Archive of Our Own

“Alhaitham!”

The Acting Grand Sage makes out a call, more akin to a scream, in the distance. Of course, he recognizes the voice’s owner in an instant.

Why, he should have expected a reaction of the sort after refusing the Kshahrewar Darshan’s funding application. In truth, part of him has perhaps wished to provoke such a situation on purpose.

Naturally, causing a fuss is the last thing he wants. Saving himself headaches, especially those that come with his newly appointed – and hopefully much temporary – position, is the core principle of his work methodology.

Then why, would the unprompted commonfolk most likely ask him, why make decisions that will undoubtedly rile up the person who, in all probability, is the best candidate for starting a fuss when the both of them are involved.

Well, such a question would only show how much inquiring party is unaware of their relationship. Which, after the countless occurrences of Kaveh’s angry, drunken writing regarding Alhaitham on any bulletin board across the continent, would equate being ignorant about Sumeru’s current affairs.

“Why did you reject our funding application, Alhaitham?!” Kaveh exclaims as at last he enters the Acting Grand Sage’s field of vision.

The Architect’s cheeks are scarlet, likely because he ran all the way towards the Grand Sage’s quarters in a chaotic mad rush, and paced alone on the long elevator ride.

“What’s the big deal, now? Are you trying to run away from me by taking refuge in your shiny new quarters?!” the blond blurts everything that crosses his mind.

“Why, of course not. You do understand that even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to escape my roommate, don’t you?” Alhaitham teases, knowing quite well how flustered Kaveh gets about that fact.

“You…! Hush… d-didn’t we agree to not mention that in public?!” the Architect whispers sharply, his blush deepening.

“Relax, this place is secluded enough that no one can hear what we talk about, hm?” Alhaitham points out, raising an eyebrow as he does. “After all, you said it yourself. I ‘ran away’, didn’t I?”

“You’re insufferable,” Kaveh whines, his voice almost getting shaky. “I’m sure you’re only trying to mess with me again! What will the Akademiya folks think when everyone sees you’re already abusing your authority while having just been appointed?!”

Alhaitham holds back the smile that’s dawning on his lips, keeping the neutral expression of a professional as he finally formally turns towards the blond and meets his eyes.

“Come now, Kaveh, you’re better than that, aren’t you? You’re smart enough to realize there are discrepancies between the starting point, the end goal, and the means your Darshan is trying to use to carry this project out,” Alhaitham states, his nonchalant tone contrasting with the seriousness of the argument he is opposing to the Architect.

Kaveh’s reaction is immediate and quite obvious – definitely not because Alhaitham is watching out for every sway in the Architect’s attitude. Blond brows soon turn into a frown, while a childish pout creeps its way on Kaveh’s face. Inwardly, Alhaitham is contented.

“Look, I know you’re Mister Perfect and apparently it’s done you some good seeing your current position, but not everyone has the crazy eye for detail an oddball like you directs on things. My colleagues have worked day and night to write this application, you can’t turn it down just because you’re pissed off.”

“Hm,” Alhaitham snorts, trying to make his pleasant distraction pass as outward annoyance. “Keep talking like this and I’ll never change my mind.”

“How dare you?!” Kaveh yells but he stops in his tracks, averting his eyes likely because he realizes that he is at a disadvantage, especially when the person he is going against is Alhaitham.

“Oh, come on, I merely am making use of the faith entrusted to me through my newly appointed role. I am here to point out how precarious this project of yours is. You should thank me, Kaveh. This is an opportunity I’m offering to you. I’m sure with how clever you are you’ll get things sorted out in no time.”

It takes Alhaitham little to no efforts to conceal his smugness. No matter how much he finds it distracting to taunt the Architect out of his mind, his calm composure never breaks. His tone remains even, the words paced by the careful rhythm of his breaths, each pause he marks calculated to stress the important parts of his point.

“You’re the worst…” Kaveh mumbles in a low voice that is not enough to elude the Acting Grand Sage’s ears despite his noise cancelling device ever protecting his sensitive hearing. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll hand you an updated version in no time, you better look forward to it!”

And off he goes, without allowing Alhaitham the room for an answer.

When the Acting Grand Sage resumes his work on the new duties that now befall him, there are the hints on a satisfied smile adorning his lips.

*

When Alhaitham goes back home that same evening, the moon already high in the sky, he is far from surprised to be greeted by an empty house.

As he takes to undoing his mantle in order to finally relax after his busy day, he makes a mental note, commenting on the fact that surely Kaveh has gone out to vent off his frustrations at the tavern.

It is when he’s about to change clothes for the night and he settles on his couch that he realizes he once again kept both keys that day, surely out of habit since Kaveh had been out for a while – when Alhaitham himself had been beating himself up saving Sumeru and the world while he and his comrades were at it – working Archon knows where on whatever craft that had drawn his attention.

Alhaitham heaves a deep sigh, knowing fairly well that he cannot decently leave Kaveh to his own devices with how badly he holds his liquor. He does not want to seem him return back home alone in the middle of the night, making an archonforsaken ruckus while he is at it, especially if he needs the Scribe’s help to get in the house.

It is hardly long before he rises to his feet again, dressing himself up to head out once more.

Even though Alhaitham left hurriedly, mainly to avoid letting sleepiness sinks too deep in his skin and he gives up on the idea of picking up his roommate, he takes his time while on the way. He gazes at the cloudless night sky and its shining stars.

“Sure brings back memories,” he comments to himself in a quiet breath.  

And it does all the time, somewhat. Not that it is such a frequent occurrence that he has to bring Kaveh back home himself. Although it has happened a bunch of times, mainly when he’s forgotten to leave one key before heading out to work.

After all, if he had been forced to do that every single time the Architect was out drinking, he might as well have stopped trying to come home and directly go to the tavern.

That one time had been different, however, Alhaitham reminisces, quite fondly despite everything that has unfolded ever since.

Well, of course it had been different. Back then, Kaveh didn’t live at his house. They’d lost touch for what had felt like decades, and had probably been years still ever since both of them graduated from the Akademiya.

At the time, what Alhaitham recalled of Kaveh was quite warm, almost sweet in a way. He remembered a senior he used to look up to, no matter how much their opinions and personalities differed. Opposites attract, they say. It might have been that bias that oriented his memories.

He held enough affection towards the guy that he happened to think about him every now and then. That one night had not been one of them, even though the mental image of his blond friend was never that far away from his conscious mind.

That one night, he had chosen to wander outside instead of heading straight home. He had settled into his routine as the Scribe for quite a while then, and was used to spending his nights pursuing whatever piqued his interest in an endless quest, no matter if he did so from the confines of his home or out in the wilderness, on the path of bottomless knowledge. Or, some might say, although Alhaitham himself wasn’t quite as fond of the term as other Akademiya researchers, that of wisdom.

Perhaps it was the nostalgic, almost irrational idea of his old friend that caused Alhaitham’s utter shock that night.

As he strolled mindlessly around Sumeru City, he was struck by the view that came to his eyes. He had rushed towards the collapsed figure he had noticed, despite acting before thinking being the last of his reflexes normally.

Getting closer had confirmed his initial suspicion, the fallen man was Kaveh. The one he remembered, the blond strands of his hair shining as gold in the night, as though rivaling the sun just like it did in days of old.

Of course, Alhaitham had not ceded to panic. He was not one to allow his emotions lead him astray. Still, he could reasonably not leave an old friend – who, on second examination, reeked of alcohol – passed out on the streets alone. Explanations would have to wait.

