Chapter Text
Kaveh could be described as something like a sandstorm. Messy, turbulent… and not nearly subtle enough for his job.
An “Ow!” followed by a long—perhaps slightly excessive—string of colorful curses left his mouth in a whisper, his crimson eyes glaring pointedly at the offending flower pot he’d stumbled into. At least, he tried to, but there was little success in glaring at anything from within the mess of emerald green leaves enveloping his face. (The barista, however, was not burdened with this misfortune, and glared unnoticed at the suspicious man disrupting her peaceful café.)
Kaveh pulled himself awkwardly free and—with the brief darting of an embarrassed glance—made the sage decision to seat himself at the nearest empty table rather than continuing to pace as he had for the last half an hour, though his foot still found itself tapping in a restless rhythm almost unbeknownst to its owner. His eyes, meanwhile, stole away the near entirety of his attention to focus on the subject of his being here (and the reason he was so distracted to walk face-first into innocent natural decor) in the first place: a particular customer who sat discreetly at the corner table, visage hidden behind some pretentiously thick novel.
Ambient lighting, tinged with the yellowed hue of parchment, filtered through wide windows of coffee-stained glass to illuminate the man, glinting faintly off silver hair that matched the metal of his headphones. It imparted him with a certain air of enigma and statuesque grace, perhaps exacerbated by his neatly casual attire and utter focus on the book in his hands. Kaveh hadn't seen him look up once since follo— ahem , reasonably strolling in a manner that happened to come after—him in here. Besides that, the man's only other company appeared to be a tall cup of dully autumn-colored tea sitting at his elbow. Kaveh frowned and scribbled a note.
“Table for one… or… awaiting his love?” He tapped his pen against his chin a few times, turning the words over in his head before striking them out on the page just as he had with the seventeen lines of potential headlines above them. With a heavy sigh, he finally took a sip of the now-lukewarm latte he’d ordered thirty minutes ago when the barista kept tossing him sidelong looks that seemed to say, ‘Order something, or get out.’ At least the foam cat drawn on top was cute. Well, until it had long since melted and dispersed into the rest of the coffee, that was.
Kaveh peered again at the silver-haired man over the rim of his cup. He knew the man’s name was Alhaitham, that he was a popular model who appeared on several magazine covers from time to time. He could assume from these past few days of observation that this establishment, the Puspa Café, was a convenient favorite of his, and that he spent most of each day in his modestly sized (for what it was, at least) mansion nearby. But these were all surface-level findings, not conducive to what he really needed to find out—which was whether the dating rumors between him and his new head of security Cyno held any truth.
Somehow—and perhaps a bit suspiciously—despite Alhaitham being the public figure between the two, Kaveh had found the young yet capable bodyguard's background much easier to uncover and discern. He'd come from a rural area to study at Akademiya University in the city, then went on to join the police force, where he even served as the chief for some time with his partner Tighnari.
Of course, Kaveh was always thorough at his job, but he was also lucky in this case. Tighnari was a personal friend of his, the forensic scientist he'd interviewed for a former case on the edge of a bust. He'd veritably saved the reporter's career from Dori's wrath, leaving Kaveh devoutly indebted (though Kaveh seemed to be the only one who retained the notion). And once again he'd offered his assistance as Cyno's former partner in the police force.
That was how Kaveh learned of the bodyguard's details for the most part, in any case. Alhaitham, on the other hand, was giving him much more of a struggle. The man hardly revealed anything to even his fans, with few public appearances and even fewer meet-and-greets. He was regarded as something of a mystifying beauty, a pretty face with little beneath.
There had to be something there though, no matter how many layers of stony facades he had to peel back. Kaveh was sure of it.
Alhaitham seemed to clear his throat, as if about to confirm or deny the thought. It took Kaveh a moment to realize perhaps one of the reasons it seemed so was in fact because the man was staring at him as he did this, then another to understand that it was very likely due to his unconsciously intense scrutiny while he had been tangled up in his musings.
Blond hair, tipped at the ends by threads of long-faded maplewood brown dye, flew into abrupt motion about Kaveh’s face as he ducked his head and tried not to spit out his coffee. But while he may have been successful in not splattering his drink across himself and the café’s quaint interior, there was little he could do to prevent the silver-haired model from striding unceremoniously over to him and crossing a threateningly muscled pair of arms.
So much for staking out the subject.
