Work Text:
Fahima accepts her job as the Acting Grand Sage’s new secretary fully expecting to kiss her free time goodbye, including precious time she would have spent on the new batch of light novels she just bought. Chaos is to be expected, with Sumeru’s de facto leaders ousted in one fell swoop, and even though the Acting Grand Sage is a competent (and gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking) man, there is only so much one can do to resolve the resulting shit show from a power vacuum.
But that’s a sacrifice she is willing to make, especially if her consolation prize is to spend time next to the eye candy that is the Acting Grand Sage (with his beautiful face, his sexy bared shoulder, his trim waist, the mesmerizing swell of his pecs thanks to that too tight shirt, and that back. Hmmmmm.)
But, on her very first day, the Acting Grand Sage—“None of this formality. Call me Alhaitham.”—sits her down (in his newly revamped Grand Sage hall, now with a room that separates his office space from the elevator) and gives her a set of clear instructions.
“Work starts at 9 o’clock and ends at 6 o’clock with a one-hour lunch from noon to 1 o’clock. Any forms submitted past the deadline are automatically shredded. Any forms improperly filled out are shredded. Any forms containing any errors are shredded. Also, here is a list of people I will not meet, so if they show up, turn them away.”
Alhaitham hands her a scroll. She unravels it.
The list is as tall as she is.
“There will be more added to the list. Especially people who are annoying, loud, bumbling, or generally a waste of my time.”
Then, he retreats to his shiny new office and closes the door, leaving Fahima to mourn the loss of her eye candy at her lonely, lonely desk.
With such an uncompromising stance, it’s basically as if Alhaitham wants to get away with working as little as possible. Or maybe he just wants to be a hermit. Who knows. Haravatat scholars are weird.
Whatever his rationale may be, Fahima finds herself spending her days at her desk daydreaming. Word has gotten out quickly about just how ruthless Alhaitham is with his rules, which translates to fewer visitors. Those brave enough to visit are extremely courteous and extremely mindful of the time spent lest they find themselves banished to the List of Unsavoury Characters.
There is, however, one exception.
She calls him Flappy in her mind because he’s blond, loud, and flappy from the way his dramatic scarf trails after him with every step. Flappy so happens to appear at the office while she is just getting to the juicy part of her novel.
“Uh, excuse me, miss?”
She jumps.
A man is staring back at her—tall, lithe, very pretty with long, wispy blond hair. He’s dressed rather flamboyantly with that (distractingly) low V-neck shirt (that shows off a slim chest) and a rather dramatic scarf looped around his long, graceful neck. Tucked behind his ear is a long blue feather (and they make his eyes look enchanting and vibrant).
He looks like the love interest from ‘Help! My Boyfriend Turned Into A Majestic Lion’ or, ‘My Coworker Is Secretly The Golden Prince!’ and Fahima finds herself suddenly very, very interested.
“Miss? Hello?”
She shoves her novel away. “My apologies, sir. How can I help you?”
He gives her another strange look. “Is Alhaitham in? I have something for him.” He lifts a fine lacquer box bundled in some beautiful silk cloth, tied in a perfect bow at the top.
Oh?
She flips to her work notebook and quickly scans over the rules. Let’s see…there’s nothing about delivery or gift-giving being banned. What about the List of Unsavoury Characters?
“Can I have your name, sir?”
“Kaveh.”
She pulls out her scroll. Let’s see, Kaveh…
“Looks like you’re in the clear,” she says. One of the rare ones, it seems. “Please wait a minute, I’ll let him know—”
“No need.”
Kaveh stomps towards the office and proceeds to power kick the doors open like overzealous law enforcement on an ambush.
“Oy! You left your stupid lunch!”
The doors swing shut with a click. Fahima spends 3 seconds gawking, then 0.0001 seconds scrambling out of her seat to press her ear against the door.
“Kaveh, always a pleasure to see you bursting into my office like a ruffian.”
There’s the sound of offended spluttering. “I brought you your lunch because you stupidly left it at home. You should be thanking me for being so thoughtful!”
“I wouldn’t have left it behind if I wasn’t running late this morning, thanks to someone keeping me up all night.”
Fahima’s eyes grow wide. Whatwhatwhat?