So without questions Alhaitham had lifted Kaveh on his shoulder, carrying him all the way to his place like he was a lightweight. Which, admittedly, he was, both literally and figuratively, if judging by his state at that moment.

After stepping inside his house and carefully locking the door behind him, the first thing Alhaitham had done was bringing the still knocked out blond to the shower room. His concern had prevailed on any other emotion, as he disrobed Kaveh and washed his – surprisingly – bruised body. He also did his best to make him drink a bit.

On account of the blond not waking up after all that, Alhaitham had been starting to suspect a coma, which did little to ease his worries.

When at last Kaveh had arisen the following day, he had seem lost, barely remembering what he had been doing the night prior, let alone the fact that Alhaitham had picked him up and gave him a bath. The Scribe agreed with himself to not say a word about this.

Then they had talked. A lot. Although Kaveh had been evasive as to the reason behind his debt of an unfathomable amount. Eventually, they had gotten mad at each other, too, because even though the blond would avoid the topic and refuse to answer, Alhaitham suspected that he had tried to take his own life, in light of the amount of alcohol he must have had ingested to end up in that state.

It had been the first quarrel of their lives. The first of many. One that none of them would ever have expected all those years ago.

“Tch, fine, since you obviously cannot take care of yourself alone, how about you stay at my place till you grow up enough to pull yourself together?!” Alhaitham had shouted, losing his temper for the first and last time in his life.

“Shut u-…!” Kaveh had started shooting back, stopping himself in his track. “Wait… are you, serious? Like, you wouldn’t mind? You’re, like, really telling me to live here with you?!” the Architect had blurted, seemingly baffled.

“Hmf, stop talking before I change my mind,” Alhaitham had spat, far too harshly even for his own taste. They used to consider each other dear friends, after all. “You can use that room over there. I was using it as a storeroom either way. We’ll find some furniture for you.”

Kaveh, surely too flabbergasted to reply, had only nodded, a shy, relieved smile gracing his distraught features.

Even now, as he is on his way to bring Kaveh back home before he collapses from his stupid drinking habits, Alhaitham reflects that he might have been too hard on the Architect on that day when they had reunited after so long.

Well, he does have come to the conclusion that no matter how it had gone, with the both of them being in the mindset they were back then, there likely could have been no other outcome to that conversation. Maybe he is only trying to convince himself of that fact because it is the only moment in his life during which he has felt like he was truly losing control over his emotions.

Why, thinking back on it now, Kaveh truly is a fascinating phenomenon, to say the least, Alhaitham ponders. After all, he is the only person in this world to have drawn out such feelings out of the Scribe. Not that it makes him any less of a hassle to take care of.

Especially when, past the initial thankfulness he showed to Alhaitham for welcoming him in, he’d likely started to feel comfortable enough to make comments on how ugly his house’s furniture and decoration was.

“The nerve he has,” Alhaitham whispers through gritted teeth at the thought.

Still, he puts up with Kaveh’s shenanigans, much as Kaveh does with his, or so he surmises. It is a secret to none that they hate each other, and since Alhaitham himself doesn’t specifically arbor strong feelings of loathing towards the blond, he guesses that it is either what their constant bickering looks like, or that that reputation comes from Kaveh’s opinions on him alone.

Which both are… fine by him, he tells himself as he pushes the door to the tavern open, activating his noise cancelling device with his free hand while doing so. Blank noise fills his ears, effectively covering most of the ambient cacophony save for one loud table in a corner next to the bar. Alhaitham heads in that direction without any hesitation.

When he reaches the source of the hubbub, a bunch of unknown faces pale as they seem to recognize him, surely thanks to his ‘reputation’, trying to make warning signs to the blond, whose back is turned to Alhaitham.

The Scribe doesn’t utter a word, merely making a faint movement with his hand to greet Kaveh’s drinking pals before he grabs the infamous Architect by the collar from behind.

The yelp Kaveh lets out is thundering and high pitched, and it only gets worse when Alhaitham effortlessly lifts him from the ground to place him over his shoulder.

“Alhaitham!!” Kaveh yells once they are out. “You can’t d-do that t-to me!” the blond slurs, apparently struggling to articulate a full sentence. “The n-night’s only getting ssstarted…!”

“Yes. And you’re already dead drunk, Kaveh,” Alhaitham points out calmly, ignoring the Architect’s punches, futile efforts to try breaking out of his grasp. “I’m sure you didn’t even realize you don’t have your keys today.”

“Who cares?!” Kaveh screams, unreasonable as ever. “All I w-want is! Ssspending a g-good night w-with some nice gen… ugh… gentlemen! Leave me alone!”

“As far as I am concerned, I’m still the one paying your alcohol bills, and, well everything else too. Therefore, unfortunately for you, I do get a saying in the matter. Unless you want to ask those ‘nice gentlemen’ you’ve encountered at the bar to cover for your bottomless appetite for liquor, hm?” Alhaitham taunts the blond, and he doesn’t need to face Kaveh to visualize his – a bit less endearing than usual due to alcohol, surely – pout.

The displeased frown, the swollen cheeks, even the little wrinkles at the corner of Kaveh’s annoyed eyes and his slightly downturned lips. They hold no secrets for Alhaitham, yet checking if his next jab will have the same effect than the lasts has become one of the Scribe’s favorite pastimes over the years. Even more so now that he has been appointed as Acting Grand Sage and he needs efficient distractions to vent off his irritation.

“F-hic you!” Kaveh exclaims, having seemingly abandoned any form of argumentation, preferring to fruitlessly kick around.

The blond is hardly someone who swears normally. It is a facet of him that even Alhaitham rarely gets to see, one of which he strangely relishes the novelty.  

Only when they are back home and Alhaitham has locked the door tightly does he let go of Kaveh. He helps him stand. Until now, the blond has been unable to realize that he can barely keep his balance alone.

“You better wash yourself and get some sleep. I am sure you too have a busy day ahead and being well rested will doubtlessly help not accumulating more frustrations than you already have going on,” Alhaitham states, his tone assertive.

“T-the fuck are you, my mom?!” Kaveh whines and the instant he does a shadow seems to loom over his gaze. “K-know what, forget it. And don’t expect any t-thanks from me,” he adds, rushing towards the bathroom.

It is the last interaction they have that night.

*

It has been a few days since Alhaitham and Kaveh’s altercation regarding Kshahrewar fundings. And, since a promise is a promise, of course the Architect delivers, bringing an updated version of the funding application he came up with all by himself to the Acting Grand Sage’s desk.

“You know,” Alhaitham hums as he skims through the document’s pages, reading them with more attention that meet the eyes. Why, originally, reading is his job, after all. “You’re not forced to stand here and stare at me while I go over the inquiry.”

“If that is your way to kindly ask of me to get lost, I’m all the more pleased to hang around until you’re done, Mister Grand Sage,” Kaveh counters, voice filled with sarcasm. “Now that the extra workload that’s been put on my plate’s done, I have plenty of time to entertain you.”

Why, if bitterness were Alhaitham’s favorite flavor, which is very much not the case, he would have considered each and every of Kaveh’s utterances a delightful meal. He still finds the blond’s frustration to his taste, however, teasing some more out of him.

“You most definitely are a distraction, as in you do a wonderful job at causing me lapses in concentration. Now if you could please at least be quiet while I check this paper of yours,” Alhaitham orders, as though he has suddenly remembered the authority that is bestowed upon him.

