Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If the letter hadn’t been late, it would have been fine.

If there hadn’t been an influx of reports concerning unusual cracks in the foundations of countryside homes keeping her too busy to send her letter three weeks earlier, he might have been able to write a response in time to see if she could find alternative arrangements. If the courier hadn’t run into trouble in the desert after following an unplanned detour, he might have had the time to find a short-term rental to claim as his own home. If the mail-person at the Akademiya hadn’t lost the correspondence underneath a desk in the Spantamad offices for three days, he might have had the chance to come up with any other plan that didn’t involve her stepping foot into the place he happened to be staying: Alhaitham’s house.

If the letter hadn’t been late—the one from his mother in Fontaine telling him that she was so very excited to stay with her son for a week starting tonight while she attended a conference at the Akademiya that was being held for the first time in a decade—he wouldn’t have to spend his next week pretending he and Alhaitham were anything more than what they are.

But now that the day was here, he had no choice. He realized that telling the truth was always a possibility; he could explain that he was down on his luck and staying with his reluctant roommate until he managed to get back on his feet. But he had spent years hiding his struggles from his mother, and he didn’t want to stop doing so now—if the alternative was worrying her with his troubles, he would rather pretend that he and Alhaitham were in love.

It couldn’t be that difficult to carry through with this little (or really, rather large) white lie, he thought, as he quickly stuffed a week’s worth of clothing into a dresser drawer in Alhaitham’s room. Their… friendship, if he could even call it that, was nowhere near as contentious as it had been in the years prior. Rather, it had reached a sort of turbid plateau, a tacit understanding of their differences and where they lie. They still disagreed on most things and bickered on most days, but surely a week’s truce could be held firmly enough to convince his mother that absolutely nothing suspicious was going on and everything was fine.

“I would have thought that the Light of the Kshahrewar, architect extraordinaire and mathematical genius, would be the first to know those would fit better if they were actually folded.”

Kaveh scoffs, pushing the drawer back in with a bit more force than necessary. “You could be helping, you know.”

He turns around to find Alhaitham leaning against the doorway of his room—their room, temporarily—arms crossed and lips pursed in a smug smile that was much too relaxed in comparison to the stress that surrounds Kaveh.

“You seem to be doing just fine without me,” Alhaitham responds. “You still have, what, forty minutes you’re supposed to meet her?”

“Thirty-five, actually.” Kaveh wrenches the drawer open again, pulling out a shirt that refuses to stay tucked inside. “And I still have to put a fresh set of sheets on my bed, figure out something we can make for dinner from whatever food we have left, and I wanted to clean out the dead flowers in the vase on the coffee table before she got here…”

“I sure hope she isn’t early, then. Or is your lack of punctuality hereditary?”

Kaveh glares. “As if you’re one to talk.” He folds the stray shirt against his chest, hoping it will be compact enough this way. “At the very least, could you check on the food? I’d like to know if we’ll have to rush out to the grocery—”

“Already handled it.” Alhaitham is infuriatingly calm while Kaveh tries to wrangle the shirt inside once again. “Delivery should be here any minute now.”

“Oh.” The pressure around Kaveh deflates, just a bit, just for a moment. The drawer finally closes smoothly. “When did you set that up?”

“I stopped by that one food stand on the way home from work,” Alhaitham replies. “I had a feeling this would happen.”

“Well, thanks anyways.” He ignores the implication, choosing instead to be grateful for having one less thing to take care of.

Kaveh approaches the door once his clothing is finally situated and tucked away. Alhaitham still blocks it with his body, seemingly unbothered by the other tasks on Kaveh’s to-do list. “Could I get through to the hallway, then?”

“Of course, dear.” Alhaitham steps aside, one hand held behind his back.

Kaveh rolls his eyes. His sarcastic flattery would do them no good. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer darling instead?”

“I’d prefer if you don’t blow this entire thing before it’s even begun.”

Before Alhaitham can retort, he’s interrupted by a hurried knock on the door. It’s quickly followed by a call of “Delivery!” and his heart rushes into his throat—if dinner was already here, he’s surely running out of time. Kaveh dashes into his own bedroom as Alhaitham makes his way to the foyer. As he hurriedly rips off the old bedding, he hears the muffled conversation, the exchange of mora, the rustling of the bag of food as Alhaitham walks whatever he ordered into the kitchen.

He checks the clock as he fluffs the last pillow—a quarter to seven—and he knows he can stall no longer. Bracing himself, he pats the duvet one last time before straightening his shoulders and heading towards the front door. He doesn’t bother letting Alhaitham know he was leaving, considering he didn’t need to be wrapped up in another unhelpful squabble as the minutes tick away.

The evening air is cool against his skin, still slightly sweaty from his last-minute panicked push. His mother had said in her letter that she would be waiting by the Akademiya doors by seven, barring any unexpected delays, so he spends what will likely be his last few minutes alone for the next week speed-walking up the spiraling slopes to ensure that she wouldn’t have to wait long.

Students file in and out of the doors as they head to evening classes or break away from studying to find dinner. He’d usually be among the crowd of scholars making their way to Lambad’s for a glass of wine and a hefty plate of tavern snacks. Next to Sitt, still standing off to the side even as visiting hours drew to a close, he sees another figure that looks his way as he rounds the last curve.

“Kaveh!”

“Mother—!” He hardly has a chance to squeak out a greeting before he’s wrapped into a hug that nearly knocks the wind out of his chest. She smells of sea salt and vanilla, despite the days of travel. Her appearance has hardly changed since the last time Kaveh saw her—the wedding, years ago—though when she lets him go, he does notice a few more lines around her eyes when she smiles.

“Come along this way,” he says, taking her bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “It’s not far.”

He directs her towards the way back, following just behind as she looks around in curious wonder; he can’t help but notice how her gaze catches on a different path, a way that used to be familiar to the both of them. They go the other way, turning sharply left and beginning to descend.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” she says, taking in the city she once called home.

“Mhmm,” Kaveh replies, too distracted to carry on the conversation. They approach Alhaitham’s house more quickly than he’s prepared for. “Just there, on the left.”

“This old place?” She looks back, surprised. “Wasn’t this a research center?”

“Used to be, yeah.” He catches up with her now as they near the front porch. “It was converted into a home after—hmm.” He clears his throat. “Well, it wasn’t needed anymore.”

He chooses not to mention the reason why. He supposes that it was advantageous that he never told his mother about their ill-fated research project, considering now he won’t have to explain exactly how they would have gone from a nasty falling out to falling in alleged love.

“Your commute is certainly short.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” Though a bit inconvenient tonight—he was running out of time to at least mention that he didn’t live here alone. He flashes a smile as he leans forward to open the door. “And there’s more than enough space for the two of us.”

His mother nods, slowly, as the implication of Kaveh’s words set in. She doesn’t have the chance to ask for details before the door gives way and Kaveh steps over the threshold, guiding her inside.

“Welcome home.” Alhaitham stands in the foyer, arms uncrossing to help Kaveh bring his mother’s bag onto the floor.

She looks to her son, then back at Alhaitham, then back to Kaveh again, brows knit in confusion.

“I, er… I suppose I should explain. Mother, this is my—” He pauses, hiding the way he falters behind an awkward cough.

“Alhaitham.” He leans forward, holding out a hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“You as well,” she responds. Kaveh can’t help but notice how she narrows her eyes to study him. She tilts her head in confusion, almost as if she recognizes him.

Undeterred, Alhaitham leads her into the living room, gesturing towards one of the divans. “Would you like to take a seat? You’ve traveled very far.”

Kaveh shoots him a pointed look from over her shoulder as she takes him up on the offer, both unnerved by and appreciative of his politeness. Alhaitham raises his eyebrows in response before taking a seat across from her.

Kaveh stays standing in the entryway, considering his options. Conversation might be easier if he were to sit across from his mother as well, but that would require sitting next to Alhaitham. There was the third divan, technically, but then he’d have to squeeze past one of the others to get to it, which might unintentionally highlight how awkward he finds the situation. Perhaps irrationally, he’s about to wonder if the table would be a viable choice when Alhaitham makes a decision for him by patting the cushion next to him.

Reluctantly, Kaveh follows.

He leaves an appropriate distance between them, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to keep his foot from shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alhaitham lift his arm. It hovers for a moment as if in contemplation and Kaveh wonders where exactly he plans on putting it—before Alhaitham brings it to rest on the cushion between them.

Kaveh stares at the hand as if it had slapped him.

He places his own in his lap, clasped together tightly enough that his knuckles turn white. Surely Alhaitham didn’t expect him to… no, definitely not.

Alhaitham is the one to break the silence, now that everyone is settled. “So what brings you back to Sumeru?” he asks with a convincing curiosity. “Kaveh mentioned a conference.”

“Oh! Yes. The new Kshahrewar sage has opted to host the Kavikavus Summit for the first time in forever, and he invited some of us alumni to come back and speak at it. I couldn’t refuse.”

Alhaitham turns his way. “And they didn’t invite you, Kaveh?”

“Hmm? They did.” Kaveh frowns, confused by the question. “I’m leading a panel in the afternoon.”

“Oh?” Alhaitham tilts his head in faint surprise. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I must have forgotten to mention it.” He directs his attention back to his mother. “I didn’t realize you were this surprise special guest they were going on about, though.”

“It wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if you had known about it,” Alhaitham mutters, hardly hiding the mirth from his voice.

Kaveh huffs in indignation, turning to squint at Alhaitham. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alhaitham crosses his arms, leaning back into the cushions. “You do tend to share most of your secrets with the evening crowd at Lambad’s once you’ve had enough wine.”

“Hmph.” Kaveh bristles at the truth. “Why would they keep it a secret, anyways? Wouldn’t it be more advantageous to advertise it to prospective attendees?”

“Ask your darshan about that one, not me.”

“I met with Sage Nasir just last week! He could have mentioned my own mother was coming to speak.”

Perhaps for the best, his mother seems to have lost herself in thought. She smiles softly at Kaveh before speaking again. “The Akademiya is as inscrutable as ever, I see,” Faranak says. “Enough about that, though. Tell me, how did you two meet?”

Kaveh turns his head slightly to find Alhaitham doing the same.

“The library,” Alhaitham says at the same time Kaveh does.

“He was a new Haravatat student,” Kaveh continues. “Always off reading on his own.”

“Heh. You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“I was curious!” His voice raises defensively. “And you pestered me just as often.”

Alhaitham grins. “You were so smart, Senior. I knew it from the first time I read one of your annotations in those library books.” He laughs softly to himself. “It didn’t take long to realize that whoever was defacing the pages of the texts I was trying to read was someone quite remarkable. How could I not want to get to know you better?”

Kaveh narrows his eyes, feeling a warm blush spread over his cheeks. “Anyways, we studied together often and eventually worked on a research project. Ancient runes and structures related to Deshret. You know how those things go, right?” Kaveh looks toward his mother for reassurance. “Lots of long days and late nights.”

“I remember,” she says wistfully.

“I guess, uh, one thing led to another and once that…” He considers carefully how to step around the matter of their falling out after the disastrous end of their research partnership. “...wrapped up, we—”

Alhaitham interrupts him. “That’s when I asked him to move in.”

“Mhmm. And now we’re—” Kaveh hesitates, forcing a smile. “Now we’re here!”

Alhaitham nods solemnly. “Lovers.”

Kaveh nearly chokes on his next breath.

“Are you hungry?” Kaveh asks his mother, continuing without waiting for a response. “I’m going to grab dinner from the kitchen. Alhaitham, could you give me a hand?”

Before he can answer, Kaveh stands abruptly, pulling Alhaitham by the upper arm to drag him along as well. Alhaitham allows it.

Kaveh spins on his heel once they make it into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Selling your story.” Alhaitham turns his back to him to unwrap the parcel of food, filling the room with the floral scent of spiced fish rolls and Ajilenakh nuts. “What should I be doing?”

“Lovers? Really?”

“We are in love, aren’t we?”

“Technically.” Kaveh sighs, frowning. He’s spent the last few days attempting to acclimate his brain to the thought, but hearing it stated so matter-of-factly, as if the idea of it all—of them, together, in love—as if it could all be summed up so simply… it made no sense. With a bit more clattering than intended, he gathers enough tableware to cover the three of them. “Can we just try to make it through the evening without any more questions?”

“As you wish.”

He’s grateful once they begin eating, since he’s given a reason to keep his mouth occupied in a way that doesn’t keep him toeing around the delicate minefield of another conversation. Between bites his mother tells him about the Fontainian dishes she thinks he’d love most, rich buttery breads and savory soups made with cream; he nods and smiles as she does, dodging any other inquiries with another mouthful of fish.

Once the plates have been emptied, Alhaitham offers to take them to the sink, leaving Kaveh alone with his mother. She looks at him from across the center table and yawns.

“Tired?” he asks, knowing the answer.

She lets out a long breath, her shoulders slumping. “Exhausted.”

“Come along, then. Let’s get you to bed.” Grabbing her bag from the foyer, he guides her down the hall to the room he would usually call his own. “You’ll be sleeping here, in my—in the guest room.”

He looks around the room as she does, checking for any last-minute signs of his presence he might have missed. Thankfully, he doesn’t find anything obvious—the bed is made as neatly as if it hadn’t been touched in months; the closet is shut without any stray sleeves poking through the doors; all of the cluttered accessories that usually sit on top the dresser are tucked away in drawers here or in Alhaitham’s room. He does hope she doesn’t notice the random sock sticking out from underneath the bedside table and makes a note to find a chance to grab it later, since he’d only end up bringing more attention to it if he tried to now.

“Well, make yourself comfortable.” Kaveh sets her belongings down next to his dresser. He hopes she intends to live out of it for the week, instead of needing to unpack, though he has already developed an explanation for the quantity of his own clothes in this room if necessary. It was a research center by design, after all, and not built for habitation—a lack of closet space in the primary bedroom would hardly be a surprise, even after renovations.

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem concerned about exploring the room at the moment. Instead, she slumps onto the bed, running her hand over the linens.

“I will,” she says. She opens her mouth again as if to say something else, but closes it again after a moment of thought.

“What, Mother?”

“I’m just surprised. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

There’s a lot you don’t know, Kaveh muses. There was only so much he could fit in a letter, and the truth was the last thing he’d tell; he’d much rather spend his limited pages of parchment with better news than his less-than-ideal living arrangements.

His mother seems to interpret his silence as some sort of wistful reminiscence. “I’m happy for you, Kaveh,” she continues. “I’m glad you’ve found love.”

He tries not to wince at the word.

“The bathroom’s to the left, okay?” Kaveh says, hoping to avoid any further discussion of Alhaitham, at least for the night. “I’ll be just across the hall if you need me.”

“Thank you, son.”

Leaving her to settle in, he shuts the door behind himself softly, before padding across the hall to Alhaitham’s room.

— — —

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Alhaitham would not have his room to himself tonight, he would have already been asleep. But it didn’t matter how tired he was, or how much he needed a good night’s rest to continue the charade tomorrow; he would surely be awoken by Kaveh rustling through his bedtime routine—as well as his impending realization of the necessary sleeping arrangements.