“Just whose fault is that? I wouldn’t have had to work if someone would stop refusing to read my funding application! It’s almost as if you’re out to get me!”
Work?
“Hm. Oversensitive and irrational as always. As if I would spare the energy to ‘get you’.”
“You! Urgh! I hope you choke on your food!”
Fahima bolts to her desk when the doors fly open and out storms Kaveh, scarf flapping behind him in all of its majestic glory. She waits until he’s gone before poking her head back into the office.
“Sir? Is everything alright? I thought I heard a commotion. I checked his name and…”
Her voice trails off. Alhaitham is…smirking. He’s holding the wrapped box and he radiates a sort of smug satisfaction like a sly cat that has stolen the cream while its owner’s back is turned. That sort of expression only enhances his cool beauty and it’s doing terrible, terrible things to Fahima’s heart (and libido).
His gaze flickers over to her. “Hm? Oh, it’s fine. Nothing to be concerned about.”
He unties the cloth around his lunchbox and he chuckles. “As expected. Kaveh is predictable if nothing else.”
Alhaitham plucks a piece of paper on top of his lunch box and holds it up. “An application for funding. Kaveh’s creative attempt to get me to read his funding request.”
He walks (sashays) to the trash bin beside his desk and drops the paper in.
“Funding denied.”
So cold. So ruthless. Fahima can die a happy woman. Still, because she is a professional, she manages to keep it together and asks, “Should I add his name to the List?”
“No need. It’s under control.”
It doesn’t seem very under control because Flappy comes back right as six o’clock hits.
“I’m here to fetch Alhaitham!” he announces, powerwalking towards the office.
“Uh, go right in—aaannnd you’re gone. Okay.”
The doors swing shut. Fahima immediately goes to eavesdrop.
“Oy! Time to go home! You took my keys so I can’t get into the house. Again!”
Then: “Did you toss my application into the trash?!”
“Clearly.”
More angry spluttering. “Why?!”
“It wasn’t up to standard, so I denied funding.”
“What’s not up to standard about it?!”
“What kind of a scholar are you if you can’t even self-reflect on your work?”
“Self-reflect?! Oh, I’ll show you self-reflect! You can self-reflect tonight without dinner!”
Fahima scrambles out of the way as the doors slam open. Kaveh stomps out, muttering uncharitable things under his breath, while Alhaitham follows (sashays) at a more sedated pace.
There’s no disguising the pleased smirk on his beautiful face.
Flappy + AH live together
Flappy keeps AH up all night (for work b/c no money?)
“Keeps AH up all night” = fucking?
Flappy + AH = dating?
Huddled over her desk, Fahima looks at her notes again before scratching out “dating” altogether. Nah, that can’t be right. There’s too much vindictive pettiness between them.
Hm. She’s going to need more clues to figure this mystery out.
Kaveh comes back the next morning with a large scowl on his handsome face once more.
“I’m here with more delivery,” he says, lifting another lacquered box and marching into the office like it’s his god-given right.
“Oy! I brought you coffee because you looked so haggard when you left home! You’re welcome!”
Fahima tiptoes towards the doors to hear more.
“Oh?” comes Alhaitham’s response. “Finally feeling some guilt for keeping me up with all the pounding you did last night? I could barely get out of bed this morning, no thanks to you.”
Fahima chokes on the air.
“Clearly, my concern is wasted! I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such an ass, so you have no one but yourself to blame! Also…”
There’s the sound of paper crinkling.
“Here. My new application!”
“I see. It’s denied.”
“…”
“…”
“You didn’t even look!”
“I saw enough to notice the typos: Paragraph two, second line. Also, paragraph four, third line. Denied.”
“YOU!”
“You know the rules. All applications presented before the Grand Sage need to be perfect.”
Fahima is back at her desk before the angry curses and footsteps grow closer. The doors crash open and out comes Kaveh in all of his blond, loud, and flappy glory.
“I’ll be back!” His voice echoes down the hall. “This won’t be the last you see of me!”
Fahima stares at his retreating back.
Then, she turns towards the office, partly to see if Alhaitham needs her and partly to see how he’s doing (after supposedly spending all night getting railed). Just before the doors swing close, she catches a clear glimpse of the man sporting the largest, most self-satisfied smirk ever.
Huh.
She pulls open her personal notebook and underlines “fucking” twice.
