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It’s a Tuesday. The most lackluster day of the week.
The humidity is worse than it usually is this time of year. The bugs are chirping outside the window. The faucet is leaking and will need to be fixed eventually. All is, more or less, normal.
Until something very abnormal happens:
“Alhaitham.”
A noise of acknowledgment; his eyes do not leave the page.
“I need you to do something, no questions asked.”
Another noise of acknowledgment, this time laced with growing interest.
“No, no. You have to verbally promise. No ambiguous noises that you will later use to refute your acceptance.”
The book is closed.
“What is it, Kaveh?”
A flat look.
And then…
“I need you to kiss me. Immediately.”
Suddenly, Alhaitham is a fan of Tuesdays.
* * *
The amount of times he has kissed another person on the mouth can be easily summed up on both hands with fingers to spare. While not averse to the idea, Alhaitham prefers to connect with others on an intellectual level. Physical contact simply does not arouse his brain nearly as much as the way a well-constructed debate does. Except…
Except, this time, when he cradles the back of Kaveh’s head—because he knows the fool is prone to flailing when he’s overstimulated or his emotions are riding too much of a high—and he brings their mouths together, it’s different. Kaveh’s trembling bottom lip isn’t overly soft but it’s plush and it’s warm and it sends a shockwave through Alhaitham. Nice. It feels nice.
Alhaitham can feel the stutter of Kaveh’s breath against his mouth as their lips finally connect in full. He can feel the rapid beating of Kaveh’s heart at the back of his neck, down near his nape, where he focuses on not playing on the dangerously soft baby hairs. He can feel Kaveh, and that changes everything.
The kiss is short. By the time Alhaitham shuts off his brain to actually enjoy it instead of cataloging each and every detail like a researcher out in the field, Kaveh pulls back.
Did Alhaitham close his eyes? He isn’t sure. All he knows is that he’s staring at his roommate who is flushed a warm pink and is pressing slightly shaky fingers to his bottom lip.
“Well?” Alhaitham hears himself ask for no apparent reason other than to keep Kaveh grounded to this spot, to this moment.
Kaveh looks to the side. The flush reaches his ears and he chews on the inside of his bottom lip in a way that once again makes Alhaitham’s pulse thud.
“Are you going to explain?” Alhaitham presses, arms folding across his chest.
(It would be safest to walk away, to ask Kaveh what he wants to eat tonight, to ask if he’s going to Lambad’s or if the aunties at the market had the fabric Kaveh wanted for his latest sash-project. It would be wisest to fall into routine and to sidestep the landmine that has been growing, growing, growing for years, now, festering until like vines, it overtook this very house that’s become a home.
And for once, Alhaitham abandons reason.)
“Explain?” Kaveh echoes. He huffs. “I told you, no questions.”
“That was before,” Alhaitham quips. He taps a foot, impatient. “Well?” he says, just one more time.
Kaveh’s arms fall uselessly to his sides. Muttering, he admits, “… I was out on fieldwork, as you know. Something very dangerous, mind you, and there was a superstition that if you came into contact with a certain rare species of plant, you would be cursed should you not, ah… partake in that.”
Alhaitham blinks. Slowly.
(Oh, he wants to laugh. It’s so painfully endearing.)
“You thought you were cursed, and the only way to break it was to kiss me.”
“Well!” Kaveh begins, full of bravado, chest puffing out. He takes another deliberate step forward and squares his shoulders. “Well,” he repeats, perhaps just to mock Alhaitham, but there is no fire behind his words other than the passion that is uniquely Kaveh, “I have it on good authority that the so-called fables of that particular area often end up being rooted in reality.”
“What would this curse do to you, exactly, had you not commanded I kiss you?”
“It wasn’t a command—!” Kaveh begins, flustered, and raises a hand threateningly into the air. He merely wags a finger at Alhaitham’s chest. “And,” he continues, far more elegantly, “I did not want to test whether there was a Leyline disruption in the area and I would end up hopping around on all fours.”
Alhaitham lifts a brow.
(The words all fours do something to his chest, tighten it and make it burst with heat, but he pushes that side for the time being.)
Kaveh, realizing that the silence is going to persist, adds, “…I was going to be a frog.”
Alhaitham’s lips twitch at the corners. Amusement floods his system, second only to the sense of comfort he feels whenever Kaveh is so unabashedly himself. He sighs, waving a hand towards Kaveh just to keep the front going, “A frog. Very likely. I suppose you made the wise choice, lest you be chased by leopards or trek mud into my house.”
“Mud?!” Kaveh squawks, both his fists curling at his sides as he closes the small distance between them. Chest to chest, he continues, “You should be thankful I came to you, of all people, for help!”
“Oh?”
Oh.
Alhaitham’s gaze softens. He watches as the gears spin and then stall out in Kaveh’s head. Kaveh’s eyes widen and Alhaitham sees it all happens—so it’s only natural for him to gently reach for Kaveh’s left elbow to stop him from pulling back and running away.
(Running from this.)
“And why should I be glad you came to me?” he repeats. Though teasing, there’s an edge of encouragement to his tone. Or, he hopes it comes off that way. He can’t be certain, and that’s frustrating in and of itself.
“You are insufferable,” Kaveh breathes out in utter vexation, the freckles on his face struggling against the burn on his enflamed cheeks. It’s adorable.
“Well, senior,” Alhaitham says, emphasizing his first word as he brings his free hand up to tuck an errant strand of hair over Kaveh’s ear. “I will consider this one of those situations where all’s well that ends well.”
Kaveh wrinkles his nose, but does not flinch. “I don’t think that saying is applicable here, Alhaitham.”
“Is that so?”
Alhaitham smiles. It’s not a grand gesture, not something that stretches ear to ear, but it’s earnest, it’s real, it’s true. He watches Kaveh’s eyes widen all over again and then feels Kaveh lean forward, resting some of his weight against Alhaitham’s chest as they stand toe to toe in the middle of their kitchen in the middle of their home.
“Ask me what I want for dinner,” Kaveh mumbles, not making eye contact.
Alhaitham’s hand drops from Kaveh’s below to his waist. Hesitant. Curious. Hopeful.
“So long as you do not suggest soup,” Alhaitham counters. His fingertips ghost along Kaveh’s impossibly small waist and he hopes, he prays to Archons he never has spoken the names of aloud, that may not even exist but are lost to old stories and tales.
“On second thought, let’s go out for dinner. I could use a glass of wine. Or three,” Kaveh says.
“I wouldn’t be opposed. … so long as you don’t run up my tab again.”
“Absurd.”
Alhaitham takes a risk just before pulling away, pressing his lips instinctively to the top of Kaveh’s hand, into that crown of golden hair he’s always admired from too, too far away.
“Go put on your shoes and we’ll head out.”
No, Tuesdays aren’t so terrible after all.