He knew Kaveh would be sharing his room as a part of this plan; he had not considered that that included Kaveh sharing his bed. A foolish oversight, perhaps, but one he had to live with now, since it was too late to come up with any alternatives without alerting their guest. It didn’t need to mean anything, anyways—he had shared tents with plenty of other acquaintances on research trips to the desert or rainforest, and slept on adjacent bedrolls in close proximity to those people in perfect professionality. The fact that it was now Kaveh, in his own bed, in his own home was frankly irrelevant.

He wasn’t sure how long Kaveh would take to set his mother up in his room now. She was surely tired after a day of travel, and Kaveh was likely tired too after the mad dash of his afternoon. He could only hope that meant that it wouldn’t be much longer so he could stop waiting for him to interrupt him and actually get some sleep.

In the meantime, he supposes he could wind down with a book after this rather unconventional day. There were plenty stashed around the room, piled on his nightstand and stacked on his dresser. He finds one about the peculiar runes found in an area of Inazuma that he started a few months ago; it should be interesting enough to keep him occupied.

And with obnoxiously perfect timing, he’s only just opened the text when he hears the door to his bedroom open—well, their bedroom, temporarily. (He supposes he should get used to saying that, even if only in his head.)

Kaveh stands in the doorway, perfectly still, lost somewhere in thought. He opens his mouth for a moment, still thinking, before pursing his lips. He nods once, sharply.

“...I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh yeah?” Alhaitham peers at him over the top of his book. “And what will your mother think about the state of our relationship when she gets up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and finds you alone out there?”

Kaveh pauses to think, one hand resting under his chin. Shortly after, he gasps and holds up one finger in revelation. “Maybe you were snoring and I needed some peace and quiet.”

Alhaitham frowns. “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what she’ll think when she passes by my completely silent room.”

“Maybe you stopped by that point.” Kaveh finally moves away from the door to pace to the other side of the room. “Why are you so intent on me sleeping in your bed, anyways? Did you already forget we’re not actually together?”

Closing his book and setting it to the side, Alhaitham crosses his arms. “You’re insufferable when you don’t sleep well.”

Kaveh huffs, either in offense or dull amusement. “And you think I’ll sleep well enough next to you?”

“Better than you would on the couch.”

“I’ve napped on those things plenty of times.”

“Usually after enough glasses of wine to convince you that they’re comfortable.”

Alhaitham watches as Kaveh rubs his neck, as if to remember the stitch left in it the last time he slept on one. “Fine,” Kaveh concedes. “I will not be sharing a blanket with you, though.”

“I wouldn’t want to do that anyway.”

“Hmph.” Kaveh stares ahead as Alhaitham does. He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them.

Alhaitham sighs. “How much longer are you going to just stand there? I’d like to turn out the light.”

“I’ll get it.” Kaveh finally moves from his spot by the door to dig through his relocated belongings, finding a clean pair of pajamas and tucking them under his arm. “I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

He’s gone before Alhaitham can say anything else. He shuts out the light now that he’s been left alone, trusting that Kaveh can find his way to his side of the bed without it. He settles under his own covers, turning onto his side—away from the door where Kaveh will return and away from the empty side of the bed where he’ll sleep.

Now that he’s finally able to, Alhaitham can’t fall asleep. Even as he tries to clear it of excess noise, too many thoughts run through his mind. It’s not entirely surprising that such a change in his routine would affect him like this, but he still finds it frustrating.

After staring at the wall for an unknown amount of time, he hears the door creak open, followed by careful footsteps. The bed dips down a few moments later as Kaveh sits down with a sigh. He doesn’t have to turn around to know when Kaveh finally lies down, pulling his own blanket tightly around him.

Holding still, Alhaitham keeps his breathing steady, even as he realizes exactly how close they’ll be for the next unconscious hours. He can feel every fidget as Kaveh settles in centimeters away from his back, the way the air shifts as his own breathing begins to slow.

Kaveh’s whisper is loud in the quiet of the room. “Well… thank you.”

He lets Kaveh believe that he’s already asleep.

Chapter Text

Kaveh was gone when he woke up.

More accurately, Kaveh was gone from the bed when he woke up. For the first time in hours, Alhaitham is able to stretch, really stretch—spread out his arms and legs without the risk of elbowing Kaveh in the face or brushing against any areas too soft and sensitive. He can savor the coolness of the linen sheets and really soak in the emptiness of his bed as he rolls onto his stomach hoping to doze off again, at least for a few more minutes. Just a little while longer, until he has to face the false reality of his next few days.

…Except he can’t do any of those things, because Kaveh is not gone. Kaveh was not in the bed but he is in the room, hunched over the dresser as he digs through it for his clothing—wearing only a towel slung low around his hips.

Alhaitham sits up abruptly. The sight of Kaveh’s bare back still glistening with dampness from the shower has apparently shocked him enough that it doesn’t occur to him that he should probably turn around and allow Kaveh the privacy he was probably expecting.

He blinks once. Twice.

It’s by the third blink that he realizes that he’s no longer staring at the two dimples that sit right above his tailbone but instead Kaveh’s chest, still flushed from the heat of the shower. It matches the pink spreading across his cheekbones, bright and patchy and likely caused by more than just lingering steam.

Kaveh snaps his gaping mouth shut. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

Alhaitham clears his throat. “It’s morning.” His voice is still croaky; he’s not used to needing it until after he’s had the first few sips of his morning coffee.

“And you usually don’t come out of your room for…” Kaveh frowns, checking the clock. “...at least another hour.”

“Well, I don’t usually have to share that room with another person, but here we are.”

Kaveh clutches a shirt to his chest, but the motion only brings Alhaitham’s attention to what the wrinkled clump of linen doesn’t cover. The lines beneath his stomach, for one, that point beneath the towel that’s tied with a tucked knot that’s really not secure enough for the situation. Kaveh seems to realize this at the same time Alhaitham does, nearly dropping his clean clothes as he grasps at the edge of the only thing keeping him from finding himself fully exposed in front of an unexpecting audience.

Alhaitham feels his own cheeks burning at the thought. He looks away, suddenly focused on straightening an errant fold in the hem of the sheet. He only glances back up once Kaveh has stilled for more than a few moments. “You could have changed in the bathroom.”

“I… forgot to bring anything with me.” Kaveh sighs. “It’s early, okay? And I’m not used to… this.” He laughs quietly to himself before continuing. “I almost went back to my own room before I remembered my mother was in there.”

Alhaitham huffs in shared amusement. It’s an odd sort of camaraderie—a mutual disorientation that reminds him that even if they are not together in a traditional sense, they are certainly in this together. It should be enough to fool Kaveh’s mother, considering in his half-awake state it might be almost enough to fool him—

At least until Kaveh speaks again.

“Could you stop staring?”

“Hmm? I’m not staring.” And he wasn’t, not really, because staring would imply that his attention was fixed on something in particular, when in fact it was flittering around somewhere between Kaveh’s collarbone—the sight of which wasn’t necessarily new to him, but was somehow inexplicably captivating now that it was missing the usual context of a collar—and the subtle ridges and planes of toned muscle making up his abdomen, which he had always suspected were there beneath his clothing but had never had the opportunity to examine for himself. As well as the occasional detour to notice the rivulets of water escaping his hair and streaming over a surprising amount of freckles on his chest. He couldn’t be staring if he was actually distracted wondering about what remained hidden: his hips, his thighs, his—

“Well, you’re certainly still looking.”

To that point, Alhaitham had to concede.

It isn’t any easier to stop looking when Kaveh turns around, leaving Alhaitham with only—only—the sight of his back as he strains to pull his shirt over his head without dropping his towel. He watches helplessly as the tendons of his back stretch as he pulls the sleeves over his arms before relaxing as he straightens his shoulders, leaving him with only the usual (albeit generous) sliver of skin exposed by the deep plunge of the back collar of his shirt.

Alhaitham shakes his head, forcing his wandering gaze and the imagination it was feeding back somewhere much more manageable. If he stalls much longer he’ll have to contend with the awkward dance of competing for the bathroom with Kaveh’s mother, who was still asleep as far as he could tell from the lack of other sounds in the hallway but might not be soon enough. While he was confident enough in his ability to remain polite and courteous, his unconventional wakeup call did not leave him prepared enough for that.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stands abruptly, adjusting the waistband of his pants as he does. He doesn’t pay attention to what clothes he grabs from a dresser drawer; it will have to do, at least for the rest of the morning. A mismatched outfit would be the least of his worries, all things considered.

The shower helps, as well as finally being alone for a moment; the cold water shocks his system enough to wake him up fully and break him out of the strange trance he had ended up in. Kaveh was the same person he’d always known—Alhaitham shouldn’t find him any more distracting than usual now that he’d be pretending he was someone different to him for the time being. There was no reason to act so irrationally, not when he didn’t need to treat him all that much differently than he normally would. Well, barring a few extra endearments and embellishments here and there, but otherwise, Kaveh was just Kaveh.

And after a few more minutes, he feels normal enough to be able to believe it.

— — —

Kaveh finishes dressing quickly, intending to be gone before Alhaitham returns. He walks past the bathroom, where the shower is still running, and then passes his own room. The door is cracked open, suggesting his mother is awake, so he heads towards the rest of the house with the intention of finding her—and perhaps a cup of coffee.

He doesn’t actually need the caffeine, not after his toweled run-in with Alhaitham this morning. He had to admit it was fitting, after the way he had woken up; even though he had fallen asleep facing the wall and as close to the edge of the bed as possible, he somehow ended up facing the other direction…with one leg bent on top of Alhaitham’s. He had pulled away sharply before realizing the sudden movement would probably wake him up, though thankfully Alhaitham’s eyes stayed closed as he rolled over onto his back. Yes, Kaveh was plenty awake after that, with the following encounter only raising his heart rate further, but the normalcy of the routine—a warm drink to start the day—would be welcome.

Kaveh finds his mother in the kitchen, hunched over the newspaper. She pores over the page, muttering to herself as she follows a line of text with her finger. Her focus is interrupted by the sound of the chair against the floor as Kaveh pulls it back to take a seat next to her.

“Good morning,” Kaveh says through a yawn. “What’s this?”

She looks up with a soft smile, tapping her pencil on the table. “The Steambird. I missed Sunday’s crossword. I meant to do it on the journey, but I couldn’t bear to look at all these boxes while we were moving on the boat.”

“Mmm.” Kaveh nods. “I can see how that would be… disagreeable.” He had only made the journey to Fontaine once years ago, and he remembered spending much of the trip there disappointedly horizontal in his room, despite his desire to see more of Sumeru’s scenery from the new perspective offered by sailing on a ship. The weather was more favorable on the way back and the seas a fair bit kinder, but even still he couldn’t imagine being in any sort of state to read the tiny letters of a puzzle like this one.

“I’m stuck on this clue, though. Creates an account. Your stepfather usually helps me with the tricky ones, but…” She trails off. “Maybe you can help. Four letters.”

“Bank? No, that can’t be right. Shouldn’t it end in an S?”

“That was my first thought too.”

“Do you have anything else near it?”

“No, I don’t—”

“Lies.”

Kaveh turns around to find Alhaitham standing in the door, hair still damp from his shower. He takes a moment to push it out of his eyes, threading his fingers through his bangs and brushing them away from his forehead. The wetness only holds them there temporarily before a strand falls back over his face. His clothing suggests a rushed morning as well—his shirt is half tucked in his pants, but not in any sort of purposeful way.

Behind him, his mother’s pencil scratches urgently as she mutters to herself.

“Lies… yes, that’s it!” she says excitedly. “Thank you—”

“Alhaitham.” Kaveh finishes her thought as he greets him. He supposes he should sound more enthusiastic, so he follows with a toothy smile after a delay he hopes no one notices.

“Morning.” Alhaitham walks into the kitchen without any trace of the awkwardness Kaveh still feels. Instead, he carries an air of nonchalance that doesn’t betray the fact that he spent his first waking minutes… ogling at him. At his bare chest, specifically, while he hung onto his towel for dear life after a regrettable series of oversights and miscalculations. He doesn’t spare Kaveh a second glance at all, now, striding past the two of them towards the counter.

“Coffee?” Alhaitham asks no one in particular, his attention directed on choosing a bag of beans.

“Yes, please,” his mother answers.

Alhaitham continues to rummage through the options, partially opening a half empty package to sniff its contents before resealing it and deciding upon another—a bag they had bought last week and enjoyed to such an extent that they were already nearly finished with it. Whether Alhaitham is taking such care in this decision for his own sake or his mother’s, Kaveh isn’t sure.

“Cream or sugar?” Alhaitham still hasn’t spoken a complete sentence, focusing more on rearranging the items on the counter than carrying any sort of extended conversation.

“Just a dash of cream is fine,” his mother replies.

Alhaitham nods in understanding, beginning to grind the beans and cutting off any further conversation with the sound of the process. His lack of questions for Kaveh too confirms his suspicion that he’d be responsible for taking care of his own caffeination after Alhaitham finished.

No matter; he expected as little. Kaveh stares at Alhaitham’s back as he wonders exactly how best to ask his mother to excuse his roommate—ahem, lover’s—tendency to be somewhat tactless in the morning, especially before he has the coffee he is now so carefully crafting. He had grown used to it himself over the years, and learned not to take it too personally, but he didn’t want her to misinterpret his shortness for rudeness.

However, when he turns his attention back to the table, he finds her completely unbothered as she continues her crossword. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to be suffering from the loss of words he finds himself fraught with; instead, she scribbles in another answer while he sits silently.

Once the grinding is done and Alhaitham moves on to the less noisy steps of his meticulous brewing process, Kaveh finds himself able to hear his mother talking to herself as she thinks aloud.

“Yesterday, I __ a clock. It was very time consuming,” she reads slowly. “Three letters.”

“Ate,” Alhaitham says over his shoulder. Kaveh nods in agreement.

“Hmm, I’ll try it.” She jots it down cautiously before filling in another set of words quickly. “Yes… looks like it works!”

“Cyno prepared us for that one,” Kaveh sighs.

Her next clue is cut off by the arrival of her coffee.

“Here you are.” Alhaitham carries the mug with two hands, setting it carefully out of the way of her newspaper. He turns back to the counter, presumably to grab his own cup, but Kaveh is surprised when he returns with two.

“And yours.” With an air of formality, he places Kaveh’s cup in front of him.

“Oh.” It’s black, as he usually drinks it, though he can’t be certain if Alhaitham allowed the grounds to bloom for the proper length of time without tasting it. It wasn’t that Alhaitham didn’t know how to make an excellent cup of coffee; he just preferred a taste more bitter than Kaveh did, and tended to let it sit longer than he’d like to achieve that. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did.” Alhaitham smiles somewhat smugly. “Enjoy, dear.”

Ignoring the pet name, Kaveh gives the coffee another cautious glance. He would try to enjoy it, bitterness and all. It would be a shame to let the beans go to waste, and surely their quality would still shine through. Actually, now that he thought about it—he could still add an extra finishing touch for one more familiar flavor.

He pushes away from the table to make his way towards the spice cabinet, but Alhaitham cuts him off before Kaveh makes it out of his seat.

“I already added your dash of nutmeg.”

Kaveh covers up the surprise on his face by bringing the still-steaming coffee to his nose, catching a whiff of the characteristic scent. He blows on it softly, cooling it just enough to take a sip.