Kaveh comes back like a glutton for punishment a mere few hours later.
“Delivery!” he barks out. He doesn’t wait for Fahima before storming into the office.
“Kaveh. It’s like you’ve barely even left. What now?”
“Lunch! Because you barely ate breakfast and I know you didn’t bring lunch! To think that people actually believe you to be one of the best and brightest of Sumeru!”
A long sigh. “Is that the only thing you’re here for? To nag at me?”
“Of course not! What? You think I have so much free time to cater to your every whim?”
Fahima makes a confused face. But…isn’t that exactly what he’s been doing though?
“Why are you here then?”
“This!”
The familiar sound of crinkling paper. Fahima grimaces.
“My application!” Kaveh crows. “This time, you will find that everything is perfect. Ergo, there is absolutely zero reasons for you to—"
“Denied.”
Fahima counts in her head: Three…Two…One…
“Why?!”
Bingo.
“You did not fill out the filing number section. Also, per the Research and Applications Guidelines, all applications are to be submitted with a yellow cover. Yours is off-white. Ergo denied.”
More aggravated sounds and out storms Kaveh once more.
…Maybe she should do something to stop this cycle of madness. At this rate (and judging by the growing tic in Kaveh’s left eye), he might bring a large meat cleaver to the office on his next visit. And if Alhaitham dies, where else would she find a cushy job that pays her to stare at her gorgeous boss while eavesdropping on his crazy love life?
“Sir,” Fahima says, poking her head into the office when the coast is clear. “Should I put him on the List now ?”
Alhaitham looks up from the beautiful lunchbox he’s unpacking and smiles. It takes a few seconds for Fahima to focus away from his sheer beauty and she can’t help but notice how appetizing the food looks as if made with love. “No need. Loud as he is, Kaveh is just sensitive. He is harmless. Mostly.”
“Mostly harmless,” Fahima intones. “Does he perchance own a meat cleaver?”
Alhaitham does not appear to have heard her. He’s too busy rummaging through his delivery.
“Oh good, he remembered to bring more coffee.” Alhaitham takes a sip of the beverage and hums in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut. “I have to tell him to use less sugar next time.”
Flappy + AH live together
Flappy keeps AH up all night (for work b/c no money?)
“Keep AH up all night” = fucking ? definitely fucking.
Flappy + AH = dating ?
Fahima stares at her notes. Then, she adds:
AH eggs Flappy on + likes the attention
Flappy keeps coming back like a masochistic cat
What does any of this mean?
The cycle continues like samsara, and every event starts with Flappy’s arrival. He’s forever grumpy, forever loud, and always, always carrying with him some sort of food delivery that’s beautifully and thoughtfully wrapped.
He’s like a Rishboland Tiger begrudgingly bringing its best kills for its mate.
A very grumbly Rishboland Tiger because he hisses and spits about mundane things like, “Start putting away your books in the living room!”, “Eat properly; don’t just have coffee!” or even, “I didn’t spend hours folding laundry only for you to toss your clothes on the ground! We have armoires for a reason, and I know you know we have them because I took you furniture shopping for them just last week!”
And then, he always presents his funding application, declaring it to be perfect.
Only for it to be promptly rejected.
The hissing and spitting then return, followed by threats of more pounding (every time she hears this, Fahima sends a prayer to her benevolent Archon for her boss’s poor ass). Flappy leaves after much flouncing and stomping, making threats to come back, and then…silence.
Without fail, Fahima then peeks into the office to check up on the boss.
Without fail, she sees Alhaitham with that look of pleased zen on his face while idly shredding Flappy’s application. Occasionally, he even hums a jaunty little song.
What is this relationship?!
“No, but seriously, what is this relationship?” she confesses to her friends at a tavern one evening after work. “There’s so much shouting and nagging, but the boss looks so happy? I don’t get it!”
“It kinda reminds me of the plot for ‘My Lover Is My Employee and All He Does Is Eat and Sleep’,” Friend 1 says. “Maybe your boss just likes to rile Flappy up like the MC does in the novel because he wants Flappy to do better.”
“I don’t know…my boss doesn’t seem like the type to do that. He’s much more direct in his approach,” Fahima notes. “Come to think of it, he doesn’t seem to like people at all .”
With qualities like that, how is he the Acting Grand Sage again?