They aren’t even in the Grand Sage’s office, and anyone can overhear their conversation if they so want it. Which, with the reputation going on about the two of them, is less than likely, but who knows. Let’s not give bystanders any more reason to despise the Acting Grand Sage while he still has duties to fulfil and, more importantly, processes to oversee.

“Tch, if that makes you more inclined to accept the funding, fine, I’ll just sit in a corner and wait silently,” Kaveh whines, voluntarily exaggerating his show of exasperation.

When the Architect takes a seat behind him, Alhaitham spontaneously smiles. A faint upturn of his lips, but a smile still. Saying that he finds Kaveh’s presence enjoyable would be a huge stretch, but the atmosphere it sets in the place does bring him some unforeseen sense of comfort. He surmises that this relief comes from the fact that, despite everything, when they are by each other’s side, their pace is ruled by the one with work on his hands.

Alhaitham knows he should be focusing on the scribbled words he has in front of him, yet he can’t help but allow himself a trip down memory lane.  

How many times had they stood by each other, quietly studying, working on whatever had caught their attention back in the day at the Akademiya.

Alhaitham remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday. After all, he was the one who had burst in Kaveh’s life who, for once in his life, had been minding his own business.

Well, minding his own business covering the benches the Akademiya’s garden pavilions with messy patterns and grandiose plans. That day, Alhaitham, who had been skipping classes as per usual to focus on pursuing knowledge through self-study, stopped in his tracks, captivated by the spectacle that was offered to him.

That blond kid was beaming. Surely he couldn’t be one of Alhaitham’s juniors yet his back – taller than Alhaitham’s – more so suggesting that he was his senior did little to conceal the dreamy grin he arbored as he doodled. One that resembled a child’s, in all of its innocence and purity.

Normally, Alhaitham would have ignored such an immature display, especially coming from what should have been a fellow student and soon-to-be researcher. Yet perhaps that was also what had struck him that day. The fact that the blond had no trace of the arrogant aura each and every sage exudes.

And so, that day, the young Alhaitham had been unable to avert his eyes from the sunlike boy who was drawing architectural designs in a more than inappropriate place. He had kept staring for a while, until he was taken aback by an apostrophe.

“You, there! You’ve been looking for a while, why don’t you come closer?” the boy’s voice was gentle as he offered so.

Such were the words Kaveh had directed at the complete stranger he was to him. Startled yet decided to accept the invitation, Alhaitham had walked towards the blond, maintaining a tight embrace around the books he had originally planned to read and pressing them against his chest, as though erecting a barrier between them.

Without exchanging anymore words, Alhaitham had methodically observed Kaveh’s piece, finding nothing out of place despite the avant-garde inspiration of the designs, which at such a young age was feat. Alhaitham barely understood the interest such a work could hold, past the fascinating observation of its originator, yet he still murmured without thinking:

“You’re a genius…”

“Ah-hah…” Kaveh had laughed, a bit embarrassed, above the fact that he had not seemed to take the statement as a compliment. “I’m not very fond of that word, you know… Oh, don’t get me wrong!” he had corrected himself hurriedly. “I know you didn’t mean it in a bad way… It’s just the way people tend to be when they say that, it’s…”

Alhaitham had stared at Kaveh in awe, baffled by the contradictions emanating from the blond.

“Why would you care about what they think?” the greyhead had pointed out, matter of fact. “You’re already here, scribbling blueprints all over public furniture, I can’t see how others’ opinions could be affecting you.”

For the first time since Alhaitham had arrived, Kaveh had dropped his pencils and looked his junior eye to eye, his own crimson pupils widened.

“You’re an oddball too, aren’t you?” he had giggled like it was the most natural thing to question in a stranger. “Ah…! Um, sorry! I don’t mean it as an insult. You see, people here at the Akademiya tend to call me a lunatic. The greatest compliment to a researcher and, above all, an artist, don’t you think?”

The smile Kaveh had been showing him was weirdly filled with bitterness, and even though the words did make sense altogether and Alhaitham had nodded, he could not have helped but to express his astonishment.

“I am not sure I understand,” he had admitted, marking a pause to gather his thoughts. “You are an interesting folk, though, and I do agree with that last point you’ve made,” he had concluded, already rational as can be back then.

“Ahah! You are too. I’m sure you’re a nice kid. Ah, sorry, I probably shouldn’t say that to a fellow student, right? You’re one year my junior, aren’t you? I’m quite surprised you’ve never heard of me, with all the rumors that have been going on… ah-hah…” Kaveh had reflected before cutting himself. “Well, whatever! Judging by your presence here at this time, I guess you’re the kid who keeps skipping classes because he prefers to study on his own? Oh, how I understand the way you feel! You have no idea!”

It had appeared quite clearly to Alhaitham from that short conversation alone that Kaveh was the emotional type. Quite overly so. Being far too sensitive to noise would make dealing with this boy a hassle.

“Yeah. Name’s Alhaitham,” he had simply replied, figuring that introducing himself would be more practical.

“And I’m Kaveh, pleased to meet you!” the other had answered with a wide, toothy grin.

That had been their first encounter. Quite anecdotal, to tell the truth, yet Alhaitham could still remember the feeling of peace he had felt that day after he sat behind Kaveh to read his books.

Afterwards, he had kept seeking the blond’s company, who seemed surprised but no less delighted by that fact. Most of the time, Alhaitham was sitting silently by Kaveh’s side while the Architect-to-be rambled about design ideas and plans for the future. None of them would have imagined what fate had in store for them.

Not that either of them believed in the cheesy concept of destiny. Yet, on that fated day, Alhaitham and Kaveh had mutually found someone they knew – without any ground to backup that belief – they would be able to call a friend for a lifetime.

It is on that thought that Alhaitham sets the pile of bound sheets back on his desk, the telltale of nostalgia obvious in his gaze enough that the shrewd eye would hardly miss it. Kaveh’s handwriting is as messy as ever, but his paper stands his ground as it should.

“Everything is far clearer now. I will free up the funds for the Kshahrewar,” Alhaitham concedes, turning to where Kaveh is sat.

“You really are so full of yourself,” the Architect complained, surely hoping that his honesty would not cost him the approval. “A-ah, I’m exhausted. I’ll head back home now.”

Kaveh leaves without further ado, the argument they could have had nipped in the bud.

Alhaitham sighs, affixing his sign to the funding application before returning to the boring duties his provisional position comes with.

*

When he returns home that night, Alhaitham is surprised to see Kaveh lounged in the couch with a mug of tea in hand, his eyes skimming over what the Scribe can surmise is a new commission order.

The house is clean as a new pin, which is actually quite predictable since Kaveh’s clean freak nature tends to show after he is done with a busy period of time or after he has sorted out a hassle. Surely that means Alhaitham will never hear the end of it, and that he will have to remind the Architect of who is covering for every aspect of his life expanses.

Knowing that it is to expect, Alhaitham goes directly to his room to set down his mantle, before he heads back to the living-room and takes a sit on another of his couches.

When time passes and Kaveh doesn’t show any sign of making a move to chat, even sparing Alhaitham his usual ramble about work, human and social relations and life in general, the Scribe feels compelled to say something. Anything.

Of course, it has to manifest in the form of a jab at the Architect.

“How long are you planning to stare at this sheet like an absentminded fool?” he inquires, his tone devoid of irony like it always is, stern voice suggesting a malice that is not quite there to the blond.