As he drinks his admittedly not-actually-that-bitter coffee, he wonders when exactly Alhaitham noticed Kaveh’s new habit of adding nutmeg, particularly to this batch of beans. He wouldn’t have that much of a chance to, considering their mornings weren’t usually like this—Kaveh often woke up first and was already at his desk or even out of the house by the time Alhaitham rolled out of bed to carry out his routine at his typical leisurely pace. And on those few days they did cross paths, he tended to be nose deep in some new text he had found. Little else could entice him to wake up earlier than whenever gave him the exact number of minutes he needed to prepare himself to be precisely on time for whatever meeting required his attendance.

He’s drawn out of his thinking by his mother’s voice. “Nutmeg?” she asks, looking at him curiously.

“Yes, I’ve found even just a small dash of it greatly enhances the nutty undertones of this blend.” He was quite proud of his discovery. “It brings out the flavors that make this coffee so unique, but it’s subtle enough that it doesn’t compromise the overall flavor profile.”

“Hmm.” She nods slowly, taking a careful sip of her own cup. “I suppose to me, coffee is coffee.”

“Oh, Mother, please.” He leans forward in excitement, nearly knocking over his own coffee. “There’s a vendor at the bazaar that sells the most extensive and exquisite arrangement of flavors. They have samples and everything. We’ll have to find a time to take you there.”

“They should be open today,” Alhaitham chimes in, unusually helpfully. “But probably not until after lunch.”

“I’m meant to meet with the Sage this afternoon,” she says, shaking her head. “We have to go over some preparations for my talk.”

Kaveh deflates slightly; of course, this is primarily a business trip, not one reserved for spending time with her son. “Later in the week, perhaps?”

“Sure, we can try.” She smiles wistfully, swirling her coffee in its cup before taking another sip. “Your father was always the one concerned about these sorts of things.”

He looks up from his own drink, caught off guard by the mention. He can’t recall the last time his mother brought up his father unprompted, and he isn’t sure how to proceed—he can’t tell if her statement is an invitation to continue or an attempt at a conclusion.

But before he can respond either way, she picks up her pencil again. Her eyes are slightly glassy as she looks for the next clue to solve. She’s nearly finished, he can tell even from here, almost every square filled in with the neatly slanted letters of her handwriting.

More surprisingly, he’s also nearly finished with his coffee, the first of the three of them. He does also have to get ready for his own work day—he was meant to meet with a client on site for a review that he wasn’t able to delay just because of this unexpected trip—so he takes his cup to the sink, rinsing out the dregs at the bottom before reaching for the dish soap. If anything is said behind him, it’s quiet enough that he can’t hear over the sound of the water running. Most likely, he assumes that he’s left Alhaitham and his mother to ruminate in potentially awkward silence while he washes his mug.

He’s not surprised when he feels Alhaitham step behind him, hand reaching past to slip his mug into the sink in a subtle suggestion that Kaveh wash his dish along with his own. He usually relegated this particular chore to Kaveh, preferring to contribute to their house’s cleanliness by dusting the same bookshelves repeatedly. Kaveh reaches for it, preparing to fill it with water to soak while he finishes scrubbing his own.

He is surprised when he feels that hand then rest on his shoulder for one fleeting moment before Alhaitham’s lips brush against his cheek, gently but briefly. So briefly that by the time Kaveh realizes what has happened, Alhaitham is already on his way out of the room.

His mug clatters loudly against the bottom of the sink after slipping from his grip. Without thinking he raises his hand to the spot Alhaitham kissed—if he could even call it that, considering he isn’t quite sure if he actually made contact—leaving behind a sudsy trail in its wake. His face is warm, but he can’t be blushing—flushed, maybe, from the hot water pouring from the faucet or the residual stress of the morning.

Or annoyance at Alhaitham for having the audacity to attempt to maybe, sort-of… kiss him. On the cheek. Briefly. And with such an unfair amount of ease, so naturally that it would suggest he did this often. Which was technically the point, but still, he didn’t have to flaunt just how calm he was about all this.

He didn’t have to do it at all, as if his mother might still not be convinced of the lie they were living otherwise. They were doing fine enough with words alone, without all these other pieces that would only make it all so much more… complicated.

And besides, whatever message Alhaitham was hoping to send with that stunt has gone unreceived. His mother hasn’t looked up from her newspaper, paying no attention to their antics, meaning there was absolutely no point in kissing him. Unless his only goal was to catch Kaveh so off guard that he can’t even wash a cup without shaking.

(It did have to count, he conceded to himself, and that only made Kaveh more frustrated.)

Later, he thought. He’d deal with it later, because his mother would be getting ready to leave soon. It wouldn’t do to be so flustered as to not be able to give her adequate instructions on where to find Sage Nasir’s office at the Akademiya. And he needed to leave as well, anyways, to go function as the skilled and professional architect he was, that wouldn’t let a fake kiss from his fake lover distract him from the very real job he had to do.

— — —

Later came more quickly than Kaveh was prepared for.

Later came after a long day of site work in which he unintentionally snapped at his client when they interrupted him from the confrontation he was preparing in his head even though he couldn’t explain to himself what his own point was. He referred to them by Alhaitham’s name once accidentally, almost twice before he caught himself, causing them to stare at him with a questioning and concerned expression while he tried to brush off his blunder. He mostly recovered in the end after taking a few minutes to pace in a half-built bedroom, but he couldn’t be sure that they left the site with the same amount of confidence they might have usually held in his professionalism.

Later came after another dinner with his mother in which he jumped slightly each time Alhaitham stood up to reach for a condiment or take a sip of his wine. She wanted to talk more about the projects he was working on now that the Palace of Alcazarzaray was completed, since it had been the last one he had written to her about. (It was unfortunate that they wouldn’t have the chance to make the trip out of the city to walk around the grounds or take a tour inside, or to see the bridge in Port Ormos either—another time, perhaps, if she was able to make it back.) Despite his best efforts and intentions, he ended up spending less time engaging in conversation and more in bracing himself for any other unexpected displays of affection.

Later came after a much-needed shower, at night this time, in which he did remember to bring a fresh change of clothes in order to avoid another situation like the morning’s. He had more time this way, time to think as the water soothed his tense shoulders while he argued with his bar of soap about coffee and kisses and the most effective ways to lie that didn’t leave him with so much extra lingering stress. Unfortunately, he left the steam of the bathroom more heated than relaxed—he still didn’t have a plan and was no less prepared after his attempt at a rehearsal, but he also had no more time.

Later was here, now, too soon… and Alhaitham was asleep.

His shower must have taken longer than he thought—long enough for Alhaitham to finish his nightly routine, roll onto his side, and doze off. He faces away from where Kaveh now slides under his blanket, which had been folded neatly and left for him on his half of the bed. Still he could hear his deep and steady breathing, uninterrupted as he laid down and mirrored Alhaitham’s position.

And even if he didn’t know what to say, he knew he couldn’t say it now. He couldn’t tell a sleeping Alhaitham that while he was touched that he had noticed how he took his coffee, he didn’t have to make an elaborate performance over treating him with excessive amounts of kindness when their usual routines would suffice. He couldn’t tell a sleeping Alhaitham that he didn’t need to take the act so far as to kiss him, not when they could tell a story with only pretty words and fake smiles. He couldn’t tell a sleeping Alhaitham that if they didn’t establish some sort of rule he’d drive himself mad wondering what he might do next for the sake of the charade, or that he was already thinking through the next few days to anticipate which moment Alhaitham would see as an opportune time to throw him off with another endearment or compliment or—archons forbid—another kiss.

(He couldn’t tell himself exactly why it all mattered so much, only that it did.)

He was too late for later, so he’d have to wait until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham didn’t think it would work a third time.

He could only pretend to be asleep so many times before Kaveh figured it out. Alhaitham was thankful that he tended to remain calm in stressful situations—it was convenient that this allowed him to keep his breathing convincingly steady. But Kaveh was perceptive, and also determined enough that he might eventually attempt to wake Alhaitham up with such insistence that he wouldn’t be able to pretend to sleep through it. Though surprisingly, this had not occurred yet.

He had expected that to happen the first night—the first time he faked being asleep. He thought that after the initial storm of his mother’s arrival they would have to debrief and discuss what went well and what didn’t, and it wouldn’t matter that Alhaitham was too tired to hold such a conversation and in desperate need of sleep. He hadn’t expected Kaveh to instead quietly state his gratitude specifically when he thought Alhaitham couldn’t hear it.

It was perhaps unfortunate that he wasn’t pretending the following morning, when he was awake to catch Kaveh unaware and fresh out of the shower. It wasn’t his intention to do so—Kaveh had simply woken up before him and forgotten his clothes, leading to their rather… unfortunate misunderstanding. (Along with a view that his semiconscious mind found quite compelling.) And then likely in an effort to prevent it from happening again, Kaveh decided to shower and change separately that night.

(That evening shower was what had led to the second time. He had passed the bathroom while Kaveh was taking it, and even though he was used to hearing one-sided conversations through the door—Kaveh was always one to speak out loud to himself, and he even claimed he had designed most of the distinctive features of the Palace of Alcazarzaray while talking to the tile—this discussion seemed particularly incensed. Alhaitham did not think it was an unreasonable logical leap to surmise that it had something to do with him, and that if he was awake when Kaveh returned from the shower, he would probably end up being kept awake much later than he’d like to be.)

And he needed the sleep, again, because he couldn’t afford to be tired. Not when it led to him making potentially unadvisable impromptu decisions like saying goodbye to Kaveh with a kiss on the cheek. Technically speaking, it was a rather ordinary gesture for two people of their alleged standing, and he didn’t exactly feel any regret over having done it. But he did continue to see side effects of the decision throughout the rest of the day, and it made him question his choices after all.

And not side effects in Kaveh. He didn’t actually get to see Kaveh’s reaction to it, having left so quickly afterwards. Which was perhaps the problem—it meant that during those dull and pointless hours between two unavoidable meanings requiring the Scribe’s presence, he found his mind wandering and wondering exactly how red Kaveh’s cheeks might have gotten in the aftermath. Or how exactly he might have tried to play it off, if Alhaitham hadn’t had to rush out the door. Or if the rest of his skin was as soft as his cheek had felt against his lips. His curiosity certainly went in strange directions when he was tired.

Though at least in all of this, he was well fed. When he finally made it home after a monotonous day of work, he had been greeted by the sweet scent of padisarahs and harra spice. They sat around the table in the living room again, much like the first night, this time with tandoori roast chicken Kaveh had grabbed on his way home from his site. Faranak had stories to tell about her visit to the old Kshahrewar offices, of unexpected reunions between former colleagues with reminiscences of school days long gone peppered in. Kaveh also had stories to tell about his current project and he told them quite animatedly, apparently excited to have the chance to gesticulate while explaining his ideas instead of having to narrow them down into sentences and drawings on a page.

Alhaitham did not need to read between the lines to see how glad Kaveh was to have this time with his mother, considering how much he thrived when given the chance to collaborate with his peers. It was not a lie that this was what had first drawn him to Kaveh in the first place. (As a potential research partner, before they knew the depth of their disagreements.) His passion was remarkable, and he effortlessly commanded the attention of a room when he was in his element. And the fact that his peer tonight was his mother, the woman who had inspired him to pursue architecture in the first place—he shone more brightly than Alhaitham had seen in a long time.

But still, something was odd. He noticed the way Kaveh startled every time Alhaitham stood up to take away a plate or refill someone’s side serving of rice, and then struggled for a moment to find his place in the conversation again. He also noticed the way Kaveh couldn’t go three sentences without looking his way with an inexplicable alertness in his expression, and not in an effort to include him in the discussion—Alhaitham did not feel the need to partake, and Kaveh did not give him the opportunity if he had anything to chime in with—but rather as if to ensure he knew where he was at all times. Kaveh was easily distracted and on some sort of lookout; he could only assume Kaveh was waiting for something, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

All of which led to the third time, his current false slumber on the morning of the third day. He had heard Kaveh awaken with a yawn, and felt the mattress shift when he stood. He does not need to open his eyes to sense his hesitation, standing in the doorway in the lounge pants and soft cotton shirt he slept in—as if to see if Alhaitham would follow.

Alhaitham doesn’t.

He stays instead, only sitting upright when he hears the bedroom door close with a quiet click. It was better this way: Kaveh could have breakfast alone with his mother and without any need to act while he “slept in,” and Alhaitham could start his own day in peace after they had left. (Even though a hot cup of coffee sounded particularly tempting right now.) Less distractions, less drama.

And besides, he didn’t want to intrude too much upon the limited time Kaveh had with his mother before she ran away again to Fontaine, even if the entire social visit was centered in his house. Time with family was truly precious—he understood that well.

Since he’s in no rush to make his way to the kitchen, he takes his time getting out of bed. He stays seated on the edge of the mattress, grasping the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder, rolling his head as he rubs the skin there in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in his muscle.

He pauses at the dresser—his dresser, half-filled with Kaveh’s clothes. The drawer hasn’t shut properly due to an errant shirt sleeve hanging over the edge; he tugs it open further, quickly folding the top few garments to help them fit better.

Close enough.

It didn’t matter if the clothes fit or not. They’d be gone a week—less than a week, now—when things went back to normal and Kaveh moved back to his own room.

…But it also wouldn’t hurt if things looked a bit neater in here.

He’s still wasting time adjusting the drawer when a sharp knock startles him. Kaveh’s voice follows. “Alhaitham, when are you—what are you doing?”

His head pokes through the open door, eyes catching on Alhaitham and his task. Kaveh looks down at the clothing in his hands, then back up again. “Is that my—?”

It’s then that Alhaitham realizes that what he’s currently folding at the moment is a pair of Kaveh’s underwear. He tucks it back in with the rest of the clothes, then closes the dresser drawer significantly more easily this time.”I was just tidying up the mess you left in here.”

“I didn’t leave a—whatever, that’s not the point.” Kaveh shakes his head. “My mother was wondering when you’re coming to breakfast.”

“Me?” Alhaitham did not expect his presence would be missed. “Why?”

“Just finish…” Kaveh waves his hand vaguely in Alhaitham’s direction. “...whatever it is you were doing and come to the kitchen, okay?”

He leaves before Alhaitham can figure out if he should be concerned or not. Kaveh seemed flustered, but he also always seemed a little flustered, even more so in their current situation. He did wish Kaveh had given him the chance to ask a couple more clarifying questions before he ran away, but since he didn’t, he has no choice but to get himself ready to join them.

— — —

Kaveh would have let Alhaitham sleep through the entire morning.

As much as he was itching to say something—anything—about… well, anything, he was also somewhat okay with delaying the inevitable. Especially because it was easier to pretend to be dating Alhaitham when he wasn’t actually there.

Without Alhaitham’s quiet but looming presence, he’s able to carry on a conversation with his mother about anything and almost everything: a rehash of the story of how they met, the changes in room assignments at the Akademiya, the meeting Kaveh only remembered now at the last minute that would take up the majority of his day. He could drink his coffee in peace this morning, which would surely set himself up for a better day today. His mother seemed content as well, Kaveh thought, at least until she wondered aloud between bites of jam and toast why Alhaitham hadn’t joined them.

So even though Kaveh did not want to wake up Alhaitham, he had volunteered to check on him.

