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2025-11-03
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Welcome me in your arms

Anonymous

Summary:

Kaveh swears that he'll find Alhaitham, and that they'll be together forever.

Work Text:

The rain was a gentle thing that day, soft as a feather against the cobblestones of Sumeru City, and yet it weighed heavy on Kaveh’s shoulders as though each drop carried the weight of the sky itself. He hadn’t intended to linger at the plaza for so long.

It was supposed to be a quick stop on his way back to the house he could hardly bear to call home anymore. The market square had emptied with the downpour, and the awnings of the stalls sagged under the weight of the water pooling on their edges.

The city was quiet in a way it rarely was, the usual hum of laughter, haggling, and street performers reduced to the soft pattering of rain and the occasional sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. Kaveh liked to think it was the heavens themselves mourning, as melodramatic as that was, because it was easier to imagine the rain carried Alhaitham’s essence than to accept the finality of a tombstone carved into marble.

Kaveh leaned against one of the damp stone pillars that framed the plaza, his hair plastered to his face, curling at the ends where water had soaked in. He’d forgotten his umbrella in his rush to leave the house, though he suspected deep down that it hadn’t been an accident at all. He’d needed to feel the cold bite of the rain on his skin, to be reminded that the world still moved on even though Alhaitham would never again walk these streets.

He swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat, that familiar and unwelcome pressure that had become his companion in the days and weeks since the funeral. He hated this feeling. Hated how grief had made a home out of him, a squatter in the hollow spaces Alhaitham used to fill.

He’d always thought that when you lost someone, the world would stop—just for a moment, just for long enough for you to catch your breath and acknowledge the loss. But it hadn’t stopped. The days kept passing, the sun kept rising, and the Akademiya kept sending him those godsdamned reminders about his overdue thesis work.

The people he passed on the streets offered their condolences when they saw him, voices hushed, hands wringing awkwardly at their sides, their sympathy real but hollow all the same.

They said the usual things people say when they don’t know what else to say: “He was a brilliant man.” “I’m so sorry for your loss.” “If there’s anything I can do...”

Kaveh always nodded, mumbled something vaguely polite in return, but he never had the strength to tell them that there was something they could do—they could bring him back. They could undo the cruel twist of fate that had taken Alhaitham from him in the first place.

But no one could, and so Kaveh stood there alone in the rain, clutching his satchel like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

He hadn’t cried at the funeral. Not in front of all those people, at least. There had been too many eyes on him, too many whispers about how he and Alhaitham had lived together, how they’d spent years circling each other like planets caught in the same orbit.

Kaveh had worn his grief like a second skin that day, letting it weigh him down without letting it break him. But now, standing in the rain where no one could see him, he let himself falter. His hand gripped the edge of the pillar so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and he bowed his head, the tears falling freely now, mingling with the raindrops on his cheeks.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Alhaitham, of all people, had been taken from the world. Alhaitham, who’d been a thorn in his side and the anchor that kept him steady, all at once. Alhaitham, who could infuriate him with a single raised eyebrow but also make him feel understood in ways no one else ever had.

His chest ached with the weight of all the things he’d never said. He’d thought there would be more time. Time to work through the arguments, time to unravel the knots they’d tied themselves into over the years.

Time to admit that maybe, just maybe, those late nights spent bickering over dinner weren’t just habit but something closer to love. Kaveh pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, as if he could press the memories away, but they only came rushing back harder. He thought of the way Alhaitham used to sit at the kitchen table, book in one hand, coffee in the other, his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.

He thought of the way Alhaitham’s voice used to fill the house, low and even, as he corrected Kaveh’s latest overambitious blueprint. He thought of the way Alhaitham had looked at him that last morning, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he’d said something dry and cutting, something Kaveh couldn’t even remember now because he hadn’t known it would be the last time he’d ever hear it.

The tears came harder, and Kaveh didn’t bother to stop them. What was the point? The world had already seen him shattered. What was one more crack in the façade? He let himself slide down the pillar until he was sitting on the wet ground, his knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them like he could hold himself together if he just squeezed tightly enough. He hated how pathetic he must look, hated that he cared at all.

But he couldn’t stop himself. Alhaitham had been so many things to him—a rival, a roommate, a companion, a constant—and now he was just gone, and Kaveh didn’t know how to make sense of the empty space he’d left behind.

He dug into his satchel with trembling fingers and pulled out the letter he’d been carrying with him since the day of the funeral. It was worn now, the edges soft from being unfolded and refolded a dozen times, the ink smudged in places where his tears had fallen on it.

He didn’t even know why he kept reading it. It didn’t change anything. It was just a piece of paper, just words. But it was the last piece of Alhaitham he had left, and he couldn’t let it go. The letter wasn’t long, wasn’t particularly flowery or sentimental—because of course it wasn’t.

Alhaitham had always been pragmatic, even in death. But the words were still etched into Kaveh’s mind, every line a needle in his heart.