A pill I find difficult to swallow
Alhaitham x Kaveh pairing, one shot. Please be mindful of the tags below. Crossposted on AO3. A practice on metaphors in writing. Also in Alhaitham's POV.
I crave so subtle an affection beneath the limelight of the moon, where my solemn adoration are unheard, concealed behind the cowardice of textbooks. Days are brimmed with endless retorts against one another; arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, neither willing to give up their claims of the world before them. It is always at the end, that we learn to compromise or get over the trivialities of our personalities never destined to meet due to their variance. Accustomed to the vexing attributes of our souls, this shared home becomes a house when you are absent to question my ways.
When night dawns, we thrive in a deafening feat of silence, a space more quiet than the confines of the accompaniment of books in the House of Daena. The ambiance felt tender and warm and has my skin scorching off of a passion unspoken. My lips would wordlessly proclaim the code of my relentlessly beating heart by a hushed whisper, eyes trained on the engraved letters of the book perched upon my hand, acting as if quantum mechanics enthralled my curiosity when all along, it was but our contrasting chemistry that has my inner feline in shambles.
Occupied by our respective, personal endeavors, my mind finds itself wandering back to the light that is you, fiddling with the quill, stroking delicate lines over the sheet of paper caught in the apple of your attention. In the midst of the silence, I would spare a glimpse from time to time, wondering about the projects you were tasked to make, wishing you would tell of how begrudging a request you were asked to do, how people would give you unrealistic proportions for a dwelling they wish to call their home, and how painstaking it was to negotiate with the persistence of stubborn clients.
When I first gazed upon ground to look at the picturesque silhouettes of our casted shadows, I had found that it is with you that this house started to look less insipid and monochromatic compared to when I was its sole inhabitant. I am merely a fragile flower vase in a still-life art, surrounded by teacups and the galores of plates embellished with exquisite prints of patterns on them, while you resemble the enthusiasm of a swirling illusion embedded in one's sight to fool the audience with its kinetic motion.
Is it not silly of me to think you'd ever share your efforts and troubles on plates you've worked yourself on, Kaveh? You've said it yourself; my compliments of your hard-earned title sounded halfhearted coming from me, regardless of my intent. Understanding the complexity of emotions seemed more farfetched than sensing the behavioral collisions and divergence of particles that surrounds us; a flutter of dust visible under the streaks of reflection mirrored by the moon's asperity.
How could I talk of the meaning of life when it follows you wherever you go? It is a phenomena not even distinguished scholars can comprehend, neither are they capable of seeing this vision, even if I forcefully compress the philosophy in one of the capsules that hold knowledge as captive. It is subjective, I knew this to be the absolute truth. But I'd never tell you about this peculiar finding; I am purposely shunning you away from the truth. What if we found this answer as our common ground? How could we argue about our theoretical beliefs like we did before, should we arrive at a truth? It may be selfish of me to gatekeep my conviction, and if to be iniquitous like this would keep you by my side then, I am your most devoted sinner.
In one of these nights, I'd sometimes feel the burn of a stare unto my skin, but I paid them no heed. I wouldn't know how to confront such a trail of an ardent stare; engraving depth on wherever patch of flesh it lands, softening the walls of a soul desperate to hide, melting my being until it had grown satisfied. 'What do you think of me when you stare so intently?' A voice would resonate from within. It felt like I wasn't being myself, that there lies another occupying my person; always filled with greed, always filled with longing. It is quick to liquefy over a mere, accidental brush of fingers much slender than mine, a stimuli that comes from a contact that barely even met, yet with a spark that would course through the veins in an instant.
These days, the area around the chest would swell, bearing the weight of emotions I kept to myself. I am made only to be logical, and reject the absurdity of sensing and feeling emotion, to stave it off once it appears before me, to kill it immediately once it shows signs of developing, as if it were a highly contagious disease that may become the means of an impending end. With the rivers of time, this agony I had imposed upon oneself to escape the chase of our touch-deprived liaison, is plausible of a reason enough to rid of it on the earliest detection. When the heart and the mind refuses to meet, I lie in consternation trying to settle on a choice. Which of you should I follow? Both seemed to inflict further damage, one way or another.
When we sit like this, facing one another, such thoughts would leave. It would create spaces and pave the way for my silent adoration, enumerate the little things about you that I'd find endearing, gaze with the glimmer of veneration sparkling as you would languishly sketch on your canvas with a quill. However, I am merely a destitute scholar, one who could never act on the trivialities of affection, even laconic in expression. Who knew that my heart would bear this profound penchant for suffering? Even I am alienated from my own capabilities. Would you even think I would feel any of this at all with my theatrical show of contempt and conceit?
Even for me, the thought is a pill I find difficult to swallow. I am, all of a sudden, foreign to myself. Strange, odd, peculiar; I've long told that I thrive as unique in this collective societyーthat I enjoy the variegated personality, away from the slavery in which the common crowd conforms to the imposed rules that favor the reigning governance. If such then mimics the value of my beliefs then, I am a criminal to my own being. To take a path I've not once taken, to indulge in reveries other than the details of reality, it is highly unthinkable for anyone to consider this an occurrence for me, even for you whom I've grown most fond of compared to anyone else. I am continuously drowning in this pit of dissonance, one where the heart tells the path and the answer I have is only you, who cannot guarantee reciprocity.
Just one chance, a mere slip, allow me to succumb and heed to the calls of my selfish desires. Even if it were just a second, endow me an ounce of freedom to feel things deeply, without the barricades obstructing the swelling of the heart; I ask of you, let me. All I demand is affection in the most subtle of ways, for you to look at me like an equal. Let me extend a foot to purposely brush past your side, give my eyes an excuse to graze upon yours, brazenly meet the gaze halfway as you idle a second of confusion, let me dissolve in little mirth, curl the toes inwardly, clear the throat, hum, return from my selfish endeavor.
"Ah, sorry. My leg got numb."
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