When he returned, Kaveh had thrown himself back into the conversation to keep himself from wondering about why he found Alhaitham awake but still in his—their—room, rummaging through Kaveh’s belongings and holding his… undergarments. Which was surely an accident, and not necessarily something he wanted to ask about. He’d rather talk about lunch recommendations with his mother since she would be on her own for the day, and plan out how to direct her to their preferred food stand in the Grand Bazaar.

It isn’t long before Alhaitham interrupts them by clearing his throat in the doorway.

“Ah, there he is,” Kaveh says.

His mother smiles, but her eyes are sharp. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Alhaitham responds with a simple nod.

“There’s still some coffee, if you want.” Kaveh had planned to drink it himself, but could pretend it was meant for Alhaitham to keep up appearances.

Taking up his offer, Alhaitham sniffs what’s left in the carafe. “Thanks,” he mutters, before pouring it into a mug for himself.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Kaveh says to his mother, picking up where he left off. “You know the entrance by the Bimarstan? Go in through that door. The stage will be on your right, and then the food stand is across the main walkway and on the left.”

“Oh, I just don’t know.” His mother frowns. “Don’t you have food I can eat here?”

“Not… really.” Kaveh sighs. Stocking up the kitchen had mostly been forgotten in the hectic preparations for the visit, hence the takeout the last two evenings. “It’s not hard to find this place. I promise. And the panipuri is worth it.”

“Kaveh, I—”

Alhaitham sets down his empty mug. “I can go.”

“Pardon?” Kaveh isn’t quite sure he heard him properly.

“Like you said, we need groceries anyways.” Alhaitham shrugs. “I can take her to the stand along the way.”

“I, uh. I guess that works?” He looks to his mother, searching for any signs of hesitation and finding none.

“Fine with me,” she says, leaving Kaveh with no other option than to concede.

He’s not exactly thrilled about leaving his mother alone with Alhaitham (or, he supposes, leaving Alhaitham alone with his mother), but he doesn’t want her to suspect that there’s any reason not to. And, he would still prefer it over her being left to spend her day all alone. He did think Alhaitham would be polite enough to walk her all the way to the food stand, and would at least stay nearby while she ate if he didn’t get something for himself as well. In all likelihood, his mother would have an excellent meal for lunch with an awkwardly stoic conversation partner, which was probably for the best.

“Well, I need to shower and take care of a few things before we go.” Alhaitham pushes his chair away from the table. He looks to Kaveh, catching him with his mug covering most of his face. “You’re leaving soon, I assume?”

Kaveh tries to nod in confirmation. He tenses as Alhaitham stands, bracing himself for what would come next. Surely Alhaitham could at least wait for him to swallow before this morning’s goodbye—he’d like to avoid choking on the rest of his coffee. He tilts his head back to take one last swig, delaying the inevitable while attempting to prepare for it.

But when he finishes, he finds instead that Alhaitham is already heading out the kitchen door.

Well then.

Without thinking, he stands. “Could you excuse me for a second, Mother?” he asks, leaving without waiting for an answer.

He catches up to Alhaitham in the hallway, where he holds a towel in one hand and the knob of the bathroom door in the other.

“Forgetting something?” he calls, and Alhaitham pauses.

“I’ll wash my mug later,” Alhaitham responds over his shoulder. “I need to shower before we leave.”

“Well I hope you left it soaking, at least.” Kaveh had spent enough of his time scrubbing stained rings of coffee off of cups Alhaitham had left behind. “That’s not what I meant, though.”

“I don’t have time for a guessing game, Kaveh.”

He can’t tell if Alhaitham is acting ignorant on purpose or if he actually doesn’t know, so he changes his approach. He comes closer, now, so that his mother won’t overhear. “The kiss, yesterday. Why did you do it?”

Alhaitham crosses his arms. “Part of the act.”

It’s the answer Kaveh would have guessed after all his hours of contemplation, but something still seems off. “Then why didn’t you do it today?”

“I didn’t realize it was a daily requirement.” Alhaitham almost seems smug. “What, did you want me to?”

Taken aback, Kaveh scoffs. “That’s not—no, of course not.”

“Then you should be glad I didn’t make it a habit.”

“But now she might notice that something’s different after you already set the standard.”

Alhaitham nods towards the kitchen. “She also might notice if you keep pulling me aside to whisper so loudly about everything.”

“I think—well, if this was real, of course—I think that it would be perfectly reasonable that I’d want to steal you away for a private moment now and again.”

Alhaitham opens his mouth, then closes it. He swallows slowly. “Sure.” A beat passes in silence before he continues. “Are we done here?”

“Fine.”

With no more answers than when he started, Kaveh returns to his mother in the kitchen, preparing to say goodbye before sending her off to the bazaar with Alhaitham and praying that he wouldn’t find a way to ruin it all.

— — —

Kaveh’s mother had less to say than Alhaitham expected.

He doesn’t exactly know what he should have expected. An instant barrage of questions, maybe, or an interrogation to find the holes in their story. She could certainly talk for hours on end about architecture and design with her son, but on their walk through the city, she spends most of the time in near silence, taking in the sights along the way.

Alhaitham didn’t mind, necessarily. He appreciates the quiet as well, content to focus on avoiding catching the eye of any coworkers that might try to saddle him with requests on his day off. He feels no need to fill the emptiness with idle small talk.

He only breaks the silence to direct her to the turn that would take them into the bazaar. It’s as busy as it usually is during the lunch hour, filled with regular students and unfamiliar visitors alike. Alhaitham guides Faranak around a crowd gathered in front of the textiles booth to the line waiting for the food stand they came here for.

“Aha, Alhaitham!” Shevirme greets them with a smile and a wave when they reach the front. “Pulled yourself away from your Mahamata duties for lunch today, I see. So, what’ll it be?”

“The usual, please. And could you add some extra tulumba wrapped for later?”

“Of course, of course.” He reaches for the grill, beginning on Alhaitham’s order. “And what about you? Say, you look like someone I know—”

“Kaveh’s mother,” Alhaitham says. “She’s visiting.”

“Oh yes, I see it now!” He flashes a strange look at Alhaitham before continuing. “One of my best customers! Well, whatever you’d like to order—it’s on the house.”

“My son wouldn’t stop talking about the panipuri, but is there anything else you’d suggest I try?”

Alhaitham listens as he lists the day’s specials, samosas and shawarma wraps and butter chicken. Faranak settles on ordering the panipuri Kaveh had recommended with a side of flatbread.

She joins Alhaitham where he stands off to the side to wait for their orders. “They know you well,” she observes. “Do you two come here often?”

“Since Shevirme’s dad was the one running it,” Alhaitham says. “This place has been in their family for as long as I can remember.”

“I see.”

“This place was one of the few left open after the library closed, so we’d stop by after staying too late while working on our old project. We kept coming out of habit, even after graduating.”

Their food is ready, then—he passes over her serving of panipuri, and opens up his own wrap after tucking away the tulumba for Kaveh to snack at home. He suspected he’d never hear the end of it if he hadn’t brought him something back from this visit.

After taking a careful bite of her own food, Faranak looks back up at him. “Kaveh said you were a Haravatat student. How did you end up working with my son, anyways?”

He chooses his words carefully; it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know what Kaveh has or hasn’t told his mother about their past, and how he might have adjusted or embellished the narrative along the way.

“We were both interested in Deshret, so studying the runes present in the structures of his civilization’s ruins was a natural intersection of our fields.”

“What was the name of the finished paper? I’d be interested in reading it.”

“Oh, uh—” He takes another bite to give himself time to think. “We didn’t end up publishing anything together.”

“You didn’t?”

“It was a productive but difficult project, and we decided it was best to go our separate ways. Academically.”

She nods slowly. “That would explain why I never heard anything about it.”

“Probably.” Or more likely, he suspects, Kaveh didn’t want to bother his mother with stories of the fallout that followed.

“He didn’t write much after I went to Fontaine,” she says, quietly, as if talking to herself. “And when he did, most of his letters were spent worrying about me.”

Alhaitham isn’t sure what to say to that, so he stuffs the last of his wrap into his mouth instead before gathering her trash with the rest of his own.

He points back towards the rest of the bazaar. “I do still need to grab some groceries before we head back to the house.”

“Right,” she says, but her mind is clearly elsewhere. She makes no indication of getting up to follow.

“Do you want to wait for me here, or…?”

“Oh—you can get started without me. I’ll catch up.”

The lunch crowd has thinned enough that Alhaitham can abide by that. He heads towards the first stand, full of fresh goat milk cheeses, and then another selling rice and other grains. He almost forgets that he has company waiting for him at all, until she appears at his side while he’s counting out zaytun peaches into a cloth bag at the fruit stand.

“What do you need so many of those for?” she asks, watching as he struggles to hold the bag steady with one hand while reaching for more.

“Kaveh,” he answers simply. “He eats nearly a bushel a week.”

She smiles thoughtfully, picking up one to inspect herself. Alhaitham doesn’t press her; silently, he offers the opening of the bag for her to add the fruit to his purchase before moving on.

There’s still a line at the bakery stand, and he can smell why; the inventory has just been restocked with fresh loaves, still warm and fragrant. Faranak waits away from the crowd, walking somewhere out of Alhaitham’s line of sight. He’d figure out where she’s gone later—right now, he needs to make sure he doesn’t lose his place in line when he’s about to reach the front of it.

He’s still considering which pieces of bread he should pick over the shoulders of other customers when the red-haired girl in front of him turns around, arms filled with her purchases. She begins to attempt to nudge her way out when she looks up, her face lit up in recognition.

“Alhaitham!” Nilou says, her voice as bright as ever. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Hi, Nilou,” Alhaitham responds. “Just give me a second—” He passes over his mora quickly, bundling a harra-spiced loaf and a package of flatbread with the rest of his haul.

Nilou steps to the side, out of the line; Alhaitham follows. She looks past him towards the stage, waving at someone behind him. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get back to rehearsal. We have a show on Friday—did you know?”

“A show?”

“Have you not seen the signs?” She motions towards the bulletin board. He can’t make out the text from here, but he can see multiple copies of a brightly colored poster plastered over it.

“What’s this?” Faranak asks, suddenly at his elbow.

Once again, Alhaitham introduces her as Kaveh’s mother.

“Oh, hi! I’m Nilou.” She moves as if to hold out her hand before remembering it’s full of bread. Scrunching her shoulders, she smiles abashedly. “Sorry—it’s nice to meet you!”

“Nilou is a dancer with the theater here,” he explains. “We’ve worked on some… projects together in the past.” He’d rather not get into the specifics of how exactly they overthrew a group of corrupt sages now.

“Yes!” Nilou bounces on her heels with excitement. “And we have a show this weekend. The Fall of the Flowers, it’s called. We’d love to see you there!”

Alhaitham responds for the both of them. “I’m not sure, but we’ll see.”

“Of course!” She leans to the side, waving again, a bit more aggressively. “Ugh, I really have to go now. But I’ll see you around!”

He can’t gauge Faranak’s interest in Nilou’s invitation from her expression; he’s also not sure what other plans Kaveh might have had in store for the rest of their time with her. “I guess we can check with Kaveh later,” he says, thinking aloud. “Did he mention we’re meant to meet him at the tavern later?”

“Oh, I think he said something about that.”

Even though he can’t see the outside from here, he suspects it’s already early afternoon. “Well, we probably have just enough time to drop this off at home and then head over there.”

She nods, following as Alhaitham makes his way towards the exit.

Chapter Text

Kaveh’s only chance to enjoy any peace and quiet today was coming to a close.

For the past half hour, he had nursed his wine in relative silence, with only a backdrop of low voices and clinking glasses. As much as he appreciated the time with his mother, he needed this too, especially since any time he’d usually have to recharge was now accompanied by Alhaitham’s presence as well. And he was not particularly helpful when it came to allowing Kaveh to rest, even if he was often asleep; Kaveh wasn’t sure his heartrate had reached a point that would not be considered heightened above normal for the past few days since she arrived.

The rest of his party would be here soon: the friends they spent time with every Thursday at the tavern, the roommate he was pretending to date, and his mother—dragged along for the ride. They could have skipped this excursion, technically, but staying home wouldn’t have been all that much relaxing either, and at least this way he’s able to partake in the food and drinks he looks forward to on the day that would normally mark the near end of a work week. Their usual table on the second floor was empty when he arrived, a welcoming sight for his tired eyes, even if it wouldn’t be for much longer.

Cyno and Tighnari find him first, taking the bench seat across from him. After ordering a round of drinks and a starter plate of food, they ask about Kaveh’s day; he tells them about his meetings and clients, reprising all of his usual complaints at the end of a busy afternoon. They’ve heard most of it all before: delays in the deliveries of crucial materials, last minute changes to plans that were finalized months ago, requests for explanations on things that were outside of his control. And they hear it again now, sympathizing when they can and nodding courteously when they can’t.

He considers informing the two of them about the situation about to unfold. He isn’t sure exactly what he would say—hey friends, I’m pretending to be in love with Alhaitham so my mother doesn’t think it’s strange that I’m living with him because I haven’t told her about my debt and I don’t want to, but it really doesn’t mean anything and is absolutely fake so just go along with it and act like everything is normal and don’t be too surprised when we act like we’re dating… While it covered most of the main points, there was a bit too much room left for questions, prompting him to hesitate and wonder if it was worth it.

Because on one hand, there was the chance that they might say something that would contradict the story he and Alhaitham had told for the past few days. But on the other hand, they might become more awkward if they knew they were being roped into an elaborate farce with little to no warning. And besides, he wasn’t planning on doing any sort of thing with Alhaitham that would end up making his dinner companions uncomfortable—they only needed to make it through an hour or two of conversation that did not even need to focus upon Alhaitham and Kaveh at all. Really, as long as they didn’t refer to him as his roommate, which maybe he should clarify that much at lea—

Alhaitham and his mother arrive before he can come to a decision.

Woefully unprepared, Kaveh waves to help them find their table as they reach the top of the stairs, watching as they weave past a pair of merchants from Liyue and through a gaggle of first year scholars clogging up the way. Alhaitham nods as he catches sight of them, and in the dimly golden glow from the pendants above, it almost looks like he’s smiling. This surely is a trick of the light, considering he was likely unhappy that he had already been out of the house most of the day and would still not be going home any time soon. His mother’s attention is elsewhere, torn between taking in the stained glass along the walls or the vaulted ceilings above the bar that open down to the first floor.

Kaveh stands when Alhaitham reaches them, his mother not far behind. He falters for a minute, unsure of what he meant to do next—he usually wouldn’t stand for Alhaitham at all, much less… hug him? Shake his hand? Anything else?

He’s still hesitating when Alhaitham makes a decision for him. He decides to greet Kaveh with a quick kiss on his cheek, his lips lingering for a moment next to his ear. His breath is warm where it skims over his skin, accentuating the spot that’s now just barely damp from the brief contact and definitely turning bright red.

“Are you happy now?” Alhaitham murmurs, still so close that Kaveh can feel his mouth open and close against his earlobe, and something about the way he says it sends a shiver down Kaveh’s spine. He stops himself from reaching for the spot when Alhaitham pulls away, awkwardly grasping one hand with the other to attempt to camouflage the movement.

He can’t exactly say whether or not this is what he expected after his attempt at a discussion this morning. He hadn’t really left that conversation with any conclusions at all, just the suspicion that Alhaitham might not be taking nearly as seriously as he was. Or maybe he was, after this display, that has left him trying to rub the gooseflesh off his arms and hoping the light is low enough to disguise the flush he feels spreading over his cheeks.

