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There are a few differences between Alhaitham and Kaveh that one could point out from observation.
Exhibit A: Alhaitham is an early bird, always tucked in by eleven at most and up by six, even on off days. Kaveh is what one might call a night owl, often sacrificing hours of sleep to work on due commissions with nothing but the company of an oil lamp by the desk in their shared room, while Alhaitham rests undisturbed on the bed. Safe to say, Kaveh blinks awake on most days with the sun nearly at its peak, even if Alhaitham managed to convince him to give it a break the previous night, which does not account for most nights.
Exhibit B: Kaveh has a chronic addiction to coffee, with exactly 50 ml of milk and 2 spoons of sugar. The caffeine boost is much needed to start his day after a long night. Alhaitham prefers tea, personally. They keep a small tea plant in their garden which has been in harvest since the first year just for Alhaitham’s consumption. Nevertheless, Kaveh would brew him coffee, and Alhaitham would take it. It’s become a love language of some sort, because even the stone-hearted scribe of the Akademiya has a soft spot, and Kaveh’s landed the jackpot.
On weekends, Alhaitham has to wait two hours before breakfast just to drag Kaveh out of bed. There’s no real merit to it — he could just let him snooze and be up and about with his own business without ever minding the architect, but Alhaitham does enjoy eating together with him, and their morning banters over breakfast are always worth it.
They can’t have these little moments on weekdays when Alhaitham has to leave home by seven. On such days, Kaveh instead wakes up to a half-cold breakfast left behind on the dining table prepared by none other than his dearest roommate.
Alhaitham's always insisted it’s because he does not trust Kaveh in the kitchen, but he knows it is also because Alhaitham cares about him enough to insist that he does not forgo breakfast. Because of course, someone as punctual as him would emphasize how breakfast was the most important meal of the day.
At present, there is this: gentle sunlight streaming through the stained windows, birds chirping by the roof, distant sounds of clinking from the kitchen, and Kaveh’s constant little sighs mingling with the sound of graphite scratching on parchment paper.
There’s a line that he’s just not getting right, but his hand’s already going numb from gripping the pencil at the same angle for twenty minutes. It doesn’t help that he only got three hours of sleep with how he’d been stressing over this draft all night and how his stupid roommate woke him up by very rudely drawing the curtains open without warning.
It’s not as if he hadn’t functioned on less sleep when he was a student, but it did take a considerable toll on his physical being and it doesn’t get better as a ‘renowned’ architect. So much for childhood dreams of building a wonderland from willpower alone.
Alhaitham is still busying himself with cooking, but the reassuring smell of deep-fried samosas is sharp on his nose already; it’d be impossible to focus at this rate when all he can think about is how good it smells and how hungry he is, recalling that he had skipped dinner yesterday. The perfect recipe for getting sick, Alhaitham would say.
“My shoulders hurt…” Kaveh grumbles to no one in particular, finally looking away from the sketch to crack his neck and take a sip of his coffee.
Alhaitham hums. “Don’t worry, it’s just the years catching up to you.”
Kaveh narrows his eyes. “I’m barely reaching thirty!”
“And yet you always brag about how you’re older than me.”
Something snaps as Kaveh puts his mug down. It slammed against the wood harder than intended. Any harder, and it mightʼve shattered. Alhaitham wouldnʼt be happy about that, and for once in his life, Kaveh wishes it did shatter, just to spite his ass of a roommate.
He sighs and combs his fingers through his morning bedhead. He cares enough about his outward appearance to have a personal makeover in their bathroom every other morning, but he doesn’t have to go out today, so he’ll do it later.
Speaking of hair, he misplaced one of his favorite hairclips two days ago and has yet to find it, so that’s another thing that’ll plague his mind for the rest of the day. And though he thinks about breaking the cup, he knows heʼll be forced to pick up the pieces anyway — that’s for having Alhaitham as a roommate. Then again, beggars can’t be choosers.
“It’s too early for this,” he sighs, taking a larger sip this time just to enunciate how irked he is. Of course, Alhaitham doesn’t take the hint. He instead takes the chance to annoy him as he usually does.
“It’s nine in the morning, actually,” Alhaitham retorts.
“Too early,” Kaveh insists.
“Your job prospects are exceptionally low.”
“Gods, shut up already.”
Alhaitham watches his expressions and smiles amusedly. He wouldn’t let Kaveh catch it as he walks over to the dining table, two plates in hand. He waits until Kaveh puts the sketch aside before placing his plate in front of him, then his own on the other side of the table.
Kaveh’s eyes are fixed on the paper with a slight pout, as if he’s ignoring Alhaitham on purpose. He does not dare tell him that he thinks he looks very adorable.
