Chapter Text
Al-Haitham could count on one hand all the times he had gotten called into the office of the Senior Engineering Manager, the boss of his boss. If there was one thing Cyno was known for, it was how well he delegated tasks to his subordinates. Haitham rarely met with Cyno because he didn't need to meet with Cyno—all Haitham's code reviews were conducted by senior developers, and his team lead was the one who actually doled out his work tickets and kept him on track.
So to mid-level developers like Haitham, Cyno was akin to a myth. Someone he never ran into in the usual workday but heard about in passing, through word-of-mouth from developers a few rungs up on the corporate ladder. Someone he only knew existed from his final round interview and resulting offer, when upper management gave him a warm welcome that quickly faded into dull reality.
Haitham didn't mind the monotony of his job as an SDE 2; he loved it, in fact. So he wasn't thrilled about being called into Cyno's office out of the blue like this, right at 5:00 PM. Despite the cold air ushered through the office by the AC, anxious sweat pooled in the pits of Haitham's arms. He only hoped it had not visibly stained his button-up shirt.
Tension buzzed through the air as Haitham sat before Cyno and greeted him with a practiced polite smile. Cyno nodded in acknowledgment but did not return the smile, so Haitham let his own face fade back to its resting position, flat lines in all his features, his thick eyebrows and pursed lips.
Folding his hands on the desk, Cyno asked, "Do you know why I called you in for this meeting, Al-Haitham?"
No fucking clue, was Haitham's first instinct, but he bit that back real quick. "I'm not sure, sir. Nothing bad I hope," he dared to add with a feigned chuckle. Did humor work on Cyno as well as it did on the chumps in Marketing?
Cyno's expression didn't change, as stoic as before. It was a shame, really. He'd be incredibly handsome if he wasn't so morose—if his brow wasn't so weighed down by responsibility, stress lines written into his forehead and around his eyes, tightness around the corners of his lips like the mere act of smiling would impossibly strain them.
It was a shame because he otherwise seemed to have won in the genetic lottery—his long, suave hair looked straight out of a shampoo commercial, and he clearly must have been talented, too, to have achieved a high position in such a successful company like Akasha Tech.
Haitham eyed his hands again. A golden band shone on Cyno's left ring finger; no surprise, some woman must have recognized the same qualities Haitham just thought of as attractive enough to warrant chaining him down into a marriage.
"I would like to discuss your salary," Cyno finally revealed. Haitham wondered for a moment if he was getting a pay raise, but that made no sense. He'd never been higher than in the 50th percentile of the company for productivity, and at Cyno's grim silence, Haitham began to instead worry if his pay was going to be deducted.
"My salary?" Haitham repeated, trying not to let that worry dampen his voice.
"I've been informed by HR that you've been receiving the quarterly bonuses intended for married employees." Cyno's dark eyes narrowed, a slight shift that unnerved the hairs on Haitham's arms into standing up.
"Yes," Haitham said, his mouth dry. "I am married." In his logical mind, he knew it was impossible for Cyno to have uncovered Haitham's scheme—to know that Haitham's marriage was a sham invented solely so he could get those bonuses. That thought calmed him a little.
"Oh, really? Hm." With a lowered brow, Cyno nudged his chin in the direction of Haitham's hands. "You don't wear a ring, and your team members didn't seem to know about your marriage either. I was starting to wonder if this was all some…misunderstanding."
"I got married right out of college—we couldn't afford wedding rings at the time. And I like to keep my home life separate from my work life."
Cyno gave a slow nod like he was expecting this response. "I see." His low drawl wasn't even a single bit less suspecting than before. "Then why not use those bonuses to buy yourself and your wife a nice pair of rings?" He fiddled with his own ring as he said it.
Haitham tried not to cringe at the word, wife. If only he'd had a female friend who was willing to marry him instead of who he really did marry—his old college roommate, Kaveh, another man. That was their whole scam—and why Haitham had no good answer to Cyno's question, letting his voice fizzle out. "Uh..."