He didn’t know if it was better or worse for their cause that Alhaitham could make him act like this. He could only pray it was convincing.

Alhaitham settles into the seat next to him after pulling out the chair at the end of the table for his mother. Clearing his throat, Kaveh avoids Tighnari’s raised brows and Cyno’s pointed look, holding his gaze firmly on an interesting knot in the wood grain of the table instead. He knew they would notice—because of course they would, Alhaitham ensured that much—but he counts his blessings that they chose to leave their commentary unspoken, at least for now.

“This is my mother, Faranak,” Kaveh says, following with the rest of the introductions. His mother nods and shakes hands, repeating his friends’ names politely as he says them.

She listens as Kaveh tells her about Tighnari’s role in advising the botanical choices he made during the construction of the Palace of Alcazarzaray; she watches as Alhaitham and Cyno discuss what they can about a recent bout of plagiarism in the Vahumana darshan. She speaks sparsely, seeming to prefer observing her son and his friends as they carry on their conversations.

She is particularly intrigued by Alhaitham’s stint as Acting Grand Sage, though less about the circumstances that landed him there and more the wealth of materials he found himself privy to during his time. Everyone knew about the shelves and shelves of books stored in the gigantic office above the library, full of tomes that the general public and scholars of the Akademiya didn’t have easy access to. Alhaitham had read as many of them as he was able to, which incidentally included some that addressed topics his mother had always wanted to learn more about.

Alhaitham moves on to mention a run in with Nilou at the Grand Bazaar that afternoon, as well as a show she’d be dancing in starting that weekend. They’re invited, he says, and his mother seems intrigued by the tagline of the production. It’s wonderful timing, too—Kaveh has been hoping for an opportunity to see Nilou perform after only having heard about her talent. Tighnari and Cyno are busy, but the three of them agree to attend since opening night is conveniently after the conference but before his mother leaves to return to Fontaine.

And when they’re even able to navigate even that portion of the conversation without discussing whatever is going on between him and Alhaitham, Kaveh begins to think that maybe they won’t have to at all. He finds himself relaxing, then. He sits back further back in his seat, spending less time swirling the liquid in his drink and more time talking—and actually talking to the people seated at the table, instead of just the wooden surface itself.

(He does catch Tighnari whispering I told you so to a stunned Cyno during a lull in their discussion of Lambad’s best salty snacks, but he brushes it off. Surely it had nothing to do with them—Tighnari must have found himself vindicated in some past contention that more people preferred fried mushrooms over tahchin.)

Or maybe it was the wine lulling him into some sense of contentment, or the comfort of a familiar corner in the tavern. It was a welcome respite of normalcy among a week of feeling like a stranger in his own house. He knew this place, these flavors, these people and their habits—the excited twitch of Tighnari’s ears after he took a particularly delicious bite; the pause as Cyno waited for a particularly terrible pun to sink in as well as the friendly groans of realization that followed. They were constants he could rely on, and excuses he could use to ignore whatever else might be expected of him.

He knew Alhaitham, too; he knew how he kept a book next to him on the table to take up any opportunity to read a few paragraphs, and how he specifically ordered his own appetizer that was as solid as possible compared to the small bowls of today’s soup special ordered by everyone else. Even if Alhaitham did start the evening with an attempt to send him spiraling over a ki—well, nothing really all that important—this wasn’t so bad.

It isn’t so hard, either, to return the favor: to lean forward and rest his left elbow on the table while placing his right hand on the top of Alhaitham’s thigh. Lightly. Gently. Not suggestively by any means. Merely showing interest in what Tighnari had to say about a pesky patch of the Withering that kept cropping up in the forest and catching the newest Rangers off guard while offering a small bit of comfort and attention to the man he was supposed to be in love with.

Nothing more.

Kaveh is close enough on the seat to feel the slightest shift in Alhaitham’s shoulders as his leg tenses beneath his palm, but his face remains unchanged. He wonders if it defeats the purpose—there’s no reaction for the table to see, and of course he wouldn’t have any reason to do anything affectionate if it didn’t somehow further their plot—but then again, he supposes it should be this way. Natural and normal. Easy. Like they really were always like this.

Which is surely why Alhaitham isn’t the least bothered when Kaveh curls his fingers, his nails lightly scraping the twill of his pants. It’s not that he didn’t notice, or that—archons forbid—he was enjoying this… No. Alhaitham was smart. He knew that he’d have to be used to these things, so he was keeping a level head so as to not ruin everything with a misplaced and awkward outburst.

How kind.

How annoying.

How infuriating it is that Kaveh has twice been relegated to the role of a bumbling fool because of a peck on his cheek, while Alhaitham sits here as if nothing is happening underneath the table. Even when he squeezes gently, Alhaitham doesn’t react in the slightest. He can’t think of much else he could do to elicit a reaction that wouldn’t backfire and end up casting him back as the flustered one, so he gives up on trying to press the limit—at least for now—and keeps his hand still.

Alhaitham does seem to notice when Kaveh pulls his hand away after what feels like an extensive amount of time. His head turns in Kaveh’s direction when he returns his grip to his wine glass, and when he tilts his head back to take a deep swig, he catches Alhaitham watching him from the corner of his eye.

And how odd… it must be the angle that makes him almost seem offended. Or another trick of the light, casting his eyes into shadows and making them seem darker. When he sets his drink down, he finds himself looking at the stone-faced man he was used to. There’s nothing to say about it—and he’s not sure what Alhaitham would expect, anyways—so he flashes him as sincere of a smile as he can manage instead.

“Well, I guess the next round is on me.” Cyno’s voice draws him away from the strange staring match he had found himself in. “Does anyone need anything?”

After a moment of hesitation, Kaveh stands. “I’ll come with you, Cyno.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Cyno jabs his elbow into his side. He’s not particularly forceful, but Kaveh stumbles anyway, bumping into the back of an unoccupied chair.

“So when did it happen?” Cyno asks, unapologetic.

“Hmm?” Kaveh rubs the point of impact with a hand that’s somehow still warm after resting on Alhaitham’s leg. He knows what Cyno means, but feigns ignorance anyway.

“You and Alhaitham.”

“Ah.” Kaveh pauses, looking back at their table unintentionally. Even from across the room, he can see Alhaitham’s eyes rise up to meet his, before shifting back down to the table. “Well, it… didn’t.”

“Oh, come on now.” Cyno scoffs. “We all saw you.”

Kaveh sighs, frowning. “I know, it’s just—it’s a long story. It’s just for show.”

He follows Kaveh as he steps up to the bar, placing the order that Cyno is on the hook for. Lambad takes his friend’s money and begins to prepare their food and drinks, walking away with Kaveh’s last chance to avoid the rest of this conversation.

Cyno picks up where he had left off. “Does this have something to do with your mother? I can’t think of any other reason you’d have to do this now.”

“Yes,” Kaveh says, becoming all too aware of how long they’ve been gone. “I can explain more later, once this is over, but all you need to know right now is that none of this is real.”

“Sure.” Cyno looks at him with an expression that Kaveh assumes is usually reserved for an interrogation subject he doesn’t find the least bit convincing.

Kaveh decides to take it as a compliment to their acting. “Just go along with it, okay?”

Cyno nods, taking their order from Lambad, who has returned just in time. He grabs a bite of food off the plate before preparing to bring it to the others. “Well, then I apologize for interrupting your date,” he says, motioning emphatically as he pops one into his mouth.

“It’s not a—” Kaveh stops himself, smiling weakly. “Thanks.”

“Though I will have to tell Tighnari that he hasn’t won the bet yet,” Cyno continues, still chewing. “I knew his timeline was too optimistic.”

“Wait, what—? Hey, Cyno!”

Cyno walks away without him.

It might be for the best that Kaveh doesn’t get a chance to ask. He can’t let himself wonder about whatever the terms of this bet could be, or what his friends discuss when he wasn’t around to hear about it. Or how Alhaitham seemed to know the exact moment Kaveh would instinctively look back at the table after getting up and manage to catch him checking on them. Or about whether he was imagining that the room was stuffier, or that there was less air between him and Alhaitham on the bench, or that something was closer to his thigh—where his hairs were very much standing up on end.

Wondering wasn’t good, not for him, but the wine is, as it spreads a mellow heat through his stomach and a fuzziness through his blood. It keeps him warm as they finish food and drinks and conversations, pack up leftovers and stack up empty plates, and say good nights and goodbyes. After they step into the cool evening air, Tighnari and Cyno head their own separate way, leaving the three of them to make the walk home.

He’s still steady enough to stand on his own; he isn’t drunk, just… warm. Alhaitham leads the way, his strides lengthy and determined to be back as soon as possible after a long day out. Kaveh lets him go, staying slightly behind to keep pace with his mother as she strolls a bit more slowly. He glances in her direction and sees why: she’s staring more at the sky than the street in front of her.

Kaveh knows what she’s looking for. He finds it too, as easily as ever: a bright set of stars, shining above the trees of the rainforest. Even when the brighter lights of the city swallowed some of the smallest, these ones never seemed to fade; they were just as radiant as they were in the vast desert skies, where they pointed the way home.

The shape they formed depended on who was asked—some saw a bird, others a mighty sea creature. Others considered it just a simple polygon, undeserving of any sort of distinction or formal name. But even if the constellation held no particular significance to the scholars that studied it, he could still remember the first time his father pointed towards the sky. Kaveh was just a boy, then, but his father was eager to share his love for the stars and the mysteries they held, teaching him to find this particular constellation whenever he felt lost or unmoored.

“I miss him too.”

His mother smiles at him sadly when he looks away from the sky at the sound of her voice. He still sees the stars, though, their reflection twinkling in her glassy eyes.

He loops his arm through her elbow, walking the rest of the way in silence.

— — —

Kaveh is already lying still when Alhaitham finds him, staring at the ceiling in quiet contemplation.

Alhaitham is surprised he’s still awake. He’d had plenty enough wine to lull himself to an easy sleep, even in a bed that wasn’t his own. He’d even managed to wrap his blanket unevenly around him, leaving one leg loose from its otherwise snug clutches. It can’t be that comfortable, but Kaveh makes no effort to adjust it, either preferring his fate or simply accepting it.

Even so, Alhaitham pays him no mind as he quietly settles himself for the night, assuming Kaveh will nod off during that time. He quickly changes into comfortable clothes in the privacy of the bathroom; he brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face while he’s there. He unfolds his own blanket, spreading it out and smoothing it down over his half of the bed. He turns out the light that Kaveh had apparently fallen asleep with still on.

But once Alhaitham lies down and curls onto his side, Kaveh’s quiet voice proves him wrong.

“This was nice,” he says, though Alhaitham isn’t sure if he’s talking to him or just himself.

Alhaitham hums in response anyways, allowing his eyes to drift close. He didn’t disagree, but the utter exhaustion that was hitting him now that the day was finally over left him without any thoughts to contribute. Which was fine, he thought—he didn’t need to debrief about the tavern, not now, even if he did still find himself thinking about Kaveh’s particular display of affection.

He hadn’t expected Kaveh to do something so bold as to grab his thigh during a respectable dinner with friends; he definitely didn’t expect him to squeeze it. He also didn’t expect he’d be able to keep a straight face through the entire thing, but he managed to surprise himself as well on that front. And maybe he did have questions, but he knew better than to do anything involving Kaveh when he was in desperate need of sleep.

He hears Kaveh roll over, yawning deeply as he turns toward the other side of the room. It makes him sound smaller, further away. Alhaitham’s body sinks more deeply into the mattress, his consciousness fading, before he’s awoken again.

“I never thought she’d come back.”

Alhaitham can tell by the lilt at the end of his sentence that Kaveh still has more to say, so he waits for him to continue.

“I still see him everywhere,” Kaveh says, an almost imperceptible shudder in his words. “I can’t look at the night sky without remembering every constellation he taught me when I was younger. But it’s not only the nights—sometimes when I walk to work and I hit that curve where the Akademiya building comes into view, I expect to find him standing off to the side chatting with whoever happens to be there. Like he’d be standing there and ready to run and greet me and my mother like he used to, when she’d take me to visit him at work.”

Kaveh sighs, his exhale heavy. “It’s the worst when there’s a new class. All those faces I don’t recognize yet—it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I haven’t forgotten his face—I don’t think I could—but it’s… it’s like it’s becoming blurry. Blurry enough that any of those strangers could somehow be him.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, I know,” he continues, mistaking Alhaitham’s lack of response for skepticism. “But I know that she’s the same. Worse, probably. Because she had all those years with him before I was born. She had all that time to tie her memories of him to every corner of this nation, from the library to our house to the city to the desert, before he was taken from us. I just… I didn’t think she’d want to face it.”

“Or maybe I didn’t think she’d want to face me.” Kaveh laughs to himself darkly at that. “But I’m glad she did. It’s good to see her doing well. I just want her to be happy, and that means letting her think I’m happy even when I—”

“When you’re not?”

Kaveh, too, seems surprised by his interjection; Alhaitham hears him adjust his position, as if to give himself time to think.

“No, I mean… when things are difficult.” It’s not as smooth of a diversion as Alhaitham would like. “I mean, with all my failures and my debt—just facing the fact that I’m a successful architect who still has to pay rent to his estranged ex-research partner because he owes Lord Sangemah Bay so much damn mora.”

“It’s not really your fault,” Alhaitham says, in an attempt to comfort him. He might have criticized him in the past for falling for obvious scams, but he knew as well as any that the situation surrounding the Palace’s construction wasn’t anything Kaveh could have foreseen. And whether his choices following the initial collapse were the correct ones—either way, he wouldn’t have grown into the man he was now without them.

“It’s not that, I just—I don’t want to make this about me.” Kaveh huffs, stumbling over his words. Alhaitham looks over his shoulder to see him rolling onto his stomach, his chin resting in his hands. “I’d rather be—I still just think it’s best that she thinks I’m living here as your partner, not your tenant. That’s all.”

Alhaitham wants to know why, but he doesn’t press the point. He wonders if he’ll regret that.

Kaveh allows his head to fall, his voice muffled by the bedding. “And who knows. Maybe she’ll decide to come back and we’ll get to do this again.”

And for all his studies in linguistics, in dissecting all the possible implicit meanings of a single word and seeking what lies hidden beneath layers of noise and nonsense, Alhaitham knows that that sentence—spoken into his pillow by a drunk and drowsy Kaveh—is one he should absolutely not attempt to analyze.

Chapter Text

“You’re going to be late.”

Alhaitham was right, Kaveh finds. Even without checking the clock, he can tell that the room is much too bright for it to be the hour in which he intended to wake up. It might not have been the best idea to stay out somewhat late the night before the conference—and the entire reason for his mother’s visit—but there weren’t enough hours in the days of her trip to spend a handful of them adhering to a remarkably early bedtime. She didn’t complain, and Alhaitham hadn’t either (at least not yet), and Kaveh was used to running on only a few hours of sleep. But, he definitely hadn’t meant to sleep in, even by a margin of a few extra minutes.

