Work Text:
Kaveh has crossed paths with this junior student several times in the House of Daena. The student is sitting at the same table as Kaveh today, both of them studying independently. A few minutes ago, Kaveh finally learned his name.
It’s Al Haitham, and Al Haitham’s trying to hide the fact he’s sick, but he isn’t doing a very good job. There’s a cough into his inner elbow, then a sneeze beneath his collar. He scoots a little farther away from Kaveh, hugging his headphones closer to his ears.
Kaveh can tell he needs one, so he discreetly places a package of tissues on top of his textbook.
Haitham glances at it with a muffled, “Thanks,” before continuing to study.
The weather is changing. Al Haitham walks past Kaveh in the hallway, eyes red and brows furrowed. Kaveh would think he’s been crying if he didn’t know him any better.
“Are you okay?” he asks, catching up to him, walking by his side.
Al Haitham points to his headphones before begrudgingly lifting one side. “What?”
“Are you okay?” Kaveh repeats.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to admit it, but he does, “Allergies.”
Kaveh reaches into his handbag, fishing out a small pouch with teabags inside. “Tea. Drink it when you can.”
Al Haitham takes it. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I have tea at home.”
“I know.” Kaveh says, “I want to.”
Their group project hasn’t been particularly fun, but Haitham’s at Kaveh’s house now to study, and Kaveh’s amused to see how Haitham bristles when he discovers they have a cat.
“Why?” he asks, as if that question makes any sense.
“Cats are cute.” Kaveh says, closing the front door.
Haitham just stands there, eyes narrowed, bag on his shoulder. “I’m allergic.”
“I’ll put her away for now. The office should be safe, she doesn’t go in there.”
It’s too late. By the time they’re sat down, cracking open their notebooks, Haitham is already having a sneezing fit. Kaveh apologizes profusely, showering Haitham with medicine and tea and warm blankets.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” Haitham says. It’s like he’s never had anyone dote on him before. He almost seems allergic to kindness.
“Next time we’ll do this at your place.” Kaveh says, “I don’t want you to die because of my cat.”
Haitham makes a sound that Kaveh thinks might be a chuckle. “Trust me. A cat won’t be what kills me.”
Somehow – Kaveh seriously isn’t sure how – he manages to convince Al Haitham to go drinking with him.
And then – admittedly a mistake – he encourages Al Haitham to drink five shots.
Apparently, Al Haitham’s a lightweight.
He’s leaned over the toilet bowl on his knees, lifting up his trembling middle finger to scorn Kaveh for what he’s done to him.
“You poor thing…” Kaveh coos, rubbing soothing circles across Haitham’s back, “It’s always hard the first time.”
“I’m never–” Haitham garbles, panting and dripping with sweat, “–going drinking with you again, Kshahrewar.”
…Kaveh thinks that’s fair.
He has a fever.
Apparently he isn’t seen around the Akademiya with anyone else, so the nurse thinks it’s best that Kaveh is the one to escort him home.
Haitham argues against it until he nearly collapses from how weak he is.
Kaveh lends him a shoulder, hand around his waist, and they stay that way the entire walk to Haitham’s room.
It’s the first time they’ve been this close. The first time they’ve touched. That night they went drinking was the first time Kaveh had put his hand on Al Haitham, and that itself had seemed like such a huge leap.
This, though. Kaveh’s cheeks burn, and he starts to wonder if the fever is contagious. Haitham’s body is so, so warm. Kaveh imagines laying with him like this, their arms wrapped around each other.
He really, really hopes he isn’t forming a crush. He and Haitham have nothing in common. A relationship between them would be nothing short of a disaster.
He gets Haitham inside, lays him on his bed, trying his best not to notice all the many details of Haitham’s room, to not commit it to memory, imagine coming here again.
No, he brings Haitham an armful of things to bring down his temperature, asks if there’s anyone home that can help take care of him.
“No.” he says, not elaborating any further.
Kaveh knows Al Haitham won’t want him to, but still, he stays, sitting on a chair in the corner of Haitham’s bedroom, listening to his snores as they wait for his fever to pass.
It’s the anniversary of Kaveh’s father’s death.
Typically he spends this day alone. As alone as he can. Without receiving comfort from anyone, because why should he?
He festers and stews and stares at the wall, unable to concentrate on anything at all.
He stayed home today, forgot to tell Haitham he wouldn’t be there to work on their stupid project. Haitham was rude yesterday, anyway. Kaveh doesn’t care what he thinks.
His pajamas are made of soft silk, the kind he only wears when he really needs it. To counteract them, he’s using the itchy, prickly blanket. The one he doesn’t know why he bothered buying because it’s dreadful and awful and exactly what he needs today to make sure that not even this is enjoyable.
He rots away, closes his eyes, and crumbles into the mattress like ashes when he hears a knock.
Thump thump thump.
It’s probably his mother. He’s surprised she gathered the strength to get out of bed today of all days. Proud, even.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open, Kaveh’s eyes widening when he sees those familiar shoes.
He jets upright, the blanket slipping down to his waist, “Al Haitham?!”
“The door was unlocked.” Al Haitham says. But that doesn’t explain–
“Why are you here?!”
Instead of explaining himself, Haitham steps forward, closing the gap between them. They’re eye-to-eye, Haitham’s stare intense.
He pulls something from behind his back, holding it out for Kaveh.
Kaveh looks down.
It’s a bundle of flowers.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Haitham says simply.
Kaveh’s heart skips, his vision blurring, “How did you–?”
“You told me about him at the bar when you were drunk. Sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure it didn’t help.”
He plucks a flower out of the bouquet, tucking the stem behind Kaveh’s ear.
Kaveh’s heart is pounding, pounding, louder and louder, the beat of a roaring drum.
Maybe it’s because he’s sad or maybe it’s because his heart has filled with blood and vibrant, singing color for the first time all week… But he leans in, pressing their lips together.
And for some unfathomable reason…
Al Haitham kisses him back.