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[toorurs]

my entry for @staarri's YOU'RE MY LOVER ! event (❁´◡`❁)

With eyebrows meeting in a crease on his forehead, Kaveh stands in front of the easel holding up the canvas he’s been working on for an hour.

Is this even right? The drover yellow he’s used for the nilotpala lotus doesn’t seem… correct. The painting he’s making has a set colour palette that called for vibrancy but not so overwhelming to the eye, but the shade of yellow left some sort of bad taste on his tongue. The lotuses were not the subject of the painting; a figure in the background he elected to add in because it happened to fit, and blended well with the rest of the  composition.

He can’t quite shake it off.

Biting down on his thumb, he leans in close to scrutinise the colour. The nilotpala lotuses were sketched somewhere close to the waterfalls in the backdrop, so detail wasn’t important. However—it’s not some yellow blob. Kaveh made sure the beauty of the nilotpala lotus was displayed, for it to be noticed by a pair of eyes that’d know its magnificence if one had seen it in person.

It'll be some secret he shares with the viewer; some hidden gem only few would appreciate.

Still, he can’t quite shake it off. When he looks at the painting as a bigger whole, his eyes are slowly drawn by the intensity of the nilotpala lotuses. It’s not annoying, per se, but…

Turning to his wooden palette, the tip of his paintbrush dips into a darker shade of yellow, and Kaveh replaces the bright hue with it.

Though it’d be just something hanging on the wall, he requires it to be perfect. Perfection is required even in something you might not accept, because if the Palace of Alcazarzaray was his magnum opus, this painting shall be his tour de force, his everything, his…

…painting. His painting on the wall.

Kaveh steps back with a sigh. He heard, once, while you were speaking to Cyno, that your favourite flowers were nilotpala lotuses. At that moment, it didn’t strike him as much. He encounters them whenever his path crosses with a body of water, and though they weren’t in full bloom during the times he passes by, their beauty can be easily recognized to those with an undiscerning eye.

You said you liked the shade of yellow the lotuses had, ignoring the brilliant blue its petals centrally flaunt. You were far more focused on the seedpods, and if he had half the manners his roommate has, he would’ve chuckled. Truthfully, it was more endearing than it was amusing. Most would appreciate the flower, beautiful as it was, but the seed pods caught your eye first. The details seem to matter more than the bigger picture.

…It was a painting, however. The subject was the meadow, and the lotuses were mere details in the background.

The rotting ends of his chair drags across the floor as Kaveh brings it back close to the canvas; wood creaking when he takes a seat. Where the edge of the meadow is, the canvas peeks through. The tip of his brush quickly fills in the gaps using hues of green mixed with speckles of black, mixing in seamlessly with the rest of the scenery. Thin strokes of hunter green create stems of the flowers…and he goes back to that drover yellow again.

He manages to stop himself, this time. Kaveh places his paintbrush down and brings a palette knife, scraping it off.

Another colour he won’t use, and if he remembers, he’ll place them in a container to use for another time. He sets the knife somewhere close to the other discarded shades, turning back to the painting to continue placing the final touches.

Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

His brows knit. Is he hearing things? For every streak he makes, a noise follows. Maybe the neighbours are fixing that beam of wood on their porch that juts out every now and then. However, the sounds are… arbitrary. Not concise in the way Taghi hammers down the plank.

Is someone… knocking?

With the painting set aside, Kaveh quickly stands and enters the foyer. It’s times like these he wishes, as beautiful as they are, the sidelites weren’t patterned stained glass because he can’t quite make out the figure outside, and he’s stuck with the decision to open the door.

“Kaveh, hey. I’m not disturbing, am I?”

You’re the figure outside.

“Oh, hey,” you smile when he says your name. “You’re here.”

He tries not to let his mind wander looking at your dopey, lopsided grin. You’re dressed casually, and look like you’re not in a hurry, so, perhaps… “Yep! I’m here. You doing alright?”

“Uh!” Kaveh takes a quick look at the living room. Drat, it’s messy. “Yeah, I am. Hold on, uh… it’s a bit of a mess here. I don’t think it’s—”

“I can always help tidy up,” you offer, but take no step inside. “As long as it’s okay with you, of course.”

There’s not another choice he’ll make other than letting you in. It’s only instinct that pushes him into the kitchen, busying himself with preparing coffee for the both of you. While surprising, your sudden visit is not unwelcome—it only makes Kaveh wonder why you’ve suddenly decided to come, his thoughts becoming wisps in the steam rising from the coffee boiling in the dallah.

“You’re not busy with commissions right now?” When he takes a glance, he sees you’re quietly arranging and capping the tubes of paint on the small table he uses as a workbench. Kaveh’s eyes widen, guilty about the fact you’re cleaning up for him, but there’s a mumble under your breath—one, two, three, four—and his trowels and palette knives are delicately moved to the desk from the ground.

