kaveh’s eyes are dreamy shades of orange whenever he’s tired, lips parted slightly and head lolling forwards. he tongues the melatonin around his mouth half-heartedly; he doesn’t like pills, doesn’t like rest, doesn’t like tiredness either.

he doesn’t protest when you take his hand, tugging him along the path as his feet drag listlessly. he can’t see the moon from here, wouldn’t have been able to even if he had looked skywards. are you taking him to bimarstan, he wonders? sleeplessness kills no one, if lingering around layla has taught him anything. perhaps he is fatigued; drowsy off of life, off of its dreariness, off of you.

“can you see the stars from here?” he asks you, eyes brightening into vague consciousness as he nearly trips over his own feet. the only stars he can see are the ones in your eyes, from his perspective.