At least his presentation was set and ready to go, which wasn’t always the case in the past; more times than not, he’d be awake at an even earlier hour, perfecting notecards and practicing in front of the mirror one last time. Thankfully, this panel was on a topic he was quite familiar with, so his materials had come together quickly when he compiled them last week. He had left Mehrak ready and waiting by the front door the night before, packed full of diagrams and projections. However, Mehrak couldn’t take a shower for him now, or brush out the knots on the back of his head—or navigate around the extra obstacles that were also preparing to leave the house at the same time.

Rolling off his stomach, he sits himself upright on the edge of the bed. He shouldn’t have let himself fall asleep like that; it’s left him with a violent crick in his neck that he unsuccessfully tries to rub out with his hand. He does remember the night before—he didn’t have that much wine. But there’s a dull haziness in his head that he’s not entirely surprised by, considering his last memory before dozing off was sharing a bit more than he would have, had it not been for the aid of a few glasses.

At least in the few minutes that Kaveh has been awake, Alhaitham has not shown any immediate signs that he had anything to say about it. He had listened the night before as Kaveh spoke, about his hopes for his mother and their loss of his father, with the sort of consideration he would expect from someone who tended to have only a few words to offer on a normal day. And really, the space to speak and a kind ear to listen was all that Kaveh had really needed. His head might feel heavy, but his heart felt a little lighter.

Even still, he wonders if he should say something about it all, but at the moment Alhaitham is more focused on the small mirror atop the dresser than his barely-awake roommate. (Partner? Lover? The day hadn’t really started so the specifics didn’t really matter yet, but… whatever they were.) He’s toweling off his hair, leaving damp speckles on his shirt that cover his shoulders and upper back, which reminds Kaveh that if he’s already had the time to shower and dress—he was definitely going to be late.

So he rushes out of the room, after reaching around Alhaitham to hastily grab a change of clothes. He showers quickly, as much as he wishes he could stay long enough to let the hot water soothe his sore muscles and the dull ache in his neck. Alhaitham is gone by the time he finishes, his corners of the room so neat and tidy that it’s as if he had never been there in the first place.

Kaveh hurries to the kitchen next, wincing as he realizes there’s no time to prepare anything to eat. However, he does find that Alhaitham has left him an extra serving of coffee in the carafe for Kaveh to burn his tongue on as he tries to drink it before he really has to be gone and out of the house. He grabs one of the pastries Alhaitham had brought home the day before, holding it between his lips as he rushes out the door.

He manages to make it just in time, thanks to that blessedly short commute he had praised to his mother a few days ago. The hall is full of scholars, as expected, filing about as an announcement gives a five minute warning. Kaveh expects to be stuck with a spot in the back—unfortunately his status as a presenter did not guarantee priority seating—but Alhaitham waves him forward to a seat he had saved in the third row.

Kaveh follows, apologizing as he slides past the knees of those who had gotten there much earlier than he had. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he whispers to Alhaitham, grateful for the reservation regardless.

Alhaitham moves his jacket off Kaveh’s chair, bundling it in his lap. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Architecture and aesthetics don’t usually fall under your areas of interest.” Now that he’s seated, Kaveh can review the program: his mother would be first, as the keynote speaker of the one-day conference, followed by a host of other Kshahrewar scholars speaking and presenting on all of Alhaitham’s least-preferred topics—a fact he points out by gesturing down the list.

Alhaitham shrugs, looking towards the front of the room, where Zaha Hadi stands off to the side reviewing a piece of paper with an usher. “I’m your partner, aren’t I?” he says.

“Well, not really, but yes,” Kaveh concedes, hoping there aren’t too many prying ears around them. Their peers might not think much of two colleagues simply sitting together—or maybe they would, who really knew—but he didn’t need the rest of the city overhearing their lie and beginning a baseless rumor from their interaction here. Not when he already had to hope that none of the other tavern patrons noticed Alhaitham’s greeting yesterday.

Alhaitham continues despite his misgivings. “And she’s your mother.”

“She is.”

“Of course I’d be here to support you both.”

He supposes Alhaitham has a point.

Professor Hadi steps forward to the podium soon after, introducing his mother and all her accomplishments. She’s proud, clearly, of her former student, and Kaveh is too; she was his first inspiration for good reason.

His mother steps forward after a polite round of applause. Kaveh watches as she straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath, a habit he had inherited as a last-second strategy to calm any nerves. She greets the crowd, and the conference begins.

— — —

After a long day of lectures and panels and workshops and sessions, Alhaitham was finally where he wanted to be: home.

He probably could have left earlier. On the surface, he had little reason to stay at a conference attended by mostly Kshahrewar scholars, about topics those Kshahrewar scholars would be interested in, with activities geared towards fostering professional relationships between said Kshahrewar scholars. But after Kaveh’s mother’s lecture, the primary portion he felt obligated to attend, a few others followed with such short breaks between them that leaving would have drawn unwanted attention to himself—and by extension, to Kaveh.

After that was a meal break, where both Kaveh and his mother were plenty distracted by various people wishing to speak with them, but that meant Alhaitham was delegated to grabbing free food and (slightly burnt) coffee from the conference offerings for all three of them.

He didn’t have to stay for the afternoon, really, but he had already spent his morning there and he would rather zone out during a panel he didn’t particularly care about while Kaveh muttered in his ear about all the ways in which he disagreed with the presenter than attend a meeting he was requested at but not actually needed at.

And after that was Kaveh’s panel, incidentally about a topic he actually was interested in—another rare time their fields of study actually overlapped—so he didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity to sit in on that. By then it was the evening and there was only an hour left, so he figured he might as well wait it out.

Regardless, he’s glad it’s over now.

He would have been most content with heading straight off to bed, but celebrating a day well spent with a bottle of Lambad’s newest vintage shared between himself and Kaveh and his mother wasn’t a terrible second choice. He doesn’t have much to contribute to their conversation now—which seems to be a play-by-play review of the entire conference—but that isn’t an issue, as it allows him to sit back and recharge as best he can outside of his own room.

He begins by attempting to make himself more comfortable, leaning against the cushions lining the back of the divan. He’s still upright enough to take a careful but deep sip of his wine; this batch is particularly tart, but he doesn’t mind the taste. From here, perched on an elbow and the pillows, his view of the room is mostly blocked by Kaveh.

Kaveh’s pins have reached their limit on how much they could contain his hair at this point in the day; unruly strands have loosened themselves from their crimson grasp, falling haphazardly over his back. His shirt seems looser too—without his cape and its collar, the linen slips further from his neck and across his shoulders, revealing more of his skin than usual. It highlights the curve in his spine as he leans forward, his lower back arched in such a way that—

Alhaitham shakes his head. These are not things he should be noticing.

It was difficult not to when his entire field of vision consisted of Kaveh. And he did genuinely appreciate the opportunity to observe Kaveh in one of his happiest natural habitats. He hadn’t been initially drawn to him for nothing, back when they first met as young students—his sharp mind, his quick wit—it was obvious even when they were young students that he was a genius of a certain caliber. Alhaitham respected that, admired that, even amongst their differences and disagreements. It didn’t matter that the topics he and his mother were discussing at the moment were not things Alhaitham usually engaged with; watching Kaveh so confidently in his element was a sight to behold.

He sets down his drink on a table to the side. The wine must be going to his head.

He tries to find anything else in the room to focus on. His eye catches on the painting in the hall, tilted a different way each week as the two of them tried to finally straighten it. The bowl of fruits on the table, freshly picked, lessening in number at a rate of a few a day. The stained glass windows atop the ceiling, washing the room with dimly colored light from the streetlamps outside. The books he had meant to straighten before the trip began, quickly forgotten once the whirlwind of it all hit their home.

How strange it was that a space never intended for habitation could become what it was now. Even if he hadn’t designed the old research center, Kaveh had certainly left his mark on it, building a place for eating and drinking and studying and learning. And now, for sitting on a late autumn evening and talking with a mother he didn’t even know if he’d ever see again after they’d been shaped so suddenly by tragedy.

After his soliloquy last night, Alhaitham knew with no uncertainty how much this meant to Kaveh, and it left him with an odd feeling. Not necessarily a bad one, but as if he was intruding upon something he wasn’t meant to be a part of, even though their fraudulent situation as “partners” meant he was compelled to be by Kaveh’s side through it all.

Somewhere along the way, without him realizing it, the conversation lulls. The room becomes quiet, with only the sound of Kaveh’s slowly tapping foot filling the air. Alhaitham looks up from whatever corner he was staring blindly into to see Faranak falling asleep sitting up, drained from the day.

Kaveh has realized this too. He watches her for a moment, taking one last drink of his wine, before setting the glass on the table in front of him. There’s a silent understanding that the evening is over, but before Alhaitham can get up to head to bed himself, Kaveh leans back.

He leans back against the cushions, settling next to where Alhaitham has been reclined for the past hour. His arm rests against Alhaitham’s, and even after a few seconds of contact Kaveh doesn’t make any effort to move it. It’s surely uncomfortable for Kaveh, awkwardly half on top of him and angled away from the pillows, but his plans are interrupted again—before Alhaitham can move to give him more space, Kaveh lays his head on his shoulder.

It’s so natural. It’s so frustrating. And it’s the last point of punctuation on a thesis he’d inadvertently been writing in his head throughout the entire evening, the entire day, the entire week—proving a devastating truth that he’d denied for far too long.

He never needed to pretend.

Kaveh sighs next to him, shifting slightly and sinking deeper. He’s warm, and soft, somehow, even though his cheekbone is pressing into Alhaitham’s clavicle. His breathing is slow and steady against his neck, and if he didn’t clear his throat that moment, Alhaitham might think he had fallen asleep too.

“We should probably help her get to bed,” Kaveh says, quietly, as if he might wake her.

“Mmm.” Alhaitham’s mouth is too dry to make any other sound.

Even still, Kaveh makes no effort to move. Instead, he tilts his chin up, turning his head slightly. He’s smiling. Alhaitham can see it all out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t look. Because if he looks, he’ll find himself face to face with Kaveh and his wine-stained lips, close enough where he could close the distance and cross a bridge he’d never dare to.

And he can’t—because Kaveh doesn’t really love him.

Even if Alhaitham wants him to.

Kaveh had made it plenty clear, with every chance he got: this was fake, this was an act. This wasn’t real. This was all for show. This was all to protect his mother’s vision of him as a happy and thriving son. Alhaitham for his part was doing him a favor, a great one, that he’d repay with some unspecified return that he’d most likely end up ordering from Lambad.

Groaning slightly, Kaveh sits up, bracing himself to stand with his hands against his knees. Alhaitham watches as he walks over to his mother, patting her gently on the shoulder, motioning her to the hallway and the makeshift guest bedroom. She bids them both a quiet goodnight before padding away.

Kaveh turns his attention to Alhaitham and shrugs. An awkward gesture, as if he’s actually just trying to adjust a tight muscle in his neck but forgot what he was doing along the way. He then leaves the room too, heading down the hallway.

Alhaitham should have realized it earlier. From the first time he didn’t struggle to adjust his language to treat Kaveh as more than a roommate. From the first time he realized how easy it was to frame their story—or at least his side of it—as one of budding love, and not some bland reality. From the first time he kissed Kaveh on the cheek, and then the second, not because he really needed to, but because he wanted to, even if he’d never admit that until now. From how his heart jumped with something like hope when Kaveh touched him, under the table at the tavern or even now on this damn divan. It was obvious now, looking back, but no easier to swallow.

Because what else could he have done? Said he could do no more? Backed out? Left Kaveh to fend for himself in an hour of need. If that was ever an option he’d be willing to take, he’d never have let Kaveh move in in the first place after finding him stranded in an empty tavern.

Maybe he should have known then.

Once Kaveh gets up, Alhaitham has no choice but to follow him. He has to follow him because of course he does, because they’re dating, because they’re in love, because Kaveh is his lover for this week and this week only and is going to sleep in his bed tonight.

But not because he’s in love with him.

Kaveh prepares himself for bed in near silence, humming an unfamiliar tune under his breath as he does. He tucks himself under his blanket before Alhaitham has the chance to change. It’s as if he’s forgotten where he is, because instead of facing the wall to be as far away as possible, he’s turned towards the center of the bed, towards the spot where Alhaitham will have to lie to try to sleep.

But not because he’s in love with him.

Kaveh wasn’t cruel enough to do this on purpose. Alhaitham knew that. He believed that, but it didn’t help. It didn’t change any of the facts of the situation he found himself in. And maybe it was his fault all along that he ended up here; he was quite sure that Kaveh would never have asked for this if he had even an inkling of an idea that Alhaitham harbored any sort of feelings. He was kind like that, and thoughtful, never wanting to be a burden. And while he might poke and prod Alhaitham about his ideologies and taste in drinks, he was not one to torment him in a way that would actually hurt.

But not because he’s in love with him.

Alhaitham kicks away the blankets only minutes after pulling them up. He keeps one leg tucked under, because his skin is cold, but his blood feels too hot to handle anything against his body besides the still air of the room. His fussing doesn’t bother Kaveh, because he has his own blanket, because he doesn’t want to even risk being that close to Alhaitham, because that would be too far and too ridiculous and too embarrassing, because he isn’t actually in love with him.

He wonders if it will sting less the more he says it.

There were only a couple days left of Faranak’s trip, just a little while longer that he had to pretend. Then he’d be able to go back to the way things were—though accompanied by this unfortunate piece of knowledge he wished he hadn’t uncovered. But he’d have his room back, his time, his space; it would be easier to avoid Kaveh when he wasn’t expected to be glued to his hip as the ever-doting, ever-supporting partner in scholarship and life. He could build whatever walls he needed to until his heart was hardened enough to move on, and the feeling of being loved by Kaveh was far in the forgotten past.

Because Kaveh isn’t in love.

But Alhaitham is.

Chapter Text

Kaveh didn’t understand why the bed was empty.

He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he can tell that he’s alone. He doesn’t know since when—he last remembered his leg resting half-bent somewhere over a warm body. His arms had been wrapped around something solid and firm, but when he pulls them closer to his chest, there’s nothing there but empty air.

That doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t moved for at least an hour, maybe more. How could something so tangible have slipped from his grasp so easily? There was nowhere to go.

He lets his arms fall to his sides. The sheet is warm beneath his palms, but only on the left. It’s a different feeling than he expects, a rougher texture, but it does get softer as he moves his arm out towards the other side of the bed. He keeps expecting to be stopped, for his fingers to come into contact with something, anything, but all he finds is an endless field of linen.

Actually, when did he get on his back? How was he here when his side was still tingling from the pressure of his body resting on it? And the skin of his spine felt chilled from being exposed to the open air—how could that be if it was pressed into the mattress? That doesn’t make any sense either.

It’s when he opens his eyes that it hits him. A dream… he must have been dreaming. Of course. Why didn’t he realize before? This was reality, not wherever he was before. Not whatever—or whoever—he was with. This room, slowly materializing in front of him as his vision came into focus, was real. And empty. Here, he is very much alone.

Where was Alhaitham?

Already awake, clearly. Busy, he supposes. Maybe showering, though he can’t hear the water running from here. (Could he usually, from here in Alhaitham’s room? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember.) He might be eating breakfast with a cup of coffee alone. Or with his mother?

He should find out. He should move. He should stop dwelling on this dream, now that he knew it was one. But still, he can’t shake the feeling—of holding, of being held, by phantom arms with a blurry face.

