Archive of Our Own

Why didn’t I let them help me? thinks Kaveh mournfully.

The straps of two enormous duffel bags dig into his traps. He winces, trying to adjust into a better position. It doesn’t work. Maybe he shouldn’t have stuffed the bags with every item of clothing he owns. Somebody passing by must think he’s hauling around two dead bodies in broad daylight.

A group of students, first-years from the looks of them, offered to help Kaveh carry his belongings upstairs. Kaveh, being the prideful senior he is, politely declined with a superficial smile. Regret seeps into his tendons. He should’ve said yes. In any given situation, he leans toward the brains rather than the brawn. A little self-reflection tells him that he’d have asked for help if he truly lied on the brains side.

Ah, decisions, decisions. Kaveh has made many of them over the years, and yet, few have produced a favorable outcome. 

At last, he sets the two duffel bags next to the stash of his other belongings near the entrance to his dorm building. Thankfully, that was the last trip from the storage unit. He smooths down the post-it note labeled, “DO NOT TOUCH,” on his other luggage. Earlier in the day, he tried to retrieve his room keycard from the undergraduate housing office’s front desk so that he could drop his belongings straight to his room, but they said that they couldn’t give him the keycard until his move-in appointment time. Thankfully, he has his keycard now. Honestly, he’s surprised that nobody snagged his stuff. Rotten luck may be a common denominator in his life, but even he has his moments of fortune.

Unfortunately, fortune only takes him so far. The four-story building stands in its dilapidated glory. No elevators is a crime. What of accessibility? When Kaveh gets hired for his first project, he’s incorporating ramps, rails, elevators, and all the like, so everyone can access his creations. There’s still a long road ahead of him until he gets his architect license, though.

So, the stairs it is. He grabs the mini-fridge, arguably the hardest to carry out of his possessions, and heaves it up with what limited arm strength he has. Another divine trial, he chalks it up to. It wouldn’t be the first. Sophomore year professors beat his dignity into the ground, and freshman year parties declared war on his liver. Carrying a mini-fridge is child’s play compared to his previous tribulations.

Plus, Kaveh considers himself blessed to have on-campus housing in his third year. The housing administration rejects most upperclassmen’s applications, but he receives special privileges from his scholarship. College town apartments are out of his budget due to their high demand, and early deposits are a must to secure the space. By the time Kaveh was thinking about renting an apartment, all the leases in the area were signed. Still, he would’ve liked his own room if given the choice.

With sheer will, Kaveh carries the mini-fridge up four flights of stairs. He puts it down with a soft clunk when gets to the second floor. Four more flights to go. Ignoring his trembling arms and his aching legs, he pulls out his phone. He clicks on the messaging app and opens the chat under the contact “Alhaitham (roommate).” Kaveh’s “Have you moved in yet?” text goes unanswered, but tiny letters under the bubble spell read.

The audacity. Kaveh fumes in the stairwell. When he received his roommate assignment and saw that he’d been paired with a freshman, he took the initiative to reach out. After all, it’s only customary to discuss room expectations and set boundaries before meeting in person. However, his roommate must be on a mission to become the most difficult person to deal with in all of the Akademiya. For every considerate, well-thought-out question, Kaveh got an infuriating one-word reply. When do you go to sleep? How do you feel about alcohol in the room? What’s your major? he asked, only to receive the answers, Early. Hm. Bye. And now, it seems he graduated from one-word responses to no responses at all.

When did he turn on read receipts, anyway? The offending four-letter word glares at him. Kaveh returns the energy.

Frustration fuels him, and he picks up the mini-fridge once more. Selecting the option of random roommate was the wrong decision, Kaveh concludes as he resumes the difficult trek upstairs. Now, he didn’t have much of a decision at all, considering everyone he knew got apartments off-campus. Once his roommate’s information became available to him, he looked him up on every social media platform only to come up empty-handed. In this day and age, no digital footprint is impressive, if not a little scary. After interacting with this Alhaitham over text, Kaveh is no longer impressed or scared—just vaguely annoyed.

With the load in his arms, Kaveh awkwardly maneuvers himself out of the stairwell and into the hallway. He stops in front of room 405 and sets down the mini-fridge. His fingers reach for his brand-new room keycard, and he lays it against the keypad. 1-1-0-9, he presses. A click. Tentatively, Kaveh pushes the door open, unaware of what or who may be on the other side.

Who, indeed. Kaveh blinks twice, making out the figure before him. The person leans against one of the beds, not quite sitting, with a book propped in one hand. The compression shirt makes his lethal silhouette, specifically his sculpted chest and defined arms, all the more visible. The light from the window behind him outlines his stunning side profile, especially his strong nose bridge. Finally, his fluffy grey hair, the cherry on top, softens the boldness of his features and makes him seem rather… cute. Is this man the same person he spoke to in his messages?

The book snaps shut, and hypnotizing teal-orange eyes, framed by thick, long eyelashes, bore into him. “Close your mouth,” says the man, not fazed in the slightest.

Cheeks burning, Kaveh closes his mouth, which he doesn’t remember opening. If he wasn’t sure who the man was then, he sure knows now.

“You’re Alhaitham, right?” asks Kaveh. The man doesn’t acknowledge his question, not with a nod, a hum, or anything, which only confirms Kaveh’s assumption. Alhaitham directs his attention back to his reopened book without a crumb of concern for their rooming situation. It’s going to be a long year, Kaveh thinks.

His gaze sweeps the space. There’s not much to look at—a few clothing items on hangers, a couple books on the desk, and a comforter that looks like it must’ve come from someone’s grandmother, based on the vintage pattern. Then, something large and boxy by the window grabs his attention.

“I thought we agreed that I would buy the mini-fridge,” Kaveh says, keeping his voice light and polite. Working in customer service over the summer taught him many lessons, such as how to deal with difficult people.

Unhurried, Alhaitham continues reading. Only once he flips the page does he look up. His eyes lazily flicker down to the mini-fridge at Kaveh’s side, then back up to match his stare. “We,” he enunciates, a single syllable doused in toxins and bucketloads of condescension, “didn’t agree on anything.”

Kaveh takes out his phone, opens the messaging app, and scrolls up to his and Alhaitham’s past conversations, if he can call them that. He marches up to Alhaitham, who’s slightly slouched, and all but shoves the screen in his face.

“See,” Kaveh says, still trying to retain his polite persona. His mask cannot crumble on day one.

Alhaitham squints at the phone, which accentuates the plentiful eyelashes defining his eyes. Then, he draws back and looks Kaveh dead-on. “You said you’d buy a mini-fridge. I never said I wouldn’t do the same.”

“It’s common sense! This room is fifteen square meters maximum. We don’t have space for two mini-fridges,” Kaveh argues. There’s barely any space to walk, let alone add a bunch of extra furniture to their space.

“There is no we,” Alhaitham insists, with all the snobbery of a first-year. “I will not interfere in your life, and I expect you to do the same. That is the agreement.”

Kaveh gapes at him in disbelief. Uncaring, Alhaitham goes back to his book. Manners be damned, Kaveh can’t play nice with someone who hasn’t a smidge of decency in his body.

“You’re impossible,” Kaveh mutters and turns away. His ears feel abnormally hot. “Where’s the respect? I’m two years your senior, you know!” He whips back around at Alhaitham, who is unaffected.

“Hm,” Alhaitham says, his eyes never leaving the book. “If someone saw the way you’re acting, they would not think so.” His fingerpad catches the edge of the page, and he deftly flips it.

Kaveh’s nerves burn. Aided by adrenaline, he picks his mini-fridge up and sets it down next to Alhaitham’s. Ridiculous, he thinks, glaring at Alhaitham from the corner of his eye. If Alhaitham notices, he makes no mention of it.

His pride lies desecrated on the floor. Kaveh hates not having the last word, but his brilliant brain refuses to provide a rebuttal. So, he high-tails it out of the room, promising himself that next time, he won’t let a junior walk all over him.

He makes his way down the stairs—much easier than going up. On his next trip, he’s taking the two duffel bags.

Or he would, if any of his belongings were in the spot he left them.

“Fuck!” Kaveh curses. The abandoned “DO NOT TOUCH” sign on the ground mocks him.

In the distance, a person runs with several large bags in their possession.