“Um, hi,” Kaveh coughed out awkwardly. He straightened the collar of his pullover sweater briefly, hoping he didn’t appear flushed the same scarlet as his patterned tie at being caught—though it wouldn't be his first time—and blinked up as innocently as he could at the figure looming over him. “How can I help you?”
Alhaitham stared back, expression unnervingly lacking, for a moment before responding. “You took the words out of my mouth, it seems.”
“Pardon?”
Eyelids dropped ever so slightly over dichromatic teal irises. “How can I help you ? Or is it simply a hobby of yours to stalk people as they mind their own business in random coffee shops?”
Kaveh buried a sheepish grimace beneath a dazzling smile. The rough wooden wall pressed uncomfortably against his back. “‘Stalking?’ You have it all wrong, I’m only here on a business excursion.”
“For the past three days, in the exact same locales that I attended.”
“Really? What a coincidence!” He barked out a laugh made of a perfectly beguiling joviality, but it seemed only to reach empty air.
“Listen, if you’re some sort of fan—”
A scoff. “ That I can assure you I’m not.”
For the first time in the past half-hour, Alhaitham’s expression finally shifted a centimeter: his brow arched in what was perhaps veiled amusement. “Do you have some sort of qualm with me or my fans?”
The journalist’s own brows furrowed into frustrated lines. “Well, no, that’s not what I meant—”
“It was rhetorical.” In an instant, the model’s face was schooled back into stone. “I don’t actually care either way. Just stop following me around.”
A muscle twitched acutely in Kaveh’s jaw. Snappy retorts and hot-headed acquiescence were bubbling up in his throat, but he bit them back, hesitating. A simple voicing of agreeance would usually suffice here, and he could just be more careful from now on. But if Alhaitham had always noticed him despite his efforts at being subtle…
“Well, I’m just doing my job, actually, so I’m afraid I’ll be wherever I’m needed,” he hedged. “And if you’re so worried, where’s your bodyguard then?”
Alhaitham paused, about to step away from the conversation. He shifted a foot forward instead and leaned in. Kaveh swallowed. “So that’s what this is about. You’re some kind of reporter, I’d assume?” Shit. “If it’s for the money, then, why don’t I just pay you to leave me alone?”
Kaveh gritted his teeth, something new and acrid burning into his attitude toward this irritatingly entitled model . So what if he had a pretty face or brand-name sneakers or a—as he was now convinced—blatantly undeserved reputation? Cover blown or not, at least Kaveh still had his moral dignity.
“No way!” He spat the words steeped in righteous fervor. “I would never give into schemes to corrupt the media. Plus… Dori would definitely fire me.” He muttered the last part, but the man across from him still seemed to hear it.
The slightest of smirks twitched across his lips. “Then I’ll just pay your higher-ups to cover up any story you put out and render all your snooping around for naught.” Apprehension stirred at that. Knowing Dori, that threat was doubly effective. Still…
“Don’t you know who I am?” Kaveh allowed a slight sneer to slip through, his pride apparent. “The very journalist who uncovered the infamous Akademiya University scandal, I’ll have you know, in the flesh!”
He peered out one eye, having closed both in his sense of triumph, to observe a presumed shock or falter or some sort of reaction flit across Alhaitham’s emotionless features. He was disappointed.
“Is that so?” the model replied, tone as even as ever, forearms still crossed flat against the front of his suede jacket, “How surprising it is, then, for someone so distinguished to be reduced to investigating baseless romance rumors about some minor celebrity.”
“That’s—” Kaveh sputtered for a response in face of the unexpected blow to his ego. How had this veritable stranger pinpointed his weak points so instinctively? He scoffed, teeth clenched painfully for a moment, before making his brilliant move: simply diverting the topic. “A—anyway, I’ll be the one to decide whether they’re baseless or not!”
Alhaitham merely exhaled something between a sigh and a snort. “If you’re so certain, fine. I, for one, don’t care about other people’s business, so do what you want. Just don’t bother me.” He began to stalk off, leaving Kaveh standing there in a vaguely aggrieved limbo, glaring after that soft flutter of a dark coat and its owner who moved and thought with such annoyingly calculated grace.
The subject of his gaze stopped abruptly in an ostensible flash of remembrance—though perhaps that was intentionally planned, too.
“Oh, and… If you could refrain from staring so much, that’d be great. Not that I’m not used to it, but you’re disrupting my peace.”