Chapter Text
There has been a column making waves around Sumeru these days. One where people submit poetry to be exposed to the eyes of the public.
Kaveh, barely having time for himself with the amount of commissions he was swamped with, unexpectedly finds himself being immersed in the poetry of an anonymous author going by the name of Vultur.
His topic was one many considered oversaturated in the poetry world: sonnets about one’s beloved, describing them to be the most beautiful being in existence. Usually, Kaveh was not too interested in love poems, per say. But he finds himself anticipating Vultur’s submissions to the column as a highlight of his day, finds himself immersed in the yearning they express in their poems. Yearning that is portrayed through the small things.
He opens this week’s submission.
When the morning rain comes as I wake,
I am reminded of your kindness,
Sacred, unappreciated.
You shine like the ray of sun shining through the curtains after slumber,
The way it reflects on jewellery of laughing women at dusk.
The way you embody life itself with your laugh.
I bask in your glow,
I live with your light.
I live with a dream of you.
Vultur
“What are you reading?”
Kaveh visibly jumped at the voice behind him and huffed. “None of your business.”
“You seemed engrossed. Is it a crime to ask?”
He cannot let Al-Haitham of all people know that he’s reading a love poem. God knows that he will tease him to no end.
“It’s just something silly–”
“I live with a dream of you. How romantic.”
“Romance you could never understand, for sure.”
He didn’t expect a light frown to form on Al-Haitham’s face.
“Al-Haitham?”
“You’re right, I could never.”
And Al-Haitham was gone, retreating back into his room.
.
.
I am one stuck in practicals, people say.
One unable to love, they claim.
Yet I want to be your quilt, protecting you in your sleep.
I want to be the wind that caresses your skin,
A relief in the summer heat.
I want to be the beautiful dream you had,
Leaving you longing.
I want to be the rain that clears just in time,
Causing you to smile in relief upon seeing clear skies.
I love, wholly, truly.
Yet you do not accept it.
I cannot be yours as wholly as I love.
Vultur
.
.
Kaveh frowns at the last line. I cannot be yours as wholly as I love. Their love was forbidden to them? It felt unjust, that Vultur could adore someone so greatly yet their love was unreciprocated.
The skies seemed especially cruel at this moment. If even this poet fails at love, then how could he succeed in his own feelings? His feelings for Al-Haitham, unreachable.
After all, that man doesn’t understand love. How could he love Kaveh?
“Kaveh. Eat.” Speak of the devil, and of a fresh plate of fruit that was placed on his table.
Ah. He hadn’t eaten all day due to work.
“...You need to take better care of yourself.”
“What?”
“...Nevermind. You should go to bed, or you’ll cause a racket as I sleep.”
“I do not! I’ve only been sketching!”
“The yells of frustration beg to differ.”
“I don’t groan that loudly, do I?!” Then he noticed the small quirk of Al-Haitham’s mouth. That bastard.
“You’re messing with me.”
“My noise complaints are completely serious.” He says, still with that smile. Archons, he does look good when he smiles.
“That smirk on your face says the opposite!”
“Oh? Am I smiling?” He says, as if he did not attack Kaveh’s heart just now.
This bastard.
“Eat the fruit before it browns. I’ll be going to bed now.”
He had completely forgotten the fruit. “Oh. Okay. Good night.”
Why did he say that?
Al-Haitham stared at him with slightly widened eyes before he regained his composure. “Good night, Kaveh.” He said with a tone that bordered on soft, before the door closed.
Kaveh is doomed.
.
.
I wish that you would look at me,
The way you admire a spring day.
I dream that you would smile at me,
The way you smile at the lone flower on the street.
I wish you would admire me like you would the night sky,
Crave that your crescented eyes reflect my reflection like they do the stars.
I yearn for your gaze,
To finally know what I feel for you.
Vultur
.
.
“Oh boy, have you read the latest Vultur poem?” The auntie at his favourite stall in the bazaar asked as she gave Kaveh a big discount, eyes glimmering. “Those poems…so romantic! Whoever they are addressed to is so lucky! Ah, I wish my husband was like this.”
The auntie then looked at Kaveh with a teasing expression. “Do you think of someone too when you read Vultur’s poems?”
Of course he does. How couldn't he? He thinks of piercing teal eyes with orange undertones, silver hair, a strong and steady presence–
“You must be thinking alright!” The auntie lets out a boisterous laugh that almost shakes the stall, barely drowned out by the noise of the bazaar. “Must be that man who comes with you to the furniture store, eh? I've seen you two pass by together a lot of times!”
“It's not like that, it's–”
It's what? He finds himself without an answer. Years and years have passed, what were they?
“Ah boy, let me tell you something. Consider it as advice from someone with a lot more experience in life.”
She let out a soft chuckle. “He really loves you. I see it in his eyes. They are the eyes poets sing of.”
Kaveh lets out a bitter chuckle. “He doesn't understand love.”
“That's what you think! Don't let that stop you!”
There are many more things stopping me.
He walks away from the stall with a bag of discounted fruit and more on his shoulders than ever before.
.
“Kaveh.”
He turned from his blueprints. “What?”
“You've been quiet.”
“I'm always like this when I work?” He deflects. Al-Haitham immediately catches it.
“Don't bother. I’ve known you long enough.” His tone is as always, but his eyes seemed to pierce right through him, right to his heart.
Gods, why does a man have to be born with such eyes?
“I…”
He can’t tell him. He can’t bring himself to tell him that he loves him.
“I’m sorry.”
Al-Haitham took a breath. “It’s fine. I’ll wait.”
How long have you waited? All these years? It’s not fair to you.
I’m so sorry.
