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The "Oversized" Problem
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It was supposed to be a "laundry day" excuse. Kaveh’s favorite hoodie was in the wash, and the apartment was drafty. He had reached into Alhaitham’s closet and pulled out a fresh, starched white dress shirt.
On Alhaitham, it was a perfectly tailored garment of academic authority. On Kaveh, it was a tent. The hem hit well below his mid-thigh, the sleeves were rolled up five times just to show his wrists, and the top three buttons were left undone because "breathing is a priority." He looked like a soft, golden disaster, and he knew it.
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The Shared Coffee Shop
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Kaveh had shown up at the campus cafe wearing Alhaitham’s gray pullover. He sat three tables away from where Alhaitham was grading papers, sipping a latte and glaring at a blueprint.
Students whispered. "Is that Professor Alhaitham’s sweater?","No way!"," Hes so scary no way he shares his clothes."
Alhaitham hadn't even looked up, but he’d sent a text:
The left cuff has a coffee stain from three weeks ago. Don't let the Dean see you.
Kaveh had flipped him off under the table, but he didn't take the sweater off. He liked the way it felt like a heavy, wooly shield.
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The Gym Bag Heist
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Alhaitham’s black compression shirt had "gone missing" from his gym bag. Kaveh had claimed he needed it for "yoga," which was a lie, because Kaveh’s idea of yoga was reaching for the remote.
In reality, Kaveh just liked the way the fabric felt—cool, tight, and smelling faintly of the expensive citrus cologne Alhaitham used. He’d spent the afternoon sketching in it, feeling strangely productive until Alhaitham walked in and noted that the seams were "struggling" against Kaveh’s broader-than-expected shoulders.
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The "Sick Day" Flannel
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Kaveh had the flu. He was a miserable, shivering mess of blankets on the sofa. When Alhaitham came home with soup, he found Kaveh buried in a thick, red flannel shirt that Alhaitham usually wore for hiking.
"You look like a very small, very angry lumberjack," Alhaitham said, pressing a cool hand to Kaveh’s forehead.
"I’m dying," Kaveh croaked, pulling the flannel up to his chin. "And if I’m going to go, I’m going to go smelling like my annoying boyfriend."
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The Silk Tie Incident
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Kaveh had used one of Alhaitham’s silk ties as a headband to keep his hair back while he was painting a scale model.
Alhaitham had walked into the studio, seen the $200 silk covered in acrylic gold paint, and simply walked back out. He didn't even argue. He just added a "Replacement Tie" to the shared grocery list. It was the ultimate sign of defeat.
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(+1) The Capture
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The sun was setting over the city, casting long, orange shadows across their living room. Kaveh was curled up on the sofa, a glass of wine on the coffee table and a trashy reality show blaring on the TV.
He was wearing the shirt. The white one. The one Alhaitham usually wore for faculty meetings.
It was buttoned just enough to be decent, but every time Kaveh shifted his legs, the hem hiked up, showing the pale skin of his thighs and the thin, dark line of the shorts he was wearing underneath. His hair was messy, pinned up with a stray pencil, and his glasses were sliding down his nose.
The front door clicked open. Alhaitham walked in, looking every bit the exhausted professor—satchel over his shoulder, tie loosened, top button undone. He stopped dead in the entryway.
His gaze traveled from Kaveh’s messy gold hair, down the open collar of his own shirt, to the long, bare expanse of Kaveh’s legs. The air in the room suddenly felt very heavy.
"You're home early," Kaveh said, not looking away from the TV. "There’s leftover pasta in the—"
He stopped when he felt Alhaitham’s shadow fall over him. Alhaitham wasn't moving toward the kitchen. He was standing right over the sofa, his eyes green eyes now dark and focused.
"That’s my favorite shirt, Kaveh," Alhaitham said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that usually made his students tremble.
Kaveh finally looked up, his heart doing a frantic, fluttering dance. "It was... at the front of the closet. I didn't think you'd mind."
Alhaitham reached out, his hand sliding under Kaveh’s chin and tilting his head back. He leaned down, his face inches from Kaveh’s, the scent of the university and the cold evening air clinging to him.
"I don't mind," Alhaitham whispered, his thumb grazing Kaveh’s lower lip. "But you realize I have to wear that to a lecture tomorrow morning. And now... it's going to smell like you."
Kaveh’s breath hitched. He reached up, grabbing the lapels of the shirt—Alhaitham’s shirt—and pulling him closer. "Then I guess you'll just have to think about me all through your 9 AM, won't you?"
Alhaitham’s smirk was slow and predatory. He dropped his bag on the floor, his hands finding the hem of the shirt and sliding underneath, his palms warm against Kaveh’s skin.
"I have a better idea," Alhaitham murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Kaveh’s neck. "How about you take it off, and I’ll make sure you don't need any clothes for the rest of the night?"
Kaveh didn't even have time to argue before the TV was forgotten, the wine was left to breathe, and the "secret" of their relationship became very, very loud in the quiet apartment.