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The buzzer went off on a lazy Saturday morning. Neither of them had gotten up yet, still between the realm of dreams and wakefulness, but the buzzer, insistent, kept going, pulling them both towards the real world.
Al-Haitham grunted from his place beside Kaveh in the bed. “Get off me.”
“Nngh,” said Kaveh in response, shuffling closer and wrapping his arms around Al-Haitham’s middle and pressing his face against that unfairly sculpted chest. So warm. So comfortable. He closed his eyes again and tried to will himself back to sleep.
“Get off,” said Al-Haitham. “I have to answer the door.”
“No you don’t,” mumbled Kaveh.
“Yes, I do.” Al-Haitham wrenched himself away from Kaveh, prying his hands off. “I’ll make breakfast for you,” he added more softly. “You can go back to sleep.”
The rush of air when Al-Haitham lifted the covers so he could get out of bed was painfully cold, but he patted the blankets down right after, then pressed one warm hand against Kaveh’s forehead, pushing the hair away, and pressed one soft kiss there. When Al-Haitham closed the door to the bedroom, Kaveh took a pillow and mashed his face into it.
That strange tenderness. He still wasn’t used to it.
The sun was high enough up in the sky now, but Kaveh didn’t want to get up yet. It was too cold, and the noises of distant murmur and some loud banging of a decently heavy package kept him up. He rolled over and checked his phone idly, then when the smell of coffee and frying bacon drifted into the room, he decided he was hungry enough to get out of bed.
Al-Haitham had his package laid out on the coffee table in the adjoining living room, pushing off stacks of books and sheet music, enclosed in a veritable nest of bubble wrap and styrofoam and cardboard. And on the table, shiny, black, new —
Kaveh rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. “Wait, that’s—”
“I know,” said Al-Haitham. “Well. I thought I might try it out. And see what you like so much about your band.”
“Wait,” Kaveh said, the shock of it all waking him up better than any shot of caffeine, “you don’t mean that you want to—”
“Absolutely not,” said Cyno. “Couples in a band never work out. It spells the death of the band.”
Kaveh glared at him from across the studio. “Then what’s with you and Tighnari? Aren’t we all in a band together already?”
“We don’t fight like you two do,” said Tighnari. “And we’ve never brought our issues as a couple into rehearsal. You two, on the other hand, have an argument going on every day.”
“That is true,” said Al-Haitham. “We did disagree yesterday on the matter of those books in the living room. And the day before that we disagreed on you giving your sandwich to that homeless man.”
“Okay, whose side are you on, exactly? Do you want to be accepted into the band or not?”
“I do. But Tighnari brings up a valid and truthful point.”
“You didn’t have to mention it! Sometimes for such a smart guy, you are so dense sometimes.”
“Case in point,” said Cyno. “You are literally arguing right now. The last time you two played in something together, it led to a fallout so bad that you didn’t speak for years. What is going to be different?”
Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham, and Al-Haitham looked at Kaveh.
“We have an outlet now for our frustration if it gets serious,” said Al-Haitham.
No one said anything. The expression on Tighnari’s face went from confused to knowing to uncomfortable in a matter of seconds. Kaveh felt every inch of his face turn red as the realization hit them.
“What—why—why did you say that?!” he sputtered.
“Do you want me to be a part of the band or not?”
“I mean—yes, but—you didn’t have to mention that?!”
From behind the drum kit, Cyno pressed his face into his palm. Tighnari mirrored his gesture where he was sitting behind his keyboard. Kaveh could have sworn he saw a smirk on Al-Haitham’s face, but it was subtle and fleeting, like a solitary plucked note from a guitar. It made him a little frustrated. In a way.
“In any case,” Al-Haitham said, with that peculiar smirk-adjacent expression still on his face. “That’s that concern addressed. Any other objections?”
“Well,” said Tighnari. “It’d probably be better if he could get to an ample skill level first before joining.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” said Kaveh with an eyeroll. “He’ll be fine. Trust me. He picks up that shit instantly.”
They both looked cynical, still. Al-Haitham shrugged. “I’ve made my case. You all do what you wish with it. I’m not unused to rejection so if you decide no, then no hard feelings.”
He stood up, pulled Kaveh in to kiss him on the mouth briefly. “I’ll see you at home?” he asked Kaveh, almost sweetly, if you didn’t know any better, and then without waiting for an answer, walked to the door.
Tighnari and Cyno stared. Kaveh didn’t meet their gaze. He could feel his ears turning red.
“Wow,” said Cyno.
“Wow,” echoed Tighnari.
“Okay!” Kaveh almost yelled. “We can move on now! You know! To the thing we gathered here to decide! Right?! Right?!”
“Uh-huh,” said Cyno. “I didn’t realize how much you two had changed because of…you know.”
“It didn’t change anything! He’s still an insufferable asshole!”
“Oh, so we shouldn’t let him in.”
“I didn’t say that!”