Alhaitham stirs the coffee Kaveh had made for him. Plain, the way he likes it. It’s gone a little cold.
*
Kaveh watches from the edge of their bed as Alhaitham swiftly unbuttons his shirt with his back turned to him. The long, white sleeves do well in hiding the arms under that makes Kaveh dizzy.
Alhaitham rarely wears loose-fitting things like this, especially since he decided that, as an Akademiya official, he could wear whatever he wanted to work and so he settled on the annoying bodysuit he dared call clothing.
Kaveh thinks he just wants to flaunt his abs. No one would expect someone like the scribe to be well-built if he didn’t know that he worked out regularly during his Akademiya days and calls himself a feeble scholar in mock humility.
It’s not as if Alhaitham does heavy work. At all. The worst he’ll carry on a day-to-day basis are minutes and books. Still, everything has its pros and cons as Kaveh’s eyes glaze over his bare back for all but a moment before he turns to him and Alhaitham’s lips are on his neck again.
“I’m so tired, Haitham,” Kaveh grumbles, tangling his fingers in short gray strands.
“Yeah?” A shudder wreaks his body as Alhaitham licks a stripe up his jaw. “Care to tell me what exactly you did today?”
Kaveh throws his head back when teeth make themselves known. “Well, since it concerns you so much, I was meeting the client from last time. He somehow decided it’d be fine to expand the original draft by nearly twice, despite calling it fixed a week ago.”
“Hm.” A rough hand drifts down his chest, ice to Kaveh’s fire, before settling on his waist and squeezing.
“And I absolutely hate people like that, but the set price is very…” Kaveh sucks a breath through his teeth when Alhaitham ruts on him, his body responding with an enthusiasm he wishes he could hide better. “Ah, tempting… and I already handed my best drafts… mm—”
“Go on.” Alhaitham is smiling now. He can just hear it in his voice and oh, he’d do anything to wipe it off his proud, cocky face—
“If I quit, he’ll just find someone else to do the job and pass my ideas to them—” Alhaitham bites down on the plane of his clavicle, probably hard enough to draw blood before Kaveh pulls him off to bump their foreheads together. “Fuck— could you be any less of a brute?!”
To his dismay, a smirk grows on Alhaitham’s lips instead and he hates how handsome he looks with it, impeccable hair utterly ruined under Kaveh’s hands with his left eye uncovered. “Anything else?”
No, not really.
Kaveh shakes his head, and then lips are on his. He loses himself to the waves of pleasure.
And as a hand creeps up his palm, fingers settling in the spaces between his own, he squeezes it tight — he does not want to let go; does not want this to be over by sunrise.
*
How did it turn out this way?
Well, when Alhaitham started sharing his living space with Kaveh, he had initially set some ground rules. Kaveh may be his senior and there exists a universal rule about respecting your seniors, but it was Alhaitham’s house, and he thought it was reasonable to create guidelines if Kaveh wanted to live in it for a bit.
It ended up much longer than ‘a bit.’ Also, his attempt at respecting Kaveh flew out the window within a week. There isn’t much to respect about the way Kaveh behaves around the house, after all.
Years passed, and Kaveh never once conformed to the ground rules. For example: not making a mess of their living space, not stealing things from the fridge without the other’s knowledge, and no alcohol past 10 p.m. Kaveh had managed to break all of them in one fell swoop.
(The only reason Alhaitham hasn’t kicked him out yet per their initial agreement is that he had developed some sort of attachment to Kaveh being part of the stable life he always wanted.
He’d rather choke on a slime and die than admit that, though.)
Kaveh enjoys his wine, but he isn’t a drunkard by any means. He knows how to drink responsibly and only ever gets drunk like this when it’s to down his thoughts. Alhaitham has to mentally prepare himself as he unlocks the front door with a click and is greeted by the stench of alcohol and sorrow.
There’s no ‘I’m home,’ because that establishes more between them than Alhaitham can afford to give. It’s quiet as he hangs up his coat and takes off his boots, but his eyes never leave the figure currently wasted on the couch. It seems as if Kaveh hasn’t realized the other man that has joined his company until Alhaitham steps further in and is greeted by ruby eyes blinking open.
Dull and swimming in drunkenness for all but a moment, they light up at the sight of him.
“Haithamm…You’re home~” Kaveh slurs, holding out his hands like a child reaching up to be taken into their parent’s embrace, and it’s cuter than Alhaitham can care to admit as he circles him and scoots the blond over to sit on the cushion.
The way Alhaitham stares at him is enough to give Kaveh the hint that he’s waiting for an explanation. Empty wine bottles sit on the coffee table and some on the floor.