You’re always picking up his messes and putting them back where they belong. Somehow… it’s become routine. He could count how many times he’s seen you like this, and because of it, his feet no longer move. Guilt remains, but takes in the sight of you treating his possessions with utmost care.

Kaveh can’t stop the rush of something, in the back of his brain, when he watches you like this.

How much longer can he take, stifling this fondness inside of him?

“I-I am,” The question is innocent, but manages to stumble him; a nervous laugh bubbling out. “But… just, uh—you know how inspiration goes! Sometimes, I lose steam, and have to let it all out on another project.”

You snort. “So that translates to, ‘I haven’t gotten enough sleep for the past few weeks’?”

Kaveh sees you inspecting the canvases he’s placed by the wall. Your fingers slot between them, as if counting each one. If you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to say how many he’s discarded just for one painting. “Well… not necessarily.”

It goes quiet.

Your huffing breaks the silence. By then, you enter the kitchen, and Kaveh takes note of the frown on your face. He’s standing on the counter, blinking, as you approach him with a furrow to your eyebrow.

A hand lifts, and your thumb swipes over his cheek, just below where those dark circles lie.

“You’re gonna drink coffee with me when you have eyebags under your eyes?”

The action is unexpected, yet expected all the same, because Kaveh can’t stop his stomach twisting in knots, and the heat in his cheeks he wills himself to bury.

“It’d… be rude to let you serve the coffee yourself.”

It’s more than what a friend would do. However, Kaveh convinces himself you’re looking out for him because you go and wipe that finger on some cloth used in the kitchen, streak of paint on your finger leaving a stain.

He convinces himself to stay, and not sprint away, because he reasons, more to himself, “You’re the guest. It’d be discourteous to let you on your own.”

“I can’t refuse that...”

Your sigh is too soft to be mistaken as irritation. Your reluctance in letting him serve coffee bleeds into the heat of your stare lingering on the side of his face as you’re taking a seat by the dining table, gazing.

Kaveh wants to tell you that you should be waiting in the living room, guest as you are, but his head turns in the angle that meets your eyes, and stops.

Your staring drapes over him like a warm blanket. It is all sorts of comforting, heart-soaring, fucking fond and just tender, but its heat suffocates him. Understanding why you’re looking at him like that escapes him like a petal coursing through the wind, leaving his fingertips before he can even catch it.

“Uh… so, what brings you here?”

He can’t dwell on such feelings. His control, though, is tested, because you’re prone to soft exhales and laughter more than anyone else he knows when you’re with him, but it is tempered by the fact Alhaitham sees you like this. Kaveh will just ignore how much it happens with himself.

“Well, someone forgot we were going to hang out today,” The smile in your voice is so obvious. “But seeing as you’re working on something, I can let it slide.”

Kaveh purses his lips. Right. You’d normally drop by with a heads up beforehand, but you’ve visited home too many times that he’d let you in even without prior notice—he can hear Alhaitham in his head complaining about such a thing, but he throws that voice away without any second thought—and he didn’t even question if something slipped his mind.

“You… I’m sorry. Weren’t we supposed to go to Puspa Café today?”

“Yeah.” You answer, but assure him, “But when I got there, Gata was outside.”

“Enteka’s cat?”

“Mm. Cat was meowing to me as if to say they were closed.”

You sound like you’re just making him feel better that he forgot. His scepticism must’ve gotten ahead of you because you’re huffing and puffing. “I checked the doors, okay? It was locked.”

“Right,” Kaveh rolls his eyes. Is that the best story you can make up? “I never knew Sareh had a twin flame.”

“Sareh and I are soulmates,” Faux offence causes a hand to fly to your chest. “Don’t try to say it’s not true.”

“Right, and Lesser Lord Kusanali has a mother. Try making up a story that’s more believable next time,” Kaveh says your name, dripping with incredulity, and you laugh, and laugh; the sound is loud, bright, and just so familiar, like he’s heard it all his life. If he could just get more moments like this, where he’s in the kitchen and you’re just watching, then he can be content. He can be content as it is.

(He won’t have to dream about a day where you and him are lying in bed together, discussing whatever pops up into your mind in hushed voices, because in that fantasy, it’s early in the morning, and the home you’re both in is his. Yours.

“Ours...”

He won’t have to dream to feel how soft you are by his side, how your warmth drums under fingertips tracing absentminded patterns on your skin; just admiring how you’re here with him.

“...Ours.”

He won’t have to dream about something that’s beyond him, because he’ll be content with being someone you can laugh and have coffee with, and the painting won’t haunt him, because then it won’t have to be perfect.)

Your laughter slowly dies down, a smile remaining, and he finds that the coffee is done. With two fenjals in hand, and a dallah in the other, Kaveh hears you following him into the living room.

The table is set, and both of you are sitting on the same divan.