It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like a memory, but a hazy one, with details just out of his reach. It prods at his brain with a peculiar persistence, an itch he can’t scratch—like having a song stuck in his head, but being unable to recall the name and half the words.

He wants to know, but no amount of trying seems to make any difference.

It made him miss the years of dreamless sleep, when he didn’t have images running through his head in swirling colors, painting the back of his eyelids jade and cerulean and gold. When he woke up rested and refreshed, like a blank slate, without these feelings lingering around him as if he actually had experienced this thing he couldn’t remember that somehow still had the power to affect his mood so profoundly.

He should move. He should move on. It really didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. It isn’t real.

— — —

Alhaitham knew that he’d only be able to hide in the kitchen for so long.

Not that he had anywhere else to go. This place had been built with the spatial needs of a research center in mind, not two people—and certainly not when one of those two people wanted to avoid the other, having just realized he was in (unfortunately unrequited) love. They were lucky enough to have two bedrooms and a main living area as large as it was.

There was the study, as well, but Kaveh never was one to stop working, even on the weekend. He always had a new design to chart out or figures to draw. Sometimes even a model to build out of carefully cut cardstock and glue, so that Mehrak could scan and project it later. That would be the second place Kaveh would likely head after popping into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Which was why Alhaitham had figured it was best for him to face it as soon as possible, after he rushed out of the bedroom as quickly as he could once he awoke. He wouldn’t be able to avoid Kaveh forever, not in here, and leaving the house wasn’t really an option—he would not be spending his Saturday working. He could have found some excuse, like running out for breakfast or going on a walk, but he’d have to come home and face him eventually. Any diversion would only be a pointless delay of the inevitable.

So after a quick shower, he had made his way to the kitchen, like he would on any other weekend day. Best that he didn’t change his habits all that much, either; he tucked his nose in the same book he had had at the tavern two nights before, and waited.

“Morning,” Kaveh says, his voice bright and saccharine.

Alhaitham ignores him as he walks in, making his way to the counter. This was normal, too, nothing Kaveh would find strange—he was known for not being particularly amicable before his first cup of coffee.

Kaveh rummages through the cabinets before pausing and turning towards him. “Have you seen her?” he asks, motioning towards the hallway with an empty mug.

Alhaitham sees this all through his peripheral vision; he hasn’t actually looked up. “No,” he says, his voice feeling strangely treacly.

“Ah.” Kaveh turns back around. “Do you know where she is?”

“Asleep,” Alhaitham responds, though he’s actually not entirely sure. He was reasonably certain he was right, though—she had had a particularly draining day in the midst of a particularly draining week.

“Well, I’m going to start some coffee.” Alhaitham chances a glance towards him now, noticing that Kaveh has pulled three mugs from the cupboard. “Would you like some?”

Alhaitham clears his throat. A muscle in his eye twitches. “No.”

“Oh.” Kaveh deflates slightly, turning back towards the counter. He pushes one mug away, slowly; the sound of it scraping along the counter seems to echo throughout the room. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, Alhaitham thinks.

“No,” Alhaitham says.

Kaveh is quiet for long enough that Alhaitham thinks the conversation is over. He turns a page of the book he isn’t reading.

But Kaveh isn’t finished. “You could tell me if there was, you know.”

He wished it could be that simple. But unfortunately for him, explaining what was wrong would entail explaining all too much about his feelings—which was far too much to reveal during a visit in which Kaveh’s mother could interrupt them at any second. And at the tail end of the trip, too, so close to the finish line; he didn’t want to be the reason Kaveh would have to spend his last full day with a mother he hadn’t seen in years explaining that he had actually been lying to her the entire time.

“Alhaitham?” Kaveh seems to have noticed his trailing thoughts, attempting to draw his attention with a quiet question.

“Is there something you want from me, Kaveh?” It comes out more bluntly than he intends.

“No, I—I’m sorry.” It hurts to see Kaveh frowning like that, because of him. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He doesn’t mean to be mean. It wasn’t Kaveh’s fault that Alhaitham had fallen in love with a man who didn’t love him back. Well, it sort of was, in the sense that it was Kaveh he had fallen for, but he can’t blame Kaveh for being all the things he wanted.

And he can’t blame Kaveh for the fact that he didn’t realize it until now. When it was most inconvenient, for one. And when it wasn’t real, even if he wanted it to be. And when he was reminded every hour that it wasn’t real, and Kaveh didn’t want it to be.

He wants to leave, but he doesn’t want Kaveh to think he left because of him. So instead he sits in some sort of penitential silence, pretending to read his book while Kaveh prepares coffee for himself and his mother and not for him, while wishing that any and all of this could be different.

— — —

How fitting it was for this visit to end with a trip to the theater.

And with quite an opulent production, too—as soon as they enter the Grand Bazaar, it’s clear that the troupe has pulled out all the stops. Lush banners of dangling vines and fragrant kalpalata lotuses adorn the doorways and the lampposts, and the stage is draped in satin ribbons in matching shades of indigo. A small group of musicians sit off to the side of it, playing a simple melody as the guests enter.

Kaveh and his company pass a stall selling dried flower pins on the way to their seats. His mother stops to buy one, to bring back to her family as a souvenir. It’s a delicate thing, wrapped in a small parcel tied with string; Kaveh makes a mental note to ensure that it’s appropriately cushioned and supported for safe travel when he helps her pack tomorrow morning.

Kaveh can’t quite tell if Alhaitham’s rush to sit down is rooted in a need to have a good view, or a sign of something else. He had walked a few paces ahead the entire way here, which normally Kaveh wouldn’t spare a second thought for, if it hadn’t been for his strange behavior that morning. It wasn’t unusual for Alhaitham to be blunt or even acerbic at times, but the way he had responded to a simple offer of coffee almost coldly—Kaveh couldn’t help but find himself anxious, even as Alhaitham cordially stands to the side to allow him and his mother the chance to enter the row before him.

There isn’t long to wait before the first act begins. As they do, his mother mentions the other various performances she’s been able to attend in Fontaine, from grand magic shows and great dramas at the Opera Epiclese to smaller impromptu productions in the streets. But the theater in Sumeru was different, especially shows put on by Sheikh Zubayr and his troupe; less dialogue, more dancing, and a certain flair for the dramatic that only an artist like Nilou could bring.

From the moment Nilou appears, it’s clear that she shines as the star of this play. She flounces to and fro across the stage, encircling her co-starring love interest. They meet for brief moments before turning away to perform their own dances, mirroring each other in their solos but only from afar. Even still, it creates a bigger picture, a completed image in itself; Kaveh finds himself alternating between watching one of them twirl alone and unfocusing his eyes to see as much of the stage as he can, noticing how one dancer’s motion is clearly meant to reach the other, if not for the distance that separates them. It makes their meetings all that more tragic, and enforces how each individual performance, while beautiful on its own, is only half of a greater dance. But each parting is still filled with hope, because despite the time apart, they still manage to find each other once again.

He’s enraptured enough that the thought of doing anything to keep up his own performance only briefly crosses his mind. The same seems true for Alhaitham, too, who hasn’t reached for him the entire evening. But considering that his mother would most likely not even notice, there’s little reason to worry, despite his earlier misgivings about Alhaitham’s strange mood.

After one more heartfelt farewell and a sworn promise that it wouldn’t be the end, the first act ends. The lights in the bazaar brighten to give the guests a chance to move around during a brief intermission. Kaveh’s mouth is quite dry, he finds, and he turns to Alhaitham and his mother to see if they would like for him to bring them a drink too. But before he can ask, Alhaitham stands abruptly, heading toward the rear exit.

Kaveh scoots past his mother, rushing past the half-empty seats. He catches up to Alhaitham under a lamppost, the last one before the floor begins to slope upward and the path leads out of the roots of the Divine Tree. He reaches for Alhaitham’s arm, only brushing against it—though it’s still enough to stop him in his tracks.

When he turns around, he looks at Kaveh—or rather, a point somewhere just above Kaveh’s head. His face is blank, but Kaveh can tell it’s forced, noticing how his muscles tense as they strain to hold his mouth in a straight line. It’s unnerving, how much he shows in an attempt to show nothing, and yet Kaveh is still as lost as he was this morning.

“What are you doing?” Kaveh asks in an urgent whisper.

Alhaitham shrugs towards the door. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Sneaking away before the second act without a word.”

“With a few words now, unfortunately.” Alhaitham ducks his head in a short nod, turning back towards the exit.

“But wh—” Kaveh grabs his arm again, catching his elbow this time. Alhaitham lets his arm fall limp. “Would you just tell me what’s going on? You’ve been acting strange all day.”

A thousand thoughts seem to flash through Alhaitham’s eyes in the brief moment before he speaks. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t… pretend. Anymore. I can’t keep lying like this.”

Kaveh had feared this would happen at some point, that he’d reach a point where whatever goodwill he had earned with Alhaitham would be spent. “Have I asked too much of you?”

“You haven’t—that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I can’t—” Alhaitham takes a deep breath through his nose. “I can’t lie to you anymore. I can’t keep acting like I don’t want this, or that this isn’t real for me, or that I don’t actually… love you.”

Kaveh stares at him blindly. “Are you saying—”

“Yeah.”

“You…” He can’t finish the sentence.

“I love you, Kaveh.” He says it somberly, like an admission of guilt. “I really do.”

Kaveh blinks once.

Twice.

His heart beats somewhere in his throat.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I am.” Alhaitham waits for a moment, then continues. “I know you don’t. I know you’re just pretending. I know it’s not real for you, but…” He sighs. “I wish it was.”

“Alhaitham, I—”

With cruelly perfect timing, the bulb above them turns off and then on, signaling the end of the intermission. Kaveh had forgotten where they were; the rest of the room had seemed to dissolve away, leaving nothing but him and Alhaitham and the now blinking lamppost.

It flashes again, off and on, off and on. Alhaitham turns away as the rest of the crowd moves back towards their seats. “I need to go.”

“No, wait—!” Kaveh says, but it’s too late.

He watches Alhailtham leave without knowing what he’d say if he had stayed.

— — —

Alhaitham knew he shouldn’t have left.

He knew he left Kaveh alone to deal with whatever questions his mother had about what happened and where he went. Kaveh wouldn’t have had time to say much before the second act of the show began, but her intuition would surely notice something was wrong even if he was able to squeak out a hushed He wasn’t feeling well before the dancing resumed.

If he was lucky, she would leave it at that until the show ended, but what she might ask on their way home—Alhaitham could only guess. He was sure Kaveh would be able to think on his feet and assumed he would continue to cover for him, only because it was most advantageous to his own situation, but the thought of him experiencing any sort of anguish because of his impulsive exit left him feeling uneasy.

Even if he wasn’t worrying about Kaveh and only thinking of himself, leaving served him little gain. His petulance might grant him a few quiet moments to stew in his own misery, but it was a short reprieve at best. Kaveh would come home soon enough, his mother in tow, with all their concerns about his well-being and whatever malady caused him to leave so suddenly. He could hide for a night, maybe, excusing himself with an early bedtime, but the morning would come eventually. He could only pretend to sleep for so long.

But of course he would worry about Kaveh first, more than any of all that.

He loves him, after all.

And still, he ran away. When he knew it would solve nothing.

But how could he stay?

He should have stayed.

He should have stayed, but he didn’t, so now he waits. In an empty room in a quiet house that would be neither of those things soon enough. To kill the time, he finds a set of pajamas and a book, staring at the pages without reading any words for the second time today.

First, he hears the front door, opening and closing from afar. Two voices follow, muffled as they move through the entry and down the hall. Then footsteps, closer still, until they pause outside his bedroom. For a moment Alhaitham wonders if Kaveh is considering finding somewhere else to sleep, when the door creaks slowly open.

“Um…” Kaveh clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

Alhaitham nods toward the empty space on the bed next to him. “Of course. It’s still your room for one more night, if you want it.”

“Well, about that.” Kaveh hesitates for a time long enough that Alhaitham begins to believe he might have told his mother everything. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

“Do you want to sleep on the couch?”

Kaveh frowns. “I’m asking you.”

“It’s fine, Kaveh,” he tells him. “I’m fine,” he tells himself.

“Okay.” Kaveh walks to the dresser, grabbing a wrinkled shirt and a pair of lounge pants that don’t match. He holds them close to his chest. “I’ll be right back.”

When he returns, he stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor as if it was a realistic option. It might be what’s hurt him the most of all this so far, but Alhaitham won’t let Kaveh know that.

“Don’t worry,” Alhaitham says. “This won’t change anything about our arrangement.”

It’s apparently enough to convince Kaveh. He sits down delicately, tucking himself under his own blanket. He stays on his back, at least, instead of turning away immediately. Alhaitham would have understood if he had, but he’s glad to know he hasn’t managed to ruin things that poorly.

He turns his head in Alhaitham’s direction but doesn’t actually look at him. “Thanks,” Kaveh says, in that same quiet voice he had used the very first night, when he thought Alhaitham wasn’t listening.

Alhaitham nods. Kaveh probably sees, from that angle.

“I didn’t know,” Kaveh continues, in what might be an indirect apology.

Alhaitham huffs, mirthlessly amused with himself. He has to laugh at the irony. “I didn’t either.”

“Well, it’s almost over,” Kaveh concludes, mostly to himself.

Alhaitham curses the part of him that thinks he sounds disappointed.

Chapter Text

The last morning dawns like any other day.

Alhaitham wakes up first again, like he had the past few days. More accurately, he finally decided it was an appropriate hour to stop pretending like he might actually be able to sleep; he had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling or the wall or the corner of the room where they converged, and had only dozed off for a few minutes here and there.

On the contrary, the source of his restlessness lies a short distance away, curled onto his side. Alhaitham only has to turn his head slightly to see him. It’s bittersweet, in a way. It’s the last chance he’ll have to see Kaveh so peaceful and unguarded, centered in a sunbeam spilling over the bed. Not that he’d never get to watch Kaveh sleep again—he was certain he’d catch Kaveh napping on a divan or even dozing off at the tavern in the future—but it wouldn’t be here, in his own room, while at least under the illusion of wanting to be here.

Kaveh didn’t exactly turn him down, last night, when Alhaitham told him the honest truth. (He didn’t say anything at all, at first, which made sense in its own disheartening way.) If anything, he kept trying to give Alhaitham the chance to do it for him. As if he only had to give Alhaitham the right opportunity and he would tell him to leave.

But Alhaitham didn’t really want that, so he never would.

And after today, it wouldn’t matter what Alhaitham wanted. They’d both go back to their own rooms and their own lives, and this feeling would only be a memory.

He finally throws his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, resting his head in his hands. He massages his temples, preparing his mask; for a few more hours, he’d be Kaveh’s loving partner.

Behind him, Kaveh stirs. Alhaitham looks briefly over his shoulder, but finds Kaveh’s eyes are still closed. He curls up more tightly, holding his arms against himself as he buries his head further into the pillow.

“Haitham?” he murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep. Whatever he says next is an incomprehensible jumble of sounds and syllables that Alhaitham can’t decipher.

He must be dreaming, but Alhaitham doesn’t want to think about it. He wishes he hadn’t heard anything at all, but he supposes that’s his punishment for lingering here when he had no real reason to. So he actually gets up, now, preparing for the day as quickly and quietly as he can.