It ends up as a staring contest, but Kaveh only lasts a mere second before averting his eyes. There’s a pretty blush across his cheeks and nose, and his hair is slightly messy. “My client bailed.”
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “What? Why?” He couldn’t mask the slight anger in his tone even if he wanted to. Kaveh has been working himself off these past few weeks just to see the end of the project, and it baffles Alhaitham how anyone could sign someone as talented as Kaveh off.
Kaveh deflates like a balloon, burying his head in his arms. “I ‘unno—” he can almost feel Alhaitham’s intense gaze on him. It makes his head spin a little, and the alcohol does not help. “But I tried my best… I really wanted this job…”
Alhaitham exhales, tucking the feather that’s nearly fallen out back behind Kaveh’s ear.
He does recall that day when they were still students at the Akademiya:
From the beginning of his school year, Kaveh had always tried to get close to him. Alhaitham didn’t really get it, because he and Kaveh were from different Darshans anyway, and it’s not as if they were on the same level either.
In retrospect, he definitely thought Kaveh was a weirdo then. They were like night and day; hot and cold — Kaveh was extroverted to boot, serving little besides draining Alhaitham’s social battery. Still, he was one of the few people who cared to be ‘friends’ with Alhaitham in the early times.
Kaveh would dote on him to no end, too. ‘My cute junior,’ came to be an affectionate term, though Alhaitham shudders thinking about it now. To his credit, he tried really hard to be a good senior, too, though Alhaitham would always say he didn’t need his assistance. However, having Kaveh’s social connections close proved to be useful for the rest of his Akademiya years.
That is, until he graduated.
The day before Kaveh’s graduation, Alhaitham asked him why he wanted to become an architect.
At the time, he only gave a simple, straightforward answer: “I want to realize dreams.”
It left Alhaitham in deep contemplation for a few days.
Dreams are a foreign concept in the Land of Wisdom. Kaveh yearns for it anyway, because there is no end to his idealism. He and Alhaitham were nothing alike, yet he was pulled to him nonetheless, as if by a magnetic force. Perhaps that’s what Rtawahist scholars would call fate.
Alhaitham will never be on the same plane as Kaveh. He has never understood dreams and the desire to make them come true, but as his Vision permeates a soft light, so does Kaveh’s, as if resonating in silent understanding.
Some things will always remain beyond even the greatest scholars’ comprehension.
Alhaitham turns to his roommate. Kaveh must be berating himself for being the problem by this point, but Alhaitham is no good with words of comfort, so he merely reaches out and places a hand on Kaveh’s back.
In his touch, comes the consolation: It’s okay.
Alhaitham’s hand is cold on Kaveh’s window of exposed skin. It sends a faint shiver through him, but he leans into the touch anyway.
Kaveh forgets that Alhaitham can be quite understanding when he isn’t his snarky, sarcastic self. Kaveh usually appreciates sound, chatter, a loud atmosphere — but now, he wants nothing more beyond this silence as Alhaitham rubs circles into his back.
Even if he were to fall asleep like this, he knows he’ll wake up in Alhaitham’s bed again, the scent of detergent and wine mingling on the sheets. Alhaitham might complain about it, but he doesn’t genuinely mind. Kaveh knows that, too.
*
Coming home after a long work day is always a relief to Alhaitham, with the sages giving him an increasing amount of work by the day with no raise — as if he was a mere volunteer. Most of the ‘assignments’ they send him out on did not even align with his occupation.
Nevertheless, on such days, when the moon is already showing its face as he steps out of the Akademiya, he wants nothing more than to go home and unwind.
That is before Kaveh started living with him.
Now, unless his roommate is caught up in a project or commission, Alhaitham always finds himself a victim in whatever endeavors Kaveh has gotten himself into after work. Sometimes, he’ll find him drunk and wallowing in sorrow like the other night. Today, he finds him hunched over the coffee table, cross-legged on the floor, with tiny paint pots and brushes on the table.
Alhaitham’s eyes only glaze over the mess once before Kaveh whips his head toward him and, as if expecting him to ask, says, “I’m doing my nails.”
“What’s the point?”
Kaveh shrugs. “Nothing,” he says, tilting his head to get his pinky finger right. “It makes me happy.”
“...Uh-huh.”
“Did you bring me anything?”
Alhaitham stares at him blankly. “What did you want?”
“I don’t know, just thought my roommate would be thoughtful for once.” Kaveh scoffs with a roll of his eyes.
Alhaitham scoffs back in return. “Well, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
(Though he says that, Alhaitham is sure he’ll end up strung around Kaveh’s finger.)