Kaveh takes off after them. “Wait!” he calls, as if the person would miraculously change their mind and hand over all of Kaveh’s stuff with an apology to go along too. Instead, the person speeds up, and Kaveh follows suit. While chasing the stranger, Kaveh can’t help but think of how undignified he must look. If he sees any school newspapers headlined, “Light of the Architectural Department caught in a chase with an unknown individual,” or anything along those lines, he’ll combust. Even worse, if his new roommate finds out, he’ll never live it down.

Once the suspect is in reach, Kaveh tackles them to the ground. His belongings fall as well. He hopes nothing is broken. The dirt on his sleeves is quite unsightly too. He tries to brush it off to no avail. He doesn’t remember move-in day being this stressful before.

Kaveh sighs, pained. So much for a good start to the school year.

----------

Living with someone tends to bring out their flaws. And archons, does Alhaitham have a lot of them.

After their… imperfect first meeting, Kaveh gave him the benefit of the doubt. Moving away from home is stressful at any age. Perhaps, he read him wrong in the heat of the moment. Maybe he was struggling to adjust.

After living with him for two weeks, Kaveh can safely say that all of his initial impressions are right.

For someone who is so insistent on keeping their lives separate, Alhaitham sure comments a lot on Kaveh’s state of being. “Your hair is a mess,” he says. “You wore this outfit before,” he says. “You forgot your earrings,” he says. When Alhaitham said that, Kaveh lied and said that he wasn’t wearing them on purpose. His outfit looked unbalanced without his signature earrings, but Kaveh was not going to let Alhaitham win.

If Kaveh could avoid him, he would. However, Alhaitham must be a hermit because he never leaves the damn room. Classes are a foreign concept to him, and socialization is unheard of. Before Kaveh opens the door, he knows what he’ll see on the other side: Alhaitham, pen in hand, writing notes on paper because, according to him, “Studies show that writing notes by hand increases memory retention by a significant margin.”

Kaveh needs a good cry after nearly losing all his belongings, tripping on the pavement thrice over the past week, and dealing with his insufferable roommate. But releasing his stress in the room is not an option—there’s no way he’s letting Alhaitham see him in a state of defeat—so he unleashes his sorrows in the shower. The water does a good job of washing away the unwanted tears, at the very least.

Moreover, Alhaitham is so prissy about his sleep. Every night at roughly 23:00, Alhaitham puts on his princess-pink eye mask and tucks himself into bed. His sleep schedule wouldn’t be a problem if Alhaitham wasn’t so huffy about noise. “Stop that,” Alhaitham grouses from his blanket cocoon whenever Kaveh types at his desk past midnight, to which Kaveh fires back, “Put on your headphones if you have a problem.” Alhaitham always responds with a mutter about the headphones being too uncomfortable to sleep in, or something of that nature. He’ll understand when he’s a third-year, and he’s saddled with fifty hours of homework per week, Kaveh thinks with spite as he writes up an essay on the outdated infrastructure of the Akademiya campus. Elevators. They need elevators.

Though Kaveh is self-aware that he isn’t the perfect roommate either. Namely, his fatal flaw is his dependence on several, consecutive alarms to wake up in the mornings. Usually, the guilt overwhelms him, so he only sets two alarms spaced five minutes apart and deals with the high likelihood of missing his early classes. With Alhaitham as his roommate, Kaveh’s guilt is absent. In fact, a strange joy creeps inside him whenever Alhaitham wakes up to one of his seven alarms, spaced fifteen minutes apart for maximum annoyance. Serves him right, Kaveh thinks when Alhaitham tugs a thumb under his eye mask and lifts it up to glare at him. Because he’s petty, Kaveh experiments with the alarm sound options to see which one aggravates Alhaitham the most. After carefully collecting data, he settles on the ringtone named playtime. Waking up to Alhaitham’s disgusted face across the room energizes him for the rest of the day.

Even to outsiders, their incompatibility is clear as a summer day in Sumeru. Their room is a physical manifestation of unbending, uncompromising differences. On Kaveh’s side, two pretty paintings—one he bought and one he drew himself—adhere to the wall, while small clay sculptures sit on his desk. There’s even a few photos of him and some friends from his childhood stuck to his mini-fridge. Meanwhile, Alhaitham’s side is notably blank. No posters, no pictures, just… drywall. When Kaveh encouraged him to decorate, since Kaveh couldn’t stand the inharmonious aesthetics of their living space, Alhaitham responded, “You’re going to regret putting up those art pieces when you take them down and they rip the paint. I heard the repair is quite costly.” At that, Kaveh told him that he didn’t understand beauty and stormed out of the room. The next day, Alhaitham came back with three of the most ugly aranara carvings he’s ever seen. “You wanted me to decorate. So I did,” Alhaitham replied to Kaveh’s justified fury. Kaveh has never wanted to wipe that stupid, smug smirk off his face so badly.

Alhaitham’s tactlessness astounds Kaveh every day. It makes no difference to him whether or not Kaveh is in the room. It’s one thing when he hums off-key when Kaveh studies or leaves his books on the floor, but it’s an entirely new thing when he changes in front of him without warning. Kaveh has seen him shirtless too many times to count. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before—the compression shirts he wears leave nothing to the imagination—but Kaveh can’t help but feel that Alhaitham is showing off. So what if you have a nice body when your personality is shit? Kaveh thinks as images of Alhaitham’s toned torso, broad shoulders, and ample chest pop up like advertisements in his mind. Regrettably, Kaveh finds him physically attractive. It’s not something he’s proud of.

Though Kaveh does wonder how he maintains his muscular build. Perhaps those books he reads are heavier than he thinks.

But the most maddening thing about Alhaitham isn’t actually about him. For the past two weeks, Kaveh has been job hunting. At first, he looked for part-time internships, then part-time jobs somewhat related to his major, and then he gave up and applied for any part-time job. He must’ve sent out at least fifty applications and gave his resume to over a hundred stores, but he never got a word back. But somehow, Alhaitham, a first-year student who said he didn’t have a resume when Kaveh asked, landed a part-time job on campus as a library assistant. The universe must be mocking him. “Life isn’t fair. Some people are born more capable than others,” Alhaitham said when Kaveh complained about his unemployment. After that comment, he spent half an hour debating Alhaitham on the sheer ridiculousness of his world views. They ended the argument at a stalemate, neither side willing to concede loss or adjust their stubborn beliefs.

Kaveh thought maybe, at least, Alhaitham’s part-time job would give him some time in the room to himself. But no, his working hours just so happen to be during times when Kaveh has class.

Although he has problems with Alhaitham, who seems to take up so much of his room, mind, and life these days, Kaveh has more demoralizing problems, such as his crippling lack of solid friendships. Sure, he’s made many friends since entering university, but most of those connections are shallow. Maybe they shared a class or went to the same parties, so Kaveh befriended them. However, he’s never felt the desire to deepen their friendship or become closer than arm’s distance.

Frankly put, he’s lonely. He’s spoken to most of the people who live on the same floor in the common room, but he hasn’t taken the time to get to know any of them on a deeper level. Maybe he should. Maybe he shouldn’t. As much as he likes to go out and talk to people of various walks of life, his social habits exhaust him. Sometimes—which is code for often—he craves a companion who understands him without words, without Kaveh trying to be understood. Finding a human like that is, unfortunately, not in the question.

That’s how Kaveh finds himself walking out of an animal shelter, pet carrier in hand. Inside sleeps a pretty, golden-bronze-furred kitty. His wrist aches from the weight. Perhaps those late nights spent drafting blueprint after blueprint for his conceptual architecture class were a bad idea, after all.

The moment Kaveh set foot into the building and saw those beady, little eyes, he knew he was done for. Mehrak, they called her. Radiance. He signed the papers on the spot. Now, not only did he gain a companion, but also a truckload of responsibility.

After a few stops at various petcare stores, Kaveh returns to the dorm. To his surprise, Alhaitham isn’t there. Kaveh takes advantage of this rare occasion to let Mehrak roam in the room and to set up her feeding area and litter box. Hopefully, the brand of cat treats he bought is a good one. The four-point-three stars review overall is promising.