“Smells good like always, Kaveh,” A tip of your tone submerges itself into something like mirth, and he can’t help but scoff, about to say something, but—

“Hold on,” Kaveh rises from the couch. “I forgot something, give me a second!”

He returns from the kitchen with a few items in hand, and takes a second to pour your coffee first. In the order you always make it in, the sugar comes in second, dissolving in the heat, then with the milk; left-over steam turning into wisps from condensation.

You’ve always liked it cold, with inordinate amounts of sweetness in it.

“Here,” Kaveh hands your cup over. “Your coffee, just how you like it.”

Moving to take it, your hand loosely hovers over his. You freeze and pause, looking down at the coffee—did he make it wrong? Did he forget anything? Drat. Maybe there’s a new addition to your recipe—

“You remembered,” Your voice drops from an octave, grip tightening; expression pinched.

He… doesn’t understand what you mean. “Of course I would. You’d think I forgot?”

You laugh, but the sound is strained. “Not really, but…”

Contemplative silence falls onto you. Kaveh thinks it’s about the coffee, and that he’s made it. Something in his gut feels like the issue is not with him remembering, but another thing that’s gotten you like… this.

Just what is it? Kaveh wracks his brain. Several possibilities pop up, ultimately disregarded of how outrageous and unrealistic they are, but one sticks like an annoying fly he can’t catch.

…It flutters away, ultimately, because it’s a possibility he can’t entertain.

The two of you are friends… that’s what you both are, he thinks.

“Are you alright?”

You startle, head snapping towards him. The edges of your smile are forced, another faked laugh leaving you like it’s some practised assurance. “Oh, I’m fine. Just got my thoughts on things. Don’t worry about me, Kaveh.”

“If there’s anything bothering you,” Kaveh says earnestly, “I’m always here for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose, Kaveh. You’re busy, aren’t you?” He sees you quirk up and it feels the same. “Don’t act like I didn’t see the painting. I think a few worries and burdens on me won’t kill me.”

Would it, really? As far as he knew, you’re not the secretive type. You tell things as they are, so if you tell him you’re alright…

Then you probably are.

Still, he’s compelled to offer something in return. “You know I don’t mind if you use my shoulder to cry on.”

“You’re not concerned I’ll mess that pretty shirt of yours?”

Kaveh rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I mean.”

The banter falls into place, and he finds you’re chuckling heartily. “I wouldn’t want to ruin that expensively tailored shirt of yours. Seems like a waste to use it for tissues on some measly tears.”

“You need to tell me your tears aren’t measly?”

“Of course not, Professor Kaveh.”

“Hey! Are you mocking me?!”

The banter falls into place with puzzle pieces you fit and connect together with his, and for a second, he can forget how he’s neglected to pour a cup for himself; too preoccupied with tossing light-hearted comments to you like he usually does.

It feels right to be your friend, and just your friend only; it’s the only thing he feels familiar with. To toe the line between friend and lover is a delicate and risky choice, but it is so difficult to look away when he can’t help but bask in the fondness the sight of you brings. Kaveh can’t liken it to anything else but like watching the sun set and rise in a familiar motion, but this time, it is with the lens of knowing that there will be someone whom you will wait day and night for to appear. He can say he can watch people move mountains for others, but he’ll stick to what he knows: painting the sun rising and imagining it setting, because that’s what it feels with you.

It's as if anything he makes is for the purpose of attempting to grasp you in it.

.

.

.

Chatter between the both of you settles, eventually, and not one but three cups of coffee have been consumed. He eventually realised he forgot to pour himself one, and in some forward display, you offer to pour him his.

Kaveh didn’t have the heart to tell you it’s not really customary, because the eager look in your eye had him stuttering over his words, and now, more than five cups have been drunk.

“Think Alhaitham said it’s not proper to drink more than five,” you say, taking his fenjal away from him.

He baulks, mostly more from the fact Alhaitham’s told you about etiquette when he himself doesn’t practise it, and just watches you set aside the fenjals and dallah.

“Since when did Alhaitham even…?”

“Enough about him!” You laugh, patting his shoulder. “What’s that you’re painting?”

He follows the direction of your gaze that settles on the easel standing alone by the windows, most of the afternoon sunlight cascading through the glass panes. Suddenly, you rise from the couch, approaching the painting with childlike curiosity; it makes him gulp.

“Is this the painting you told me about yesterday?” Your fingertips graze the painting, but not so much to ruin it.

Kaveh can’t see your face like this when your back is to him. “Oh, I… uh, didn’t mean for you to see it.” Heat surges on his cheeks and takes a sip from the coffee to hide the flushing. Drat. You’re not facing him—why is he hiding when you can’t see it?

He takes a shaky breath, “I mean, it’s not yet finished—I-I’m planning to give it to you, of course! I wouldn’t hide things from you.”

“You made it? For me?”