“Oh please, how much work could a scribe have to do?” Kaveh teases, a smile hanging off his voice.
Alhaitham narrows his eyes, content with letting that one go as he passes over the living room to his study. For a moment, there is brief clattering as Alhaitham places something in the drawer and rearranges his books. Meanwhile, Kaveh studies a greenish-blue shade of nail polish before muttering something under his breath.
“I think this color would suit you,” he says, turning his head to Alhaitham who emerges out of his study as nonchalant as always. “It’s like your eyes.”
Alhaitham crosses his arms dubiously. “My eyes?” And if he were slightly more honest, he’d instead say, ‘You were thinking about my eyes?’
“Yes. Come here.”
“Again: what’s the point?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do it?”
“Why not?”
Alhaitham sighs deeply.
If he knows anything about Kaveh, it’s that Kaveh loves all things related to cosmetics and fashion. Alhaitham thinks there’s no better word to describe the architect than ‘frilly.’ He cares more about his appearance than most scholars would. Sometimes, Alhaitham’s own appearance, too.
(By that, he means all the time. There isn’t a single day without them bickering over clothes, should Alhaitham have picked something out of his closet that Kaveh thinks is not very ‘aesthetically pleasing.’
But it’s also not as if his closet has much. That’s how some of Kaveh’s clothes usually find themselves fit into Alhaitham’s instead.)
Kaveh’s hands are surprisingly thin and gentle for someone who wields a claymore — then again, he’s not much of a fighter — as he holds Alhaitham’s in one and a small brush in the other, as begins to paint in careful strokes.
There really is no point to this, Alhaitham thinks, but Kaveh is smiling slightly as he hums an indistinct tune, so he tells himself he’ll indulge his roommate for tonight.
(He tells himself that almost every day.)
While Kaveh busies himself with nails, Alhaitham busies himself with a book in his other hand. Sometimes his fingers would twitch involuntarily and Kaveh ends up smudging the paint, much to his vexation.
“Stop that,” Kaveh frowns, groaning as he wipes away another stain on the edge of his finger. “You’re a terrible subject.”
“Subject?” That gets Alhaitham to smile amusedly. “I think I prefer being a muse.”
Kaveh laughs as if it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard. “Archons, Haitham. You don’t care about art — much less being a muse.”
“I don’t.”
“So?”
“Who knows, perhaps you want to feast your eyes on my form in greater detail,” Alhaitham says teasingly.
Kaveh sneers. “You love to hear yourself talk.”
“That makes two of us.”
With a roll of his eyes, Kaveh retracts his hand and shoves Alhaitham away, enough to knock the book down. “Nevermind. I don’t want to do your stupid nails!”
Alhaitham barely pays attention to that. “Come now, don’t tell me the Light of Kshahrewar is flustered by factual reasoning,” he drawls the title a bit, which gets an 'ugh' out of Kaveh.
“I’m not flustered, and stop calling me that!”
“Oh, I seem to have smudged it again.”
Kaveh kisses him hard enough to shut him up.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispers as they part, but staying ever so close, as if they’ll disappear should one of them pull away.
Alhaitham’s breath is warm despite the coldness of his fingers as he strokes the side of Kaveh’s face, uncaring that he’s smearing that green-blue shade on his cheek.
“Good,” Alhaitham says as they kiss again and again.
Although he’s never known peace since taking Kaveh in, it’s these moments that he loves the most.
*
Then, there are moments where Alhaitham wants nothing but to go back to the days when he’d been perfectly fine by himself, because lately, he’s found his body betraying every single thing his mind has trusted before.
Oh, and he tries, he tries very hard to push him away sometimes, when he feels as if he’s treading too closely on something he cannot grasp — a feeling so distant from himself yet so real in Kaveh.
Sometimes he thinks ‘asshole’ is justified for him, because Kaveh is perched on their bed, scribbling away on a bright yellow sketchbook that he does not even need to turn his head to recognize, and all he wants is to disappear. Him or Kaveh.
“Kaveh,” he starts, lungs tight, “I’d like to be alone if that’s fine.”
Kaveh tilts his head but eventually says, “Okay.”
It’s the understanding that damns him. It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s asked Kaveh to leave, but it’s moments like these where Alhaitham wishes Kaveh put up more of a fight; wishes that he knew that Alhaitham doesn’t really want him to leave, for his mouth is a traitor to his heart.
“Guess I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” Kaveh says, then promptly leaves.
My room. Kaveh’s room. Ah, yes. It’s gone unused for a while, since Kaveh’s been opting to sleep in Alhaitham’s room for the last few months. They’ve been walking a line that Alhaitham can’t see, and it terrifies him.
