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al-haitham stares at the door, eyes burning, hands clenched, teeth digging into the inside of his lips as he waits. and waits. and waits. still nothing. he heaves out a sigh, head turning to glance over at the clock, watching as its hands drag in a circle to mark one minute passing since he’s last checked. he glances towards the door again, swallowing thickly as he shifts in his chair.
the lock doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t push open and you don’t greet him with a warm smile, his name tumbling from your lips as you ask how his day was. the clock continues to tick, one second apart, one second too slow, one second, one second one second one–
“one second! give me one second!” your breathless laughs fill his memories. he can’t move, stuck in a memory as he stands up straight, watching as you stumble after him through the house of daena with books held tightly to your chest.
“you’re such a slowpoke.” the words come out of his mouth so easily as you catch up to him. his hand raises to flick your forehead teasingly, a smirk coming across his face when you lean away and scowl at him.
you huff and turn to face him, “maybe if you’d just be patient, i wouldn’t have to be running after you all the time! archons it’s like you’re trying to run away from people.”
al-haitham jolts back to the present. trying to run away from people. he scoffs at the irony of it all. run away? is that what you would call it if you saw him now, waiting in his chair in the dim light, staring at the door and waiting. he swallows thickly, what’s the difference between running away and pushing away anyways? in the end, they all lead to back to the same thing: emotions.
you’re being emotional, while he’s being rational, or so he thinks to himself. rationality is what has gotten him this far. rationality is what has allowed him to climb the ranks. rationality is the reason why he’s so respected. rationality is what allows him to come up with these radical plans. rationality is what leads him to this moment.
al-haitham’s not an idiot, it’s clear to all of those around him. he’s well aware of what emotions are and how they can affect one’s decision making and thoughts process. and it’s not that he hates emotions, though it may come off that way, he simply values rationality over emotions.
emotions are for private moments. they’re for stolen kisses between the bookshelves, hands held beneath cafe tables, whispered giggles during akademiya lectures and bodily heat in the middle of winter nights. emotions are for the tender moments that he saves in his memory, from watching you stumble through the akademiya with a bright grin as you call out his name, to the wild thumping of his heart when you lay waste to a group of treasure hoarders.
emotions are not for arguments, al-haitham thinks. they’re not for harsh words and petty comebacks that dig deep into the skin, sinking deeper and deeper until the damage is done and irreversible. and yet emotions still find their way into the words that tumble from your lips as you glare at him from across the room, hands clenched and tears lining the bottom of your eyes.
“haitham, please, just try to listen to what i have to say.” the memory of your voice is tired, teetering on the edge of breaking as you hold yourself together for the last time. once more, al-haitham stands across from you, standing up right but unable to say or do anything of his own will.
“what more could you have to say?” the words feel foreign and he wants to scream at the memory of himself to stop talking. “you let the thief get away because of some silly words he said to play with your emotions.”
“he was talking about you!” it feels like you’re out of breath, the words slamming into him yet he doesn’t flinch. instead he scoffs and steps closer, ignoring the way he takes in your shaking hands.
“then maybe,” he sneers, “we shouldn’t be together if the thought of me is enough to shake your resolve. in such a high stakes mission, i’m sure i wouldn’t have let such words get to me.” silence envelops the room. the walls suddenly feel so suffocating with the tension that’s threatening to tear down the same four walls that you once found comfort in night after night. he watches as you take a shaky breath, clearing your throat as you look away. he watches in silence as you gather your items, holding your bag to your chest as if you were afraid he was going to tear it away from you.
“then maybe we shouldn’t.” you hold his stare for a moment before brushing past him, the loose sleeves of your top brushing against his clothes as if they were trying to cling to him for just one second.
he jolts back to the present once more, eyes darting to the clock only to realize a few minutes have passed. he breathes deeply, his hands fidgeting on the chair as the sound of the clock and his own heartbeat thunder in his ears.
it’s unusual for you to not return, and if something has come up, you would typically send word to let him know ahead of time. and even if you did happen to return late, it’s already much later than usual. which leaves al-haitham to stew in his own thoughts that have begun to creep up his shoulder and whisper cruel things into his ear. he didn’t mean it, all the things that had spilled from his lips, the anger and frustration that had burst forth in the moment. it was the tipping point, the mountain of stress that had been weighing down on his shoulders finally coming crashing down in your shared bedroom as voices rose and arguments cut down your walls.
emotions are not for arguments. and he wishes he could turn back the time, drag the hands of the clock backwards so that he wouldn’t let himself lose composure like that and instead listen, instead of run.
and for the first time, you don’t come home.