Exploring the maze of miscellaneous items that Kaveh hasn’t obtained the energy to pick up yet, Mehrak pitter-patters across the concrete floor. Maybe he should buy a carpet. Cold concrete can’t be enjoyable to walk on barefoot, especially when winter strikes. However, if Kaveh places a carpet in the dorm’s open floor space, Alhaitham will probably spout some bullshit, like Keep your things on your side, or something similar.

Kaveh has never taken care of a pet before. He barely takes care of himself. But he’s determined this time. He’ll be responsible for her sake and his own.

After she gets bored of her new surroundings, she approaches Kaveh. He crouches down, careful not to spook her. She paws at his pants, like a child begging for “upsies.” Kaveh offers his arms, and she leaps inside. She rubs her cheek on Kaveh’s white blouse sleeve, getting loose fur on his clothes. Kaveh doesn’t mind. She’s cute, so she gets a pass.

“Pretty,” Kaveh murmurs, scratching behind her ear. Enjoying the sensation, she purrs—little rumbles from her little body. All kinds of fuzzy feelings fill his chest, or maybe that’s just the fur falling into his blouse’s chest window. He hums, and Mehrak seems soothed by the vibrations. Adorable. “I think we’ll get along just right,” he says, petting her head. She blinks a few times, beginning to succumb to rest. Kaveh might join her. It’s been a long day for him too.

The door clicks open. Startled by the sound, Mehrak jumps out of Kaveh’s arms and scampers over to a new pair of legs that has appeared in the room. She circles around heeled black boots, sniffing the newcomer. After her thorough inspection, she stops circling. But instead of coming back to Kaveh, she lies near Alhaitham’s feet. It seems she’s fine with the cold concrete floor anyhow.

“Hm,” Alhaitham says, or more accurately, grunts. He looks down at the cutest being on the planet cuddling his boot. His face betrays no discernible emotion, positive or negative. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a cat,” he says.

“I didn’t,” Kaveh agrees. “So what? Are you allergic?”

“And if I am?”

“Don’t be difficult.”

Kaveh should know that’s an impossible ask because Alhaitham replies, “You didn’t request my permission. In case you’ve forgotten, the housing contract states, ‘The resident must ask for the permission of other residents if they are to drastically change their shared living environment.’ Pets fall under this clause.” He looks at the treat bowl behind Kaveh, then at the litter box. His nose crinkles. “I could report you to the RA.”

“That would be a dick move,” Kaveh says, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, “but I suppose it’d be in character, wouldn’t it?” He cocks his head, baiting him to go on.

“Lucky for you, I don’t have the energy for that.” He moves his foot a little, causing Mehrak to roll over. She gets back on her four feet with ease then violently shivers to get rid of the dust on her body. Stray furs meet the floor. Alhaitham takes one last glance at her, then says, “I hope this… development does not add to your uncleanliness.”

He eyes Kaveh’s side of the room. It’s not organized, but it’s not a pigsty either. A healthy balance, Kaveh thinks. He can tell his roommate disagrees, but it’s not like his side is better.

“I will not interfere in your life, and I expect you to do the same,” Kaveh quotes. “You’ll be fine if you follow your own rules for once.”

Deigning at that specific moment to practice what he preaches, Alhaitham ignores him. Possibly, he’s putting his headphones’ noise-canceling feature to use at last.

“Come here, Mehrak,” Kaveh calls, squatting down to her level again. Impudently, she lifts her round head up and turns away. Kaveh calls for her again, but she takes her stubby legs and walks herself over to Alhaitham’s chair. She curls up against the chair leg and rests. If Alhaitham, who sat down to do his homework, notices, he doesn’t mention it.

Kaveh thought he found a companion. Now, he realizes he’ll be living with another Alhaitham in cat form.

Ugh, Kaveh groans silently. He looks at Mehrak, sleeping in a curled ball. At least, one of them is cute, he thinks.

He does not look at Alhaitham.

----------

“And you know what he says? ‘I could report you to the RA.’ I swear I’ve never met anyone with as much insolence as him in my life!” Kaveh complains, leaning against the table with one arm and gesturing with the other.

“Wow. That’s something,” his assigned lab partner, Tighnari, responds, adjusting the microscope as he peers through the lens. Every few seconds, he steps back to write notes on a piece of paper. Blinking and squinting, Kaveh peeks at the paper, but the words remain illegible—the epitome of doctor’s handwriting. Or maybe, his eyes are still processing being awake at 8:00 in the morning.

By the time his enrollment time came around last semester, all the other lab time slots were filled. As a third-year on scholarship, he should have gotten enrollment priority, just like he should have gotten a decent dorm situation. It’s not like Kaveh can do anything about it now. He curses himself for not getting his general education requirements out of the way in his first two years. Now, he’s saddled with a biology class swarming with freshmen.

On the bright side, Kaveh’s fifth and seventh alarms woke Alhaitham up. His sleep-addled glare gave Kaveh the much-needed pep to get out of bed.

“He’s the worst. My luck is terrible.” He has the urge to clunk his head on the table, but he refrains. “He’s always starting disputes over the smallest of things,” Kaveh says. Even speaking about him has his heart rate rising.

“Such as?” Tighnari inquires, swapping the petri dishes. He adjusts the microscope settings again.

“Mehrak, my sleeping habits, my laundry—it’s not piling no matter what he says. And even if it was, it’d still be on my side, so his complaints are irrelevant,” Kaveh says with a huff.

Without glancing up from the microscope, Tighnari replies, “He sounds reasonable. You did bring a cat to permanently live in your dorm without informing him. Maybe you need to talk with him about room expectations and boundaries.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Kaveh cries out. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him after everything.” He shakes his head dramatically, even though Tighnari’s gaze does not move from the petri dish.

“After what? This is the third time we’ve met and the second lab we’ve done together,” Tighnari points out with cruel neutrality. He pulls back from his examination and writes down more incomprehensible notes. “And together is a loose term. Make yourself useful, or the lab report will be all yours tonight.”

Kaveh shouldn’t have underestimated the ruthlessness of first-year biology majors. He picks up Tighnari’s notes and skims them. “Should I start by decoding this?” he asks, scrutinizing the strokes. Is this an ‘m’ or a ‘w’?

Tighnari snatches the notes out of Kaveh’s hands. “Don’t smartass me,” he says, looking at him with joyless eyes—ones that you can only find on a pre-med student.

“Smartass? You should meet my roommate if you think I’m a smartass,” Kaveh says amusedly.

“Ugh. It’s always roommate this and roommate that with you. I’m starting to think there’s something more to your relationship,” Tighnari says, side-eyeing him before going back to inspecting the petri dish.

“What more could there be?” asks Kaveh, taken aback. “All he does is parade around and act like he’s smarter than everyone else.”

“So he’s a gene-ius,” a guy with long white hair interjects from another table. He chuckles at his own joke, while his lab partner inches away from him so as to not be associated with him. Kaveh and Tighnari exchange a glance. What a strange individual. After a few seconds of awkwardness, the guy mutters something about no one understanding true comedy.

“...Anyway,” Kaveh continues with a cough, “I would never be friends with him. Never.”

Tighnari hums, writing. “I was thinking more along the lines of… a romantic relationship,” he clarifies.

Kaveh gapes at him. Tighnari isn’t looking, too consumed by his notes. “That’s— that’s ridiculous! I would especially never consider that. Ever!” The speed of his gesturing accelerates drastically. He nearly knocks a measuring cup off the table but stops his hand motions at the last second. Phew. That could’ve been a disaster.

“If you say so,” Tighnari responds noncommittally. “In eight weeks, when you start gushing to me about how much you love him, I’ll tell you I told you so.”

“You have quite the imagination for a STEM major,” Kaveh comments, tongue-in-cheek.

“So do you,” Tighnari quips back.

“Touché.” Kaveh twirls the pencil, the same one Tighnari used moments prior, in his fingers. “But I assure you that’ll never happen.”

“Sure,” Tighnari replies. “Now come help me analyze these samples. The work isn’t going to do itself.” He waves a hand toward the assortment of fungi and bacteria.

Heaving a sigh, Kaveh analyzes the petri dishes through the microscope lens as his mind lags from lack of sleep. Still, he manages to pull through the rest of the lab period with little struggle. Tighnari’s comment plagues his mind, but Kaveh pushes it out of his head. Tighnari just doesn’t understand the nature of their roommate stalemate. Kaveh doesn’t have a thing with Alhaitham, and he never will.

