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Back pressed against the closed door of his room, Kaveh firmly clasped a hand to his chest and the emerald glow that threatened beneath sheer white fabric. With each beat of his racing heart, the color burned bright and his face burned hotter. Altogether he was disheveled - shallow breaths, shaky hands, and jelly legs. He slid down the door frame to sit.
Alhaitham had fallen asleep on the couch. His book laid open-faced across his lap, half-cradled by hands too tired to hold them. Kaveh wondered fondly of what he had been reading, what new information he would surely be keen to share later over the dinner table with all the feigned apathy of a cat. Cheek to shoulder, gray hairs across long gray lashes, brow curiously unfurrowed, Alhaitham dozed, and Kaveh ached. There was something so sweet and intimate in this; something he shouldn’t share in, but even still, he reached to pull a blanket up over Alhaitham. This was something he could only do in the safety of sleep, without that piercing green gaze upon him, without answering a “why,” a “when,” or a “what.” This was love; the only way Kaveh could show it to the person most precious to him.
So irrevocably deep was Kaveh’s love for Alhaitham that passion manifested in his dendro. The architect fought a losing battle to keep green vines of light from reaching out to Alhaitham, yearning to connect, to intertwine, to meet his magic in kind and bloom.
Kaveh wanted him to reach back. Kaveh wanted Alhaitham to wrap him in warmth and adoration and a magic that touched so deeply inside that Kaveh would remember it for the rest of his days. He wanted him to squeeze, to push, to ruin him in every way possible. And the more he craved this, the more difficult it became to control his impulses and dendro alike. Every day, he strung himself back together with soft green stitches of composure. Every day, and only getting worse, Alhaitham picked him apart. The scribe was… softening his rough edges, if only apparent to Kaveh himself.
Their mundane daily tasks were torturous. To grocery shop together and for one another; to leave the porch light on when the latter was home late; to sit at the dining table for a meal they cooked in the same kitchen… The pair danced the line of domestic partnership at its finest, only to break away when things began to feel real. When Alhaitham brushed past him or laid a hand on his shoulder, Kaveh knew his red-painted cheeks told the story - although, if Alhaitham noticed, he gave no sign. He was painfully, horrifically neutral, collected, separate. So Kaveh bristled and snapped at these sweet injustices like a cornered animal. If Alhaitham drew any closer or allowed his touch to linger a heartbeat longer, Kaveh was not confident he could stop the roots of his magic from reaching out to the only thing that felt like home.
On the sofa, Alhaitham’s eyes had cracked open as Kaveh’s magic radiated around him, around the blanket over his shoulders, around the architect leaned over him. Their gazes met fleetingly before Kaveh recoiled and turned his back.
“Be sure to fold that when you're done! And you'll crease the pages of your book. Go sleep in your own bed.”
Alhaitham's gaze seared into him as he turned the corner to the hallway and his room, but no reply came, which was far worse than if Alhaitham had taken his invitation to bicker. Kaveh could do nothing with silence except soak in his shame and embarrassment.
He combed a hand through his hair and sighed raggedly, allowing the back of his head to thump heavily against the door. Alhaitham was his roommate. A colleague at best. An old wound. He was neither a lover, a partner, or even a friend. The pair together were oil and water, plain to see. Kaveh reminded himself again that any comfort he felt in the scribe’s presence was remnant of an era long-passed; they were the same people still, and doomed to the same fate: Alhaitham to see right through his altruism, and Kaveh to rebuke him with all the indignant guilt of someone who has been seen through. He regretted with every fiber of his being that in his hurt youth, he persecuted the only one to see and understand him - and yet, Alhaitham’s parting words stung heavily on the ears, not soon forgotten.
Alhaitham matured, graduated, moved, thrived. Kaveh wondered what he had experienced in the time since their friendship, where life had taken him. In many ways, he had remained the same: steadfast and honest, cutting and driven. But adulthood, or perhaps the hurtful nature of their separation, had left him more guarded than ever. That day, once the fury had subsided, had he sobbed into his pillow and prayed to take it back? Was Kaveh’s absence from Alhaitham’s life as agonizing as Alhaitham’s absence was to him? Although he treasured the friendships he kindled after graduation, there was no comparison to what the scribe and architect had shared. Two prodigies in their fields, hungry for something more than what the others could offer… One spark ignited the other, both aglow with passion for their endeavors as well as interest in the other's. Kaveh marveled at Alhaitham's solitary, unmatched genius and unyielding analysis; Alhaitham praised his design and invention, and only his. They spent every waking moment together talking, reading, writing, watching the surrounding world and smiling because it felt like they knew a truth that no one else did. Often, they fell asleep in the same bed, only to wake together bathed in warm dawn and the same shared scent of sun and paper. Kaveh loved him then, and had nearly convinced himself that Alhaitham loved him too before their fateful argument. The Light of Ksharewar lost his flame that night, fueled now only by the smoke of bitter regret.
Suspended in teenage love and lust unquenched, there were days Kaveh left an extra button undone to reveal the untouched skin of his stomach. Other times, new jewelry, new pins to pull back sunkissed locks. He sat, stretched, stood, bent over carefully in all the right ways. It was a self-sabotaging habit and his only perceived hope to win his interest or approval again; though god forbid Alhaitham noticed, god forbid he acknowledge his efforts or scorn them. Kaveh knew he would lash out explosively to push Alhaitham as far away as possible, to keep his dendro from making the contact he denied himself - only to try again the following day. Neither did it ease his bitterness as Alhaitham carried on with professional relations and camaraderie with all the same sharpness, honesty, and evaluation that Kaveh himself endured. They were all the same to him, the architect and classmates, coworkers, friends alike. So why did Alhaitham choose to fall asleep on their couch so softly? Why did he wait to eat dinner with him? Why did he allow him to stay? Kaveh could not afford to read into this. He was a guest, unwelcome and temporary, in Alhaitham's home. The indignant plea had been made when Kaveh was drunk and desperate in a tavern that the scribe had visited by sheer luck. The architect drowned his sorrows in wine with the last coin in his pocket. At the time, Kaveh had winced after making his proposal in a moment of clarity from the drink. He expected Alhaitham to scoff, interrogate, or worse, laugh.