“Yeah… I did.”

You fall silent for a moment.

All he can see is your hand still hovering over the canvas, and the little moments where your head tilts slightly to look up at the parts of the painting he normally can see with ease. Kaveh thinks you look nice staring at something he’s made.

He’s too busy admiring you to stifle the desire to take you to the lighthouse he’s helped restore in Port Ormos to take your breath away. The wind from the sea would course nicely through your air, and he can almost taste the excitement buzzing in the air when you lay eyes on it. If Port Ormos would take your breath away, then how would you react to the Palace of Alcazarzaray? He’s too busy staring at your wondrous figure in front of the canvas he’s preening like a peacock in attention to something that’s not even him, but some part of him.

“The nilotpalas lotuses are beautiful,” you murmur, “Is this the meadow you took me to that one time? You made it dreamier than it was.”

“…’Dreamier’?” your voice pulls him back to reality, a weary chuckle leaving him. “I thought it was already dreamy—the  sight, I mean.”

When your head turns, he can see the expression on your face and—

And his brain blanks.

“The nilotpalas,” The smile you’re wearing is bright, and if he looks too deeply, fond. “They’re my favourite part of the painting.”

Words feel heavy on his tongue. “Are they?”

You hum happily, “No matter how far or near you are looking at this painting, you can see them.”

What? That’s not… meant to be. “T-the meadow’s the subject of this painting. I might’ve failed in the composition—”

“It doesn’t take away from the painting, silly,” you cut him off. “You’d know more than me that it adds to it.”

Does he? He thought the lotuses were distracting. What did you mean by no matter the distance, you’d still see them? The purpose of changing the shade used for the lotuses was to hide them, fading it into the background. It wasn’t on purpose that it was supposed to be noticed. Should he just remove them all together? Should—

“You accept suggestions?”

Kaveh startles. He blinks. “What?”

You repeat with a laugh, “Do you accept suggestions? Touch-ups?”

“O-of course, yeah!” Kaveh leaves the fenjal on the table, going up to where you are in the living room. He’s already picking up his paint brush, “What should I change?”

“Hmm…” Your hand moves, looking for the spot you wanted to be touched up, and then you’re leaning in… absurdly close to the canvas?!

“Wait, is this some kind of joke?!” Kaveh reels you back and sees that stupid mischievous smile on your face. You erupt in laughter, “No, wait! I just forgot what spot I was talking about.”

He can’t even summon the usual irritation he feels that appears when talking to Alhaitham.

“No, but, seriously…” Your laughter dwindles into giggles, but Kaveh busies himself in scanning your face for paint on the tip of your nose. Good that there’s none, he’s not sure if the paint’s body friendly… “I wanted you to touch something up.”

Kaveh finally meets your gaze, “Well. No more jokes, if you’re serious about it.”

“Psh, okay.” You roll your eyes. He’s… not seeing it, is he? The fondness in the gesture?

Kaveh looks away, chewing on his lip.

“Can you change the colour of the nilotpalas?”

“Oh,” Kaveh says intelligently, snapping back to you. “The… nilotpalas?”

“They already look nice, but…” You point to the palette knives. “I see some nice shades there. Varying degrees of yellow, but I think… hmm, this one would look nice for the overall colour scheme of the painting.”

The drover yellow enters his sights again. You’re pointing at it.

“Oh, all of that is for the kalpalata lotuses,” Kaveh explains quickly. “Not… for the nilotpalas.”

You look at him, surprised. “I thought you were all using the same colours in different ways? You said that to me, once.”

His eyes widen. Archons, he did. Now, how is he supposed to say No, it’ll look ugly with the rest of the painting, in the nicest possible way?

“Also…” You scan the painting with a confused look on your face. “There’s no kalpalata lotuses in this painting?”

Wait, there’s none? Kaveh quickly searches for them, but finds nothing. “Oh, uh. I—I… I’m gonna add them in once I get the chance.”

“Oh, where?”

“Here, I think…” He tries to find an appropriate spot—

You lower the hand holding his paintbrush, eyes narrowed.

“Kaveh, I upset you…” Your eyes search his face for something he doesn’t know what for. “…didn’t I?”

He licks his lips, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No… you—you didn’t.”

How could you? Yet, you’re looking at him like you don’t believe him. Kaveh is certain he is not, because it’s just some little detail that he shouldn’t be hung up on a painting you won’t probably accept. Why should he be upset? It’s a painting, something hung on the wall; meant to be passed by and ignored. It’s nothing. It’s absolutely nothing. It’s—

“I’m sorry, my suggestion probably didn’t—”

“The… the painting. It doesn’t look ugly, right?”

Kaveh doesn’t understand why you don’t agree with him when you say, “No, it doesn’t?”

He calmly places his paintbrush. “The painting. It… the nilotpalas. It looks good?”