“If the sight of me is so displeasing to you, Mister Grand Sage, I suggest that you lock yourself within your chambers and avoid messing with the house I’ve spent the whole afternoon tidying up,” Kaveh’s temper seems less controlled than usual, which is an achievement in and of itself. It looks as though his patience is running low.

“I live here, you know,” Alhaitham addresses the elephant in the house, in a way that seems to unnerve Kaveh, because instead of the pout he normally shows, his teeth are visibly clenching.

“Alright, then just do whatever you want like you do so well! Just leave me alone, if you’re deciding to be talkative only to belittle me, I don’t need your comments nor your company,” Kaveh complains sharply, as though he has been hurt and he is trying to return the pain in the form of semantic needles.

Not that it would ever work on Alhaitham, who merely hums at the threatening allegation.

“However you please,” he taunts with exaggerated liveliness.

They stay still like that for a while, but the atmosphere is nothing like what it used to be back in their student days. There is an unresolved tension at work between them, that could break at any second.

It has been like this ever since Kaveh has started to live with Alhaitham, and of course the Scribe is not seeking the nostalgic peaceful feeling of lore that he so valued back then. Yet perhaps old habits die hard, because he has no explanation to give as to why he does not go back to his own room right away. Why he keeps close to Kaveh and is only able to figure out how to rile the blond up instead of pursuing a status quo.

He does acknowledge that staying will bring them nowhere, however, especially when Kaveh will not entertain him with any of his rants. He knows when to admit defeat. Well, he still bore with a Kaveh that surprisingly stayed mum all the time for more than an hour, but now he is bored out of his mind, so it surely is best to go to sleep and prepare for yet another busy day awaiting him at sunrise.

Only once he finally is in the intimacy of his room, alone, does he put down his noise cancelling device, like he always does.

*

Kaveh waits for Alhaitham to leave the living room before he heaves a deep exhale. The Architect never would have expected that one day he would feel distressed over Alhaitham’s sole presence.

Trembling, he rises to his feet, deciding that despite the straining silence he has struggled to maintain, and that was not even broken by the most basic of politeness, a mere good night.

When he slips into his bed, Kaveh almost feels like his whole body is itching. His breath is short, and he can feel panic bubble up in his chest. Now is not the time. He needs sleep. He needs rest.

But he is scared. Terrified, even.

Lately, he has started seeing nightmares. Quite the normal phenomenon ever since Akasha devices have stopped, one might say. However, his nightmares bring about memories of the distant past. Ones he has bottled up and buried down. Deeply.

But no matter what he does, exhaustion will eventually win over. Unwillingly, he ends up closing his eyes, like every other night.

He was just a child.

An average child.

As in a child that runs after anything that interests him and does anything that he can without understanding the limits of what society may or may not consider normal.

Because such is a child’s world, one in which his own experience of life is the sole reliable perspective.

Kaveh was what adults would later call a gifted child. At a young age, he was already crafting models of grand buildings with intricate designs of his invention.

But Kaveh was just a child.

He did not understand the praise, nor did he understand the weight of expectations placed on his shoulders. All he understood was that seeing the face of his lone mother light up brought him joy.

A Genius, the grownups liked to say.

Kaveh had not always detested that word. At least not until it stopped being associated with the idea of praise alone.

Sumeru is a nation that values wisdom above all else.

Kaveh was too young to understand the everlasting competition it implied.

Kaveh was too young to comprehend the jealousy in his classmates’ gazes.

Too innocent to find meaning in the insults they shouted him down with.

Too affected by his surroundings that he could hardly put efforts in working for school while growing up.

Yet smart enough that he would still best most of his classmates.

To them, he was too much, and that fact alone was apparently deserving of their impending wrath, that manifested in the form of relentless bullying.

To his mother, he was not enough, and perhaps did she have her reasons, but on his last year of elementary school, right before he entered middle school, she left him in the care of a children’s home and cut ties with him.

And when his pairs started calling him a genius all over again in every school he went to, it always felt like an insult.

Because Kaveh had a knack for getting along with others, but he was hardly fooled by their gentle facades, knowing all too well how they mocked him behind his back whenever they had the occasion.

So as a teenager he became a lone wolf. Not because he avoided people. He himself had devised a façade of his own, and empty friendships had become a routine for him.

No, the loneliness came from the inside. All those mental barriers he had erected…

Since when had he not opened his heart to someone?

Since when had he not shared a heartfelt conversation with someone?

Hell, he did not even have parents to turn to in times of need anymore.

All those shackles. All this pain.

It all shattered when Alhaitham walked in his life.

Because despite being two sides of the same coin, they still were the same coin.

They could understand each other, far better than anyone else in the world would ever be able to do so.

It had been a relief. For quite long.

Even after Kaveh had graduated and said his farewell to Alhaitham.

After he left on a trip for inspiration and met all sorts of open-minded people, none of the faith he would place in those people ever equated the synergy he’d experienced during the short time he had spent with Alhaitham at the Akademiya.

However…

After their fateful reunion on that archonforsaken night.

After their thorny reunion on that tumultuous day.

Kaveh had convinced himself that it was okay.

He had told himself that it was fine if things never went back to the way they were before.

He had decided that it did not matter.

Kaveh wakes up with a start. His breath coming out in painful pants and cold sweat trickling from his temple, mingling with warm and salty drops on their way down.

He cannot keep going on like that. He has nowhere else to go, and the more he thinks about it… The more he reflects on the worth his existence represents for others, he feels like there is hardly anywhere to go at all.

But yes, it does not matter how he feels. He will soldier on, no matter if he has to break at the end of the path he has taken.

Still, he does not want Alhaitham to hear his sobs. He is the last person he wants to show his weaknesses to at the moment.

Even though he knows that he will pay the consequences for what he is about to do, at this point nourishing the hatred that the Scribe feels for Kaveh feels hardly like a big deal to him.

So he gets out of his room, picking up his tools as he does. He settles in the living room and starts crafting whatever comes to mind. If the noise the metallic clashes is not enough to cover his dark thoughts and quench the flow of his tears, at least it constitutes a decent diversion that even Alhaitham’s sensitive ears should not manage to hear through.

*

It has been a few days since Kaveh has started crafting at night. Alhaitham has been purposely avoiding that topic until now, because he doesn’t think a conversation will fix anything between them how things are at the moment.

Alhaitham still gives the whole situation some thought. More than he should with how much attention his overseeing the Sages succession process is supposed to require of him. Well, maybe if he had not resorted to keep wearing his noise cancelling device and activating it while asleep, successfully resulting in giving him terrible back pain, he would be more focused on his tasks.

Besides, he cannot help it, with how annoyed he is to have to shoulder that task, despite knowing it is the most reliable way they found to supervise Sumeru’s reconstruction.

“Sir, if I may, you seem less focused than usual,” a Haravatat professor points out as they go over some documents that, thankfully for Alhaitham, is connected with his Scribe’s line of work.

“Pardon me. Please do not worry, I have no intention of giving up my work as the Akademiya’s Scribe, you have my word on that,” Alhaitham reassures the man, repressing the smile at his own uncalculated pun.

“I am relieved to hear that, Alhaitham. Hopefully it won’t take too long until you return to the task full-time. I am looking forward to working with you again,” the professor affirms before taking his leave.

Empty interactions. Void promises.

Alhaitham sighs. The day will be long.

And for good reason.

