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Alhaitham stirs restlessly under his covers, the early morning light already too bright, even behind his closed eyelids. He can feel an insistent pressure behind his eyes, not quite a headache yet, but certainly close. His nose is starting to run, too, but when he sniffs, trying to keep it from dripping, the action sends an uncomfortable jolt through his sinuses, and he winces.
He can’t stay in bed like this all day, though. He should really go get some medicine before everything inevitably gets more painful.
Alhaitham sighs softly and starts carefully trying to sit himself up, keeping his eyes closed. Even that small movement causes his head to start throbbing in earnest, pulling a small whimper from his lips as the blanket slips from his shoulders, gathering around his waist. He pulls it back up around himself for comfort, wiping his nose on the soft fabric.
No, he’s definitely not opening his eyes yet, and forget getting out of bed.
He coughs into the blanket quietly, trying to muffle the sound as it tears through his raw throat, his eyes starting to water from the pain. Kaveh will scold him for dirtying their bedding, but Alhaitham can’t bring himself to care right now. Each muffled cough sends pain stabbing through his head, like it’s being repeatedly squeezed by an industrial press.
“Alhaitham.”
Kaveh’s voice sounds muffled to Alhaitham’s ears, even after he stops coughing, but it’s still painfully loud. He sniffles again, flinching at the sensation in his head. His eyes remain closed, but his lashes are already damp against his cheeks. It hurts to exist.
“Mm?”
The small sound is all he can muster in response, and he hears Kaveh’s footsteps start to approach the bed.
“You don’t look well,” he hears Kaveh say. He sounds unreasonably worried.
Alhaitham finally cracks his eyes open slightly, wanting to see Kaveh’s face, and immediately regrets it when the light from the window stabs into his eyeballs. He stubbornly squints against the discomfort, tears blurring his vision as he tries to focus on Kaveh’s wavering outline in front of him.
“My head hurts,” he mumbles pitifully, his hand twitching where it grips the blanket, resisting the urge to reach out to his partner. Alhaitham feels a warm hand land on his forehead, and he lets his eyes close again as he leans into the touch.
“You don’t feel feverish,” Kaveh says softly, brushing Alhaitham’s silvery bangs out of his forehead. “But you do look pretty miserable. I’ll go get you a handkerchief and some tea.”
The moment Kaveh’s touch disappears, Alhaitham’s hand shoots out blindly to grab him, fingers wrapping around his wrist tightly.
“Don’t leave,” Alhaitham pleads quietly, holding Kaveh back. Such vulnerable requests do not come naturally to him, but Alhaitham is so miserable and hurting that it doesn’t even cross his mind not to beg for company.
He feels the bed dip as Kaveh sits down next to him without protest, gently prying his hand off his wrist and intertwining their fingers instead.
“You’ll feel better if you get some liquids in you,” he reminds him gently, but Alhaitham just shakes his head, feeling his brain rattle around inside painfully.
“Don’t care. Stay here,” he insists, tugging on Kaveh’s hand, trying to get him to lay down.
Kaveh sighs, but eventually gives in, settling down on top of the covers beside Alhaitham and draping an arm over his waist.
“Okay, fine,” comes the resigned reply to Alhaitham’s demand. “But if you start hurting too badly, let me know, I can get you tea and meds.”
Alhaitham makes a satisfied sound in response, curling into Kaveh’s warmth like a kitten. His head still hurts, his nose still runs, but Kaveh is here, and that makes everything feel more bearable.
They haven’t always been this gentle with each other, this soft. Historically it’s been the opposite: sharp words, always aimed either to hurt or to defend, no room for tenderness or care. But it is precisely that historic difference which makes what they have now all the more precious.