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The bathroom is quiet, save for the soft splash of water in the bathtub and the near-silent brush of hands against skin as Alhaitham washes Kaveh’s back.
The water isn’t too hot, and there’s not much steam, but even sitting down in a couple inches of water, Kaveh’s head still feels a little fuzzy. He’s sleepy, and Alhaitham’s soothing touch isn’t helping. Nor are the scents floating around in the air from the candles burning on the sink. Bergamot and cedar, not so overwhelming that it burns his nostrils, but distinct enough to be pleasant.
Less pleasant is what’s going on inside. Restless, repeating thoughts of dependence and reliance and reciprocity have been banging around in Kaveh’s head like stones in a bucket since he got home from the Bimarstan over a week ago, nauseous and dizzy and shaky, unable to even lift his hands over his head.
The comfort, care, and support he has been given for no reason other than he needs those things have been nearly impossible for Kaveh to accept without argument, but the fog in his head has rendered him incapable of solid debate, which is frustrating in its own right.
He’s able to do more on his own now, but Alhaitham had strongly insisted on helping him wash himself for the first time since surgery, and though Kaveh had agreed that it was a good idea, it makes something ugly twist in his chest to still be so reliant on his partner.
He must admit, though, that the smell of the candles and the sensation of Alhaitham’s hands on his back are really nice, and Kaveh is very glad to be getting properly clean for the first time since his top surgery. But the combination of calming sensory inputs and general exhaustion is making it hard for him to focus, and as a result, impeding his brain-to-mouth filter.
“What does it really mean to need someone?” he mumbles into the quiet of the bathroom, breaking the comfortable tranquility. The thought slips out without his conscious approval of it, small and foolish and disgustingly vulnerable.
He immediately wants to unsay it, especially when Alhaitham’s hands still on his back, just for a moment.
Kaveh makes a displeased sound, and those warm hands resume their ministrations.
“Do you want my definition of the word ‘need,’ or are you looking for a more philosophical answer?” Alhaitham asks, continuing to rub the gentle soap into Kaveh’s skin.
“Mm,” Kaveh replies unhelpfully, closing his eyes. He should’ve known Alhaitham would want to give him a genuine answer to such a silly question. “It was meant to be rhetorical, but I suppose if you have a philosophical answer at the ready, I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”
Alhaitham’s hands shift to lathering Kaveh’s shoulders and upper arms, careful not to get too close to the still-healing incisions across his chest. “Well, I never said I had a ‘philosophical answer’ at the ready. If I answer instead with a question of my own, will you strangle me once you can lift your arms over your head again?”
Kaveh sighs, shifting so he’s leaning his soapy back against the edge of the tub, head tipped back against the porcelain. “That depends on the question,” he murmurs tiredly, carefully adjusting his legs in the bathtub so they’re stretched out in front of him. He keeps his eyes closed, but he can feel the soft kiss Alhaitham presses against his forehead once he settles down, and it makes that ugly thing in his chest loosen, but only slightly.
“Then I might have to risk strangulation,” Alhaitham says. Kaveh can hear the smile in his voice. Infuriating, but endearing, he concludes.
“What does it mean for you to need someone?” Alhaitham continues. He’s clearly pushing, testing how much vulnerability Kaveh is willing to tolerate before he shuts the conversation down.
Kaveh hates it when he does this. It only makes him feel more out of control, more like a burden, more like he’s just someone Alhaitham needs to coddle and take care of rather than an equal in a committed partnership.
“Don’t do that,” he says sharply, opening his eyes and glaring up at Alhaitham. “Don’t talk to me like you’re trying to wrap your brain around the broken pieces of my psyche.”
Alhaitham hums thoughtfully, holding Kaveh’s furious gaze calmly, with curiosity. “Does me wanting to understand you better make you feel threatened in some way?” he asks, and the genuine interest in his voice makes Kaveh want to scream.
The response building in Kaveh’s throat is far too honest, far too vulnerable to share.
“It makes me feel like you’re peeling back the skin of my chest and peering beyond my ribcage.”
“I worry that you won’t like what you find.”
The words don’t escape, trapped between his head and his mouth, collared and leashed tightly by a fear so powerful that it feels more like a prison than an emotion.
“No,” Kaveh grits out instead, averting his eyes and sitting up properly again so he doesn’t have to look at Alhaitham. His partner’s hands fall away from his arms, and Kaveh feels an infuriating surge of loneliness when the touch disappears.