That day, Alhaitham returns home quite late, ever overworking himself with the duties that come with the title of Acting Grand Sage. Ah, how he wishes matters at the Akademiya would settle faster so he can finally go back to the peace and quiet scribbled words on paper bring him, he laments as he closes the door to his place behind him.

His eyes wander towards the living room as he puts his keys back on the hook next to the door, making out the curled-up figure of his roommate, who is apparently sat on the floor and surrounded by papers where the table normally stands. Nothing irregular, the Scribe notes mentally as he leans his tall back against the joint wall between the hall and the salon.

“So, what’s the plan tonight?”

Kaveh, seemingly focused on whatever blueprint of Archon knows what kind of new project he’s been undertaking as of late, likely on a whim, barely diverged his attention towards the source of the deep voice.

“Hm? Why’d you care,” the blond states, his tone dispassionate.

Alhaitham’s brows go up, if ever so slightly. Now that is unusual. No matter how mad his roommate has sometimes gotten at him ever since he picked him up from the misery he’d fallen into, snubbing is a reaction of Kaveh that Alhaitham has never been treated to.

“Well, I believe you’re smart enough to understand that without needing to ask, hm?” Alhaitham tries to tease as a counter to the blond’s detached attitude, purposely ignoring the edge in Kaveh’s voice making it very obvious that he was not actually asking a question just now.

When the Architect doesn’t entertain him with a reply, he keeps on: “We live under the same roof, and with your displeasing habit of making a ruckus in the middle of the night you picked up on lately, I figured I’d ask whether I have hopes of being able to sleep peacefully tonight, or if I should give up before trying.”

“Whatever.”

Kaveh’s answers are getting more and more laconic. Saying that it doesn’t instill hints of solicitude in Alhaitham’s heart would be a blatant lie.

The Scribe takes a few steps in Kaveh’s direction, now towering over the piles of paper the blond has almost nestled himself in. It keeps Alhaitham at bay, too far for him to physically reach out to the Architect, yet more than enough to discern the displeased frown on his face.

To be perfectly honest, Alhaitham does have realized that Kaveh has seemed more distant with him for a few days now. Well, such behavior pertains to the realm of possibilities. After all, the hatred his roommate has always directed at him is clear as day to him. Nothing new under the sun, as they say, overthinking things had always been bound to be a waste of his time and energy.

“As always, you truly have an eye for detail. Imagine the miracles you could produce if you didn’t limit its use to those designs of yours,” Alhaitham tries another jab, commenting on the detailed blueprints scattered across the floor, his tone surprisingly playful compared to his characteristic seriousness.

If the Scribe understands that his compliment – that he did intend as one, mind you – disguised as an inoffensive barb could hurt the architect’s pride, he doesn’t let it show.

After all, even though the concern for his roommate that is starting to bubble up in Alhaitham’s chest rings very true, he can’t exactly start acting differently out of the blue. That is not like him.

Not like them.

Truth be told, part of him also came to crave the incessant bickering between them, if only because it invariably leads to Kaveh showing his infamous emotional overreactions, and all the mimics it brings about on his face. Alhaitham had always found this side of the blond fascinating and, ever since they ended up living together, it has definitely become an undeniable source of entertainment.

However, the Scribe’s stance changes drastically when he notices that the neutral expression Kaveh has been maintaining so far drops. The corner of the blond’s lips fall downwards, a veil of dejection – indescribable, Alhaitham thinks as it comes into his view – covering his crimson eyes.

Slowly, without uttering a word, Kaveh rises to his feet, his gaze riveted onto the floor as he passes by Alhaitham side, rushing towards his room without a glance in the Scribe’s direction.

Alhaitham tries to reach for Kaveh’s wrist, but his fingers clasp around emptiness. Before the blond disappears behind a hurriedly shut door, the Scribe notices the Architect’s clenched teeth worrying at his customarily flawless pink lips.

For a few moments, Alhaitham remains there, flabbergasted. He doesn’t dare to move, rooted to the spot with his eyes widened and his head shaking slightly to the sides, like he’s just witnessed a scene that is out of this world.

Newfound silence in the deserted living-room, a calm that Alhaitham thought he’d been itching for, feels instead deafening, its atmosphere so heavy it is almost tangible. His arms trembling, Alhaitham does something that he never does when not in the familiar comfort of his own chambers. He takes his noise cancelling device off his ears.

The Scribe has no idea how long it has been since he’s been left alone standing there. However, the fact that his ears are now uncovered makes him acutely aware of one fact. It’s distant, muffled even, but he can perceive strangled sobbing coming from Kaveh’s room. Surely the Architect has been trying to stifle the litany of his weeping with a pillow, but even that wouldn’t allow any sounds to escape the grasp of Alhaitham’s unprotected hearing.

Steeling himself, Alhaitham resolves to take a few steps towards Kaveh’s room. After all, there’s little to no doubt regarding the fact he is the cause of the Architect’s distress. He has to bear with the consequences.

A few shy knocks resound on Kaveh’s door. Still somewhat hesitant, Alhaitham tries:

“Kaveh?”

He heaves the inquiry in a tone he wants gentle.

Eventually, Alhaitham hears some shuffling from the other side of the door. The rustling of fabric. Kaveh must have gotten out of his bed. The Scribe guesses that it is some kind of progress.

“Don’t want to talk,” Kaveh slurs, his voice a bit hoarse, likely from his cries.

He still sounds like he’s standing far away, but from the way Alhaitham has no issues understanding the Architect’s words clearly despite his hazardous enunciation, the Scribe surmises Kaveh is facing the door now.

So Alhaitham leans against the door, his back lying against it, before he resumes talking.

“Look, for all that may be worth to you, allow me to apologize. I failed to realize my comments could induce that kind of reaction in you…” the Scribe does his best to explain his thoughts – his conclusion – on what transpired instants ago clearly.

He marks a short pause, realizing when no reply comes that for once in his life it might be best to let his feelings show despite him being in control, if only a little. “I’m sorry,” he adds, and it is heartfelt.

It must have had its impact, because even though his roommate doesn’t seem ready to open the door to his room quite yet, Alhaitham distinctly hears a gasp coming from the other side. A few steps resound, and the Scribe feels like a faint weight suddenly starts pushing back against him across the door.

Hah. They are separated by a thin piece of wood, yet Alhaitham has no difficulty picturing Kaveh’s back slumped against the door. It is almost like they are standing back-to-back now. The prospect springs a faint smile on the Scribe’s lips.

“No…” Kaveh mumbles after a while. “I, am sorry… Being a mess n all…” 

“Don’t say that, will you?” Alhaitham demands, a bit too harsh to his own taste. “There is no denying what I said hurt you, neither can I pretend I’m the kindest roommate ever. That right now was insensitive of me, to say the least.”

Some more time flies by, and Alhaitham is almost taken aback by the first reaction he’s granted in response. Giggles, timid and fragile, but genuine, nonetheless.

“You really are something else, you know that Alhaitham?” Kaveh blurts out, his voice unsteady yet sincere.

The Scribe lets out a laugh. It is more akin to a snort, but it is hard evidence of the relief mixed with surprise that has washed over him as his roommate spoke.

“Come again? What do you mean by that?”

In any other situation, with anyone else, surely Alhaitham would have relied on logic to find out the answer to that question by himself. Yet at this precise moment he wants, and he needs, to hear it from his roommate’s mouth, in his own words. Turns out Kaveh makes wonders at making him stray from his principles.

“You’re… infuriating!” Kaveh states bluntly, and he could have left it at that, truly.