He’s certain.

----------

It’s 1:17, and the lights in Kaveh’s room are in full brightness mode, illuminating the room in a musty yellow. As usual, Kaveh types away at his computer and gets distracted every five minutes by a random, unimportant question in his brain that he’s compelled to look up. On his bed, Mehrak sleeps soundly, unperturbed by the room’s ambient noises. Behind him sits a slouched Alhaitham scribbling and erasing furiously at his desk. Yawns and sighs and grunts of all sorts resound in the room.

At some point, Kaveh turns his head to see Alhaitham’s sorry state—hunched over his notebook and computer with his head in his hands. By all means, Kaveh should feel a sense of triumph or satisfaction from seeing his number one nuisance struggle at last. Instead, his heart pangs at the sight of Alhaitham’s misery.

Alhaitham walks around with a false air of maturity and disinterest at all times. It’s in moments like these that Kaveh remembers that he’s a freshman going through the same trials all freshmen go through.

“You should be sleeping,” Kaveh says, turning around to face Alhaitham’s back. Are you okay? is what he wants to say but can’t. His vocal cords refuse to cooperate. It’s as if a lump of mucus manifested itself in his throat instantly.

Alhaitham does not turn around, but his pencil freezes. “I’m aware,” he says lowly. Even though he speaks quietly, apparent exhaustion and irritation leak out of his voice.

“You’re tired,” says Kaveh.

“No shit.”

“So go to bed.” Alhaitham goes strangely quiet. A bout of concern coils in Kaveh’s stomach. “What is it that can’t wait until morning?” he presses.

“It’s only one problem. I’ve already done the other twenty-seven just fine. It’s just this one that…” Alhaitham says, trailing off.

He must be really tired, Kaveh deduces. It’s not like him to lose his line of thinking.

“Sunk-cost fallacy,” counters Kaveh. “How long have you been working on this one problem? An hour?”

“Too long.” Alhaitham mutters something else, but it’s incoherent. Kaveh decides at this moment that it’s time to intervene.

He steps up from his chair and walks two steps to the other side of the room. Familiar equations and variables fill Alhaitham’s notebook page. Originally, Kaveh planned to drag Alhaitham to the mattress, but now, Kaveh thinks he can provide a different type of help.

Noticing Kaveh next to him, Alhaitham grouches, “I can do it myself,” but he lacks bite. Kaveh takes it as a sign of permission.

“Sure, you can,” Kaveh replies, “but it’s past 1:00, and you’re tired, so let your senior help.”

“Not my senior,” Alhaitham grumbles in fatigue-coated words. His eyelashes flutter, like he’ll fall asleep at his desk any minute now. Best to get to work promptly, Kaveh figures.

He leans in and scrutinizes Alhaitham’s work. Thankfully, his handwriting is legible, unlike a certain someone else he knows. After staring at equations every day all day long, Kaveh can spot errors at record speed. Alhaitham’s mistake, written in graphite, sticks out like a sore thumb.

Kaveh turns his head toward Alhaitham to report his findings, only to find that Alhaitham is already looking at him. Their faces are mere inches apart. If Kaveh is to bend forward, just a tad, then—he stops that dangerous train of thought. This is Alhaitham in front of him. Alhaitham, his insufferable roommate. Only when Alhaitham’s eyes flicker down does Kaveh realize what he’s wearing—a very loose blouse, fit for sleeping. From his leaned-over position, his collar drapes low, revealing the expanse of his chest and stomach. He quickly stands up and readjusts his shirt to maintain some level of modesty.

“Ahem,” Kaveh says, clearing his throat and flushing the moment before out of his mind. “You forgot to convert micrometers to millimeters. Here.” He points to the oversight in his formula.

Alhaitham stares at the page for an extra long second before fixing his mistake. Cue more scrawling and erasing. He must feel humiliated that I helped him, Kaveh concludes as Alhaitham re-does the problem. Kaveh watches him work, checking his steps for correctness in his head. He knows all too well how weariness lends itself to various slip-ups.

When Alhaitham is done, he inputs his final value into the computer. Digital confetti erupts on the screen, and Alhaitham breathes a sigh of relief. Seeing Alhaitham’s reaction warms Kaveh’s heart—but only by one degree. Kaveh has no urge whatsoever to smile. None. Yet the corners of his mouth turn upward anyway.

Unexpectedly, Alhaitham turns back to him with an indecipherable expression. Not his typical deadpan. Curious, almost. Maybe impressed? Strangely enough, there’s no trace of condescension in his demeanor. Then, Alhaitham parts his mouth, and Kaveh braces himself.

“Thank you.”

Kaveh… stares. Then blinks. Didn’t he clean the wax out of his ears earlier today? Surely, he can’t have heard correctly.

“I didn’t catch that,” Kaveh says. “Can you—”

“Thank you,” Alhaitham repeats, interrupting him. At Kaveh’s bewilderment, he says, “What, do you need me to say it a third time? I said thank—”

“I heard you!” exclaims Kaveh. “I heard you.” Heat stains his cheeks, and it spreads to the tips of his ears. To add to the fire, his heart pounds ridiculously. Kaveh suppresses the compulsion to groan. If only his body would behave. “I’m just going to… go back to my work! Right. I’ll be at my desk. You know where to find me if you need me,” he says, plopping back in his chair and pretending to be productive when the only thing going through his mind is why in Teyvat did I say that.

Alhaitham snorts at his antics. Kaveh dares not turn around. Distracting himself, he types nonsense. He hears Alhaitham shuffle around, then the door closes. Kaveh guesses he’s going to the floor’s shared bathrooms to get ready for bed. In the meantime, he tries to type up his discussion board post, but the conflicting thoughts in his brain won’t form an intelligible sentence. Alhaitham comes back into the room roughly ten minutes later and turns off the main light, leaving Kaveh’s moribund lamp as the only remaining light source. Kaveh hears rustling sheets and assumes Alhaitham has retired for the night—or rather, for the early morning. Good. He doesn’t know what to do about Alhaitham, or himself for that matter.

Then, two faint words, spoken softly in Alhaitham’s voice, reach his ears: “Good night.”

Kaveh pauses his typing. He’s not sure if he hallucinated it, if the long nights staying up have finally caught up to him. Regardless, he responds, “Good night, Alhaitham,” in a similar soft tone. He continues typing as if his heart isn’t lodged between his vocal cords, preventing him from saying anything more.

Kaveh types and types and types until he’s done with his three-paragraph-long discussion post. By the time he hits send, restful snores fill the room from the other bed.

Thank you echoes in Kaveh's mind with no sign of stopping. It seems like only one of them (excluding Mehrak) is getting sleep tonight.

----------

Sweating profusely, Kaveh takes a large swig from his water bottle. Every limb in his body screams and cries for sweet relief. Fresh air burns his lungs after an hour of relentless huffing and puffing. Over the past sixty minutes, he’s gained a sudden respect for frequent gym-goers.

When Nilou, a campus acquaintance, invited him to the spin class, or indoor cycling class, she attends often as a sort of catching-up session from their last hangout in the previous semester, Kaveh accepted with no questions asked. Now, he wishes he asked a question or two before subscribing himself to three thousand six hundred seconds of torture.

For the entirety of the day, Kaveh has been in a daze. The cause is clear. He can’t stop thinking about Alhaitham’s behavior from the early hours of the morning. “Thank you,” he said, soft and sure. Kaveh doesn’t doubt that it’s the first time Alhaitham has ever said those two words in combination. Thank you, Alhaitham whispers again in the confines of his mind. His voice, taunting and haunting him, refuses to leave his head, no matter how Kaveh tries to get rid of it.

Being in a state of mental fog is no fun. Within the past twenty-four hours, two scooters nearly ran him over. While the fault partially lands on him, being in a stupor and all, he largely blames the scooterists who can never seem to look where they’re going. He still remembers when a scooter crashed into him in freshman year. He sustained no major injuries, but the bundle of mock blueprints in his hands could not say the same thing. He pulled one hell of an all-nighter that day to redo them for the midterm the next day. One day, Kaveh swears, the school will finally crack down on the lawless members of the scooter community.