Al-Haitham, sensing his silence, spoke up. “It’s of no consequence.” But his eyes exposed a certain sadness.
I wish you knew too.
.
I long for the caress of your calloused hands,
Gentle like birdsong.
Where my heart can beat in tune with yours,
As we share a delicate moment.
I long for the day where you can open your heart,
Unload your nuisances on me.
So I can sooth your mind with a gentle kiss.
Heal your burdened soul.
I yearn like a lunatic for a high dream.
Like how flowers reach for light,
And man dreams of greatness,
My only ambition is you.
Vultur
.
Kaveh’s hands shake as he writes this poem for the third time. Writing poetry truly isn’t his forte—
“What are you writing?”
Kaveh yelped as he covered the sheet of paper. “Archons, stop appearing behind me like that!”
“Are you trying to write poetry, Kaveh? I see the lines as much as you’re hiding it.”
His face was beet red as he avoided Al-Haitham’s eyes. He couldn’t handle those eyes.
“It’s not embarrassing to try new things.”
“You're going to be insufferable about it, are you?”
“Have you been reading Vultur's poems?”
“How do you know about them?”
“I read.” Al-Haitham says simply, as if that was the easiest answer in the world.
“I didn't expect you to read love poems.”
“Do you like them?” Al-Haitham asked, and Kaveh noticed a sudden shift into something more quiet. Less of the loud personality he is, almost…timid.
“They're a nice read, I suppose. But it's a distant reality.”
“What do you mean by that? A distant reality.” Al-Haitham questioned with that gaze again.
“I…well…” How does he even explain to Al-Haitham that he dreams that the subject was him?
He shouldn't have said that, he thought as Al-Haitham's brow furrowed slightly before it returned to his usual expression.
“So be it.”
“So be what, Al-Haitham?”
“You'll know soon enough.”
“What are you on about?” Al-Haitham didn't reply and turned to leave. Frustration was building up within Kaveh.
“Answer me, what is your mind plotting again?”
Al-Haitham turned his head. His eyes linger on Kaveh, and he could almost see longing. “Be patient, Kaveh. You'll find out soon enough.
He averted his eyes from Kaveh's. “I promise you will no longer need to wait.”
And the door shuts gently, leaving Kaveh to himself.
.
The first time I talked to you,
Your voice ringing like bells in the House of Daena,
They sang a requiem of the old self,
Who did not believe in love at first sight.
The day you wept and cursed my name,
I realised being correct,
Did not mean I was right.
That the right thing my heart yearned to do,
Was to kiss away your tears.
Now you are by my side again,
Home is a place once again tangible.
I find myself searching for your warmth.
Searching in the buildings you build with love,
Searching in the world that you love dearly.
Searching, searching.
I could use up all of eternity,
And still desire more time with you.
Out of selfish longing.
When I die,
I dream to die after a lifetime by your side,
They will speak of your beauty,
And I shall come back to life.
For I am yours, in heart and in soul.
Vultur
.
Kaveh's hands shook.
“Kaveh?” The auntie manning the fruit stall asked, concerned as to why he was holding her copy of the column so tightly. He couldn't find it in him to answer her.
The House of Daena, the ill-fated day. The cursing of a beloved's name. Home. It all leads back to one person.
Al-Haitham.
The besotted poet was him all along. How cruel he was to believe that he didn't understand love?
And how cruel was he to him all this time?
“I have to go.”
“Are you o–ah boy?!” She yelled in surprise as he hastily put down her copy of the column and took off running.
Right to the direction that his heart had always led him to return to.
.
“Al-Haitham.”
“Kaveh.” Al-Haitham looked up from his book, eyes with a certain glint.
“Vultur.”
“The very same.” He admitted, with that tone that made it sound like the simplest fact in Teyvat. As if it was not a groundbreaking realisation for Kaveh mere minutes ago.
“You love me.” Kaveh said, still dumbfounded.
Al-Haitham took a breath. “That I do.”
“...Why? Even when I-”
Even when I cursed your name? Even when I wished I never knew you?
Even when I thought you never knew love?
Gentle hands reached for his face, and it was when a gentle thumb brushed near his eye Kaveh realised he was crying.
“I love you, as you are the ray of sun after slumber.”
Al-Haitham is so close now, and his eyes, oh his eyes. They are truly the eyes poets sing of.
“The morning rain, the birdsong.” He says in a whisper as if a prayer. “The one that made me realise being correct did not mean I was right.”
Al-Haitham leaned in closer, their foreheads touching. “My only ambition is you. They shall speak of you over my grave, and I shall come back to life.”
Teal stared into crimson. “For I am yours, in heart and in soul.”
“You wax all this poetic, and I can only say that I love you too.” Kaveh let out a wet laugh.
“That would be sufficient.”
“Sufficient.” Kaveh scoffed, before he leaned in and kissed Al-Haitham. “Insufferable as always.”
“But yours.”
Kaveh laughed, and he could see how Al-Haitham's eyes softened. “Mine, yes. Now kiss me again.”
.
A new poem has shaken Sumeru's column readers who had been following Vultur's poems for weeks.
Vultur,
I am no poet yet here I am writing this to you.
When the smell of spices wafts through my nose,
I smile at the reminder of you making soup in the evening glow.
When there is chatter in the tavern,
I recount the endless debates as time flies.
Hours become like mere minutes when I'm with you.
And when the stars stare down upon our home,
They remind me of the twinkling amusement in your gaze.
You are the scribbles in the margins of our books,
Your words the fruit in our bowl,
Your gaze of love the wine in our cups,
You complete me,
In a way no puzzle can ever be.
Let the world know,
By the heavens and beyond you are loved.
Paradisaea