"Keeping your work and home lives separate is all well and good," Cyno went on, "but I must make it clear that Akasha Tech will not tolerate any abuse of our generous bonus policies. I will have to ask HR to conduct a more thorough investigation into your eligibility—"
"Wait, but I thought the only qualification for eligibility was to be married," Haitham said. "And I am married. I have the license to prove it."
Cyno inhaled through his gritted teeth. "The bonus is intended to encourage couples to start families. We are trying to target employees with young children or who will soon have children. More specifically, those married within the last three years, or who have at least one child born within the last three years."
"I meet those requirements." But just barely—and not for much longer. If he'd known this specificity back when he first joined the company, maybe he would've reconsidered his marriage more heavily.
He'd only gotten the idea for the absurd scheme after reading his onboarding information from HR and seeing the compensation section—the only clause this bonus had was that newly married employees were eligible. There were no other details, and that was all it took for Haitham to hurry to his roommate's room, push open the door, and announce, "Kaveh, let's get married."
Kaveh had blinked at him in blank disbelief, long lashes fluttering over sunset eyes like the wings of butterflies. He was the definition of a pretty boy, and still was even now, three years later. Like the genderbent version of a Barbie doll, glamorous and just as frivolous, a skinny blond boy who looked out of place anywhere that wasn't a fashion magazine.
He had been lying flat on his stomach, horizontal across his bed, sketching in a journal that he then placed aside. "Did you get high on pot brownies again? I already told you, they'll smell different than the normal ones."
"I'm not high," Haitham insisted, shoving the laptop screen in the other man's face and pointing out the married clause. "If I get this quarterly bonus, my starting salary will be 250K."
Kaveh didn't look as impressed as expected. He tapped his pencil against his chin as his eyes scanned the information and then rescanned. "So you want to commit marriage fraud just to earn some extra money?"
"It won't be fraud if we get legally married."
Kaveh rolled his eyes and brushed aside the laptop. "Does your greed know no end, Al-Haitham?"
Kaveh returned his attention to his sketchbook, but Haitham tore it from his hands. "I'm serious. This is life changing money. I could buy a house, and help with my grandma's medical bills, and pay off my student loan debt—and pay off your student loan debt—and—"
At that, Kaveh's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Wait, wait. You never mentioned you'd pay for my things." He pursed his glossy lips like he was actually conflicted with considering it.
"To some extent, sure. I'd have to provide for my husband," Haitham joked.
Kaveh glared and snatched his sketchbook back. "Don't call me that." His nose wrinkled. "I'll only agree if you spend that extra money buying things for me."
"Such as?" Haitham asked with a wary brow raised. He crossed his arms over his chest; he was not as muscular back in college as he was now, since he'd been too busy grinding LeetCode problems to go to the gym. Though it had paid off, clearly, since he'd gotten the full-time offer at Akasha Tech before he'd even started his senior fall classes.
As he thought, Kaveh took one of his long locks of golden hair—lustrous curls like ocean waves that felt like silk to the touch, the kind all the girls he knew were jealous of—and twirled it around his finger. "Hm… How about… you buy me a house and a car…" Haitham had scoffed after just that, but Kaveh went on, "And you pay off my loans like you mentioned. And if I ever ask for anything else, you get it for me—I promise, I'll be reasonable!"
"Absolutely not."
Kaveh shrugged. "Then good luck finding someone else to fake-marry you." He brought his pencil back down to the open journal page, picking up from the exact stroke he'd left off on.
Haitham clenched his jaw, racking his mind for anyone else who could help him out, but his search turned up empty. He'd seen no reason in college to burden himself with frequent social events like Kaveh; Haitham had no other friends.
Resigning himself, he sighed and plopped down on the bed beside his roommate. "Fine. I agree. I'll get you whatever you want."
Kaveh grinned at him, his eyes narrowing into sharp, catlike slits. "That's a good boy." They'd gone down to the courthouse the very next day.