“Well, he clearly likes Flappy. Didn’t you say he refused your offer to put him on the Banned List?”
“I’ve asked him five times now! He keeps saying that Flappy is harmless.”
“So, clearly he likes him.”
“Or, he likes tormenting Flappy because your boss is a dick,” Friend 2 chimes in. “Didn’t you say that every time he rejects Flappy, he looks happy?”
“Exceedingly.”
“Okay, so where’s the confusion? Your boss is a bully like the MC from ‘My Boyfriend Is Exceedingly Beautiful but a Bit of a Dick’. Mystery solved!”
“That doesn’t feel like all there is,” Fahima says. “They’re clearly fucking. Flappy is apparently quite the enthusiastic lover. What reason is there to keep bullying him?”
Friend 2 whistles. “For a man with such a pretty face, he is ice cold.”
“Actually, I think I remember something.” Fahima pulls out her notebook and flips through the pages. “Here! Flappy keeps mentioning how he keeps my boss up all night with sex because it’s for work? He also threatened that if he doesn’t get the funds, the ‘all-night pounding’ continues.”
“Holy shit!” Friend 1 shoots up from her seat. “I think I got it! Your boss is clearly a sadomasochist who’s trapping Flappy in a cycle of debaucherous sex for his own gains!”
“…What?”
“No, no, think about it. One,” Friend 1 holds up one finger, “your boss is withholding Flappy’s funding money. Two,” she puts up a second finger, “this forces Flappy to ‘sell’ his ‘services’ to your boss in the form of hot, filthy sex where your boss gets dicked down left, right, and centre. Possibly side-ways, possibly upside down—”
“What.”
“—and three,” a third finger goes up. “When Flappy tries to escape this cycle by getting money, your boss rejects him, thereby resetting the cycle!”
“You just stole that from the plot of ‘My Boyfriend Is a Sadomasochist Who’s Trapping Me in a Cycle of Sex’,” Friend 3 criticizes.
“Man, who names these light novels? The titles are getting so long and so specific.”
“But I’m not wrong,” Friend 1 counters. “Why else would your boss keep rejecting the applications?”
Fahima raises her hand. “Ah, but what about the fact that Flappy shows up with food delivery? And the nagging? Also, they live together. If Flappy is being coerced, wouldn’t he want to have minimal contact with the boss unless it’s to, um, perform his ‘services’?”
Friend 3 is quick to answer. “I think we’re looking at a theory as old as time: ‘Frenemies Who Fuck Who Also Like to Get Off by Annoying Each Other’. There’s also the added possibility that your boss and Flappy are both sadomasochists. The jury’s out on that one.”
“Coincidentally, it’s also the plot of the novel, ‘I Hate Him but I Love His Beautiful Face and Cute Butt, and the Feeling Is Mutual’,” Friend 1 adds.
“Or alternatively, ‘Oh My God They Were Roommates Who Hate and Love Each Other’. It’s an excellent book. 10/10, would recommend!”
Fahima leans back in her chair to think. “Hmm. I think that theory fits better, but it still feels like it’s missing something.”
“Let us know if you manage to figure it out,” Friend 2 says, as her other friends nod. “We’re way too emotionally invested at this point.”
More days pass and the cycle continues with no signs of stopping. If anything, Kaveh’s nagging has increased along with the number of funding applications he’s been submitting. He’s here so often that Fahima doesn’t even bother to look up from her book when he pops in. She merely glances up, grunts in acknowledgement, and goes back to reading.
“Oy! I packed a pita wrap for you. Yes, I made it with that ground beef recipe that you like. I even took the spice down a notch because some of us have the palate of a child.”
Although the funny feeling she has about her friend’s theory continues to bother her, she can’t help but wonder why she thinks the theory is off.
“Do you have more coffee?”
“Yes, I do. By the way, we ran out of milk and eggs so we’ll need to do groceries once you get off work. Yes, you’re coming with me! You’re the one with the picky palate!”
“Hm.”
Maybe her friend is wrong about her boss and Flappy being sadomasochists? No, that can’t be it.
“And no, you do not get to read while having dinner tonight! We didn’t buy that new dining table set just for you to ignore it by taking your meals at your desk! We are having dinner at our beautifully designed dinner table and we will be talking about how our day went like civilized adults!”
