Chapter Text
A long and tiresome day at the Akademiya had befallen its scribe. As hard working as Alhaitham likes to consider himself, it is unusual for his duties to be particularly straining. Most of his work is reading and writing—something that he can do in his sleep. However, long research applications kept the man working nonstop until it was time to clock-out.
Pain sparks in Alhaitham’s lower back as he opens the door to his house. He really should’ve stretched more while he was working, but when has he ever needed to do that before?
Alhaitham walks into the living room to the sight of his roommate sketching on a divan, brow furrowed with effort. It doesn’t take long for Kaveh to recognize his presence, lifting his eyes from his paper briefly before dropping his gaze again, “Hey, Haitham. How was work?”
The place is a mess. Papers litter the room all over the place, and Alhaitham feels the urge to ask why Kaveh didn’t choose to work in the study, where such disarray would be more appropriate, or better yet, in his own room, where the unnatural disaster would not affect him at all. However, he doesn’t bother. He doesn’t comment on the room, or the papers, or the dishes that are undoubtedly stacked up in the kitchen.
The scribe forces himself out of his thoughts. What did Kaveh just say? Just trying to remember makes him drown under a wave of exhaustion, leaving him unable to formulate a response. This isn’t new. Occasionally, on days like these, where the work is painful and the people annoying, Alhaitham doesn’t speak. No one-liners, no complaints, nothing at all. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—though, that’s up for debate. Rather, there’s a part of him that simply cannot summon the energy.
At first the blonde assumes that his earpieces were on, but when he moves to repeat his question, he notices Alhaitham’s rather ragged appearance.
Clothes in slight disarray, hair ruffled, and tired eyes—the scribe looks utterly defeated from the day. Kaveh knows what to do in a situation like this, knowledge gained from years of knowing his junior during stressful times.
He turns to a fresh piece of paper in his sketchbook as Alhaitham quietly takes off his cape and boots, thrown onto a divan at the opposite end of the room. The blonde writes his previously asked question in black ink, a messy scrawl on the top of the page. Most scholars would struggle to read his handwriting, but Alhaitham has years of experience with deciphering it.
The man in question finally makes his way over to Kaveh, sitting next to him on the divan with a heavy sigh. The sketchbook is passed to him with a pen on top of it. It doesn’t take long for the scribe to run his gaze over Kaveh’s message before writing a prompt response under it.
Exhausting.
Unlike Kaveh, Alhaitham’s handwriting is easier to understand. It is not perfect, nor would most people consider it beautiful, but it is simple and clear. His senior frowns at the utter lack of information given to him. He picks up the pen and writes: Do you want to talk about it?
Sliding it back to the scribe, Kaveh waits as Alhaitham considers the effort needed to convey the details about his day. The younger man ultimately decides against it, scribbling an “x” on the paper.
Kaveh doesn’t pry. He never does.
They continue to pass notes for a few minutes—which is mostly just Kaveh writing about his day. The architect writes about the clients he had to meet that day, and how almost all of them demanded new drafts of whatever important and fancy building was needing to be designed. He writes about the new kind of wine at Lambad’s that had been imported from Inazuma after the Sakoku Decree was abolished. Occasionally, Alhaitham would give clipped responses to show that he was reading along.
While it may appear that he could simply speak to Alhaitham normally, Kaveh does what he can to reduce the noise as much as possible, glancing to the side every so often just to see the scribe’s squared shoulders sag.
Many more minutes pass, and then suddenly warmth blooms on Kaveh’s skin—Alhaitham’s hand. It appears that he’s had enough of reading (for once). Alhaitham doesn’t speak, not yet. But he does interlock their fingers as a silent sign of appreciation. The blonde smiles at this, not taking offense to his junior interrupting him in the middle of a story.
As fatigue continues to settle within him, Alhaitham lets his head drop onto Kaveh, cheek resting on his shoulder. It is warm and comfortable, and Kaveh happily welcomes the touch. He gently rubs his thumb on the rough skin of Alhaitham’s knuckles until the latter clears his throat experimentally. Kaveh shifts his gaze to the man on his shoulder questioningly.
An exhausted voice finally breaks the silence, “I’m fine now. Thanks.”
With that, Kaveh sets his sketchbook down and lays back with Alhaitham still leaning against him. He plays with the other man’s fingers idly, hoping that the close proximity can bring some ounce of comfort. He speaks lowly, “Are you sure you’re alright? It’s not good to strain yourself.”
This earns the blonde an annoyed roll of the eyes. “You should be telling yourself that instead of me.”
“And here I was trying to be nice to you!” Kaveh pulls his hand away as he scoffs. His arms cross over his chest, but not even for a second does he consider moving Alhaitham away from him. The scribe doesn’t say anything, smiling for the first time that night (of course, because he said something annoying, as always). He opts instead to press a tender kiss against Kaveh’s jaw, the warmth of his lips lighting a fire in the senior’s chest. His heart skips.
Kaveh imprudently expects a romantic response after such a display of affection—expects him to say something caring but still authentically Alhaitham. What he gets leaves much to be desired.
“What’s for dinner? I’m hungry.”
Leave it to Alhaitham to be the most unromantic man on earth.
Despite this, Kaveh takes his hand once more and brushes his admittedly chapped lips over Alhaitham’s knuckles with an endeared smile on his face. He even proceeds to offer to make dinner for the two of them, an uncommon occurrence. And it’s worth it—it’s worth the effort and the time. He’s worth that and more.
After all, as long as Alhaitham is feeling better, Kaveh is happy.