“Mm.”
The door closes with a soft click. And then it’s just him and his thoughts.
Sometimes, the thoughts get too loud.
It gets particularly worse whenever Kaveh has to be away for an extended period of time. Sure, Alhaitham is happy for him whenever Kaveh actually picks up a job he’s passionate about — maybe he’d even start paying rent someday, but he’s still only making ends meet for now, and that’s okay.
(He wants to tell him that it’s okay, and that he doesn’t need to feel like a burden for sharing his space. Alhaitham had been the one to offer anyhow, and not without ulterior motives. They don’t matter anymore, of course, not seven years down the line in actualizing whatever they were, what they’re supposed to be, and what they could be.)
It’s only ever unbearable in the middle of the night as Alhaitham glances at the space Kaveh usually occupies in his bed and finds nothing but cold air and wrinkled sheets.
He thinks he must be mad.
Alhaitham returns to the living room and turns on the lights. He isnʼt sleeping at this rate, and the moon is already hanging high in the skies above.
He tries to ground himself first and foremost. The cover of the sofa is hard under his fingers. Itʼs dead quiet save for the distant sound of crickets. Everywhere he looks, heʼs reminded of Kaveh.
His house didnʼt always look like this. When he bought the place, it was much simpler. He wanted to keep it that way, with as few distractions as possible. Kaveh thought itʼd be fun to spruce up the place a little. Bring some life into it, he’d said then.
He lied, because of course he did. He basically gave Alhaithamʼs house a makeover; from the color of the walls, the ornaments on every side, all the items and furniture, to the books in his bookshelf, Kaveh might as well have been trying to take claim of the place.
Thereʼs a painting on the wall, framed with gold ornaments; it had come all the way from Inazuma. Besides being an architect, Kaveh considers himself an enjoyer of art. The painter really understands expressions hidden in every color choice and brushstroke, he would say, to which Alhaitham could only supply a non-committal hum.
Thereʼs another painting, one of Kavehʼs. Alhaitham wouldnʼt admit it, but itʼs his favorite thing in the house that Kaveh had brought. He always thought that Kaveh would be better off as a full artist rather than an engineer, but Sumeru spares no room for artistic talents.
He misses the mess that Kaveh would occasionally make around the house. He misses Kaveh losing his pencil and somehow making it Alhaithamʼs problem. He misses when, sometimes, Kaveh would place his scale models in every nook and cranny of the house just because he can, as if they were little wrapped presents, waiting to surprise him.
It feels as if in his making, Alhaitham had long convinced himself that he is fine alone. But now, more than anything, he wants Kaveh’s company, and only his.
And he wasn’t always this irrational. At least, not until he met him.
What shall he name this newfound feeling? It is a stranger in his chest, like a twinge of frostbite that never truly leaves.
(Only the warmth that permeates from Kaveh’s closeness can melt it.)
*
This is a memory he holds dear, unbeknownst to the other:
The first time he did it, it had actually been an accident. There were few moments that Alhaitham could be considered careless, but he was in a hurry that day and didn’t look before snatching a set of keys.
One of them was silver, the other gold. It was initially Alhaitham alone in the house, then Kaveh came along, so they had to get the key duplicated, and Kaveh had cared enough about a key that he had it made in gold.
Kaveh claims that it’s so they won’t get them switched — The gold one’s mine, the silver one’s yours. Very simple distinction, no? — while Alhaitham insisted that they were just keys and it didn’t matter which belonged to whom. Kaveh disagreed, but Alhaitham didn’t feel like arguing that day so he let it pass.
As it goes, he lets many things pass with Kaveh in the house.
That day, he decided to stall as long as possible before coming home. And oh, it was hilarious.
Kaveh was sitting by the front porch with an unamused look on his face while Alhaitham made his way to the door and dug through his pocket to take out two keys. One of them went into the keyhole as he turned it with a flick of the wrist, and the other flew to Kaveh, not caring where it fell.
Thankfully, Kaveh was able to catch it as he scurried onto his feet.
“Bastard. I knew you took it!”
Alhaitham rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open. “A happy accident.”
Kaveh groaned, many complaints hanging off his tongue, but Alhaitham was already disappearing into the house. Kaveh was quick on his feet. “Don’t you know how long you made me wait?! Hey, don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you!”
“You know, studies show that anger makes you age faster.”
Kaveh squinted. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”
“When is it not a fight with you?” Alhaitham sighed, and it could very well have been a fond sigh, but Kaveh didn’t think so as he proceeded to chew him out for half an hour and bed him for the other half.
