cursed had been in the first century, however.
The Rift-Branch of CBH described by their common features:
— Glowing, often red-brown eyes
— Advanced night vision
— Sharp teeth, seemingly elongating
— Clear and cold skin, sensitive to sunlight
— Strong fingernails, often naturally pointed
— Lean muscles, natural strength
— Impulsive, calculative & possessive traits
— Fast reaction time and reflexes
— Accelerated healing
— Healing by Visions painful and less effective
— Bloodlust / Hunger
Vampires are able to eat human food, especially modern ones as they have little Corruption left. They do however need blood, at least once a month, before a fever washes over them, in which they hunt and succumb to their instincts.
First Century Rift-Hound Variants, not yet titled as Vampires: An immense craving for blood, incoherent speech, little dexterity, fluctuating consciousness. Bipedal, depicted with blackened lower arms and claws, burning red eyes, canine teeth, inhuman speed and strength. They behaved and fed like animals, brutal to a point where humans actively sought to get rid of them all.
Over centuries of coupling with humans, these traits lessened, leaving some without any such attributes.
Seco—
Alhaitham stared at the list. Ever since acquiring the essay, he'd read it again and again, and soon, everything made a lot more sense.
Still, a part of him refused to believe it.
Skipping over some lines, he let the checkmarks next to the list be, focusing on the next part.
Fifth Century Vampires;
having lost most of their strength and physical attributes, these manage to blend into society. Their lifespan has dwindled down to about 100 years, aging only a little slower than humans. Depending on their Corruption Percent, they may even experience bloodlust once every two months. Their stamina, eyesight and sense of smell are still much better than those of humans. Known for hiding and stalking their prey, they seem able to live undercover and remain undiscovered even when feeding.
Through my intensive investigation, I have managed to find underground groups of vampires who help other CBH. A common item to buy is Crimson Wine, a wine brewed with blood and cherry to cover up most of its smell. Looking like the average red wine, nobody would suspect anything.
The blood wine.
Kaveh is— he's actually a—
“...vampire." Alhaitham breathed, blinking down at the page.
─•~❉᯽❉~•─
The final test would be somewhat useless, though Alhaitham granted himself this indulgence for once.
After coming to terms with the fact that he was probably, very likely, actually roommates with a vampire, he noted down some of his own observations. He'd barely registered time passing until his stomach growled of hunger.
Glancing up, he noticed that it was already dark outside. His stomach felt like a black hole, and he realized he had also missed lunch today.
This whole ordeal was messing with his routine — though he could not lie to himself that he wasn't incredibly interested in what this realization might bring.
Anyhow, he quickly got up and started making dinner. As expected, Kaveh crawled out of his room to watch him cook, probably attracted by the sizzling of meat in the pan.
"What'cha making?"
"Steak and grilled potatoes." He answered without looking up, pushing the meat around before placing a lid on the pan.
Kaveh hummed, jumping up to sit on the kitchen island behind Alhaitham. The words of the essay reverberated in his mind, and he half wondered if he should mess with him, but there was this… he would not call it fear.
There was this primal nervousness, the one he'd feel when watching Ruin Guards walk past, or hilichurls on a hill, dancing around a fire with their axes in hand. Something other was now living with him. Had always lived here — inside his best friend was the residue of ultimate sin.
But Kaveh was still just Kaveh.
His annoying, stupidly pretty, intelligent roommate.
"Haitham I think it'll be coal by the time you escape your mind."
His eyes snapped to the architect, hoping to ignore the full body flinch he just had in reaction.
Kaveh frowned, tilting his head in a wordless ‘Are you okay?’
The scribe turned back to the stove and turned the flame down, opening the pan and flipping the steaks (which were probably going to be a little dry now).
His non answer was taken in stride; they knew each other enough to when silence or acknowledgment was in order. Or so you think. What else does he have to hide?—
Alhaitham slapped the lid back on. Silencing his mind, he grabbed a cutting board, a long breath drawing from his nose.
Kaveh's eyes stayed on his back, your nape, watching as he placed the potatoes near the board, already boiled and peeled. He took a large kitchen knife and began cutting, the repetitive motion soothing.
The blond had busied himself by placing plates and cutlery on the table, though Alhaitham could feel his gaze shift to him every now and then.
Sure, Alhaitham was not a chatter-box, but his silence seemed more laden, heavy like the air before a storm.
Teeth clicked shut when Kaveh attempted to speak up again, giving in before a noise could even leave his mouth. And—
"Shit," he hissed, dropping the knife.
The cut on his pointer was pearling, not deep but burning nonetheless. Pulling the hand closer to his face, Alhaitham licked the first drops off, hoping to somehow bind the opening with saliva alone.
While not exactly sanitary, spit did contain a small amount of pain numbing substance.
Kaveh suddenly stood next to him. Red eyes flickered down to the cut, then up to his face. The architect visibly swallowed.
"You okay?" He asked, pulling the steaks off the flame and turning the stove off.
"It's a small cut, I'll be fine." Alhaitham answered nonchalantly, a tinge of hostility beneath the monotone.
It was still bleeding, red running down his finger while pulsing. He felt weirdly frozen in place, not having thought much past the 'I'll cut myself to see his reaction' experiment.
"Apply pressure, you idiot," a hand wrapped around his finger, thumb pushing into the wound. Blinking, Alhaitham stared down at the contact, droplets smearing across the other's skin.
His mouth was suddenly very dry. The pulsing had increased, whether by pressure or his heartbeat, he didn't know. They stood there for a couple more seconds, Kaveh's eyes trained to the red, pupils very much dilated, gleaming.
Alhaitham pulled his hand back. The architect let him go without reacting, bloodied hand dropping to his side.
"I'll just put a bandaid on it." As if he couldn't have done that from the beginning—
He left Kaveh alone in the kitchen.
Opening the cabinet for medicine, the scribe grabbed the box of bandaids and took one. As he curled it around his fingertip, he heard the clinking of a knife, for Kaveh had taken over cutting the potatoes.
Well that confirms it again. At least he didn't— he's seen me injured before, though. I doubt he'd randomly drink from me of all people.
A sick part of him was curious about how it felt.
I'm totally screwed, aren't I?