Kaveh’s sip of water did little to ease his mental state. He accepted Nilou’s invitation because he needed a distraction from the jumbling mess of his mind. Instead of leaving the class with a clearer head, he leaves with the same messed-up brain and new pains in muscles he didn’t know he had. Hurray.

He waits outside the spin classroom in the main gym area for Nilou to finish her conversation with one of the instructors. They’re going to get dinner together at some new Liyuen restaurant that opened up nearby, and hopefully it won’t drain Kaveh of what’s left in his bank account. In the meantime, he scans his surroundings. He rarely ever goes to the gym, since he prefers going on nature walks when he feels restless. The plethora of eye candy isn’t usually worth the atmosphere of college student body odor, but he’s here anyway, so he might as well look.

It’s unfortunate that the first person he notices happens to have all-too-recognizable headphones perched atop grey hair.

Alhaitham hasn’t noticed him yet, thank the archons. He’s standing, likely in between sets or waiting for an open machine. Then, scandalously, he lifts his shirt to dab at sweat on his forehead, revealing a fit body underneath. Kaveh has seen his body many times, but this time feels different somehow. Maybe it’s the sweat trickling down the curves and contours of his abdominal muscles. Maybe it’s the worn-out expression—creased eyebrows and a panting mouth—on his face. Either way, the sight of Alhaitham has Kaveh in a mind-numbing trance, in which his surroundings have fallen away and the only thing left in his field of vision is him.

Hoping to cool his rapidly heating face, Kaveh takes another swig from his water bottle. Much to his chagrin, the heat refuses to dissipate. At least now he knows how Alhaitham maintains his ridiculous build.

The urge to sink into the wall has never been stronger. He knows his hair, frizzy with innumerable flyaways, is a mess. His skin, flushing red, is also sticky and gross from his workout. He’s not in a state to be seen by most people he knows, least of all Alhaitham. Perhaps if he pulls out his phone, he can assimilate into the background.

Before he can entertain the thought of either grabbing his phone or making a run for it outside, Alhaitham makes eye contact with him. Kaveh does not look away. He can’t look away first. That would be an admission of defeat, and Kaveh will not lose to his self-important brat of a roommate.

Alhaitham’s gaze drags slowly down his body, while his face remains impassive. Kaveh fights the urge to squirm under his intense scrutiny. The sportswear he has on suddenly feels smothering in the gym’s humidity. When Alhaitham drags his gaze back to Kaveh’s face, his eyes linger there for an extra moment before he turns away.

After several weeks in the dorm, Kaveh still can’t get a grasp on Alhaitham’s behaviors.

“Kaveh! Hey,” Nilou says, having emerged from the room with a bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m ready to go now. Do you have your stuff?”

Kaveh shows her a quick smile. “I’m ready to go, too. Lead the way.”

“Great! I’ve been dying to go to this place since its opening,” Nilou gushes. “It has so many good reviews and…”

As Kaveh walks with her to the exit, his eyes get distracted by that same mop of grey hair. Alhaitham is talking to someone sitting at a bench press, though Kaveh can’t make out everything. He hears something like “...done?” from Alhaitham, then the other person nods and says something indiscernible. But the last thing he hears from Alhaitham is unmistakable.

“Thank you.”

A mixture of muted emotions swim inside him. Thank you? Since when did Alhaitham learn how to be a polite human being? When did this behavior become the norm? Though, Kaveh supposes, he’s never seen him interact with anyone else. Does he just say this to everyone?

Kaveh is not sulking. He is just… coming to some realizations.

“Kaveh?”

Kaveh tears his gaze from Alhaitham. Nilou looks at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I missed that,” he says sheepishly. “What were you saying?”

“It’s no big deal!” Nilou says, reassuring him like the kind soul she is. “That workout must’ve taken a toll on you, huh?”

“No kidding,” Kaveh mutters, and they laugh together. As they walk, Kaveh listens to Nilou talk about her new adventures in her dance troupe and all the other updates on her life. Similarly, Kaveh shares his own stories—none about him, given that Tighnari has complained several times about his inability to talk about anything but him—and chats with her about his future plans in the arts. All in all, he has a good time getting out of his stuffy dorm building. At last, his mind can relax.

No more thank yous echo in his head for the remainder of the day.

----------

Kaveh has made many a mistake in the last three hours, he realizes as he stumbles up the seemingly infinite staircase to his dorm. After almost tripping too many times to count, he steadies himself with the stair railing—cold and festering with unknown germs. Though, he doesn’t have much of a choice when can’t walk properly.

Following his hectic week, filled with the first round of midterms and spiraling thoughts about he-who-shall-not-be-named, Kaveh needed a distraction. A drink, to be more precise. So when a group of people he hung out with in freshman year told him they were planning to do a bar crawl, Kaveh said he’d tag along. And he did. But instead of socializing, living it up, or finding a cute stranger to have a fun night with, he sat at the bar and drank. A drink turned into one, two, three too many. At some point, his group went to another bar, leaving him to nurse his emotions alone.

Once the feelings of dizziness and nausea kicked in, Kaveh paid his tab—thank Kusanali that he had enough money in his account—and stumbled out of the bar. He hailed a cab and tried his best not to hurl on the side of the road. Big mistake. Instead of puking on dirty cement, he vomits on clean leather seats. He’s lucky he only got kicked out. Thankfully, his new cab arrived swiftly, saving him from the wind’s wrath. He threw up in that car too, but luckily, the driver had plastic bags saved for such inebriated occasions. So, by a miraculous turn of events, he made it safely back on campus, where he belongs.

At last, Kaveh throws open the stairwell door to the fourth floor and treks down the hallway, which seems to stretch endlessly. Thanks to his muscle memory, he finds himself in front of room 405—and his vision, unlike his coordination, is perfectly fine after his many drinks, so he’s sure he’s at the right door. Reaching into his pocket, he fumbles for his keycard. It would be a nightmare if he lost his only means of access to shelter, and the fine for losing one is not cheap. He sighs in relief when his fingertips grasp the familiar edge of the card. He presses it against the keypad as usual, then types, 1-1-...

He can’t remember the last two digits. Curse his cloudy mind. Nevertheless, Kaveh needs in, so he prepares himself for trial-and-error.

Before he can begin systematically pressing numbers, a saving grace falls upon Kaveh and the door opens. He-who-shall-not-be-named stands in front of him, looking at him with a mix of disapproval and… concern? No, that can’t be right. Maybe the intoxication has affected his sight somehow.

“Do you know what time it is?” asks Alhaitham in a tone that’s too snotty for Kaveh’s liking.

“Do you know what time it is?” counters Kaveh, taking his time to enunciate every syllable so his speech doesn’t sound slurred. Alhaitham doesn’t need to know how fucked up he is right now. “Past your bedtime.”

Kaveh has come back drunk before, and Alhaitham has been sound asleep. He wonders what’s so different about today.

“Past your bedtime, too,” Alhaitham responds. Kaveh can feel the pomposity radiating off him.

“Not— not true!” Kaveh hiccups. Ugh. If only his body wasn’t set out to betray him… “I don’t have a… curfew.” Something sloshes in his stomach. When did acid begin inching up his throat? “I— I have to— Get me a bucket,” he demands.

Kaveh catches the slight widening of Alhaitham’s eyes before he’s pulled down the hallway by the hand. Their room door slams shut. He’s horrible at following directions, Kaveh thinks as he tries not to let the contents of his stomach spill onto carpeted floors. And his hand is softer and warmer than I expected. The thought lags in his mind until he catches himself: Expected? He has never expected to feel the touch of Alhaitham’s hand, not once. So why does it sound like a lie?

Before he knows it, Alhaitham has dragged the two of them into a stall in the shared floor bathrooms—fortunate timing, because the bile in Kaveh’s throat chooses to shoot up at that moment.

Kaveh’s hands grip the sides of the toilet. His arms shake violently as a viscous slurry of tonight’s regrets drip from his lips. Why did I order more drinks? he laments as he gasps and gags on his saliva. Not only is his bank account upset but also his digestive system. Someone coaxes him on his knees, and Kaveh complies. No longer carrying all his body weight, his arms stop shaking. For a second, Kaveh thinks that he’s in the clear, that his stomach is empty. But when another brutal round of barfing strikes, he learns that his body is not done with its revenge against him.