“You’re infuriating… and yet,” the architect starts again, and as he does so Alhaitham can make out the sounds of his fingers closing around the doorknob. “Yet, you’re always so straightforward… I can’t bring myself to be mad at you. I can’t be mad… But,” Kaveh adds at last as he turns the doorknob – delicately as to give Alhaitham time to get away from the door – and lets his roommate in.

“But I’m terrified,” he concludes, tears starting to pool in his eyes again, soon running down his cheeks already puffed from his prior weeping, Alhaitham now realizes. “And tired. Tired of it all,” the Architect adds with his voice lowered, as if ashamed of what he’s just admitted to.

For a few seconds that feel like ages to the both of them Alhaitham stays still, instead staring silently at the man whom he once called a friend, trying to make heads or tails of their current predicament.

Of course, a rational man like the Akademiya’s Scribe – currently Acting Grand Sage – would have diverse hypothesis that could explain his roommate’s reaction. Yet he who is always deep in thought, calm and composed no matter the circumstances, this time doesn’t let his mind indulge in his usual enthralling reasoning. His brain just refuses to focus on anything.

The only thing he knows for a fact is that, with how hurt Kaveh’s expression looks, and judging by the watery trails drowning his face, it must be about time to rule out the paradigm of him hating Alhaitham. Someone who doesn’t care wouldn’t seem so authentically pained by a despised one’s words, no matter how sensitive they may be.

But embarrassing as may be, the Scribe is at a loss for words, so instead of answering his roommate’s plight with reason as he would normally do, he extends a hand towards Kaveh.

The Architect gazes at the open palm incredulously. He doesn’t reject it, nor does he take hold of it. He merely keeps staring at the blurry view.

The neutral reaction, and the lack of a turndown more so, spurs Alhaitham on, who slowly closes the distance between him and Kaveh, his fingers landing delicately on one of the Architect’s cheek. Gently, he takes to drying the blond’s tears, but it isn’t long before the man turns away and rushes towards the wall opposite of them, panicked breaths rhythming his rushed steps.

“I-I…!” Kaveh hiccups, likely conflicted.

“Kaveh.”

Alhaitham can see how the call of his name, uttered in a far softer manner than he ever has used it out loud, makes the architect’s shoulders jolt.

“Do you resent me…?”

The interrogation is but a whisper. Shaky and fragile, as if on the brink of breaking.

Alhaitham marks a pause, letting a heavy silence settle for a few seconds. Of course. It was highly conceivable that Kaveh would come to the same conclusions as he did regarding their relationship, albeit the other way around.

“No.”

The Scribe’s reply is assured and unwavering.

“I-I don’t believe you…” Kaveh admits, his entire body trembling. “I can’t…!”

Alhaitham’s teeth clench. He can tell he is losing his roommate there as anxiety overwhelms him. He has to act. Anything that would allow them to clear that misunderstanding… all the misunderstandings between them, once and for all, before he can’t reach out to Kaveh anymore. Before it’s too late.

That’s the resolve that guides his steps, taking a gamble of which he himself cannot predict the results instead of resorting to wits and talks like he normally does so well.

Soon, Alhaitham is standing right behind Kaveh. They’re separated by a mere hair’s breadth, even though their bodies are not touching. After all, he doesn’t intend to aggravate the Architect’s distress by entirely invading his personal space. He then cautiously puts his hands atop Kaveh’s, enough for his warmth to communicate with the blond’s, yet subtly enough that he won’t feel trapped.

It was admittedly a dangerous bet, but it seems to bear fruits when Kaveh’s breathing paces down, if ever so slightly.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham starts, careful to keep his tone as soft as before, “You can tell me everything. No, you have to. Otherwise there is no way I’ll be able to answer properly. You understand that as much as I do, right?”

There is a gasp that escapes through incessant sobs, followed by a nod. Alhaitham’s unusual behavior must have put Kaveh’s mind at peace, if only a little.

“I’m sure you remember as well as I do, don’t you? The way we met back when we were both students enrolled at the Akademiya. On the face of things, I got along with pretty much anyone, but I was very well aware of everything that was said behind my back. I was an oddball. A lunatic fool that spent useless efforts on meaningless concepts. Saying that it didn’t hurt would be a lie,” Kaveh begins, a tad messily given his unsteady inhales.

“I always believed that you never cared what people around thought about you, at least after we met,” Alhaitham comments, as if talking to himself.

Kaveh proceeds with his monologue undeterredly, like he has barely heard the Scribe’s intervention.

“But you were different. Sure you did not understand my point of view, that much was as true back then as it is now. But you never lied to my face about that. You even indulged and entertained your weird senior’s artistic ramblings, listening with awe in your gaze no matter what people would say or think about you. About us. So indeed,” Kaveh concedes, suddenly showing that he has very much listened to Alhaitham’s every word just then, “I did not care what people thought. Because I had you. Because I never forgot the words you offered to me when we first met.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widen a bit. That sure is news to him. When has his judgment regarding Kaveh become so clouded…

“But now… I don’t know anymore,” the Architect admits. “If not for you helping me out I’m not even sure whether I would still be alive by now, yet everything you throw at me points towards the fact that you despise me. I did my best to convince myself that I could live with that… but lately everything’s just been resurfacing again and again and…! I just… I can’t. Bearing the thought that our friendship is gone, lost to the distant past… Now, and in spite of everything, you still matter to me, more than I’ve ever dared to confess. Without you, I-!”

Kaveh’s voice shatters, unable to keep up with a prospect that he himself cannot fathom, but that his mind has likely assaulted him with countless times as of late. Alhaitham’s grip over the Architect’s hands tightens for an instant, then he lets go.

“Do you think you can take a few steps and sit?” Alhaitham inquires, himself settling at the edge of Kaveh’s bed.

It is faint, but the Architect, silent as though the lump in his throat has stolen the sound of his voice, gives a slight sign of approbation with his head in response, finally turning around to face Alhaitham again. The Scribe is patting the mattress next to him, an inviting motion that takes Kaveh aback, but that he takes up.

As they are sat now, their shoulders are just shy of touching, but they are both careful of not making any rash contact. Before Alhaitham next speaks, he directs his gaze at Kaveh. The blond’s cheeks are dusted by a red blush, and the Scribe suspects that it isn’t only due to his crying, in light of the truth that he has just uncovered.

“Think about it rationally. If you didn’t matter to me, do you truly think I would have welcomed you to my house? I do get pissed at times, and I do say things that I know will hurt you, or that I choose to ignore will, partly because your reactions to teasing are distracting,” Alhaitham points out with a smile akin to a smirk, cutting Kaveh’s counter before the blond can open his mouth, “Or that’s what I would say if I didn’t know rational thinking never works on you.”

“Ah… hah. So you do learn after all,” Kaveh blurts out, a bittersweet taste to his scoff.

Feeling that his point is hardly getting across, Alhaitham tries to assert his feelings once again, this time more direct:

“I care about you, Kaveh. Deeply. More than we both care to realize.”

But Kaveh, albeit shaken by his roommate’s bluntness regarding what sounds like matters of the heart – or so is the Architect’s whole being hoping that it is the case? – still doesn’t seem able to trust the words.

Still not convincing enough, huh? Alhaitham has to come up with something that has more impact, he resolves. In other words, it is about time he stops beating around the bush.

“It would seem that even I can have trouble expressing my thoughts clearly. Well, feelings not being my forte isn’t news to anyone, after all,” Alhaitham starts.