The face you make causes him to think that his question is strange. It isn’t, right? The painting is for you. It has to be perfect. The nilotpala lotuses distract from the main subject, the meadows he’s supposed to capture in the same way you both saw it that day—

“It looks good,” Something warm wraps around his arm and he flinches. “I love it. Your attention to detail never ceases to amaze me.”

It’s your hand, Kaveh belatedly realizes. The palm of your hand is warm over his long sleeves, rubbing circles over his skin, and it causes him to choke on his spit.

“I love how, despite them being in the background, you can see it clearly.”

“You do?”

You grin, “Of course I do. It’s the way every part of the painting has been given utmost attention. I mean, if it was someone else, they wouldn’t have given the nilotpalas a second thought.”

That’s how he’s meant it to be—how it’s supposed to be. Though, he can’t really escape your sights, can he? You… you just disregard all pretense and get to the point. Focusing on all detail, and nothing else.

Unlike him, you choose to enjoy the details; not to stress over it.

“But I like the way they’re sort of hidden,” You continue, some sort of a trance overcoming you. The look in your eyes makes his heart stutter—Archons, he’s dreaming it, he is. “It’s like some hidden gem only people who really look at a painting would know.”

His throat seizes up; eyes stinging. Kaveh calls your name, but you don’t stop.

“And then,” Your hand ghosts over the Sumeru roses sparsely placed in the meadow, “You can clearly see each petal on this. Your brush strokes are so fine that the detail is insane, Kaveh.”

Whenever you speak, it’s as if there’s a million things running in your head. The absentminded slight caressing of the painting is proof of this, and the gentle sparkling of your eyes supports this. You are entranced, and he cannot do anything to stop it.

Why? Why the nilotpalas, and not the entire painting?

“…Can I ask you why you like the nilotpalas?” His question is said in a whisper, teeth gritting against each other. Kaveh feels the question is out of his reach, and there’s someone dangling the answer right in front of him. All he can muster is a stupid, little question that might have a reply that’ll tell him he’s idiotic.

Your head slowly turns, eyes meeting with this, and there’s that soft look again.

Undeniable, yet unattainable.

Something like madness surges right through him because, Archons. Has this painting consumed him, to some point of insanity? He feels like tearing up over this. And for his object… object of affection to say they like a part of it he loathes—

He needs an answer. He has to ask.

“I don’t know who told you, but I like nilotpalas.”

A wry grin lifts the corners of your lips, and your hand slowly slides down to his fingers that’re calloused; nails that’re chipped and have paint underneath them. Your hold on them is so gentle the feeling of helplessness engulfs him.

“I love them, even.” You squeeze his hand. “I don’t know how many times I’ve travelled to Sumeru just to see them. It’s so hard to grow them back home, so to notice one in a painting is like… a blessing. And it’s in a painting made by someone who notices the little things.”

Yet, you’re answering his question with such kindness.

Your gaze flits to his, pausing.

Are you…?

“Yeah,” he croaks out. “It’s okay.”

Kaveh feels his throat drying up, and Archons, the tender lift of his hand to your lips is what does him in.

Celestia, your lips are so soft on his knuckles it drives him up the wall.

He blanks in real time. The subsequent warmth rushing from his fingers to his whole body is all he can focus on, and you.

You shouldn’t hesitate, the wisp of something in him ugly whispers. It festers in him; desperately hoping for something more. Do more, I’d let you. Heck, there’s nothing I won’t let you do. 

What’s gotten into him?

“I think nobody else would’ve kept in mind how much I love nilotpalas, and tried to squeeze them into a painting anyways.”

“It’s not squeezing them in,” Kaveh defends, a touch a bit exasperated, “It’s adding something you– you… you love in.”

Only then when those words stumble out of him, he understands what you mean. Oh, how he wishes he could laugh it out right now–because what he’s realised is that the meadow needed no nilotpalas. It was perfect as it was, and the entire painting was based on the sight he took you to once—there was no nilotpala in sight, and yet, in knowing that the painting was for you, he had, without giving too much thought, added nilotpalas in because you loved them. The painting was made for you, in mind, and in his desire for it to be the perfect painting, he added a thing you love.

Nilotpalas.

There’s a knowing look in your eye. Had you known of his feelings, before, and indulged in them to say as if, I like you too?

You know he’s made such a realization, because the soft curl of your lips is one he knows to be happy.

Then, soft palms make their way up to his face; cupping his cheeks with a gentle hold. The happy smile on you turns a touch bit tender, and your voice turns into something warmer.

“I think nobody else would’ve noticed the way I like my coffee—cold, with milk, and sugar on top.” You laugh, but he doesn’t find the topic amusing.

 “It’s only normal I should remember it.” He says seriously, eyebrows furrowing. “You come by so often I can’t help but remember it.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I also remember you told me, once, how much you like organizing things; cleaning them up—you said it was… therapeutic.”

