I have just read the closest description to how my brain / heart function in relationships that I have ever found. And it’s in an erotic Kavetham fanfic. (forms of love, by acynthe)
Fandom and fanfiction is so surreal that way. It’s often seen and treated as trivial, but it can also be incredibly artistic, and it can have representation that’s otherwise hard to find.
Before this, the closest I had found was BBC Sherlock fanfic, and those didn’t quite hit the mark.
This one does.
(I describe this thing that happens in my brain as… keeping file folders on people I find interesting. All the observations I collect on that person goes into their mental file. And eventually those observations and data points click together to form a pattern, an interconnected picture of why the person acts the way they do, and of what’s going on beneath the surface. And new data points get added to the pattern/model of that person to flesh out a more complete understanding of them.)
(“interesting” can mean “infuriating, I don’t know why you act the way you do and so I’m annoyed by you, if I can figure out the why then I can more easily shrug off the irritating behavior”)
(and “interesting” can mean “I like you and am intrigued in a positive way, I am drawn to you and wish to make a study of you”)
(I imagine that Kaveh started in the first category for Alhaitham and over time moved to the second)
I have to flail about it somewhere, and doing so to my girlfriend of 17 years (who doesn’t play Genshin yet) wasn’t enough, so… quotes that I especially relate to beneath the cut:
—
Alhaitham’s also studied the interstices of Kaveh’s elegant fingers and wondered how his own would fit between them—the same way he’s quietly taken in the details of Kaveh’s life and wondered whether there could ever be a place for himself to fit into it somehow, amidst all that passion and all that ambition.
He collects these observations like he’s compiling a dictionary of his own—one defining all there is to know and understand about this man, about Kaveh’s relationship with himself.
Learnings handled with the utmost care. Alhaitham documents all these things far more conscientiously than any of the information he’s ever managed as Scribe. Some things are simply far more precious, after all.
—
“You don’t need to be a student of Amurta to know that’s not quite how it works.” Amusement flickers across Alhaitham’s face. “But if you must rely on physical evidence for some form of reassurance,” he takes Kaveh’s hand, and guides the palm of it to rest over his own chest, “then I’d direct you to look for it here instead.”
Here?
It takes a few seconds for Alhaitham’s meaning to register, to fully sink in.
“...Oh,” Kaveh whispers, as the rhythm of Alhaitham’s heartbeat makes itself comfortable in the home of his hand. He closes his eyes, willing his own to fall in sync, finding the pace of Alhaitham’s pulse to run unexpectedly fast for someone so seemingly unswayed and stoic on the surface. How swift and steady this heart beats—
“...For me,” Kaveh murmurs, with a quiet sort of wonder.
—
And that’s the issue with Alhaitham, isn’t it? He says such things so simply, so bluntly, like it’s the most straightforward thing in the world to accept, like it’s simply another truth of existence—and somehow they still send Kaveh’s heart in somersaults nonetheless.
—
Alhaitham soothes a hand down the curves of Kaveh’s sides. Studies him as he slips fingers into himself, opening himself up, like there’s something about the process worth analysing.
“Like what you see?”
“On the contrary,” Alhaitham’s touch ghosts over the space between Kaveh’s ribs, “it’s rather regrettable that this is all there is to the view.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Kaveh narrows his eyes. “Pray tell what it is that you find so disappointing.”
Alhaitham’s gaze sweeps over him. “That this is all there is on the surface.” His fingertips ghost over shivering skin. “That there is much more to you that my eyes cannot possibly perceive.”
Kaveh closes his eyes, that blush deepening its reach down to the base of his shoulders. “So this is what you’ve chosen to use your Haravatat education for.” He huffs out a laugh. “Waxing poetry to fluster me?”
“Not poetry,” Alhaitham says, dismissive. “Such a subject isn’t in the curriculum at all. I was merely acknowledging something I found to be a pity.”
It’s difficult for him to see this as anything but that. For all the people who meet Kaveh, it’s common to get too distracted by the radiance at his surface to look deeper than his skin.
But Alhaitham has been around long enough to see through all of that. Perhaps because when it comes to Kaveh, he is always looking. And Kaveh has always been so much more than what exists of his corporeal form to be perceived—his body but a finite vessel for an infinite mind.
What a crime it would be, to reduce someone so brilliant to the simplicity of their physicality. Alhaitham has never wanted anything less than all of him.
—
This, like most endeavours, Alhaitham approaches methodically. Brow furrowed in concentration as he works his fingers inside Kaveh, initially in an exact imitation of how he’d observed Kaveh do it to himself—an exact replication of pace and angle and pressure.
Then he gets a bit more experimental, following his own intuition as he gets a better feel for the process. Throughout, he keeps his eyes on Kaveh’s face, watching his expression to assess his response to every touch, using that to guide his own adjustment of his efforts.
—
Alhaitham hums. “Let’s put it this way. I’m exempt from a certain sort of attraction,” he says, “but I’m certainly not blind.”
“...Oh.” Kaveh pauses, processing those words into something warm and hopeful. “And what do you like about what you see?”
“What I like?”
Alhaitham doesn’t even have to spare a second thinking about it—it’s like there’s a list already waiting for him in the back of his mind.
“The outline that the side of your face cuts against the sunset,” he says. “How your eyes are the colour of wine. Your hair could be an instrument of alchemy, with the way it catches daylight and transmutes it into gold. The shape your hand constructs when poised with a quill perched between your fingers. This arc between your shoulder and neck.” He traces the path gently, and the touch tingles like his fingers are stained in stardust. “I hope that answers your question.”
—
Alhaitham knows he may never be able to look at Kaveh the way he may wish to be seen sometimes, the way he may wish to be wanted. He can admire Kaveh for all his aesthetic appeal, certainly, but there are certain desires his mind simply does not have access to. And maybe that means he won’t be able to fulfill a need Kaveh may carry, one craving a certain sort of validation.
… “You’ve had other partners, I assume, who are able to properly appreciate a facet of your allure that is inaccessible to me.” Alhaitham pauses. “I can’t think of you like that. I don’t think I ever can.”
He wonders what he can do, wonders what he should promise in compensation. “I don’t know how it feels to think of you in that way,” Alhaitham continues, the space in his chest suddenly tight like it already knows the importance of what he’s going to express, “but I do know how it feels to be in love with you.”
—
“Maybe they will never be able to comprehend each other, not in their entireties. They are two pieces from different puzzles after all. But if what’s ahead of them is a lifetime of learning, there can be no other person more fascinating to figure out than someone so diametrically opposed to yourself.”
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