The Paradisaea and the Vultur

7

His head hurts. It feels like something is squeezing his skull around his brain. All of his thoughts have become sluggish as a result, but he's still able to recognize the burning in his throat from dehydration and a clamminess cascading across his skin from sickly sweat. His stomach twists unhappily, unsure if it should be demanding food or expelling what little food is in it. He is in the throes of a hangover, a far too familiar experience for him. All he can do for himself is maintain his breathing, letting each lungful soothe the fiery pain exploding out from the alcohol that has been processed while he was busy sleeping soundly.

But all of his physical pain pales in comparison to the emotional anguish tearing him apart from the inside out. He knew even before he opened his eyes that he was back in Al-Haitham's arms. Their legs were tangled together underneath the thick comforter. A warm, heavy arm lies against his waist, slack from sleep but constricting nonetheless. A shallow breath blows across his hair, cool when it inhales and warm as it exhales. He can hear a heart that beats in tandem with his own like twin drums performing a song for a nonexistent crowd.

Kaveh opens his eyes. His irises immediately lock onto Al-Haitham's chest. He is wearing a gray shirt with a few fraying threads from excessive use. Kaveh reaches a hand up to touch one of the threads, twisting it around his finger so tight that he starts to cut off the circulation. Kaveh unspools the thread. As blood flows back through his finger, he glances upward. Al-Haitham's head is resting on a pillow being held by his arm. His gray hair is messy as it falls across his forehead and the pillowcase underneath him. His eyes are closed, and his pale lips are slightly parted as he breathes. His expression is entirely lax without a single emotion to indicate what dreams are playing behind those loosely shut eyelids.

Kaveh lifts his hand to touch Al-Haitham's cheek. The skin is hot against his fingertips. It is rough, too, from mornings spent training in the rising daylight. Kaveh gently presses his hand into Al-Haitham's face until his palm is against the skin. Al-Haitham shows no signs of noticing that someone is touching him. He might still be a few hours from waking up. Kaveh has been given a precious moment to study Al-Haitham's face as closely as he wants to.

Tears fill Kaveh's eyes. Despite the dehydration in his throat, Kaveh doesn't stop them from falling across his cheeks onto the pillow he's sharing with Al-Haitham. They are warm against his frigid skin, and they sting so badly that they make Kaveh want to close his eyes. He keeps them open, however, forcing himself to face his punishment. He doesn't deserve to sob, and he wouldn't want to wake Al-Haitham up anyway, but Kaveh continues to cry as the messy truth unspools in front of him.

In his former life, Kaveh admired Nilou and Al-Haitham. They were both the protagonists of his favorite book. He was excited for every update he received on their lives. He prayed for their success and mourned their losses. They were, in simple terms, his heroes. They were his inspiration. It wouldn't have been too much of a stretch to say they were his reason for living since he felt as if they were his closest companions. He didn't have anyone else, and loneliness can turn any human insane.

Realizing that he was in the book, Kaveh thought he could be for Nilou and Al-Haitham what they were for him. He could help them. He could be their friend. He could help them find the happiness they unwittingly gave to him.

Falling in love with Al-Haitham was certainly not the plan. Kaveh's lips tremble with his sorrow. He keeps his hand on Al-Haitham's cheek as he looks down. Kaveh would have been fine loving Al-Haitham if the man did not show signs of loving Kaveh back. As much as he wants to ignore it, he can't keep running from the fact that he loves Al-Haitham and that Al-Haitham loves him. For as much as he allows his heart to lead him, Kaveh is a scholar. He knows when he comes across an irrefutable fact, and he knows that he's supposed to accept it as the truth.