By the second occurrence, Kaveh had come up with the idea to make a keychain in the shape of a lion. He had crafted it by his own hand and was quite proud of it as he dangled the chain at a resting Alhaitham, who only spared it a glance before returning to his book.
But it only started happening more frequently as Alhaitham found his attention caught on the keychain whenever he was leaving for work to stare at the two keys.
Silver and gold. The moon and the sun. The lion is really quite fitting for Kaveh, he thinks. It so happens that said lion was a cat miniature with a small gear around its head to act as its mane. Oh, if he was a poet, he’d be waxing poetic about this.
By the end of the day, he’ll come home to a sulking and angry Kaveh, and it does please him slightly — the thought that no matter what, Kaveh would come back to this place and wait for him, just to berate him for being so horrible and mean to leave his dear roommate locked outside.
For the record, Alhaitham does enjoy their banters — that’s one thing he’d never admit to anyone, even himself. It’s a welcome change in his previously dull and stagnant life.
But he does not feel particularly remorseful for teasing Kaveh to such extents. He supposes it’s a bad habit — if he happened to pick up an amusing reaction from Kaveh as a direct result of his actions, he’ll keep doing it just to witness it again and again.
Should Kaveh ever discover his true intentions, he’d surely never see the end of it. But he hasn’t, so surely it wouldn’t kill to test the waters.
Surely, it isn’t wrong of him to gaze on the expanse of pale skin under him, now bearing red-purple marks of teeth, the breathless whimpers that come with each touch, and wishes he could submerge himself in the sound.
He latches his lips on the side of Kaveh’s neck for a sense of possession between the collision of their bodies, there is nothing but the moment.
The bedside lamp casts a dim light on Alhaitham’s figure, leaning on the headboard and idly flipping through a book, as he always does. Kaveh finds himself entranced by the sight. If he wasn’t so drowsy, he might’ve picked up his sketchbook and started drawing him.
It doesn’t immediately register to him when sharp teal eyes anchor on him, a question hanging heavy on the still-tense air.
“What is it?” Alhaitham questions.
Kaveh blinks, “Huh?”
“You have that look on your face,” he says blankly, not moving his eyes from the book at all. “When you’re thinking too hard for your own good.”
Kaveh huffs, and the bed shifts slightly as he moves to sit beside Alhaitham, getting closer until their shoulders touch. Only then does Alhaitham lower his book. Kaveh takes it as his cue to continue.
As much of a jerk as Alhaitham plays to be, he knows basic decency and knows when to pay attention to his roommate. Though, Kaveh would argue that he is a jerk. Only sometimes. It depends on the day. He surely doesn’t feel like it in these moments, a stark contrast to his usual cold facade.
Kaveh exhales a large sigh, “I received another job offer,” he starts, “there’s this woman who wants a greenhouse design for a conservatory project of some sort. The site’s in the Avidya Forest. It sounds promising and I’d love to have a hand at it, but…”
“...But?” Alhaitham prods.
Kaveh’s head drops to his side, leaning on Alhaitham’s shoulder for support. He really is sleepy now, and Alhaitham’s body next to him brings him a sense of comfort he’ll never find anywhere else. “Nothing.”
Alhaitham hums, shoulders relaxing for Kaveh’s sake. “But you’re afraid of being called off again.”
“...It’s stupid, I know. An architect, scared of rejection,” Kaveh chuckles cynically. “I mean, it is my fault if my work doesn’t live up to their expectations, after all—”
“It’s not. You have every right to be upset about difficult clients.”
I’m scared of you hurting, too. It pains me to see you sad.
Alhaitham was never the sentimental type. He supposes Kaveh has really changed him in many ways, for both good and bad, and there are things he still has yet to accept. For example, the blooming in his chest, growing ever-so-tighter with Kaveh leaning on him like this.
“I could get used to you being all soft like this,” Kaveh says with a dreamy smile. In it, a plea: let me in.
Alhaitham wishes it was that easy. He’s lived most of his life alone, and now he can’t imagine his life without Kaveh.
How laughable, that the formidable grand scribe has been broken down into pieces of insignificant emotions, desires boiling up from within his chest, all for a confession he can't make.
This is his undoing, and Kaveh might just be the one to pull the thread that unravels all of him to his very core.
He isn’t dense. He knows what it is. It’s just that he had made peace with the fact that love is something he was incapable of giving; incapable of receiving. Perhaps he was meant to feel nothing at all, yet he had never felt so distrustful of himself until Kaveh came around and made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.
(Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh. It’s all his fault, part of him wants to say, yet another part of him can’t seem to ever truly hate the man.)