A stray hair strand falls over Kaveh’s face. He looks at it, cross-eyed, in horror. He can deal with getting vomit over his clothes, even his skin if need be, but not his hair.

With poor eye-hand coordination, Kaveh attempts to maneuver his elbows and hands over the toilet to brush the hair away. Before he can succeed or panic further, a soft hand takes the strand and tucks it behind Kaveh’s ear. The warm fingers linger against his earlobe, eliciting a shiver in Kaveh’s body that isn’t caused by the strenuous act of vomiting.

Clarity re-enters his mind. He knows who that hand belongs to.

He doesn’t push him away. Instead, he lets Alhaitham’s hand fall from his ear to his back, where he rubs soothing circles into the clothing fabric. Kaveh would say something about whiplash if his mouth wasn’t busy. Loath as he is to admit it, Alhaitham’s presence is… nice. Kaveh has had his fair share of “vomiting in toilets after getting too drunk” experiences, and dealing with those alone was not a fun time.

As Kaveh hurls some more—hopefully the last noxious dribbles—waves of guilt hit him. First, his old friends, second, the cab drivers, third, Alhaitham—just how many people’s days is he going to ruin? After vomiting his guts out in the toilet, he feels especially bad for the driver whose car seats he threw up on. He hopes the non-refunded money makes up for the repugnant odor and the bacteria hazard.

“Quiet your thoughts. I can hear you from over here,” Alhaitham says, handing him folded-up squares of toilet paper.

Kaveh grabs the toilet paper and wipes his mouth. He still feels—and probably looks—disgusting, but what can he do? “Can you?” he mumbles, voice hoarse from his moisture-stripped throat. “I didn’t know you were t…” He racks his brain for the word on the tip of his tongue, but his wasted mind won’t cooperate.

“Telepathic?” Alhaitham supplies.

“Yeah, that.” Kaveh can’t even bring himself to be peeved because his brain matter is two seconds away from melting into a gelatinous puddle of gifted child goo.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Hah, and don’t I know it,” says Kaveh, standing up on unstable legs. He refuses to fall while Alhaitham is watching. His mind may be in the process of liquefying, but his muscles are still holding out.

Alhaitham straightens up, matching his height. “Have you gotten everything out?”

“I hope,” Kaveh mutters, pushing open the stall door. Except, it doesn’t budge. Alhaitham undoes the lock with ease. Kaveh glares. He could’ve done that too, had his drunken mind and limbs caught up.

He marches straight to the sinks. He turns it on, cups water in his hands, then gargles. He swishes water in his mouth for a few seconds then spits out a nasty discolored liquid. His mouth feels gross. He feels gross. The smell of vomit and alcohol causes him to choke on his own breath. No one should be within twenty meters of him until he undergoes a thorough cleanse.

Alhaitham appears next to him, casually leaning against the sink counter. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Kaveh responds, wiping his mouth for the second time. He gags again on the sour taste of saliva coating his tongue. “Smell like it too.”

“You smell the same as always.”

“I do not like what you’re implying.”

Alhaitham isn’t the only adversary in the room. The mirror must be out to humiliate him too because the sight before him is not pretty. Frazzled hair, smudged eyeliner, spit-stained lips—he not only feels like a mess, but he looks like one too.

Somehow, he always looks his worst in front of Alhaitham. It’s mortifying.

Kaveh wets his fingers then rubs his eyes frantically, trying to get rid of the dark pigment. “I need a shower,” he complains. “But I don’t think I can right now.” As terrible as Kaveh is at recognizing his limits, he knows the chances of him slipping and breaking a bone, or many bones, in the shower are too great to take the risk. He looks up at his wearied reflection. Traces of the pigment stubbornly cling to his pores. Tomorrow’s problem, he decides.

“You can shower in the morning,” Alhaitham says matter-of-factly, then he turns and walks out of the washrooms. Kaveh follows.

As Kaveh walks behind him, looking at the floor to make sure each foot steps in line in front of the other, he gets to thinking. About his life? Sure. About how much he’s going to hate himself tomorrow? Definitely. But most of the thoughts bouncing off the walls of his skull revolve around the unsolvable puzzle that is his roommate. Every time Kaveh thinks he understands the parameters, that he can predict Alhaitham’s next move, the goalposts shift, and Kaveh has to rearrange everything he knew before into a brand new pattern.

Alhaitham’s faint touches replay in his memory. His careful actions concealed with abrasive words turn into a film stuck on loop. Alhaitham is right—there really is a lot Kaveh has yet to learn about him.

“We’re here,” Alhaitham says, grabbing Kaveh’s hand again. Kaveh looks up from his feet to see their dorm door. His hazy gaze flickers to Alhaitham’s eyes, to their joined hands, then to his eyes again. An unspoken question. Alhaitham turns away and fishes for his keycard in his pocket, but his headphones are noticeably absent. “Don’t need you wandering off,” he adds as an explanation, as if his flushed ears don’t tell a different story.

Kaveh doesn’t think too hard about it. After all, it’s not like the flush on his own face means anything. Right?

He lets Alhaitham pull him into their room. Mehrak, curled up on Kaveh’s bedsheets, blinks and begins to stretch her body when she hears their footsteps. As Kaveh nears the bed, she lifts her head, putting her prominent eyes filled with curiosity and concern on display. He scratches her chin fondly. How wholesome of her to check up on him.

Unsatisfied with Kaveh’s comfort, she raises her head toward Alhaitham too. To Kaveh’s surprise, Alhaitham strokes the top of Mehrak’s head. She yawns and leans into his touch. Since when did they get so familiar? Kaveh thinks back to Alhaitham’s half-indifferent half-hostile attitude to Mehrak’s arrival. Based on his current actions, Kaveh would’ve never guessed Alhaitham threatened to report Mehrak to the RA. Even a few weeks can spur great change, it seems.

“I’ve got him,” Alhaitham murmurs to Mehrak, like he’s forgotten Kaveh is there, next to him, holding his hand. What’s even stranger is that Mehrak appears reassured and takes a spot next to Kaveh’s pillow to resume her rest.

Kaveh refuses to think too hard about it. About any of it. He drops Alhaitham’s hand and does not think about the sudden loss of warmth between his fingers. Robotically, he gets into his bed, closes his eyes, and hopes that the sun will be up when he opens them. He blinks. Not even a second has passed. Screw him.

Alhaitham disappears from his side and rummages under his own bed. A minute or so after he leaves, he comes back with a paper bag and a water bottle. The paper bag sits on the floor next to the bed, while the water bottle stands on the mini-fridge by his pillow. Kaveh ignores the many thoughts and questions pushing their way to the forefront of his mind. Even when Alhaitham tells him to sit up a little and takes out his hair clips one by one, Kaveh chooses not to think. Isn’t that the very reason he got drunk—to run from his thoughts? If so, he must be walking at a snail’s pace. He can’t avoid them for much longer unless he knocks out in the next fifteen seconds.

But he can’t fall asleep while the subject of his thoughts stares down at him. So he tells him so. Sort of.

“Like what you see?” Kaveh says, although the slur to his voice makes his words almost incomprehensible. Still, with his vision, which is now going fuzzy, Kaveh swears he sees Alhaitham crack a smile.

Huh. That’s the first time he’s ever seen Alhaitham look like that. He wishes he was sober, so he could store the sight in a special box under his mind’s floorboards. It would be a shame to forget by the time morning rolls in.

Alhaitham doesn’t respond to Kaveh’s comment, at least not directly. His gaze doesn’t waver, and his eyes don’t falter. “Call me next time,” he says.

“Next time…?” Kaveh says slowly, processing. “Next time what? Next time I get drunk?” A snort escapes him. “You’ll get so many calls then,” he says, dragging out his syllables and giggling in between them.

“I’m serious.”

“Mm. No car, pretty sure no driver’s license either,” Kaveh says, scouring his brain for reasons Alhaitham would want to be called. He comes up with a blank. “What’s the call for?”

“I’ll come get you by foot,” Alhaitham says, ridiculously in Kaveh’s opinion. “So don’t think about inconveniencing anyone else.”

