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1.
The House of Daena is quiet.
Sunlight filters in through the stained glass windows, illuminating the particles of dust from ancient tomes and pollen from the ornamental flora that float in the air. Alhaitham reaches up to replace a book; even though the Akasha System has made these volumes somewhat irrelevant, he still prefers the permanence of words on a page. He spends his days roaming these halls and scanning familiar shelves, used to the same faces and hushed voices. So when he notices something out of place in the corner of his eye, he can’t help but be momentarily distracted from the task at hand to take a closer look.
The unfamiliar object is blue, but not smooth like the glass accents on the lampshades or roughly textured like the tiles above the central elevator. It’s brighter and softer, somehow. He narrows his eyes and notices that it’s a… feather? Yes, a feather tucked into the blonde hair of a person he has never seen before, but suddenly can’t look away from.
A scholar at heart, he’s used to studying people as much as the research volumes and formal essays he reads on a daily basis. Observation is an essential skill of any academic, and he considers himself practiced in drawing conclusions even from afar. The symbolic significance of the feather couldn’t be more obvious - clearly this new face has a flair for the dramatic, something along the lines of a peacock flashing their plumage to draw the attention of anyone around. And it worked, Alhaitham muses.
When he’s finally able to move on from the feather, Alhaitham takes in the rest of the figure. He’s focused on the open book in front of him, hand and charcoal moving across the page in quick strokes, a manner that suggests he’s sketching. Perhaps in a sign of his considerable concentration, his tongue is peeking out of his thin lips. In a place as structured as the Akademiya, the subconscious action veers towards the unprofessional, as if he is sticking his tongue out at the rigidity and strictness of the pursuit of knowledge in favor of things as flighty as beauty and art.
This must be the new Kshahrewar scholar he’s heard about. The rumors had been circulating about the fallout after the recent Palace of Alcazarzaray project. It was an astounding success, but some unfortunate deals had left the architect in a realm of debt. What was his name again–?
“Mr. Kaveh!” A young woman approaches him excitedly. Visibly startled, Kaveh looks up from his sketchbook, taking a moment to focus his eyes on the person who interrupted him from his trance. It takes an extra minute for his tongue to return behind his lips. Shaking his head slightly to compose himself, he responds quietly yet animatedly to the eager visitor’s query.
As the conversation continues, Kaveh looks directly at Alhaitham, making eye contact for a quick moment. Alhaitham nods politely in return, rotating on his heel to go back to his work. He forces himself to clear the interaction from his mind; his responsibilities leave no space for frivolous distractions such as these.
If bright blues and pinks paint the backs of his eyelids before he falls into a dreamless sleep that night, he thinks nothing of it.
2.
It’s been a long day of lectures, and Alhaitham is exhausted. But when he opens the door to a quiet home, he becomes immediately suspicious. Kaveh has been living with him for a few weeks now, and he’s gotten used to the way he takes up space – sprawling on every soft surface he can find, humming under his breath as he sketches, leaving crumbs in the most unexpected of places. So when he sees no evidence of any of this after setting down his bag and closing the front door, he wonders what could be going on. He scans the empty living area and kitchen before heading into the hallway.
He finds his roommate hunched over the tub, which is absolutely filled with soap suds. His shirt is damp and his tongue is sticking out in concentration as he desperately rinses and wrings out his crimson cape. It’s a fruitless effort, since the water is still so soapy; every time he dips it back into the tub, it comes out soapier than it was before. He’s so focused that he hasn’t even noticed Alhaitham standing behind him.
Alhaitham leans against the door frame. “So what happened here?”
Kaveh startles and turns, frowning while he looks up. “It appears there was an incident.”
“Well, that much is clear.” Alhaitham smirks as he scans the room, noticing the box of soap on the floor. He bends over to pick it up, brushing aside some of the powder to read the label. “This is dish soap.”
“Yes? And your point is?”
“Why are you using it? It’s for the dishes. There’s a separate container for the laundry detergent.”
“I needed to wash this and it was the first container of soap I found!”
“So you’re telling me that my senior, the renowned architect, light of the Kshahrewar, doesn’t know the difference between dish soap and laundry detergent?” Alhaitham’s eyes are alight with the laughter he is trying (somewhat unsuccessfully) to contain.
“They’re both soaps. Why should it matter which one is used where?”
“I think you’re seeing now why it matters. Have you ever even done your own laundry before moving here?”
“You— that’s not relevant.”
“Need me to call up someone in the Amurta Darshan? They can probably teach you.”
Kaveh huffs and flicks his hand, sending a smattering of suds onto Alhaitham’s face. “If you’re going to stand there and lecture me, you could at least help.”
Alhaitham shrugs and starts to turn away. “I think you can find your way out of this one on your own.” He brushes the soap off his face, chuckling under his breath as he hears Kaveh continuing to call for him from the bathroom. He’ll have to learn these things eventually.