“I just don’t appreciate being spoken to like I’m a problem to be fixed,” he continues stubbornly. “I didn’t mean anything by the question, so stop digging into me like you’re expecting to find some hidden fissure. There’s nothing there.”
Kaveh hears Alhaitham’s soft sigh of defeat, and feels the water start to flow gently over his skin as Alhaitham begins rinsing the soap off.
“I was not looking to ‘fix’ anything, least of all your entire being,” Alhaitham says quietly, carefully rubbing the soap off Kaveh’s back and arms under the stream of water. “You are not a ‘problem,’ Kaveh, and you’re not broken, that is not what I was insinuating. I was only trying to understand.”
“I’m your problem,” Kaveh responds bitterly. “Your burden to shoulder. I take more than I give, especially recently.” He gestures loosely to the incisions across his chest. “Our relationship isn’t properly reciprocal, and it never was, even before the surgery.”
Alhaitham finishes wiping the rest of the soap off Kaveh’s body and reaches to drain the tub.
“Love is not transactional,” he says simply, sitting back once the plug is pulled. He offers no empty reassurances, no promises that Kaveh is wrong or biased, just one clear statement of truth.
That’s not what Kaveh wanted to hear. He turns to glare at Alhaitham again, but he can’t very well just tell him what he wanted from his response. That would be silly.
“You’re not denying it,” he accuses, voice wavering more than he wants it to. “So you do think our relationship isn’t properly reciprocal.”
Kaveh can feel the tightness in his throat that warns of tears to come, but he shoves it down as hard as he can. Why is he getting so worked up about this? His top priority is usually to be right about things, but this time he finds himself desperately wishing that Alhaitham would argue his perspective in earnest, maybe even convince Kaveh that he is wrong about this.
“What does ‘properly’ even mean in this case?” Alhaitham asks, instead of rising to Kaveh’s bait. “‘Properly’ is judgemental language. It’s subjective to the person using the word, not objectively descriptive, so I can’t say whether or not my definition of ‘properly reciprocal’ matches yours.”
There’s a slight pause as Alhaitham reaches for a soft towel, but he continues before Kaveh can interject. “And even if our definitions matched, like I said before, love is not a transactional thing. We both give what we can when we can in the relationship, and since everyone’s needs are different at different times, it’s impossible to measure ‘proper’ reciprocity anyway. Keeping track of favors is a habit best left to petty teenagers and little children who don’t know better.”
Alhaitham drapes the towel around Kaveh’s shoulders and offers him a hand out of the bathtub. Kaveh takes it, carefully beginning to lift himself up. His glare hasn’t softened, and neither has the lump in his throat. Alhaitham’s directness is both rubbing him the wrong way and somewhat reassuring him at the same time.
“I am not—” Kaveh starts to defend himself.
“So I’m not going to indulge your question,” Alhaitham interrupts, supporting some of Kaveh’s weight as he climbs out of the tub, making sure he doesn’t slip. “Because it’s not well-formed, and it’s not relevant.”
Kaveh huffs with entirely performative irritation. He had intended to spark an argument, not for Alhaitham to shut down the conversation so effectively. But part of him is also glad that Alhaitham didn’t rise to the bait.
“You’re insufferable,” Kaveh mutters without heat, standing still on the bathmat while Alhaitham gently pats him dry with the towel.
“I’m aware,” Alhaitham responds lightly.
The warmth that comes from hearing he’s loved no matter what is a sensation that Kaveh is not used to indulging. He’s more likely to dismiss it most of the time, but for some reason, the way Alhaitham framed it this time around has caused the feeling to sink its hooks into him, curling up in his chest cavity like a sleepy cat. It’s a little unsettling, but also… kind of nice.
Once Kaveh is mostly dry, Alhaitham helps him step into his clothes, allowing him to brace a hand on his shoulder for balance. Kaveh shakes his head when Alhaitham offers him his compression binder next.
“I’d like to air-dry a little bit more before I put that back on,” Kaveh explains, slightly sheepishly. Alhaitham gives him an unimpressed look, and Kaveh quickly continues. “I promise I’m not trying to avoid wearing it, I know it’s important, I just don’t want it to trap any unnecessary moisture. I feel like that probably wouldn’t be good for the incisions.”
“Hm. I suppose that’s fair enough,” Alhaitham concedes, draping the binder over one arm and hanging the damp towel back up on its bar, then turning back to Kaveh. “Are you hungry yet? I could pick something up for us from Lambad’s while you dry off.”