Kaveh laughs. Full-on belly laughs in bed. He only stops when he feels the nausea kicking in again. “Okay. If you say so,” he says, smiling sillily at Alhaitham. His facial muscles are out of his conscious control now that he’s in a state of both drunkenness and sleepiness. Relaxation takes over his cognitive and physical functions.

“Good night, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, his head leaving Kaveh’s view. Kaveh mumbles something back, but even he doesn’t know what he’s saying or feeling or doing. The coziness of his comforter paired with the tickling sensation of Mehrak’s fur on his cheek lull him into a deep sleep.

As he drifts off, one last thought floats through his half-lucid brain: Pretending is getting a whole lot harder.

----------

After that night, things change. Alhaitham changes. Kaveh does not know what to make of this shift in behavior.

Yet, in many ways, Alhaitham is the same. He still complains about Kaveh’s sleep schedule, stays in the dorm all day, and acts like a smartass. He still changes clothes comfortably when Kaveh is in the room, but recently, he’s taken to lounging around shirtlessly. When questioned, Alhaitham said that the fabric scratched at his skin unpleasantly and that the semester heat was too stifling for extra layers. Kaveh does not know whether or not he was telling the truth, but he does know that this new development has become a new distraction for Kaveh’s already-scattered brain.

Over the past few weeks, many more new developments occurred. Before that night, Kaveh thought they hated each other’s guts. It was the only thing they had in common—their mutual contempt at the other’s presence. But after Alhaitham brushed his hair back while he vomited, took care of him as he went to bed, and smiled at him, Kaveh isn’t so sure that what they have is hatred. But if Alhaitham doesn’t hate him, what does he feel? If Kaveh doesn’t hate Alhaitham, then what is Alhaitham to him?

His roommate? A friend? No label quite encapsulates their tumultuous relationship.

Kaveh always, always goes to bed after Alhaitham. In between hunting for internships and completing inhumane amounts of homework, he has little time for rest. Around two weeks ago, Kaveh pulled an all-nighter to write his midterm paper on the moral and economic failings of hostile architecture. Naturally, the next day, which is a blur in his memory, Kaveh became a living zombie, running into every piece of furniture in their dorm. He almost stepped on Mehrak—he apologized to her profusely—and his brain could barely string together a sentence no matter how much caffeine he ingested. So when he sat down at his desk to catch up on his readings, he ended up falling asleep at his computer.

When he awoke, the sun peeked over the horizon, coloring the sky a muted blue. A heavy weight rested at his shoulders, drowning Kaveh in comfort. He glanced down to see a grey blanket wrapped over him. Kaveh didn’t own anything so bland in aesthetics, and there was only one person who could’ve been in the room. Soft snores came from the other bed. Yes, there was only one person who it could be, but Kaveh had trouble accepting that he had more than one kind bone in his body.

A similar incident transpired a few days later. Kaveh came down with a cold, leaving him with a pounding headache and a runny nose. After enduring Alhaitham’s scolding on his poor living habits that compromised his immune system, Kaveh took a nap, hoping to sleep off his physical ailments. He woke up a couple hours later, groggy from the disruption of his internal clock. It took him a few minutes after he got out of bed to notice the plastic bag on his desk. He untied the knot and opened the bag to view the contents: a take-out bowl of soup, painkillers, cough drops, and cold medicine. There was no name on the bag, but the culprit was obvious.

Not only does Alhaitham do surprisingly caring things for him while he isn’t there to witness it, he also takes care of Mehrak in secret. What other explanation does Kaveh have for the magically refilled bowls of cat food, her always-trimmed claws, and the bits of fur that disappear from the floor? One day, a small scratching tower for cats randomly showed up on his side of the room. Kaveh swears he never bought it, never saw it before it poofed next to the closet. Which, once again, leaves one and only one suspect.

Alhaitham’s sudden and strange acts of kindness are not the only changes in his person. Lately, even their debates have felt different. Kaveh is accustomed to their pre-established routine: he says something, Alhaitham disagrees, he brings up good points, Alhaitham counters some and deflects others, and Kaveh walks away in a bad mood. Since the start of the semester, Kaveh has learned that no unstoppable force can make a dent in the unmovable wall that is Alhaitham.

Although, something has disrupted their routine since that night. Now, their debates are less hostile and explosive and more… intimate, for lack of a better word. Oddly enough, Alhaitham listens and responds to him without dismissing his arguments every time he opens his mouth. Playful is not the right word to describe Alhaitham or his attitude, but Kaveh can’t help but feel like he’s being teased when Alhaitham’s lips twitch at his passionate tirades. One time, when they were engaged in a heated debate, Kaveh stepped closer and closer to Alhaitham with every ridiculous point he brought up. He had to let him know just how wrong he was, and he needed to make sure he heard it. However, Kaveh didn’t notice their shrinking proximity until he was a breath away from Alhaitham’s mouth. Suffice to say, that dispute ended awkwardly with Kaveh’s ill-timed escape.

Also, Kaveh pegged Alhaitham as the type of person to avoid physical touch. He’s not a people person, so Kaveh doubted that he’d be a touchy-feely type of person too. However, Kaveh has since retracted his assumptions. Ever since the hand-holding incident of that night—because everything comes back to that night—Alhaitham has not only become receptive to physical touch but also seeks it out. He lets his shoulder brush by Kaveh on the rare occasion they pass by each other on campus—which never fails to give Kaveh a startle because Alhaitham is a permanent fixture in the room. He’s also placed the back of his hand against Kaveh’s forehead several times to check for a fever, though Kaveh always swats him away and says he’s okay. On more than one occasion, he’s scooped Kaveh up into a bridal carry and placed him on his bed when Kaveh has been working at his desk for too many hours straight. In those moments, Kaveh pretends he’s unaffected by the feeling of Alhaitham’s arms secured under his body when he’s anything but.

And as absurd as it sounds, Kaveh has an inkling that Alhaitham wants his attention. At first, Kaveh thought it was ludicrous that Alhaitham seemed to drag on their debates and that he’d do little things he knew would annoy Kaveh to spark an argument. Then, he remembered: Alhaitham is a freshman. A freshman that never goes out. Kaveh must be the only person he speaks to on a regular basis. So, like any good senior would do, Kaveh encourages him to make friends, real friends, instead of getting his daily dose of human interaction from his mortal enemy and debate partner of a roommate. Alhaitham, of course, scoffs at him and tells him that he’s perfectly happy with his current lifestyle. But Kaveh knows what it’s like to be lonely, and despite Alhaitham’s rough-around-the-edges personality, he believes he too deserves someone he can talk to. That someone might even soften some of those edges in his character.

Though the day that Alhaitham finds that someone seems to be far away, given that Alhaitham has not taken his advice to go out and has instead decided to read in bed as he usually does. How unsurprising.

Kaveh, on the other hand, sits at his desk, watching funny cat compilations with Mehrak in his arms. It’s a familiar sight—Alhaitham in bed, while Kaveh does archons-know-what on his computer—or it would be a familiar sight if anyone had 24/7 surveillance in their room. He watches a cute, grey-haired cat shake rain water off its soaked body. Kaveh coos as Mehrak paws at Kaveh’s shirt, fiending for attention like his human counterpart. Kaveh scratches behind her ears, hoping to placate her for the time being. Unsatisfied and jealous of the other cats in the screen, she huffs—as much as a cat can—and hops out of Kaveh’s arms and trots over to his arch nemesis. She leaps onto Alhaitham’s bed and curls into a fluffy ball on his stomach. Kaveh mourns the loss of her calming presence and turns to glare at his roommate. If he notices his stare, Alhaitham gives no indication. He doesn’t look up from his book, even while his fingers caress Mehrak’s smooth, princess-like fur.

Kaveh’s phone pings on his desk. He doesn’t pick it up, but he presses a side button to put it on silent. He knows who the text messages are coming from, and he’s trying very hard not to think about it. Hence, the cat videos. They’re not doing a great job at distracting Kaveh from his thoughts, though he can hardly blame the videos. Nothing has proven to consistently entertain him to the point of suppressing his tempestuous thoughts.

