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When Al-haitham returns back to their home it is late. Very late. A small sliver of the moon shines high in the sky, and stars adorn the night like dewdrops. Silence reigns over the house, the quiet click of the door shutting behind him seeming out of place. He goes through his usual routine quickly, wanting nothing more than to slip into bed with Kaveh and sleep. He considers getting a small snack from the kitchen but decides against it, the tempting pull of sleep tugging at his mind.
He strides down the hallway with determined steps, opening and closing the bathroom door quietly. He goes through his nightly routine dead on his feet, entering Kaveh’s room as a smile plays on his lips. It’s been a long day, and he wants nothing more than to shed the weight of his responsibilities and be held by his beloved. He slides into bed next to Kaveh, the older man sighing in his sleep and nestling closer to Al-haitham. As he settles in to sleep, there is a nagging feeling he has forgotten something, though he loses consciousness before he can place it.
Al-haitham wakes to the sun in his eyes, and he reaches to cover them with a hand. He turns away from the light, ready to fall asleep once again, when his eyes shoot wide open. He remembers what he had forgotten. He scrambles to get out of bed without waking Kaveh, and takes his appearance in with clearer eyes than the previous night. He is still wearing most of his day clothes, not his usual sleepwear. His eyes seem a little red and puffy, as if he had been crying, and Al-haitham’s heart sinks.
With a terrible feeling in his chest he makes his way to the kitchen, and his heart breaks as he sees the cake box, sitting proudly in the center of the table. It was Kaveh’s birthday.
It was Kaveh’s birthday and Al-haitham had ignored him.
He feels a little sick. Something as small as missing a birthday while swamped with work would generally not phase him— birthdays never mattered while growing up, so he never truly cared for them as he got older. Kaveh always did something special for him, though. He would bake a cake, or build a small puzzle to keep Al-haitham busy when he was bored. Birthdays meant something to Kaveh, and Al-haitham had simply dismissed him.
And the worst part? Al-haitham had no idea what to do. Kaveh was the emotional one. Kaveh was the one that knew how to fix feelings, how to recognize the distress someone was feeling, not Al-haitham.
That is where Kaveh finds him, standing in the kitchen and staring at the cake box. He hears Kaveh come up behind him and turns to face him, raking his eyes over Kaveh’s disheveled appearance. His mouth opens and closes before he finally eks out the words. “Happy birthday, Kaveh. I’m sorry I forgot.” Kaveh’s eyes get a little glassy and he chuckles, weakly hitting Al-haithams chest. “Do you know how shitty that is? Two years in a row that you forget my birthday?” Al-haitham winces, but remains silent- for once allowing Kaveh to finish what he needs to say. “You’re my boyfriend. We’ve known each other for how many years now?” Kaveh’s voice gradually gets louder, anger becoming more pronounced.
Al-haitham remains silent, for once finding himself at a loss of words, no response seeming appropriate. Kaveh shakes his head. “Nevermind. You were busy, it’s not your fault.” He strides past Al-haitham, into the kitchen. He picks up the cake box and smiles at Al-haitham. “I’m gonna head down to Zubayr theatre and give this to Nilou. I know she likes this kind of cake.”
His hands are shaking.
Al-haitham steps forwards and grabs the cake box in his own hands, so they are standing across the table, both with their arms outstretched. “No. We should eat some now.” His voice sounds cold, interpersonal, and he frowns. “For your birthday.” He clarifies, hoping he can get his meaning across. Kaveh opens his mouth as if to protest but closes it again before he can say anything, taking his hands off the cake and stepping away, grabbing two plates and two forks. He lays them out at the table while Al-haitham takes the knife in the box to cut two pieces. He serves them onto the plates and silence reigns as they eat. It is neither a comfortable or uncomfortable silence, only a tad awkward.
Two grown men— who are dating each other no less— sitting awkwardly at a kitchen table, eating cake. Truly, Al-haitham thinks, they should have it figured out by now.
It is Kaveh who speaks first, as he is wont to do. “Really ‘Haitham, it’s alright.” He chuckles. “My friends are busy, and I’m the only one in between jobs-” “Unemployed.” Al-haitham says, the witty remark seeming more out of habit than out of true meaning. Kaveh shoots him a glare, but it is friendly, and the knot in Al-haitham’s chest loosens. “In between jobs.” Kaveh says, forcefully, and they are back to their banter and Al-haitham feels as if the entire universe has righted itself.
“Even if you’re right, which you aren’t, I’ll still apologize.” Kaveh tosses up his hands in an exaggerated motion. “You never apologize when I ask but now when I’m saying you’re not at fault you do? Are you just doing this to spite me?” Al-haitham stares, deadpan. “Yes.” Kaveh sighs. “Of course you are. You’re always doing things to spite me.” Kaveh squints at Al-haitham, who simply looks down at his cake. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Kaveh sighs. “Why do I love you again?” Al-haitham shrugs. “I’m not sure. Seems like a cognitive failure on your part.” Kaveh smiles. “Well you do like to say I am cognitively lacking, so perhaps you’re onto something.”
Their banter continues until both plates are empty, and indeed some time after, as they snip witty remarks back and forth. Perhaps it is rude, or unaffectionate, but for them? It works.
As some small apology, Al-haitham agrees to simply laze around the house until the afternoon. Kaveh, much like a cat, leads Al-haitham to a couch enveloped in the rising sunlight, settling down there and wrapping himself comfortably around Al-haitham. His breathing slows after only a few minutes, and Al-haitham takes the chance to truly observe Kaveh’s face. His cheekbones and jaw are almost delicate, and his nose makes a fine curve to match. His lips are close to a pale pink in color, and are parted slightly as he breathes. His eyelashes seem like filaments of gold against the smooth expanse of his skin, and though Kaveh is the artist Al-haitham thinks he might be understanding what Kaveh means when he prattles on about ‘aesthetic appeal’.
It is a few hours later when Al-haitham wakes him, and he makes an involuntary sound of protest as Al-haitham shifts. His eyes drag open slowly as he yawns, and Al-haitham once again finds himself understanding beauty as Kaveh does.
As the afternoon sun hangs high in the sky they walk along a forest pathway, light dappled— the occasional spots of sun making Kaveh’s hair glow like gold. There is a pleasant silence between them, unspoken words conveyed through their tightly clasped hands as birdsong fills the air for them.
When they reach Gandharva Ville, Collei bounces out to meet them, ushering them happily into Tighnari and Cyno’s house. The atmosphere is comfortable inside, lanterns casting a warm yellow light across the inside of the hut. Mehrak Places the cake on the table, and Kaveh pats her on the head before she powers down, resting on a couch cushion. Kaveh is bombarded by apologies and birthday wishes, laughter and love spilling from the home late into the night.
Another birthday.
Another year.
No more mistakes