He’s witnessed many among his peers fall in love, devoting themselves fully to another person. Some are fortunate enough to say their ‘till death do us part’s; some end with their hearts shattered, until all there's left to give is tears; while many continue to yearn, stuffing feelings down their throat until they suffocate.
(He wants that, too. He wants to feel anything if it would make him alive.
Sometimes, he thinks he's been dead for a long time. Then he looks at Kaveh, with his sunny disposition and boundless energy, and thinks that he may very well be the one to bring life to him.)
And by all means, Alhaitham is rational; calculated — there’s nearly never a situation where he’s at a loss for words or actions. Still, even the most calculated man fails to rationalize others’ emotions, and fails to realize that Kaveh loves him as a lover would.
Kaveh drifts to sleep; Alhaitham doesn’t: an uncommon switch in their routine. Oftentimes, Kaveh would get up and get to work mere minutes after sex, and Archons know where he finds the energy. Even Alhaitham could only, at most, handle Kaveh’s endless yapping on nights such as these.
Tonight is different. He finds that he doesn’t have the heart to move Kaveh from his resting place on his shoulder, so he doesn’t, perfectly content with listening to the blond’s soft and steady breathing.
The body beside him is warm compared to the cool night air.
*
Sometimes, Kaveh wishes they were students again just so he can pretend to be a good senior for his dear junior again.
He remembers it well:
Seven years ago, Kaveh was attending a mandatory call in the halls of the Akademiya. It was too early to be standing around for hours just to 'initiate' the new batch of admitted students, especially since he had gotten practically no sleep the previous night. He was only entering his third semester, and his health was already starting to deteriorate from all the stress.
He almost fell asleep standing up until he caught sight of a gray-haired young man in a slightly loose-fitting Haravatat uniform.
He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he imagines that’d be it.
As it went, Kaveh attended not one, not two, but four more of those initiation ceremonies before he received his diploma and could say goodbye to every damned assignment and all the sleepless nights.
The only thing he wasnʼt happy about was having to say goodbye to the junior he adored.
They grew reasonably close over the years — even if Kaveh did feel as if their friendship was quite one-sided — because months later, shortly after Kaveh fell into debt as a result of creating his magnum opus, Alhaitham approached him with an offer he simply couldnʼt refuse:
“Senior Kaveh, if you desire it, I am able to provide a temporary living space for you that could accommodate the two of us.”
He was so cute about it — how could Kaveh possibly turn him down?
After seeing his house for the first time, Kaveh thought Alhaitham must come from a wealthy name to have such a nice home for himself while studying at the Akademiya.
Turns out, that wasnʼt the case at all, because Alhaitham hadnʼt seen his family in at least ten to twelve years, and heʼd been picking up side jobs to make ends meet, unbeknownst to Kaveh somehow. He might as well have dropped dead if he had to study while working three side jobs.
Kaveh doesnʼt know how, but slowly, their dynamic shifted to what it is today. Though heʼd been concerned about keeping up a good image of the ideal senior before, theyʼve both graduated now, and they’re already too deep in this to go back to acting all nice and polite with each other.
(The truth is that even after all these years, Kaveh still likes him a lot. Maybe even more than before, despite Alhaitham being a total jerk now. Kaveh has long made peace with the fact that thatʼs who he is, and Alhaitham has to make do just the same with Kaveh.)
But itʼs much prettier to reflect on the past when one finds himself between a rock and a hard place in the present. Itʼs near impossible to communicate with his blockhead of a roommate because there's never been a time where they agreed with each other's perspectives. For example:
Alhaitham doesnʼt honestly care about moving their status beyond roommates. That much is what the public is privy to, and that much is enough for him. What they have now is precious as is, but Kaveh wishes they could rush past those thin, vulnerable lines; even during nights when they peeled off every layer of satin and silk to let skin meet — it's only ever physical.
So why does it feel bad in the afterglow?
They can kiss and act like they are in love but it does not change what they are; what they may never be. There’s a point in growing up where dreams should be let go of — that’s what the Land of Wisdom teaches you. Still, Kaveh dreams. Sometimes, it’s the only thing he can do.
Now, they are not under the sheets, merely laying on duvet with sweat under his hair as Alhaitham buries his head in the crook of Kaveh’s neck.
Wrapping his arms around a particularly affectionate head of gray, the soft sound that comes out of the younger nearly melts his heart. Just nearly.
But Alhaitham doesnʼt do affectionate.
The questions come: At what point do friends stop being friends? At what point do their trysts, passed as transient desires in the heat of the moment, become worship?
Kaveh takes a shot in the dark. “Whatʼs gotten into you?”
For a moment, there is only silence. “I could ask you the same,” Alhaitham says eventually. No witty remarks, now?”