3.
Kaveh is running late, as he usually is on most mornings.
After these months of living together, Alhaitham has learned his routines - the way he always sleeps through his alarm at least once (thankfully Alhaitham manages to tune it out while still being able to hear his own), spends the extra effort to make sure his morning coffee has just the right amount of cream and sugar (why doesn’t he just drink it black?), takes a few minutes too long in the shower (he just has to make sure his conditioner sits in for the full recommended time instead of rinsing it out when he’s ready to move on and get out).
He also insists on doing his hair each morning, even if it would be more efficient to just leave it down or tied into a simple ponytail. This is what Alhaitham finds him doing as he walks past the open bathroom door. He knows how concentrated Kaveh is on the task, because he can see the tip of his tongue sticking out while he tries to place a hair pin in just the right spot.
Kaveh apparently hasn’t realized that he’s managed to miss an entire chunk of hair that remains brushing against his neck and threatens to undo the entire braid if it is not fastened properly. Taking pity on his roommate, who has finally started to occasionally do some chores around the house with minimal incidents, Alhaitham decides to help.
He enters the room, clearing his throat so as to not startle Kaveh. “Here, let me get it. You’re already late.”
Kaveh opens his mouth and scoffs, an indignant retort ready on his lips. “Oh no, you don’t have to worry about me. Surely the Akademiya’s scribe has more important matters to attend to than his poor roommate’s hair.” His voice is dripping in sarcasm, as if he assumes that he’s walking into a trap just because Alhaitham spoke a few words to him.
“I’m actually trying to help you. It’s inconvenient for me when you’re late anyways. People ask me about it, as if I’m your keeper.”
Kaveh turns slightly, rolling his eyes. “Wow, I’m so sorry that you have to speak to others on my behalf.” He turns back around to the mirror, still fumbling with the same clip. “I can handle this myself.”
Alhaitham steps forward anyways, standing behind Kaveh and taking the clip from his fingers. Realizing that he’s lost, Kaveh slumps slightly and crosses his arms. Alhaitham gathers up the loose piece of hair, saving the braid from unraveling, and lines up the clips in the pattern he’s grown to know so familiarly. Mindlessly, he uses both hands to gather the rest of his hair, guiding it over Kaveh’s shoulders and running his fingers through it gently to straighten out the last unruly locks.
Alhaitham is startled back into the moment as Kaveh clears his throat awkwardly, a faint blush on his cheekbones. “Well then, I suppose I shall be off. I’ll see you later tonight?”
Alhaitham takes a moment to respond, still lost somewhere in his head. “Huh? Oh, yeah. See you.” He walks out of the bathroom slowly after Kaveh rushes out, turning his hands over as the memory of the softness of his hair gradually fades away.
4.
They shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine.
It was a gathering at Lambad’s to celebrate some random student’s thesis being finished. Alhaitham didn’t know the person, but Kaveh insisted on attending - apparently the student had attended one of his elective courses, so he considered himself some sort of a guest of honor, despite the thesis covering a completely different field of study.
Alhaitham had spent most of the night alone at a table, slowly nursing a glass of wine. He watched as Kaveh flitted from group to group, greeting friends and acquaintances old and new, excitedly sharing details of his newest project to anyone who would listen. Occasionally someone would come in to check with the Akademiya’s Scribe, but it only took a few clipped sentences for them to realize that he was not interested in conversation.
He tried not to think about the unsettling feeling in his stomach as he observed his roommate’s interactions. He probably should have eaten something more substantial before having a drink - surely that must be it. When Kaveh rejoined him at their table and insisted on just one more glass, Alhaitham allowed him to bring him the drink with feigned resistance. He listened quietly, nodding occasionally, distracted by the way emotions seemed to flow across Kaveh’s face without any clear transition, each one more ephemeral yet more expressive than the last.
Alhaitham didn’t realize how much more sober he was compared to Kaveh until now. They had walked through a drizzle that was steadily growing into a downpour when they reached the door of their shared home. Proud of the fact that he had remembered his keys, Kaveh insisted on being the one to unlock the door. He leaned his shoulder against the wood, unsteady on his feet, and fumbled to find the keyhole underneath the doorknob. As his attempts became more desperate, he became more focused, the tip of his tongue sneaking out of his pursed lips.
The rain was only getting worse, and Alhaitham found himself becoming more impatient. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to get Kaveh to move on and let him try, but before he could get any sound out, Kaveh turned and glared at him through foggy eyes. “I know, Haitham. I can do it. This door won’t outsmart me!” His words were slightly slurred and the keys nearly slipped out of his grip before he turned back around.