Kaveh shrugs, the feeling in his chest growing warmer at the offer. Alhaitham tends not to want to leave the house in the evenings, so the fact that he’s willing to go pick up food when the sun has already started to set makes Kaveh feel both very loved and slightly guilty.
“Not really,” he says. “I’d rather just have something smaller from the cryo box. I think there are some leftovers from yesterday’s lunch in there.”
Alhaitham nods, heading over to open the bathroom door for them. “I also bought kulfi while you were napping earlier today, so if you’re feeling up for dessert, I got two mango and two rose.”
Kaveh’s eyes light up as he follows Alhaitham out of the bathroom, guilt entirely forgotten at the promise of ice-cold sweetness. “Kulfi?” he repeats excitedly. “Is Rohan back in business? Did you ask him how his mother is? Is she recovering well?”
Alhaitham chuckles at Kaveh’s sudden enthusiasm. “I did not ask. That feels like personal information he could’ve divulged to me if he wanted to, not something I wanted to pry about.”
Kaveh rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment as Alhaitham approaches their cryo box and digs out two sticks of kulfi, one yellow-orange and one light pink, holding both out to Kaveh.
“Dessert before dinner?” Kaveh raises his eyebrows playfully, putting his hands on his hips. “What has this household become? Routine has been thrown entirely out the window lately, in the favor of, what, indulgence?” he teases. “Also, you’re expecting me to choose between the two best flavors objectively. How can I possibly decide between mango and rose?”
Kaveh’s eyes linger on the mango kulfi, then flick to the rose flavor in Alhaitham’s other hand indecisively.
Alhaitham lets out a long-suffering sigh. “And if I had chosen for you, you’d be upset with me for not letting you decide.”
Kaveh lets out an exaggerated scoff. “Let me take my time, this is an important decision!” he insists, before finally reaching for the mango kulfi in Alhaitham’s left hand.
“Of course it is,” Alhaitham says with an eyeroll of his own, lifting the rose kulfi remaining in his other hand to his mouth and giving it a lick.
The two of them settle down on a divan in the living room once Kaveh has made his decision, and eat their kulfi in a comfortable silence. Kaveh leans into Alhaitham as he eats, his whole body pressed up against his side from thigh to shoulder.
“You should put your binder back on,” Alhaitham reminds him quietly, placing the garment on Kaveh’s lap once his kulfi has been reduced to its wooden stick. “You’ve definitely air-dried enough.”
Kaveh looks down at his chest, gently prodding the skin around his incisions. It’s definitely dry enough, but he finds himself still hesitant to cover it. He knows he needs to be patient with the compression binder if he wants the best results, but he’s been waiting for this surgery for so long, and he already loves the way his flat chest looks, even if it isn’t fully healed yet.
He sighs.
“Fine,” Kaveh murmurs, a slight pout decorating his lips as he unzips the front of the garment. “I’m so sick of wearing this thing, though. I can’t wait to be done with binders forever.”
Alhaitham’s lips twitch into a small smile as he helps Kaveh thread his arms through the holes. “Taking off a binder for the final time is definitely a feeling that is worth the wait,” he says softly, zipping up the front of Kaveh’s last binder.
Kaveh slumps against Alhaitham after he feels the binder tighten around his chest again, burying his face into his shoulder with a wordless grumble.
“I am not a patient person,” he mumbles into Alhaitham’s shirt petulantly.
Alhaitham’s quiet laugh shakes Kaveh where he rests against his chest, and a hand comes to cradle the back of his head gently. “Just a few more weeks, Kaveh. I know you can hold out that long, impatient as you are.”
Kaveh lets out another grumbly sound, pressing closer to Alhaitham. He feels him slowly begin to lower them into a more horizontal position on the divan, making sure that they’re still propped up by enough pillows so Kaveh isn’t putting too much pressure on his incisions.
Kaveh tangles his legs with Alhaitham’s and steals one of his hands, intertwining their fingers insistently. All the fight drains out of him when Alhaitham starts playing with his hair as they both begin to settle into each other’s warmth.
Kaveh lets his eyes slip closed, relishing in the way Alhaitham cards his fingers through his hair, in the softness of his body beside him.
“Love you,” he murmurs sleepily, his still-healing body suddenly overcome with exhaustion again. He feels like he’s melting into Alhaitham, merging with his warmth in a way that feels comforting, not scary.
“I love you too,” Alhaitham replies, pressing a gentle kiss to Kaveh’s temple. “You can rest now, we’ll eat later.”
“Mm.”
As he drifts off into dreamland, the one thought in Kaveh’s head is not a guilty one.
“I am so lucky to have him.”