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The skies above Sumeru wear a darker hue than usual—ashen clouds rolling in, heavy with the forecast of rain. The air is thick with static, the hush before the storm. Inside, Alhaitham lounges across the sofa, book in hand, his posture relaxed save for the weight of his roommate draped across him like a particularly fussy blanket.
“I’m telling you, they wanted the most ridiculous, structurally impossible designs,” Kaveh huffs, one arm gesturing vaguely in the air. “All curved glass, no thought to load-bearing columns. I had to walk them through basic physics like they were children—again.”
Alhaitham catches only the tail end of the rant. He’s long since learned that Kaveh doesn’t need perfect attention, just proximity. A nod here, a murmur there—it’s enough to keep the rhythm going.
Beyond the window, the streets glisten under a fresh layer of rain. Alhaitham’s eyes linger there for a beat, until a shift in Kaveh’s body pulls his gaze back. His hands adjust on the page, his breath deepening.
“So… I finally convinced them. I mean, I think I did.” Kaveh’s voice falters, losing its usual confidence. It stutters into quiet. “They weren’t thrilled, but they… listened.”
A low growl rolls through the sky. Thunder, distant but approaching. The sound seems to scrape at Kaveh’s nerves—his fingers slip beneath the hem of Alhaitham’s shirt, distracted, restless. Alhaitham’s eyes flick down, and for the first time that evening he closes his book.
Another flash, blinding-white. Then a thunderclap, booming, too close. It rattles the windows. Kaveh startles violently, jerking upright before collapsing onto the floor in a tangled heap.
Alhaitham winces. “Kaveh—”
But he’s already curled inward, breathing uneven, hands clenched near his ears. Each rumble drives him further into himself, retreating from sound and space alike. He looks smaller than usual. Frightened.
Alhaitham’s body moves before thought does. He slips down to the floor, pulling Kaveh into his arms with a blanket wrapped around them both. His palms hover near Kaveh’s ears, fingers trembling with the urge to do something—anything—to soften the incoming storm.
“You’re alright,” he murmurs, letting the words fall into the space between thunderclaps. “I’ve got you.”
Another crash. Kaveh flinches again, clutching Alhaitham’s shirt like a lifeline.
Without a word, Alhaitham gathers him up—blanket and all—and carries him quietly through the dim hall to the bedroom.
He sets Kaveh down with careful hands, like something too tightly wound, too close to breaking. The room darkens as Alhaitham shuts the window shutters, muting the storm into a distant hum. The heavy drops still beat against the wall, but inside, everything softens.
As Kaveh curls up under the covers, Alhaitham slips his noise-cancelling headphones gently over his ears, brushing back his hair in the process. Kaveh barely reacts—just lets himself be moved.
Alhaitham settles beside him, close enough for their legs to touch beneath the blankets. He watches as Kaveh’s breathing steadies, as the tightness around his mouth starts to loosen.
“There you go,” he murmurs, the words low, more breath than voice.
Kaveh blinks up at him. “What?”
Alhaitham only smiles, something small and fleeting. “I love you.”
“I still can’t hear you,” Kaveh says, frowning slightly. He reaches up to remove the headphones—but Alhaitham catches his hand and presses a kiss to his lips before he can speak again.
Kaveh startles, not pulling away, just pausing. Then he exhales a laugh against Alhaitham’s mouth. His hands tighten in the fabric of Alhaitham’s shirt.
Alhaitham starts to pull away—but Kaveh doesn’t let him. He yanks him back with both arms and presses a kiss to his lips, sudden and warm and grounding.
Alhaitham leans in fully this time, allowing the weight of them together to settle. The kiss is steady. Unrushed. Like something long overdue.
When they part, Kaveh rests his forehead against Alhaitham’s, eyes half-lidded, voice barely a breath.
“I love you too.”