When he leaves his room and shuts the door softly behind him, he hears rustling coming from the main room. A short walk down the hallway reveals the source of the sound: Kaveh’s mother, moving a disheveled pile of clothes consisting of everything she had worn that week onto the divan. Her travel bag sits empty on the floor next to her.

“I didn’t want to spend my last morning alone in my room,” she explains when she sees Alhaitham enter.

He watches as she begins by placing an extra pair of shoes into the bottom. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” She tucks a pair of socks inside the shoes.

“Well, let me brew us some coffee.” Alhaitham turns toward the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He measures out enough for three cups, assuming Kaveh would be awake soon enough and in need of the caffeine. If it was cold by then… he’d still probably prefer not having to make it himself, not when there was so little time left to spend with his mother. And it wasn’t really any extra trouble to add another serving of beans in with the ones he’d already poured out.

She’s moved on to packing her spare pants when Alhaitham returns, filling in the spaces around the outside edge. He sets her coffee down on the table in front of her and she thanks him.

“It’s still hot,” he warns, and she waits to take a sip until a few more clothes are tucked away.

He’s not sure what to do while she packs, not after his offer of help was turned down. He finds a book he’s halfway read on the sidebar behind him, opening to the page where he thinks he last left off.

He makes it through a few paragraphs, with just the rusting sounds of folding and clothing in the background. He remembers now why he had picked up this book in the first place: he had found it tucked away in the wrong shelf in the library, and thought Kaveh might be interested in it. He figured he might as well check for any of his annotations to see if he had found it first—but then, Faranak speaks.

“You look just like him.” Alhaitham doesn’t know if he was supposed to hear her—she sounds as if she might be talking aloud to herself more than him.

“Say again?” He closes his book, leaving a scrap of paper between the pages to mark his place.

“Your father,” she clarifies. “I met him once, I remember. Your mother, too.”

“Really?” His own memories of his parents are limited, most of them only stories passed on by his grandmother. He knew he came from a family of scholars, as did Kaveh, and he realizes now that their parents crossing paths had always been possible and probably even likely.

“He also spent the whole night at the tavern reading,” she says. “That’s when I realized it, when we went there the other day. I’d recognize those ears your friend had anywhere, and even some of those jokes were familiar—it was like I was back there with him.”

She sighs, and Alhaitham knows she isn’t talking about his father anymore, but Kaveh’s.

“I don’t know if Kaveh found the notebook I left him, or if he ever figured out how to unlock it.” Alhaitham hasn’t heard anything about it, so he assumes not. “But this—it’s all I ever wanted for him. Friends to spend time with and collaborate with and laugh with. A companion that supports him and uplifts him.”

Alhaitham’s heart warms and aches at the same time.

“I feel… relieved,” she continues. “Like I won’t have to worry about him quite as much once I go back home. I always will, really, but—I’m just glad he has someone who can be there for him.”

Alhaitham nods. He doesn’t know if he deserves that much credit.

She smiles softly. “I’m so proud of who he’s become.”

“Me too,” he agrees. Whether as a partner or just a friend, that much held true.

“I wish we had more time,” she says, quieter.

Alhaitham did too.

— — —

Kaveh finds them already in the living room.

Alhaitham must have prepared the coffee this morning, for all three of them; Kaveh had found a cup already waiting for him in the kitchen when he made his way there after a quick shower. It’s cooled down a bit, nearly to room temperature at this point, but he doesn’t mind. He’s used to drinking cold coffee, and the flavor—which does include his usual nutmeg, he notices after taking a sip—it still pairs perfectly well with a pastry he grabs to go with it.

Alhaitham has his own coffee, on the side table next to where he sits with one leg crossed over the other. A book sits on the cushion next to him. His mother’s mug rests on a tray on the table in the center of the room, set aside as she picks up a shirt from a pile of clothes that still need to be packed. She folds it carefully as she asks Alhaitham some question he can’t hear from this far in the hallway, which Alhaitham responds to in kind. He suspects they had kept their voices lowered to allow him to sleep in, but he wouldn’t have minded an earlier wakeup time, considering it was his mother’s last day with them.

Alhaitham hears him first, looking up when Kaveh enters the room and makes his presence known. He smiles first, a gentle thing—but so subtle that it can hardly be for appearances, considering Kaveh barely caught sight of it himself.

“Good morning, Kaveh,” he says, a sentiment echoed by his mother. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I slept just fine,” Kaveh answers, his throat still groggy.

Alhaitham nods, almost formally. “I’m glad to hear it.”

It’s a stark contrast to how he had greeted him yesterday, with single-syllable words and a cold shoulder. Not that Kaveh really blamed him, after what he said at the theater. Or rather—confessed, really. He could understand why Alhaitham would be feeling a fair bit conflicted about the whole situation, and how that might affect his overall mood.

Soon, it wouldn’t matter. It would all be over by the end of the day.

For the moment, at least, Alhaitham is back to playing the role of the ever-devoted, doting partner. He motions to the spot on the divan next to him; Kaveh sits on the edge of the cushion, watching as his mother folds another piece of clothing and tucks it into her traveling bag.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks her.

She shakes her head. “No, no, I don’t have that much left to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, dear.” She stares him down as he begins to stand again. “And besides, you’ve already done so much for me this week.”

Hesitantly, Kaveh sits more fully, reaching for his abandoned breakfast. He takes a bite of fried dough, which now crumbles apart all over his shirt.

“It’s been our pleasure,” Alhaitham says, more politely than he’d expect from someone who was objectively incredibly inconvenienced by the entire visit. Or maybe that was another thing he wasn’t really lying about—Kaveh wasn’t exactly clear on where the line was drawn. Did Alhaitham’s apparent love for him extend to him actually enjoying a week-long hosting of his family? What a thought.

It wouldn’t matter after today.

It’s strange to sit there idly as she packs. There really isn’t much else for her to do before the caravan to Bayda Harbor leaves just after midday. She had hours still to get to the city entrance in time. But still, Kaveh feels restless.

Alhaitham, for his part, seems unbothered. He takes a sip of his coffee, moving the book he must have been reading earlier to the side table as well. He then leans back into his seat, leaving one hand resting on the cushion between them.

The placement is awkward and out of place enough that Kaveh thinks it must mean something, but he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to take the hand he left so perfectly in his reach. It might be one final dramatic arc in their performance this week, one more romantic moment to remember. Or maybe he’s imagining it all, and would only end up hurting his scene partner even further by misinterpreting a meaningless gesture.

Apparently reading his mind, Alhaitham lifts his head in a subtle nod of approval.

So after a moment to brace himself, he covers Alhaitham’s hand with his own. It shifts beneath his, and Kaveh wonders if he made a mistake—but before he can pull away, Alhaitham wraps his thumb ever so slightly around Kaveh’s and even that infinitesimal pressure is enough to lock him into place.

He’s relieved, in a way, that he wasn’t wrong. And holding Alhaitham’s hand was certainly less jarring than being kissed by him, even only on the cheek. It might actually be comforting, even if it was all for the sake of pretending, especially as he runs his thumb along the back of his knuckles. And besides, this was probably the last time.

Why does that feel so bittersweet?

He should feel relieved, relaxed, like a weight is being lifted off his shoulders. There’d be no more need for pretending, just the normal life he was used to. He’s made it through—they’ve made it through—and everything could go back to the way it was.

But what if he didn’t want it to?

If what Alhaitham said held true, he wouldn’t want this to be the last time. He wanted Kaveh; he loved Kaveh. He wanted more than what they had—well, what they said they had—this week. It was real for him. It could be real for Kaveh, too.

But when Alhaitham told him he loved him, Kaveh didn’t tell him the truth. He responded with shock, with silence. He said nothing.

He didn’t tell Alhaitham he loves him, too.

Maybe there was no way he could have, not then, since he didn’t understand until now. Now that it’s clear to him that no amount of not reallys, spoken aloud or only in his head, could deny this one simple thing.

He doesn’t want this to end.

Each minute feels an eternity and only a millisecond at the same time. The pile of unpacked items dwindles as each moment fades away. Three coffees are finished, and Kaveh’s breakfast sits heavy in the bottom of his stomach, along with all his fears and his hopes.

Soon enough, it’s time.

His mother looks towards him, his hand is still caught in Alhaitham’s. “You’ll walk me to the caravan, right, son?”

“Of course,” Kaveh replies. He moves, then, finally, though he suspects he’ll continue to feel the ghost of Alhaitham’s hand under his for quite a while yet.

Alhaitham helps them bring her bags to the foyer, passing them to Kaveh to sling over his shoulder. It’s clear that he intends to stay home to give Kaveh a few more moments alone with his mother, so he stands by the front door to say his goodbyes.

His mother reaches up to hug Alhaitham, leaving a hand on his upper arm when she pulls away.

“Take care of each other,” she says.

Alhaitham nods, smiling enough for her to see. “We always do.”

She smiles back. “I hope I’ll have a reason to visit again soon.”

“Until then,” he says, guiding them out.

The sun catches him off guard when he steps outside. It’s warm and bright, even as it filters through the branches of the Divine Tree above them, like the city had to show off one more time before she leaves.

“Thank you, Kaveh,” she says, as they begin to make their way. “For everything.”

He hoists her bag more securely over her shoulder; the trip is only slightly longer than his commute, but he doesn’t usually have this sort of baggage to carry. “I’m glad we were able to do this.”

“You’ve built a wonderful home here.” Her voice wavers.

“I couldn’t have done any of it without the people around me.” Alhaitham included, and perhaps most of all.

“Tell Alhaitham thanks for me as well, alright?”

“I will.”

“You found a good one,” she continues. “I can tell he really loves you.”

Kaveh hesitates. “Yeah.”

“Don’t let him get away.” She turns to look at him, eyes narrowed in such an expression that Kaveh wonders if she’s figured it all out on her own.

“I won’t.”

They reach the caravan, then, where a man balances atop a stand, waving at passersby. “Bayda Harbor!” he yells. “Connecting with ships outbound to Lumidouce Harbor!”

Kaveh helps load her bag before stepping back to give his mother one last hug.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she says into his shoulder. “You’re both welcome in Fontaine any time.”

“Bye, mum.” He lets go. “Love you.”

“Love you, Kaveh.”

After one last smile, she turns to board the caravan and begin her journey. She waves as it begins to move, and once it disappears over a hill, Kaveh turns to make his own way home.

— — —

Alhaitham isn’t there when he opens the door and walks into the main room, but it doesn’t take very long for Kaveh to realize where he is. Dishes rattle in the kitchen, a pan sizzles, filling the house with a deliciously savory scent that will likely linger for the rest of the day.

He could wait for Alhaitham to finish before making his own lunch. It had been a long week—he was surely enjoying the first truly quiet time he had had in a while.

So Kaveh makes himself busy in the meantime, tidying up the space he’s in now. He gathers their mugs from this morning to set aside to wash later on. He adjusts the pillows on the divans, fluffing them for the next time someone takes a seat. He suspects it will be a while before they have guests again, since they’d both need time to rest and reset.

He’s still stacking up a set of books his mother had been looking at before leaving when he hears footsteps behind him. He thought Alhaitham would eat by himself at the small table in the kitchen, but he must have preferred to make himself more comfortable in here.

“I can get out of your wa—” Kaveh begins to say, before realizing that he holds two plates of butter chicken and freshly sliced fruit.

“Hungry?” Alhaitham holds up the plate with extra peaches.

“Oh,” Kaveh says, surprised. He leans against the table, palms resting on the edge. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Alhaitham sets the dishes down on the freshly cleared surface behind him, beginning to make his way around to sit down.

“Actually…” Kaveh catches his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Can I ask you one last favor?”

“What’s that?”

Kaveh swallows, taking one more breath. “Can you forgive me for taking this long?”

“What are you saying?” Alhaitham turns to study his face, his brows furrowed.

“What I should have said last night.”

Alhaitham doesn’t let him say anything. He kisses him instead, trapping him against the table with one hand on his cheek and the other against his thigh. Kaveh’s words are lost in the midst of it all, and his thoughts too—he only knows the feeling of Alhaitham’s lips moving against his own with a desperation he can’t help but mirror. He does manage to find Alhaitham’s waist in all of it, bringing him closer and holding him tight.

Alhaitham doesn’t pull away until they’re both breathless and blushing. He doesn’t let go, though, and Kaveh doesn’t mind at all—he’d rather like to stay here, even with the edge of the table digging into the back of his legs.

“Sorry,” Alhaitham says, not sorry at all. “Were you saying something?”

“I think you figured it out on your own.” He half expects Alhaitham to interrupt him again, with the way his gaze doesn’t move from Kaveh’s lips.

“I’d still like to hear you say it.”

Kaveh takes a steadying breath, finding those words he’d lost in the back of his throat.

“I love you, Alhaitham.”

“What was that?” Alhaitham grins; his thumb traces a slow curve over Kaveh’s cheekbone.

“I love you,” Kaveh says, a little louder this time.

Alhaitham turns his head, as if it was the angle of his ear preventing him from hearing. “Say it again?”

“Alhaitham, please.” Kaveh narrows his eyes, realizing what he’s doing but humoring him anyways. “I love you.”

“Just wanted to make sure I heard you properly.” Alhaitham leans back in, his lips brushing against Kaveh’s ear. “I love you too.”

He pulls Kaveh into another kiss, then, slower than the first. As if there’s less urgency now that he’s heard it thrice, and all of the time to savor it. His movements are languid but no less purposeful, sending a buzzing through Kaveh’s blood with each touch.

Somehow Kaveh shifts to sit up onto the table without breaking apart; the better balance lets him pull Alhaitham closer. Alhaitham welcomes the opportunity to nestle himself between Kaveh’s legs, cupping the back of his head with fingers threaded through his hair. He tugs slightly, gently, tracing the seam of his lips with his tongue to deepen the kiss.

Eventually Alhaitham moves his other hand, the one that hasn’t left Kaveh’s thigh this entire time. He moves up the curve of his waist and around to his back, where his fingertips dance along his spine before slipping into the open back of his shirt. His lips move, too, leaving a trail down his neck until he reaches the bend of his shoulder. Sharply, Alhaitham sucks there—Kaveh gasps, and Alhaitham stops to soothe the spot with his tongue.

“Haitham—” Kaveh’s back arches, curving his body into Alhaitham’s chest as he continues to paint open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone.

“Yes?” he murmurs against him, undeterred.

“Shouldn’t we…” Kaveh leans back slightly, regretting it immediately. “Well, it’s getting late.”

Alhaitham pulls Kaveh’s collar to the side to better admire his work, running a thumb lightly over the rosy spot forming where his neck meets his shoulder. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“Yeah, but I need time to… I mean, it’s mostly cleaned up in here, but I need to wash the bedding my mother used, and move my stuff out of your room—”

“Don’t,” Alhaitham says simply, cutting him off.

“Don’t what?” Kaveh’s mind is fuzzy, his focus only worsened by Alhaitham’s still wandering fingers. They’ve moved back down to his waist, one resting on his hip.

“Don’t move out,” he clarifies, and the ease with which he says it makes Kaveh’s head feel calmer and dizzier at the same time.

“You don’t want your room back after all this?”

“It’s ours,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh rather likes how that sounds. He presses one more kiss to his forehead. “Stay.”