Rolling his eyes and recognizing the fruitlessness of the entire argument (if it could even be called as such), Alhaitham laid his hand over Kaveh’s to guide the key to the lock. He sucked in a breath as quietly as he could as tried not to notice how soft his hands were, except for the calloused bump on his middle finger from holding his charcoal pencils too tightly. Kaveh gasped as the door finally opened in front of them, his source of support suddenly moving away until Alhaitham grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from falling face-first into the entryway.
He found himself wanting to linger, but knew he shouldn’t - despite his balance staying intact his thoughts were addled and blurry. He wouldn’t know what to say if he even should say anything at all. He hoped that Kaveh was too far gone to notice the internal crisis he worked through in the moments while he moved away.
Kaveh stumbled away into the hallway, and Alhaitham breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t long before he heard muffled snores coming from his roommate’s bedroom. He quietly shut the door of his own room, realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to shut out his thoughts for too much longer.
5.
It started like any other day.
Their bickering came so naturally now that Alhaitham usually couldn’t remember who or what started it. This time they were in the kitchen, standing side by side as Kaveh washed the dishes–with the proper soap–while Alhaitham dried them. They had circled around to a familiar refrain of the merits of art versus rationality, form over function - Kaveh insisting that his newest architectural pursuit would seamlessly bring together aesthetic principles and rational operations.
Kaveh turned off the water and paused, turning towards Alhaitham, taking a breath while preparing to continue his monologue. Alhaitham interrupted him. “You know what, I can see it.”
“Of course, as I’ve said before, you just wouldn’t understand these matters—wait, what did you say?”
“I said I can see you doing it. It makes sense that something that’s both practical and beautiful would be envisioned by a creator that shares the same qualities.”
Kaveh gasped slightly, turning his head slightly with narrowed eyes, as if moving one of his ears closer to Alhaitham would allow him to hear more properly. “Did you just… compliment me? Do you think it’s funny to tease me like this?
“I’m not teasing you.”
“You never say nice things about me. And definitely not to my face.”
“Well, I think about them plenty often these days.” Alhaitham shrugged. He put down the dish he finished drying, turning to face Kaveh directly. “Maybe you’ve just never given me a window to actually say something since you’re usually busy listening to yourself talk.”
Ignoring the subtle jab, Kaveh stammers on. “Are you–do you–goodness I feel like a fool for asking this, but are you saying you have some sort of feelings for me?”
Alhaitham thinks for a beat, knowing the weight his words carry. “Hmm, yeah. I do.”
He watches as emotions flood through Kaveh’s face - he cycles past his current indignation, into confused shock, then softening as the understanding sinks in. Thankfully he begins to grin quickly enough, before Alhaitham feels the need to back out and chalk up his confession as yet another sarcastic remark.
Kaveh moves closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes, a joyful smirk fully formed on his lips. “Should we do something about this, then?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Alhaitham crosses his arm, a defensive impulse, a blush spreading across his face but but his brain still not quite caught up to the scene unfolding in front of him.
Kaveh is so close to him now that he can sense the heat radiating from his chest. He can feel his breath upon his lips as Kaveh’s next question comes out as a whisper. “Can I kiss you, then?”
He barely waits for Alhaitham to nod in confirmation before he presses their lips together. Alhaitham stills for a moment, unsure of what to do, still processing the sensations as Kaveh brings his hands to his hair, the nape of his neck, barely giving him any room to breathe. He uncrosses his arms to bring his hands to Kaveh’s waist, but it isn’t until he feels his tongue–that stupid, distracting, adorable tongue–flit across the seam of his mouth that he allows himself to open and return the kiss.
+1
It wasn’t long before they moved from the kitchen to the bedroom.
Kaveh knew it would take Alhaitham a while to come around, to allow himself to direct his train of thought away from his constant need for logical rationality, to embrace the unpredictability and ambiguity of romance. Perhaps Kaveh was a bit of an actor himself, feigning ignorance to all the small ways he had noticed Alhaitham soften around his presence. Or perhaps he was just relieved it wasn’t all in his imagination, to hear the words he had been hoping to hear finally escape from Alhaitham’s mouth.
He did not fully expect things to go this far so quickly, but he supposes that when you’ve known each other for this long, it makes some sort of sense. He smiles as he watches Alhaitham struggle with the fastenings on his pants. He knows he should be appreciating his toned arms, his defined abdominal muscles, but all he can see is his tongue, poked out from his lips as he concentrates and fumbles.
“You’re doing my thing.”
Alhaitham looks up, confused. “What?” He would be seething if he wasn’t so flustered.
“You’re sticking your tongue out. You must be really focused on the task at hand, eh?”
“Is this really the time to point that out?” Alhaitham narrows his eyes while finally succeeding in undoing the closures.
“Hmm, maybe not.” Kaveh smirks, holding Alhaitham’s chin with one hand to bring his lips back to his own. “But let’s see what else that sharp tongue of yours can do.”