“Why do we need to talk about our day? It’s not like we don’t know already with the way we see each other all the time.”
“No excuses!”
Maybe it’s the way they characterized their relationship. Is the assumption about how the boss and Flappy get hot and bothered from riling each other up incorrect?
“Maybe instead of constantly nagging at me, you should take a rest, Kaveh. From how haggard you’ve been looking lately, you clearly need it. Heaven knows my ears can use the peace and quiet.”
“Just whose fault is it!? If you would just grant my application —”
“Oh, look. There’s an error on page three, paragraph four, second line. Looks like the application is rejected.”
“You have got to be joking!”
No, that’s not it either. That assumption is 100% correct. Just look at them.
“Your summary is also 306 words long. Summaries should only be 300 words maximum. Anyways. Rejected.”
“Aurghhh!”
The door slams open. Fahima doesn’t look up from her notebook as she continues to puzzle out this great mystery that is her boss and Flappy’s relationship. What could it be that they’ve got wrong about the theory?
“I’ll be back, Alhaitham! And when I do, you will rue all those times you’ve rejected me!”
“Oh, can you bring me some more snacks when you come back?”
“…Sure, what do you want?”
“I’m feeling something sweet.”
“I can whip up some zalabiyeh with honey served with some more coffee?”
“Hm. Only after you’ve slept for at least a couple of hours. Seriously, have you seen yourself?”
“Yeah, yeah. And you call me the nagger.”
Whatever it is, Fahima has a feeling that the last clue is right in front of her. It’s right there. It’s so close that she can almost taste it.
A week passes by with no progress. Then another. By week three, she begins to feel her hope flag the same way Kaveh’s energy seems to be dropping.
“Delivery.”
She looks up from her notebook. Oh, just Flappy with his usual food except—
She does a double take. “Wow, what happened to you?”
Kaveh looks like hell, to put it politely. His face is ashy pale and he’s got large purple bags hanging from underneath his eyes. His clothes do not fare any better, looking wrinkled and dishevelled like he’s slept in them all night.
The poor man is also swaying a little.
“Just been busy,” he says. He yawns and clears his throat. “Is Alhaitham here?”
“Yeah, he is. Um, you should go get some rest after you’re done. You don’t look so hot.”
“I’ll keep things quick, no need to worry about me. Thanks though.”
She watches as he enters the office by gently pushing open the doors for once.
Even his next words lack the usual angry gusto. “Oy. I’ve got some food for you.”
The doors swing shut and then, silence.
She glances at the doors.
She thinks there are some soft, low murmurs, but for the most part, everything is quiet. Unnervingly so.
With nothing left to do, she goes back to her desk and resumes reading.
She gets through two chapters uninterrupted before a random visitor drops by with some urgent forms that need Alhaitham’s signature. She eyes the doors once more.
Is Flappy still in there? What are they even doing?
…Archons, she hopes they’re not fucking. It’s not that she wouldn’t appreciate the view (because just look at their gorgeousness ), but getting an eyeful (of delicious, hot, man-on-man action) is not worth the perpetual awkwardness that follows.
But she needs these documents signed.
Fahima lets out a sigh, grabs the documents, walks to the door, and knocks quietly.
“Alhaitham, sir?”
To her surprise, she gets a response immediately. “Come in.”
He sounds calm. A bit quieter than usual but not suspiciously out of breath.
Welp, here goes nothing. She nudges the door open and slips through. “Sir, I have some documents for you.”
She trails off. Alhaitham is seated on one end of his leather couch at the corner of his office with his favourite book in hand. Sprawled out horizontally across the rest of the couch is Kaveh, asleep. His head is resting on Alhaitham’s lap, while his feet dangle off of the armrest. Neither of them looks comfortable—the couch is far too small for either of them, let alone both of them—but they’re not moving. Kaveh remains very much dead to the world, his face relaxed in sleep and his breathing slow and even, while Alhaitham continues to quietly read his book. Occasionally, he reaches one pale hand to (carefully, tenderly) brush the mussed, golden locks out of his sleeping companion’s face before retreating to turn a page in his book.