Haitham could never tell this incriminating story to Cyno—anyway, it wasn't the most romantic proposal. So when Cyno asked, "How long have you been married?" Haitham tried not to shiver at the unease and cold air prickling over him. It's the middle of winter, why do you have the AC set so low?
And he tried to answer as truthfully as he could while obfuscating the truth. "Nearing three years."
"Do you two currently have any children?"
"No. But we do have a cat, named Mehrak. It's two years old." And really fucking expensive.
Cyno grunted noncommittally. "Is your wife currently pregnant?"
Restraining a laugh at the mental image of Kaveh pregnant, Haitham managed to say, "No, sir."
"Are you planning on her becoming pregnant within the next year? Have you been trying?" Cyno asked finally.
The overly personal question would normally also been funny to Haitham, but now it reminded him too much of his parents' nagging every time they called. You still live with your college roommate? When will you get a wife? When will you have kids? I want grandchildren, you know. Are you even trying?
They didn't know he was married to Kaveh—for their own sakes, as they'd surely have an aneurysm if they knew their handsome, successful son was married to another man. Haitham had planned to keep it that way, to quietly reap the benefits of their arrangement, tax cuts and quarterly bonuses, for as long as he could.
"Uh— We are…unfortunately unable to conceive," Haitham said.
He hoped that would be enough to sate Cyno's curiosity and end this interrogation, but instead Cyno cocked a brow. "Fertility issues?"
For half a second, he made a mental note to ask Kaveh about his fertility when he got home later, but then he remembered how foolish that was—fertile or not, they could never conceive, because they were both male. An awkward clearing of the throat turned to a cough as Haitham stalled for an answer.
He supposed he had no other choice but to tell Cyno this. "Actually, it's because… I'm, uh— I'm married to a man," he admitted with more embarrassment than perhaps was necessary. It wasn't like he was really coming out—he wasn't gay. It still felt shameful to say, though.
Cyno's eyes went wide. "Oh my, I apologize for assuming. Are you and your… husband looking to adopt, then?"
The words flew over Haitham's head at first, but then he found himself nodding and saying, "Yes, we eventually— We would like to adopt, but, as I'm sure you know, it's a very long and arduous process, so we haven't had success yet, but… yes." He wanted to slap himself. How much longer could he keep up this lie, this masquerade?
"I see," Cyno said. He relaxed back in his chair, seeming to ease up slightly on his prior suspicion, from when he thought Haitham was cheating the system. Well, I am cheating the system, just not how he thought, Haitham conceded in his mind.
Cyno continued in polite platitudes, "I sincerely apologize for my questioning, then. I promise I had no ill intentions, and I don't want to give the impression that I was targeting you specifically for your identity. This policy is meant to reward all of our married employees building their families, regardless of sexual orientation." Haitham half tuned out the rest, knowing Cyno was just repeating the same sensitivity statements they'd all learned in the DEI trainings.
He only began to tune back in when Cyno shifted topics. "I'm sure you've already heard about the company winter holiday party? It's being hosted by Dehya."
"Yes," Haitham said. He knew both about the party and about Dehya, an SDE 4 who'd started at level 1 at the same time as him. They were still good friends, even though he'd slacked far behind her.
"Will you be attending?"
Haitham hadn't thought about that. He tended to only go to team-bonding events if they were mandatory. Parties were a whole other beast. He'd never bothered with them in the past, pretending to be busy that night so he could stay home and watch a movie instead. (Or more often, argue with Kaveh over what movie to watch.)
"You definitely should," Cyno suggested when Haitham remained silent, but he said it in his managerial voice, the sort of authoritative demand that didn't sound optional at all. "And bring your husband, too. We all would love to meet him."
Haitham froze, a polite smile stuck onto his face like gorilla glue. He seldom even mentioned his marriage to others, and if he ever did, it was to strangers, not his coworkers and superiors he was trying to impress. To appear at an event like this, in front of all the SDE 3s and 4s he worked with every day, in front of senior managers like Cyno, with Kaveh by his side, introducing them as husbands—it was a mortifying thought.