If he notices the sway in Kaveh’s stance, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Oh, how I wish, if only for that precise instant, that the Akasha Terminal could still be working,” Alhaitham laments in a breath, abashed but fully intelligible. “So you could see what I see. And feel what I feel.”

Kaveh, who has meticulously averted his crimson eyes from the piercing green of Alhaitham’s look, suddenly stares back at the Scribe, as though startled by the sudden turn of their conversation.

“Wh…Wha-?” the Architect blurts, disbelief painting his face like he’s scared to understand the truth, in fear that the meaning it holds may be no more than mere wishful thinking on his part.

“But for now, I guess this’ll have to do,” Alhaitham hums, smiling to himself like he is about to utter the funniest joke in the world as he adds: “After all, I can’t exactly rely on illegal means that have piqued my interest to solve every aspect of my life.”

That last comment leaves Kaveh puzzled, and it is almost like Alhaitham, calculating as ever, stated such a thing only to have the blond’s lips part slightly in surprise when he closes in the distance between them and delicately seizes the pink, soft flesh with his own mouth.

Their kiss lasts seconds that feel like ages to the both of them. When at last they let go of each other, they are a tad out of breath. Immediately, as though it is a reflex solely based on instinct, Alhaitham’s arms circle Kaveh’s shoulders, like the Scribe has sensed that the Architect was about to try and run away, become out of reach.

Mindlessly, Alhaitham soothes small circular patterns into Kaveh’s back, as though afraid that the blond might start to panic all over again.

“Woah,” Kaveh mutters, all traces of eloquence gone from his disoriented brain. “Didn’t expect that.”

“Me neither,” Alhaitham confesses after a sharp inhale, himself baffled by the nerve he just showed moments prior. “Was it too much? I… can leave now, if you like.”

“Don’t!” Kaveh exclaims, his mouth faster to the task than his brains. “Wait, no, I mean, yes… I mean, please stay. I don’t mind,” the embarrassed Architect tries to elaborate, still processing what is going on. “Actually, no, allow me to rephrase. To be perfectly honest, I like the direction this is taking, even though it is slightly unnerving.”

Alhaitham smiles at the undirect reciprocation Kaveh grants him. So it would seem that both of them are utterly hopeless when it comes to being honest with their feelings for each other. Good grief.

“Still, please tell me if you want me to give you some space for now. I’m sure we both have a lot to digest at the moment,” the Scribe insists, ever the rational man. “Although, if you don’t mind me being perfectly honest like you, I would definitely like to kiss you again. As in, right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Pfft,” Kaveh lets out a heartfelt snort with laughter. “Surely this won’t sound very convincing with how much I was doubting you just now, but space and thinking can wait. After all, you might have welcomed me in only because you pitied me, but even I can realize someone like you wouldn’t go so far out of mere compassion. Don’t be so solemn, Mister Grand Sage,” the Architect mocks Alhaitham, purposefully using the title that he knows the man dislikes, “You’ve only barely managed to win my trust, let me cling to the hope that I’m not just stuck in a dream and prove me that all of this is not a mere farce.”

Kaveh draws in a deep inhale, his gaze finally meeting the intensity of Alhaitham’s in full, before he concludes his negotiation with one last word, spoken past smirking lips:

“Please?”

It is the only signal Alhaitham needs to let go of the fragile self-control that issued him to allow both him and Kaveh some time to think about the intricate consequences that are sure to arise later. Gently, his hand finds its way back to Kaveh’s still quite humid cheek, caressing it lightly.

When they meet again in a second kiss, Alhaitham applies a soft pressure on Kaveh’s chest, leading him to a lying position. He keeps his eyes open all the way, cherishing the sight of the Architect now on his back under him like it is an ephemeral scene, too out of this world to be real.

The blond strands cascading around Kaveh’s face are as gorgeous as ever, maybe even more beautiful than usual, Alhaitham notes to himself. He is amused to realize that he’s finally stopped concealing the truth of his own thoughts to himself as well.

When finally the Scribe allows Kaveh to catch his breath, the blond pouts.

“You were looking just now, weren’t you?!” he complains between heavy pants.

“Why, of course,” Alhaitham confirms smugly. “Is that a problem? Embarrassed that I’m seeing you as you relinquish control to me?” he teases as he dives into Kaveh’s neck, softly nibbling the tender flesh there.

“Truly, a-ah… infuriating,” Kaveh rambles, soon becoming unable to stifle the moans that have threatened to escape his throat for a while now.

That’s when the Architect realizes. ‘Took you enough time’, would the Scribe surely scoff if a pleasured cry hadn’t torn its way from his lungs just as Kaveh’s heavy breath tickled his unprotected ear. It is so sudden that it lets Kaveh recover a semblance of clarity. If Kaveh was not too focused on the instant himself, he would have pointed out that it is the first time he has seen Alhaitham ears ever since they reunited.

“Wait, you’re not wearing your noise cancelling device?!”

There are hints of wonder in Kaveh’s voice, and Alhaitham can sense that he wants to ask something despite being hesitant. Surely the Scribe would have made a snarky comment about it, if only he wasn’t struggling to maintain his crumbling composure.

“Alhaitham… Would you, um, mind if I wanted to, say, kiss your ears?” the Architect dares to express his sudden wish, like a curious kid who has finally found some leverage against someone who’d been taunting him just seconds ago.

Alhaitham clicks his tongue, knowing to recognize a battle that’s already lost before it has started. So much for him bragging about being in control, huh.

“Do whatever you want. You’d do everything in your power to talk me into accepting even if I refused anyway.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Kaveh chides Alhaitham, mentally recognizing that he would indeed definitely do exactly as the Scribe just said.

Alhaitham merely snorts, deciding it’s better for the sanity of them both to not reply to that jab. He isn’t granted the time to give it more thought, anyway.

He jolts, his hands clinging to Kaveh’s chest for support as the Architect’s slender finger trace the shell of his ear. Alhaitham’s teeth clench, but the sensation is far from unpleasant. Quite the opposite, to tell the truth.

Judging by the content hums Kaveh sings, Alhaitham can tell the Architect definitely relishes each time his breath catches under his touch, even though he has yet to get to the kissing part of his request.

When at last it happens, and Kaveh’s teeth are grazing his earlobe while his mouth is wetting the sensitive flesh there, Alhaitham all but screams. Soon he realizes that, for the first time in his life, at this rate, he will be unable to cling to the slither of lucidity he keeps under all circumstances. It is scary, of course, but also exhilarating in a way he would never had suspected.

Meticulously, Kaveh takes to licking every inch of skin in and out of Alhaitham’s ear, so thorough to the task that one might think he’s treating the Scribe as any of his pieces of art. Above the Architect Alhaitham’s whole body shudders violently, assaulted by waves of pleasure like he has never felt.

Eventually, Kaveh abandons the appendage he has been working on so passionately, delicately seizing Alhaitham’s face between his palms, moving it to position his other ear next to his mouth.

“How do you like it so far?” the Architect whispers, his grin obvious in his tone, certainly due to him feeling empowered enough to tease the usually overly composed Scribe.

Incoherent whines are the only answer Alhaitham manages to get out of his lungs through ecstatic gasping.

“Mhm,” Kaveh hums approvingly, sending vibration all the way to Alhaitham’s sensitive eardrum, sending shivers down his spine.

Once at last the Architect seems satisfied with his work, he loosens his grasp over the flustered, trembling Scribe, whose head lands on Kaveh’s lightly dressed chest.