But Alhaitham looked down at him in a way Kaveh could only assess as thoughtful. There was a pause, before he replied, "Yes. We'll discuss the arrangement when you're sober. You can come home with me.”
The rest was history; a close-guarded, secret history. Kaveh worked to pay him half rent but fell short more often than not. Alhaitham did not remark on this. His only criticism came when Kaveh’s mora to live was spent on booze and cigarettes.
This month was worse than usual. Kaveh had been thrust into a season-long project that would pay at the end. His fingers were blistered from late nights hunched over his desk scribbling furiously. He had given up being “attractive” for the time and was lucky to let his hair down from the loose bun at his nape. He wore a loose, sheer white shirt unbuttoned down the chest that hung more loosely on one shoulder than the other and red pants that hugged the waist and ankles. Although wine was on the tongue, his skin smelled softly of rose and pepper and wrinkled bed sheets. From the floor of his bedroom, he stared miserably at the pile of papers dimly illuminated by the lamp above. He didn't have time to grieve and torment over Alhaitham, over what happened on the couch. He needed to work so he could keep living here at all, so he could stay close to him.
He pulled himself to numb feet and slumped into his chair. His movements were mechanical, devoid of passion as he plucked up his pen and ruler and laid out the lines of a lackluster structure. Swigs of liquid inspiration served only to make his notes sloppy and smudged; but at least he had calmed from anxiety to apathy. This was a much more productive state of mind to be in.
Hours later, the sun slipped below the horizon and Kaveh stopped his work but continued to drink. He was fully and beautifully drunk now and brimming with the false courage to finally tiptoe out of the bedroom. The lights had been turned out for the night with only amber and green lamps to guide his fumbled movement. Perhaps he had rummaged through the cabinets too loudly, mouth stuffed with cookies, for the object of his torment stood arms-crossed in the doorway behind.
“You're overthinking it.”
Kaveh brushed the crumbs from the corner of his mouth and leaned back on the counter, brimming with a defensive spite even as he wavered on drunken feet.
“Overthinking what?”
“It. This.”
Alhaitham was dressed in dark green and black sheer and thick ribbons of robe that comfortably clung to his sturdy frame. Kaveh couldn't help but look him up and down and felt a pang in his heart and gut as dendro gently stirred from the vision on his hip. He moved a hand to squeeze it and cleared the dryness from his throat.
“I don't understand. You're being vague.”
He suppressed a shiver (nerves or excitement?) as Alhaitham’s gaze sharpened and raked over him. White knuckles gripped the counter. He didn’t know what he was talking about; he didn’t want to know what he was talking about. He hated confrontation and hated the way he was losing control of his magic by the heartbeat, so he moved to shoulder past his roommate with a scoff. “Forget it. I have a deadline to work on. If this is about earlier, I don’t -”
Alhaitham stopped him with a firm hand to the arm. He must have anticipated Kaveh’s instinctive response, as he softened his grip before giving him the opportunity to jerk away. His expression was stern and shadowed by what could only be described as concern, and something more… Kaveh allowed him to keep ahold, but his feet were already one step closer to his hallway escape. He stared up at him in angry, fearful anticipation, and said nothing.
“You’re overthinking us,” Alhaitham said deliberately, while his hand slid up to hold Kaveh’s shoulder. “And if this is not what you want, you need to tell me.” Tenderly, he lifted his hand next to cup Kaveh’s face, and his other hand was soon to join. The thrown color of soft lamplight did little to hide the growing blush across Kaveh’s cheeks, nose, and ears, and to his shock, the same pink crept across Alhaitham’s. He was beginning to unravel the depth of his expression; he was… Nervous, anticipatory, waiting. Kaveh had never seen the scribe nervous before. His own hand let go of his vision and slowly curled to hold the front of Alhaitham’s robe. At this distance, he was reminded of Alhaitham’s scent, familiar and warm: peppermint and sage. In a sober state of mind, he may have gathered the clarity to pull away from this moment that was too good to be true and too good to be deserved. But Kaveh was drunk and stupid. His free hand gingerly held the slight curve of Alhaitham’s waist.
“I don’t believe you,” he murmured, ruby eyes soft through golden lashes. His defensive spark had been snuffed by Alhaitham’s cradling grasp and all that was left was a man full of adoration. Revelation poured from his open heart, growing more slurred by the word, but honest at last. “But I love you. I love you. I love you so much, it hurts my soul. I have loved you for a very long time, and I am scared of what comes next. I don’t know if you love me. It’s okay if you don’t. I’m sorry I yell at you, I’m sorry we fight, it hurts to be close to you and I don’t know what to do anymore.” His voice became ragged on the teetered edge of sobbing and his cheeks pushed heavier into Alhaitham’s hands despite his voiced concerns.
Alhaitham listened patiently and did not interrupt. When Kaveh was finished, he brushed the tears away gently with his thumbs and leaned in to to kiss the architect with great and careful love. Under his palms, Kaveh melted, then pushed in to meet him in kind. Emerald green came to envelop the pair, but this time, it did not belong to only Kaveh; Alhaitham’s dendro had joined to tug at his waist, his clothes, his hair as gently as leaves in the wind, to pull Kaveh in as tightly as physically possible. Kaveh had been fully, irrevocably, enveloped in Alhaitham’s love for once and for all.