"Of course," Haitham said deferentially before both men wished goodbyes and Haitham finally left the office building a good half an hour later than usual. He walked quickly and stiffly to his car. He needed to get home as soon as possible. To tell Kaveh about this, to get his help.
Kaveh had always been better at keeping up their act; sometimes Haitham got the impression that Kaveh enjoyed pretending to be gay, clinging to Haitham's arm in public or angrily demanding customer service employees to help his husband, just so he could laugh later at how embarrassed it made Haitham. But this was different. This wasn't another game of gay chicken—this was Haitham's work party for work with all of his coworkers. He needed Kaveh to take it seriously. They needed to truly be a team.
But when he arrived home, all thoughts of teamwork and cooperation left his mind as, before he could even take his shoes off, he heard Kaveh whine, "And here I was starting to think you'd never come back. What took you so long?"
Their pet cat—or really, Kaveh's cat who just happened to be very attached to Haitham—let out a distressed meow in agreement from where it stood at the end of the hallway, its tail curling behind it as it watched Haitham. Mehrak was a beautiful Egyptian Mau with green eyes, big like Kaveh's; Haitham often liked to joke it was Kaveh's child, and Kaveh would scoop it up in his arms and agree.
When Haitham finally managed to slide out of his black loafers, he followed the heavenly scent of meat and vegetables to the dining room, placing his workbag aside on a chair with haphazard regard.
Then, he started towards the kitchen, where Kaveh waited, knife in hand. His arms were crossed over his chest, and the anger on his face was severe enough that Haitham thought perhaps Kaveh was planning to stab him with that knife.
Instead, Kaveh puffed out a heavy sigh, causing the bangs that cover his forehead to momentarily fly up. He returned his attention to the pan-fried meat stew pie before him, which he cut into slices. Haitham marveled at the dish, his favorite, and served himself a slice.
"It got cold, from how long it's been waiting," Kaveh said, more bitter than the lemon used to season the stew. "It's not like I could keep it warm on the stove."
"Then why'd you make it?" Haitham asked, stopping by the fridge to get some wine and pour them both a glass.
"Because you always buy it from Lambad's and then you never make it because you don't cook!" Kaveh huffed again; Haitham enjoyed watching his blond hair fall back against his forehead. His bangs were quite interesting, falling in three distinct sections, one sweeping over the bridge of his nose and the other two framing the sides of his face, curling in on his high cheekbones. They perfectly brought attention to the brilliant, glittering red hue of his eyes—that were directed at Haitham in a hateful glare. "You're fucking welcome."
The stress of the workday was starting to catch up to Haitham, along with the memory that he would need to show up to a holiday party next week and pretend to be in love with this man. They walked together to the dining table, Kaveh moreso stomping.
"And I bought everything in this house with my own money. You don't work, Kaveh, remember? So I have no need to thank you."
"I'm not your servant!" Kaveh said. He aggressively stabbed a fork into his food. "And freelancing is work!"
Haitham rolled his eyes. "Just remember who's paying for all your nice shit."
"You can only pay for it because of me!" Kaveh shot back. He glared at Haitham again like he had more to say, but his lips faltered as Haitham sighed and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. Kaveh trained his gaze down. "You buy me things because that was our deal."
Haitham was too busy worrying about the upcoming holiday party—and sweating his ass off since Kaveh had cranked up the heater, the exact opposite of Cyno's office—to care about this argument. "I know. And I will always keep up my end of the bargain. All I'm saying is, you have no right to judge how I spend my money or time." He knew he needed to tell Kaveh about the party, but he was too hungry for that right now.
They ate in silence for a while, and Haitham began to think that Kaveh was perhaps just hungry, too, as after he downed one whole slice with wine, he spoke much more casually, "Tell me why you were late. What happened?"