This is…this does not scream like two pseudo-antagonistic individuals trying to rile each other up. In fact, this does not seem like two people who would fit the frenemies label at all. They are far too relaxed in each other’s quiet company and, as always, Alhaitham is wearing that zen, pleased look on his face except this time, Fahima can spot the warm fondness in his eyes and— holy shit.
She’s seen that look before. She’s seen it time and time again on her mother’s face whenever her father does something endearingly stupid. It’s a look that’s impossible to quell despite the occasional annoyance from her father’s teasing or the frustration from their constant bickering about inconsequential…things…
Realization dawns on Fahima as if she had just woken from a long nap, her mind growing clearer by the second. Holy shit. Holy shit!
No wonder Alhaitham didn’t put Flappy on the banned list! No wonder he was so adamant that Flappy was harmless. She and her friends got everything so wrong.
“Fahima,” Alhaitham murmurs. “Please leave the documents at the desk. I’ll get to them when I’m able.”
“O-of course!”
“When you’re done…consider taking the rest of the day off.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you!”
She does as she’s told and leaves quietly. Just as the doors shut, she catches the last glimpse of Alhaitham huffing out a (soft, endearing, love-filled) sigh before going back to his book.
“So, whaddya summon us all here for?” Friend 3 asks later that day in their usual seat at the tavern. “Whatever it is, it sounded pretty urgent from your note.”
“It is important,” Fahima insists. “Guys, I figured it out!”
It takes her friends a solid ten seconds before they clue in on what she means.
“Wait, you did? Holy shit!” Friend 1 exclaims. “So, were we right? Are we looking at ‘I Hate Him but I Love His Beautiful Face and Cute Butt, and the Feeling Is Mutual’?”
“Or is it ‘Oh My God They Were Roommates Who Hate and Love Each Other’?” Friend 3 helpfully adds.
“Neither!” Fahima declares, eyes sparkling. “What we’re really looking at is ‘My Husband and I Fight Like Cats and Dogs but We Still Do It Every Night’.”
Another moment of stunned silence. Then:
“Husband?!”
“How the hell did we miss that?!”
“There is no way! Also, seriously, what is up with these long and specific light novel titles?”
“No, think about it. It makes sense,” Friend 1 interrupts. “They live together. Flappy makes food drop-offs like a supportive partner despite his grumblings, they go home together every evening, and they go furniture shopping. They are husbands!”
“Not to mention how often they fuck,” Friend 3 adds. “Oh my god, are they newlyweds?”
“B-but what about the constant shouting?” Friend 2 asks.
Fahima gives a dismissive wave. “Just a married couple’s bickering. You’ve seen how your parents are. Goodness knows mine couldn’t go through a day without arguing.”
“And the constant cycle of application rejections?”
Fahima thinks for a second.
“Kinky sex game,” she says with a confident nod. “What? Just because they’re married doesn’t mean they can’t spice things up in the bedroom by riling each other up a little. Judging by their frequent sexcapades, it’s clearly working!”
“Huh.” Friend 2 leans back in her chair. “Oh my god, they are married. And all this time, they've just been flirting in front of you at work like that?”
Fahima gives a romantic sigh. “I know right? How shameless!”
They’ve been doing this non-stop since the second week Fahima started working, too. The dedication and care Flappy has shown to his husband are swoon-worthy. Truly, this has got to be one of the most epic and beautiful romances she has had the honour of witnessing.
Even if they may or may not be sadomasochists. The jury is still out on that one.
“Now that we’ve solved our little mystery, what’s next?” Friend 3 asks.
Oh, Fahima can think of a few things.
“Alhaitham,” Kaveh asks his housemate as he closes the door to the office, “why is your secretary giving us bouquets with signs that say, ‘Congratulations on your marriage’? What marriage?”
Alhaitham shrugs. He could explain to Kaveh that she caught him asleep on the couch the other day and clearly jumped to some wild conclusions about the state of their relationship, but where would be the fun in that?
(Besides, if things continue the way they are, Alhaitham predicts that her words would come true exactly 2 years, 64 days, and 54 minutes from now.)
“No idea,” he lies. And because riling up Kaveh is infinitely more fun than working, he adds, “Maybe instead of focusing on what other people think, you should pay closer attention to your application. Spelling error on page three, paragraph one, line two.”
He takes the paper and dangles it over his trash can. “You know what this means.”
Ah, the sound of angry screeching never fails to warm his heart.