The Paradisaea and the Vultur

4

The sun falls across his palm, warming the callused skin. The wind blows through his fingertips, bringing a floral scent with it that fills up his senses. The bright colors of the flowers pop against the viridian background. The sky above displays a blue as clear as purified water collecting in the hollows of the ground. He breathes in deeply, tasting the fruits of nature's labor against his tongue. A sense of serenity drips throughout his body from the pleasant sensations constructing the illusion of paradise around him. He could stay rooted right here like a tree soaking in the sunlight and the rainwater.

A voice joins the tweeting of the songbirds in the distance. A figure made from color and motion crushes the grass beneath their bare feet. They stop moving when they stand right in front of him. Their eyes lift to meet his own, the sunlight turning the red into rubies. A smile stretches across their aureate face, and the gossamer strands of their long hair resemble spun gold. A ring of flowers adorn their head like a crown denoting the lord of nature. They reach a hand upward, sliding it into the hand he left facing upward toward the aether. Their smile grows even brighter, and a slow smooth laugh trickles from their roseate lips.

The wind picks up suddenly, tossing their hair in one direction. Their face twists at the sudden change. They lift their other hand to push their hair out of their face, allowing both of their eyes to open without worrying about getting hurt. He watches as those irises turn back to him, a moment of shock on their face as they notice that he's suddenly getting closer. Their hands squeeze together. He tastes the flowers that bloom all around the two of them and the warmth of the sunshine that shrouds both of them in resplendence.

Al-Haitham's eyes open abruptly, moving from one plane of consciousness to the next in a matter of a few seconds. He takes a deep breath. He brings one hand to his chest, trying to calm the beating of the organ before it begins making problems for him. Al-Haitham sorts through his memories as a habit, categorizing what sensations came from his dream that remain with him in wakefulness and which ones belong to the bedroom he woke up in. The lingering scent of flowers was from his dream, and the darkness was from his bedroom. The sound of birds ringing in his ears is from his dream, and the sound of his heartbeat is from his bedroom. The warmth of the dream bleeds into real life, however, as he realizes that he isn't alone in his bed.

Al-Haitham glances over. He expects Kaveh to be asleep, but the blonde is sitting up in the bed. Al-Haitham's eyes adjust, revealing the image of Kaveh grabbing onto his chest as if he can quiet the harsh breaths that look as if they physically pain him. Kaveh's pupils are dilated, and his irises tremble as if he's trying to look at everything in front of him all at once. He is shaking as harshly as his eyes, and maybe the hands on his chest are to keep him from doing that as well as steadying the pounding of his heart.

Al-Haitham forgets about the comfort of his dream as he sits up. Looking through his memories, Al-Haitham can only see one way to solve this issue. If Kaveh's first instinct to help Al-Haitham during his migraines was to hold the man, Al-Haitham can conclude Kaveh prefers that outcome when he's suffering. Al-Haitham lifts his arms, wrapping them around Kaveh's shoulders. The touch startles Kaveh, but once those terrified eyes focus on Al-Haitham, he crashes into Al-Haitham's chest. Al-Haitham keeps Kaveh close, shifting their position to pull Kaveh sideways into his lap. Al-Haitham leans against the backboard, settling one hand on the side of Kaveh's head while the other one wraps loosely around his waist and arms. Kaveh's breathing continues to harshly beat against Al-Haitham's collarbone, but his shaking seems to ebb away into mild quivering.

In this position, Al-Haitham is reminded of the first time Kaveh found him on the ground because of a migraine. Al-Haitham has suffered from them his entire life. He didn't think too much about hiding it from Kaveh. Al-Haitham wasn't sure what their relationship was before that moment in the darkness where the light framed Kaveh's form. He should have accounted for Kaveh's bleeding heart. He should have known that no matter how much they argued, Kaveh would never be able to leave him to suffer alone. For as knowledgeable as Al-Haitham prides himself on being, he should have known better. But he didn't, so he was surprised when Kaveh held him close, held him silently, a beacon of comfort and light that seemed to ease some of the pain, if only metaphorically.