He was back to his usual self, that bored heaviness to his eyelids that made him look like he was either about to fall asleep or trying to seduce someone. Haitham wondered why Kaveh didn't just eat on his own instead of waiting, but then he remembered the unique and cruel pleasure Kaveh took from annoying Haitham, and he figured Kaveh wanted to wait for him.
"Senior manager called me in to talk about the marriage bonus," Haitham grumbled. At times like this, he wondered how different his life would be if he was just normal. If he had tried to find a real wife—or at least let his parents set him up with one—and he had a real marriage. Maybe he'd have a kid by now. The food before him would be homemade instead of store-bought. And he wouldn't have to put up this act all the time, this lie, this scheme of his own machination. "He didn't think I was married."
"I told you you should wear a fake ring when you're at work," Kaveh said, sounding as haughty as ever.
Frustration furrowed into Haitham's brow. He knew perfectly well how to appear friendly and likeable to others, but it took much more effort than he was normally willing to spend; outside of some work situations, he had no reason to keep up that facade. "Is now really the time to say 'I told you so,' Kaveh?" he snapped, punching out the words with all his pent-up irritation. "Because, if we're playing that game, I have plenty to tell you."
He'd raised his voice just enough to make Kaveh go pale as a sheet of paper, and to prompt Mehrak to hiss at him from across the room. Kaveh had shrunk in on himself, looking down at his lap. Regret instantly poured over Haitham, water dousing a flame.
Haitham knew Kaveh like he knew the documentation of his favorite programming language—he knew exactly how Kaveh's brain worked, how he reacted in certain scenarios, how he made decisions, when he was lying.
He knew the real reason Kaveh agreed to their fake marriage, even if Kaveh had never actually admitted it. It was to gain independence—both financially, and from his old home life.
Kaveh had never said the word neglect. He didn't need to. Haitham had gleaned all he needed to know from their college days: from how capable Kaveh was at handling on his own all kinds of housework the other boys in their dorm were hopeless at; from all the times Kaveh managed with no help to pay rent and file taxes and apply for grants and loans to support himself; from the way yelling made him shut off like this, and the way he'd learned to take suffering with no complaints, like it was not only expected, but deserved.
Kaveh spoke little of his family, but Haitham knew the truth: his father died when he was young, and his mother had fallen into a drunken depression after that, leaving poor Kaveh to raise himself alone.
He went from one loveless home to another, Haitham found himself thinking, and then his regret solidified into prickly ice. It wasn't true. Their marriage wasn't romantic, but that didn't mean there was no love in it. In the most platonic, heterosexual way possible, Haitham did have some love for Kaveh.
Only, he never knew how to convey that so Kaveh would understand it. Haitham had double-majored in linguistics, but his mastery over words started and ended with natural language processing. Attempts at sappy reassurances or emotional conversations felt pointless and wasteful. If Kaveh could just see things Haitham's way—see how Haitham's harshness was only inevitable frustration at Kaveh's irrational, self-harmful learned helplessness—every argument or issue they'd ever had would be resolved.
"But you're right, anyhow," Haitham said, clearing his throat. "I should get us rings so we can avoid this problem in the future. And, speaking of the future, the company's throwing a holiday party next week, which… I have to go to. The manager said I have to bring you, too."
"You have to?"
"He told me he'd 'love to meet my husband,'" Haitham said, mocking Cyno's voice; the horrible imitation made Kaveh laugh. "When managers say stuff like that, they're not asking you, they're telling you."
"Well, you know I don't mind acting," Kaveh said, shrugging as he nibbled away at his stew.
"Just promise me you'll take it seriously? None of that shit you usually pull to embarrass me."
Kaveh made a big show of his disappointment, sighing and slumping in his chair, but he agreed, "Whatever. I guess I can do it for one party."
"Good."
"It'll be so boring, though. You totally owe me afterwards—I'm thinking a new drawing tablet."
"Whatever you want." Haitham smiled despite himself.
They were fine. The two of them were fine.