“Well, I admit youʼve succeeded in wearing me out if that was your intention at all. I thought you enjoyed my ‛witty remarks.ʼ”
Alhaitham laughs. Itʼs a small, lighthearted sound that doesnʼt feel faked for once.
This was odd. This was not Alhaitham as he knew him. Kaveh honestly thought he knows all there is to know about Alhaitham at this point, both the goods and the bads, but he still manages to surprise him every day.
Kaveh takes another shot in the dark.
“What are you afraid of?” he whispers, as if indulging in a secret, fingers digging into soft gray locks as he tilts his chin up to allow Alhaitham to breathe into his neck. “Tell me, so that I may understand.”
“Even if I told you,” he says, “you will not understand.”
“Then who, if not me?” Kaveh tries.
Alhaitham scoffs. “Don’t ask such equivocal questions."
Under the guide of sleep, Alhaitham might have just said: This isn’t like you.
I could say the same for you, Kaveh thinks. It almost comes as: I thought I knew you, but I guess I never really did, and it terrifies me just how many layers of you I must go through before it all becomes bare to me.
Instead, he says, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re real frustrating?”
“You do,” Alhaitham points out. “All the time.”
Kaveh sighs a long breath. “Wouldn’t it be nice if the Akasha could telepathically connect people?”
“Only you would think of such an invention.”
“Wouldn’t you be my number one patron?”
“In your dreams.”
Kaveh snorts.
He stopped dreaming a long time ago, but if dreams ever returned to Sumeru, he thinks he’ll see Alhaitham like this: tangled in the sheets, but not just as roommates.
In my dreams, you love me.
He says it in his head all the time. I love you, I love you, I love you, I want you to love me too. Cowardice is a mean thorn on his side, because only when Alhaitham drifts off to sleep can he sigh those words like he’d been holding his breath all this time.
“I love you,” he whispers to nothing, letting silence permeate the empty space of their room. Alhaitham doesn’t say it back — of course he doesn’t. “Sorry, I just wanted to try saying it.”
*
In his embrace, Alhaitham blinks. He hadn’t been asleep at all.
He doesn’t say it back, but he wants to. He wants to bare himself in a way that’s more than physical, down to his soul, unraveled; he wants to let Kaveh do whatever he wants with him.
You’ll never recover from that kind of devotion.
So much for being roommates.
*
“Haitham, you didnʼt cook dinner?” Kaveh says as he marches into the house.
“I am not your personal chef,” Alhaitham says bluntly, turning to look at Kaveh dead in the eyes. “Also, you didnʼt buy groceries when I asked you to, so youʼll simply have to deal with the consequences.”
Kaveh frowns. “You have to eat too, smartass.”
“I already did.”
Kaveh’s jaw drops. “Fucker.”
Thatʼs a lie — he didnʼt. Kaveh’s reaction was priceless though, so it was worth it. Alhaitham has to hold back the chuckle that creeps up his throat, though the small tilt of his lips couldn’t be hidden so easily.
Before Kaveh was able to make anything of it, Alhaitham strides past the blond and picks up his coat from the hangar.
The scribe stays completely nonchalant as he says, “Let me take you out, then.”
Kaveh blinks. Once. Twice. Alhaitham’s serious expression shows no sign of wavering. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Alhaitham nods assuredly.
“You don’t ‘take me out.’” Kaveh crosses his arms. “What are you? My boyfriend?”
Alhaitham tilts his head. The gesture is infuriating more than anything. “Am I not?”
“...Huh?”
In a swift motion, Alhaitham turns and drapes the coat over one shoulder as he usually does before walking out the door. “Lock up, won’t you?”
Distantly, Kaveh realizes his face must be flushed now, growing conscious of the blood rushing to his ears and cheeks.
Knowing that the bastard’s only doing it to tease him, he should be more used to it, but he isn’t. He is utterly smitten with this asshole.
“Your jokes really aren’t funny,” Kaveh mutters. It doesn’t stop his heart from pounding at such a throwaway remark.
Am I not? Oh, he wants it more than anything.
Alhaitham huffs, keeping his head down even as Kaveh catches up with no short of chatter falling out of his lips. It’s become like music to his ears.
Their hands are barely touching, only bumping knuckles as they walk.
Alhaitham reaches out and intertwines their fingers as they reach the city center. It somehow feels more intimate than those nights under the sheets, dancing around the idea of being in love.
(They’ve been in love for much longer than they realize.)
But Kaveh stops talking, so at least that little action has the intended effect.
One day, Alhaitham wants to kiss him in the middle of the crowd. For now, the press of their palms is enough.