But despite the revelation, despite all he knows, despite the love he knows is mutual, it nags at him persistently. The answer why is in his grasp, but remains evading reason, and he chooses to ask for an answer, in all of his confusion—“But I could never understand why you’d never clean up after Alhaitham.”

Your answer is a reasonable one, accompanied with a scoff so fondly exasperated, “It’s because he can clean up after himself like an adult.”

“Then, why’d you do it with me?” Kaveh questions, voice above a whisper.

No surprise washes over you this time. Just a simple little chuckle, and a smile.

“It feels as if I’m tracing your path, as if I’m following the footsteps you’ve left behind and witnessing another path I’ve never even thought of discovering.” your voice goes so soft, “I had so much fun imagining what you did with those paints and why you’ve set those trowels and palette knives aside. It felt as if I was there with you, painting.”

“…and if I was painting you?”

It leaves him before he could stop it.

“Then, I’d be able to see what colours you associated with me. I’d be able to know how… you see me.”

It’s simple, the answer. He sees you as if you’ve hung the stars, made the sun set and rise, and controlled the winds and the breeze.

Kaveh doesn’t know what possesses him to step forward, nearly nose-to-nose with you. Your head tilts up to meet his eyes so sweetly, he feels himself melt. Now, like this, he can see how gently you look at him–how the usually bright, wide eyed disposition melts into the fondness he’s mistaken for something else.

“Can I–” his voice breaks, slightly. Kaveh takes a moment to settle his voice, breathing in and exhaling deeply, before he properly asks, “Can I show you how I see you?”

There’s no hesitation.

“Please,” you say–no, ask. “Feel free to show me, Painter Kaveh.”

The press of your lips against him is soft. Eyes fluttering close, the rhythm between the both of you is tentatively explored–you’re trying to see what he feels through this kiss, aren’t you? 

But Kaveh confirms what you’re thinking, anyway; other hand snaking up to cup the back of your neck, holding you closer to him. 

Faintly, he tastes the coffee he’s made for you. The sweetness of the sugar and milk combined is intoxicating, and yet, it feels like bliss. Is that what would life be like with you? Just sweetness, and saccharine? 

Then, slowly, as if not wanting to break away, you pull back and watch him with a clear look in your eyes; somehow firm and resolute, as if that kiss proved everything to you. Did it? Did it prove how miserably he pines for you?

“I like you, Kaveh,” you breathe, a laugh bubbling out of you. Archons, he wants to hear that sound every day. “I like you very much.”

With a hand gently caressing the pulse of your neck, he says, in reply, “I’ve liked you, too, for a long time.”

“Me too, then,” you admit easily, leaning into his touch.

His cheeks heat, and this time, he doesn’t suppress the urge to hide in the crook of your neck. You welcome this with a loud, warm laugh that he can feel shakes your shoulders–and you welcome this change so readily with your arms wrapping around him, abundant laughter turning into giggles.

Kaveh does agree with you, but he thinks he doesn’t need to say it. You know, in the way you begin embracing him, and all he feels is you.

[toorurs]

most of my mutuals are closer to entering adulthood than reaching my age. das crazy

[toorurs]

OMG BSD LAYOUT

YESS BSDS MY NEW OBSESSION?? KIND OFFFF HAHAHA

[toorurs]

I AM SOBBING COULDNT EVEN XRY IMMEDIATELY BROKE DOWN AND SOBBED

The day kakavasha lost his sparkle

[toorurs]

POSTED!!! will go to sleep now tho

took a 2:30 hr break from my aven fic, time to continiue🤗

[toorurs]

"i see my reflection in your eyes" - aventurine

synopsis: aventurine loathes what he sees in the mirror. he avoids looking at his reflection, be it when looking down at champagne glasses, rain puddles or shop display windows. but how come you on the other hand look at him with such adoration? what makes him so special in your eyes, that the person that is reflected in your eyes looks nothing like aventurine but is none other than him. what do you see in him?

pairing: aventurine x reader (gn) |wordcount: 1.8k | content & warnings: established relationship, insecure!aventurine, aventurine cries a bit at the end, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, use of kakavasha once, dual pov once but only short mainly aven centered, rushed ending (you can tell when i became lazy..), half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

tags: @azullumi "i see my reflection in your eyes" hits a lot. because azul is one of the ppl. whom i look up to and kinda aspire to be. + i feel so understood and never judged by him. thank you, sending u kisses and hugs to you azul <3

a/n: also inspired by "reflections" from the neighbourhood

“‘rine, come here! how do i look?”

aventurine readjusts his tie once again, the lush fabric is placed atop of his freshly ironed shirt, attached to the collar of the crisp button up shirt. the lavish bracelet, that shimmers like a delicate marble statue beneath the bedroom chandelier, is adorned with a dozen sapphires. his eyes dart over to your vanity which you’re sitting in front of, the mirror reflecting your face, mirroring your beautiful self. 

he gets up from the queen size bed and makes his way over to your vanity, now standing behind you as he admires you through the mirror. 