Alhaitham lies there for a while, gathering himself and steadying his breath as the rhythm Kaveh’s pounding heartbeat fills his very soul. Seeing as the blond makes no move to reverse their positions, nor to tease him anymore, Alhaitham lifts his own weight to level his face with Kaveh’s, inviting him into a new kiss.

This one feels less hurried, like the urgency that spurred them originally has turned into mutual confidence, bringing forth patience along with it. It is no less passionate, however, as Alhaitham’s tongue pokes at Kaveh’s lips. A silent request for access, that the blond grants him almost right away.

They explore each other, deeper than before, with an intimacy that feels novel now that the rush of their first kiss has gradually faded. They indulge in the instant like it will last forever, like the world outside has ceased to exist.

Yet all good things must eventually come to an end, and with how late Alhaitham managed to get back home, the moon is already high up in the sky, and tiredness slowly begins to overtake both of them. So then they part, a thin strand of saliva still connecting their lips, like a lingering proof of their newfound connection.

Alhaitham settles next to his roommate – or is it okay to call him his lover now? – intertwining their fingers under the covers.

“Still,” Kaveh ponders, seemingly lost in thought. “Never took you for the kind of guy to indulge in pleasures of the flesh.”

It sounds definitely more like the blond is talking to himself, but Alhaitham replies, nonetheless.

“Might sound surprising to you but I do sometimes feel physically attracted to people. Well, ‘to you, mainly,’ would be more accurate a statement, but let’s not get too off topic, will you? After all, romantic and sexual attraction is mainly the work of chemicals in one’s body. As such, I fail to see how my behavior in daily life might give off any hint as to whether I should or not indulge in such activities.”

“Whatever, I was surprised, to say the least,” Kaveh chimes, his voice almost boastful, as though them making out on his bed has been some kind of accomplished life goal. “Know what? You never heard that from me, but you being calm, composed and serious about everything and anything even in times like these is kind of hot. At least I personally find it as appealing as it is annoying.”

“Your taste in terms of partners truly is as much of a mystery as your interest in art, I must say,” Alhaitham points out with sarcastic yet playful undertones. “Although that sure is good for me, if judging by the recent turn of events.”

“Tsk,” Kaveh clicks his tongue. “You’re the absolute worst person I know. How d’you want me to pretend my pride isn’t hurt when you keep being mean day in, day out?! Don’t blame me for being distrustful when you clumsily try to show that, in fact, you like me. Just so we’re clear, incessant jabbing can’t pass as flirting. That’s just not how it works.”

“Still looks to me that it wasn’t enough to disgust you of my personality,” Alhaitham counters teasingly. “What was it that you said exactly? That you ‘can’t bring yourself to be mad’ at me? How very smitten of you to confess, don’t you agree? Almost as if you actually enjoy my taunting you.”

“I beg your pardon?! Why, of course! I’m one, no, two hundred percent sure I’m way more committed to you than you are to me!” Kaveh shouts, a pout adorning his delicate features.

“Don’t yell. I’m right here and I can hear you perfectly fine,” Alhaitham complains, his brows furrowed. “Anyway, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I wonder who has allowed to stay at their place for free. Seems to me that they must be quite fond of you to put up with your charades.”

“Alhaitham…!” Kaveh snaps. “Look we’re talking feelings here. You have no idea how many nights I’ve spent crying lately because I was trying to come to terms with giving up on fixing our friendship. You have no idea how-”

“No, I don’t,” Alhaitham confirms before Kaveh can start rambling again. “Yet I believe I have already apologized regarding that matter. Besides, provocation sure is a weird way of trying to ‘fix a friendship’ if you ask me.”

Alhaitham expects Kaveh to throw more bite at him, yet he’s met with a sudden pause in their discussion. He feels the grip of the Architect’s fingers over his own hand tighten a bit before the blond comes up with a response.

“Look, I’m pretty sure we’ll never cut each other any slack, but… How about we take tonight as a brand-new start in our relationship? I’m not talking about erasing any of what has been said and done, but I believe we should be able to put aside past frustrations with little effort.”

“Agreed,” Alhaitham nods, a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding for some time now finally released as he says so. “Anyway, how about we get some well-deserved sleep now? Want me to go back to my room?”

“Excuse me?! You must be kidding. There is absolutely no way I’m letting you go now of all times,” Kaveh asserts dramatically, nestling himself against Alhaitham’s chest. “Unless you’re trying to prove the point I was making about me being more committed than you are, hm?” he adds, throwing one last ounce of challenge in the pot before closing his eyes for the short night that awaits them.

“Tsk, as if,” Alhaitham snorts, one of his arms circling Kaveh’s shoulder, pulling him closer to the Architect’s delighted surprise.

“Say, Alhaitham, can I ask you something? I promise I’ll let you sleep after that,” Kaveh inquires, the insecurity he’d shown earlier that night suddenly reappearing.

“Help yourself,” Alhaitham nods expectantly.

“How come you, um, like me? I’m pretty sure you’ve always said you only involve yourself in things that pique your interest and… with everything you say about my work on a daily basis, I must admit I’m struggling with finding an explanation,” the Architect confesses, visibly still quite conflicted.

“Hm? Well, didn’t you say it yourself when this ordeal started? Ah, forget it, it’s probably best if I spell it out, is it not?” Alhaitham reasons, reaching an agreement with himself. “When we first met, you were a walking enigma to me. After all, you don’t come across an oddball who skips classes to attend to his own matters and who still manages to excel at his craft every day, don’t you think? Besides, it’s news to no one that we’re so opposed that we’re almost considered like two sides of the same coin: two worlds that would normally never meet.”

Alhaitham’s thoughts unfold bit by bit, like a well-crafted reasoning, resembling any of his usual argumentation save for the traces of fondness lingering within each aspect of his reminiscence.

“Now, I’ll admit that these differences tend to rile me up, since it’s quite obvious after that much time the secrets that your thought process holds to me would run dry, however.”

The Scribe lets each of the ideas he enunciates sink in before he speaks out his conclusion. Within his embrace, he senses the shudder that courses through Kaveh, and his hold over the blond straightens.

“Part of me can’t help but wanting to test your every reaction. See for myself if your pout will be as beautiful than the last, if my words will elicit some new kind of variation in your facial expression. And, for a reason that I still struggle to understand myself, even though I should be able to predict your reflections by now, I need to hear them from you, without letting my own judgment interfere. That itself is a mystery that I probably will never solve during our lifetime. At least I hope I won’t.”

Alhaitham takes one last break in his explanation, content with himself but feeling like something is lacking still. Perhaps he has grown too used to anticipating his… lover’s distress.

“Curiosity killed the cat, the saying goes. If you worry that I’ll ever loose interest in you, you can picture it like that. Discovering every facets of you is thrilling in a way that I might get burned at any time, but that I probably will never wish to stop.”

At that ultimate confession, Kaveh heaves a deep exhale, almost jolting like each word has shaken him deeply. Silently, he hums, as though to himself. “Thank you,” he lets out in a breath, voice so low that Alhaitham probably would have missed it, had he had his noise cancelling device on.

Once everything is said and done, they indulge in each other’s quiet intimacy, finally allowing sleep to overwhelm the both of them.

“G’night, Alhaitham,” Kaveh whispers, soft breath tickling the Scribe’s chest.

“Good night, Kaveh,” Alhaitham murmurs back into blond locks.

That night, for the first time in a while for diverse reasons, they both sleep peacefully.