“so?” you look at him through the mirror, two pairs of eyes meeting each other. they find its way to each other just like how the sea longs for the shore and meet each other again and again.

“beautiful. beautiful as always.” he responds, he tears his eyes away from your gaze just like how the tide sweeps away. (he'll always find his way back to you.)

“yeah? sure that this isn't too much?” one of your fingers starts to fiddle with the strands of your hairs, as if you were trying to fix something. 

(aventurine is under the belief that there’s nothing about you that should be fixed, you’re already perfect - you’ll always be perfect in his eyes.) 

“mhm.” he hums.“ you look amazing, trust me. there’s nothing worth fixing.” upon hearing his words you withdraw your fingers from your head and place your hand onto the surface of the vanity again as you stare at the mirror and lock eyes with aventurine again while grinning.

the blond can only give you a sad smile in return. he’s unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror, there’s something eerie behind you - an ugly monster that is lurking behind you. 

in comparison to you, he, the monster, looks like a hideous beast. he’s loathsome to look at, datatable even - a sore to the eyes, your seraphic eyes. 

aventurine doesn't know what you see in him. 

he’s an outcast that people ignore and resent, but still, you reach out your hand to him and give him a saccharine smile. 

he's the last kid that gets chosen in a chair circle, however, you're the first one who invites him to join you. 

he’s the fallen angel that was long abandoned by the heavens and the people, nevertheless you still pray to him. 

aventurine tends to avoid looking at himself, be it when he’s walking past puddles, mirrors or shop display windows, aventurine doesn’t dare to look at them, out of fear to see himself. there are times when he has to look at himself - times when he’s forced to look at himself.  

those mornings before work, right after he brushes his teeth and spits the remaining tooth paste into the sink and looks up to wash his face and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror - he loathes what he sees. 

those times when the two of you take selfies together and he stares at his own reflection, so later on you’re able to hang the pictures up in your room - as long as it makes you happy. 

those times when you ask for his opinion on your appearance and he stands in front of your vanity - just like now. 

aventurine is convinced that he’s ugly. both on the in-and outside. there’s nothing good about him. he’s of no use other than being the ipc’s dog that is chained to their leash. he carries no value with him, he’s only worth a little - a mere thirty tanbas. he’s charming on the outside, but on the inside he’s nothing but hollow - an empty shell. 

he often gets complimented by people, they say he has fair skin, a million dollar smile, a good body. 

the fair skin they’re talking about is engraved with scars and burns. it’s tainted with scratches, tarnished in scrapes, stained with wounds that’ll never heal, no matter what. 

his million dollar smile isn't his, the white teeth that beam every time he grins took him years of perfecting and polishing, until the yellow of his teeth faded away and was good enough to satisfy the people. 

after all those years, his good body is still emaciated and malnourished, sometimes people would joke about him just being skin and bones and then brush it off by saying that it was a good thing that he was slim and toned.

the person in the mirror is called aventurine, that’s the name he received by the ipc. aventurine looks good - handsome even, better than kakavasha could ever or will ever be, after all kakavasha is a fragmentum that lies in the past, long forgotten. 

“aventurine?” 

“‘rine!” 

“kakavasha!”

after what feels like an eternity aventurine reacts, he’s caught off guard - it’s been so long since he’s heard that name. he remembers telling you that he goes as aventurine now, kakavasha is a name that ties him back to the past, a time that only he remembers, after all everyone else who he had once known was gone. he recalls that you agreed when he asked you to address him by aventurine now, but hearing his given name spill from your mouth, is a sensation, a certain bliss aventurine didn't know he could experience. 

“kakavasha, are you alright? you asked, your diligent voice brings him back to where he is - where he’s supposed to be. (with you.) 

the way his name drips off your tongue is intoxicating, a tune chanted by a siren that lures him in, into the depths of the bottomless ocean. 

(your eyes are like the wuthering waters, they’re full of yearning and longing. you wrap him tightly into the blankets of the ocean, even if he were to try to swim away, the tide would pull him back, sinking into unending abyss - you.)

“hm, yes of course.” he tilts his head to the side, grinning as he innocently tries to brush the worry in his and your voice off.  “why'd you think otherwise?” he asks you as he stares into your eyes, two pairs of eyes locked with each other, like a pair of hands that intertwine and can’t seem to let go - just like a boy that can’t let go of his past and still hangs on.

“you know that i’m always here for you right?” you look at him with such devotion as if you’d worship the ground he walks on like a religion. caress his hands so lovingly, ignoring the fact that they’re soaked in blood. kiss the cheeks that are tainted with blemishes. 

how?

the person that reflects in your eyes isn’t aventurine - it can’t be him. he doesn’t look like that, he’s not worthy looking at, he shouldn’t stand in the way of your cherubic gaze - he’s only a bother; an ugly sight to look at. your pupils dilate as they watch him with utmost love, he doesn’t deserve it. your eyes fill with love, like they would with tears, he fears that your love would spill if you were to watch him any longer. he fears that his eyes would well up and release tears, the longer he watches himself in your eyes.

how can you look at him with such adoration? 

aventurine is a sight to behold. 

he has always been - he’ll always be. 

he’s the setting sun that welcomes the cold breeze of the night, the vibrant colors of the sunset are like his eyes - polychromatic, full of life. a blossoming flower that awakens as it gets shone upon by the sun, revealing its true beauty. 

“your life only revolves around aventurine” would be a wrong thing to say - after all aventurine is your whole word. 

you tuck one of his honey colored strands behind his ears, eyes glinting with playfulness as you stare at him. “you’re so beautiful.” a smile makes its way onto your face, earnest and sincere as you let out a small chuckle. 

“so pretty.” you hum in amusement as you twirl another lock around your index finger.

his mouth opens but it closes again and he can only chuckle before replying. 

you never fail to take his breath away, but he doesn’t mind, there was never much to say in the first place, after all you already know everything about him.

he lets out a strained laugh. “is that so? well i’m flattered, really.” he tries to give you a reassuring smile, it’s not like it’s hard for him to do so, but it seemed like you always knew what was going on in his head. 

aventurine doesn’t know if he should fear or admire that trait of yours. 

(to have a person know how you really feel means to become vulnerable around them, for them to see your weaknesses and mistakes, he doesnt want that, of course he wants to be seen, but that can only be done when you see his failures.)

again you see right through him, the palms of your hands immediately plant themselves on his cheeks. “aventurine, you know, i love you a lot. but i despise it when you lie to me.” your voice is stern but the words are full of care. 

“it's okay if you're not sure what to say. I don't mind - i'd never mind. so i ask you to be honest with me.” you plead at him, why - why are you so irresistible. shy don’t you just give up on him, after all he's hard to love and even harder to understand.

“i don't think i can do that.” he mumbles quietly, his gaze swaying away from yours, out of fear that you’d look at him in disappointment. the doubt is clearly showing in his words but he tries to ignore it.

“see? that wasn't so hard was it?” at that he snaps his head back to your gaze, cheeks still kept in between your hands. you smile at him - why do you smile at him? “you just told me the truth, you told me that it’d be hard for you to tell me the truth.” you gently caress his cheek. 

upon that aventurine can’t help but bury his head into the crook of your neck, slightly surprising you as you stumble a bit. due to him covering his face you can’t see what expression he wears but you feel wet patches form at the crook of your neck. 

at that you can only run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalps and drawing circles around the back of his head as you whisper into his ear. “take it slow, we have all the time in the world.”

he feels himself trembling under you and his voice breaking a bit as he murmurs the words into the crook of your neck.

“thank you.”

okay @azullumi you're getting an additional paragraph cause yeah!! you're super cool and i took a liking to u very quickly, ure sososo fun to talk to and you def have sweetened up the past few weeks for me and also motivated to write a lot! your feedbacks, praises etc. always give me sm motivation which isnt often found on tumblr anymore nowdays so i'm really grateful that you're always here for me. i'm very very fond of you and the same goes for you, i'll always be here for you!! (ps: please take care of yourself more, you're a great student and friend but please be a bit more considerate to yourself and take more breaks and rest well!)

e/n: when i had the outline i thought this was abt to turn out so good, well guess who was wrong.. not really content but oh well... as always rbs and comments are vv appreciated!! (and will def be read)

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

[toorurs]

DONE ND OMFG EXACTLY 1.8K WORDS

took a 2:30 hr break from my aven fic, time to continiue🤗

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we exist for love btw

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wow i made like zero progress!

took a 2:30 hr break from my aven fic, time to continiue🤗

[toorurs]

took a 2:30 hr break from my aven fic, time to continiue🤗

[toorurs]

wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.” 

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa. 

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts. 

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.) 

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin. 

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases. 

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it. 

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is. 

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be. 

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is. 

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself. 

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose. 

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you. 

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again. 

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.  

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you. 

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

[toorurs]

aventurine fic later (1.1k words rn) cet timezone

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guys...how we feeling abt a uh childe series... yay or nay... I SERIOUSLY NEED UR FEEDBACK (ill write it anyway)

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Luocha with lilies!! Still one of my favourite pieces

The quality here vs insta is insane

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Hello please reblog this if you're okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

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tf why do i love eyes

i just noticed im obsessed with describing eyes and using the ocean and water as metaphor oh god

[toorurs]

i just noticed im obsessed with describing eyes and using the ocean and water as metaphor oh god