His mother is visiting next week. He hasn’t seen her in a few months, and she’s never visited him in college before. Stress gnaws at his brain. He needs to find a better distraction. His eyes dart around the room and eventually land back on Mehrak, and by proxy, Alhaitham too.

Soft purrs emanate from Mehrak as Alhaitham massages her tiny body. He’s still reading, but that doesn’t deter him from giving her some imperative comfort after her miniature temper tantrum. Kaveh is surprised at how quickly Mehrak warmed up to Alhaitham and vice versa, but he should’ve known they’d get along swimmingly. After all, they’re practically the same soul in different forms.

Kaveh’s heart melts a little at the domestic scene before him. He can admit that the cuddling—if he can call it that—paints an endearing picture.

“Am I more interesting than your videos?” Alhaitham asks, still looking down at his book and caressing Mehrak.

“Interesting is one way to put it,” Kaveh mutters. “There’s not much to look at when your side of the room is blank.”

“Honesty would do you well, senior.” He closes his book and puts it off to the side. Both of his hands, now free, run over Mehrak’s fur. She purrs louder, then yawns. It’s time for her third nap of the day, it seems.

“Don’t call me that,” Kaveh says with a shudder. “It’s offputting coming from your mouth.”

“Oh? Wasn’t it you who wanted me to acknowledge our two year age gap?” Alhaitham says, now rubbing Mehrak’s head. “I thought you were finally stepping into the senior role, with all the unsolicited advice you’ve been giving me.”

“Wha— I was just worried about your lack of company!”

“Well, don’t be. As I have said time and time again, I am happy as I am now.”

“Yes, I know that,” says Kaveh, exasperated, “but don’t you think it’d be nice to have a friend? Or maybe, multiple? You can talk with them, hang out with them, and—you know, do all the things friends do!” Kaveh hopes Alhaitham isn’t paying too much attention to his mannerisms, or he’ll see through that Kaveh is equally unfamiliar with having close friends.

Alhaitham stares at him for a moment with his eyebrows furrowed. His hands pause their movements and rest gently on either side of Mehrak. Then, he parts his lips, and he says, “Why would I need friends when I have you?”

Kaveh’s brain needs a few seconds to register his words, but once his mind catches up, he sputters, “You don’t— you don’t have me. And yes, you need friends!” His heart thumps wildly, chaotically, leaving Kaveh a disoriented mess. “We’re— We’re not—”

…But are they? What constitutes a friend, anyway? Maybe he needs to brush up on his language skills if he can’t define such a basic word.

“Hm. You’re right,” Alhaitham says. “We’re not friends.”

“I can’t believe you’re admitting I’m right,” says Kaveh, huffing. Still, his heart refuses to calm down.

“A broken clock strikes true twice a day, no?” Mehrak rubs her cheek into Alhaitham’s shirt, as if she’s nodding in her sleep. What betrayal. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Between you and me, you’re the one with the big ego,” Kaveh counters.

“If that’s what you believe,” Alhaitham responds dismissively. He picks up his book again and readjusts his headphones. “I’m going back to reading.”

“You’re the one who started the conversation!” Kaveh exclaims.

He’s met with silence. That jerk.

Kaveh turns back to his desk, greeted with a paused cat video. What was he doing again? Right. He picks up his phone, and eleven unread messages pop out at him. He’ll deal with them a little later when he has the mental capacity to craft a response.

Alhaitham’s words ring in his mind. There he goes, confusing Kaveh’s head and heart again. What are they? has never been so imminent a question. Kaveh unpauses the cat video, needing another distraction for a completely separate issue. The cat in the video blinks unevenly at the camera. What a cutie.

As more cat videos play on, Kaveh’s thoughts drift back to Alhaitham, like a moth to a flame. His mind can’t stay away. Why would I need friends when I have you? repeats again and again and again, an echo in his ears. Unwillingly, Kaveh’s face heats up. Blood thrums under his skin. Is it wrong that he felt happy when those words tumbled from Alhaitham’s lips?

His heart sings, begging to be heard for the millionth time. Kaveh really, really doesn’t want to admit it. It’s embarrassing. How could this happen? He knew it was a possibility when he walked into the dorm and saw him for the first time, but he thought his personality would forever be a turn-off. Little did the Kaveh of the past know that there was so much more behind those intelligent eyes and patronizing words.

There’s no other way to say it. Kaveh has a crush on Alhaitham. And he is so fucked.

----------

“I told you so,” Tighnari says, true to his word, as he writes down his lab observations.

Kaveh skims the paper. Over the past few weeks, he’s gotten better at deciphering Tighnari’s handwriting. Bacteria 1 has not reproduced. Bacteria 2 is spreading at a rapid rate. Bacteria 3 is slumped over the counter and having a mental breakdown over his roommate.

“Hey!” Kaveh says, sitting straight up. “I am not having a mental breakdown!”

“You aren’t? Then what would you call it?”

“I’m… processing!” Kaveh says, very much on the brink of hysteria. His fingers itch to claw at his hair, but he refrains. He spent a lot of time this morning making sure his red clips were placed just right. “My world has just flipped upside down, so if you think about it like that, this is a mild reaction!”

Tighnari doesn’t even glance up to witness Kaveh’s distress. Continuing to write, he says, “Sounds like a mental breakdown to me.” New notes on the sheet read, Bacteria 3 is in deep denial.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Kaveh says with a groan. He collapses against the counter again. “I knew you would make fun of me.”

“Your mistake,” Tighnari says without an ounce of sympathy. “But go on. Tell me more about how thoughtful he is, and how annoyingly cute his habits are, and how much you wish he’d take you right then and there during your little debates—”

“Stop putting words in my mouth!” Kaveh says, cutting off Tighnari’s seemingly endless list. “And speak quieter! People are looking.” Kaveh catches the judgmental stares of several of his classmates. If his cheeks weren’t aflame before, they are now.

“I’m speaking at a reasonable volume. You, on the other hand…” Tighnari gives him a look.

Kaveh puts his face in his hands, shielding himself from the discomforting eyes of the world. “Could this day get any more embarrassing?” he moans. It’s only 8:32, and Kaveh already wishes for nightfall.

“Your roommate could walk in right now and see you like this,” Tighnari says, drafting a conclusion Kaveh will most definitely have to rewrite for legibility. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Alhaitham would not be awake right now. He needs his beauty sleep,” says Kaveh, certain.

“You know him quite well,” Tighnari says, a touch of undeniable amusement in his voice. “So what’s stopping you two from dating?”

“Dating?” Kaveh says incredulously, then shrinks in his seat when more heads turn his way. Self-conscious, he lowers his voice to a whisper: “What makes you think dating is an option?”

Unbothered, Tighnari drops a nuke on him: “You like him, and he likes you. Naturally, the next step is dating.”

“Well, I think— I probably—”—Kaveh shrinks away from Tighnari’s reproachful look—“Fine. I do like him. But I never said he liked me.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s obvious,” says Tighnari, putting the pencil down and locking eyes with him. “He takes care of you when you’re drunk or ill, he makes excuses to touch you, and he engages you in debates that are definitely dripping in weirdly-charged sexual tension, by the looks of it. Pray tell, what does that sound like to you?”

“Sounds like they’ve got chemistry, if you know what I mean. Heh,” the guy with long white hair says from a table away. He snorts, believing he’s funny.

Kaveh and Tighnari wear matching cringing expressions. “This is biology class,” Tighnari says slowly.

The long-white-haired guy’s smile drops, and he mumbles something about the semantics of joke-telling and about how the masses don’t understand the concept of fun anymore. Then, he turns away, sighing in disappointment. Poor guy.

“Right. My point is that if you asked him out, he’d say yes,” Tighnari says, closing off his tirade.

“Why should I ask him out first?” Kaveh says, complaining. “He should ask me out!”

“With that mindset, someone might just snatch him away from under your nose, and you’ll be too late to do anything about it.” He slides the worksheet over to Kaveh. “It’s your turn to fill out the rest.”

“Impossible,” says Kaveh with a snort, ignoring the lab work in front of him. “Alhaitham doesn’t go out, so where would he find another person who’s interested in him?” Though, now that he thinks about it, Alhaitham does go out on occasion. Although he’s almost always present in the dorm when Kaveh returns, he has a part-time job at the library, and he visits the gym frequently. Most dangerous of all, Alhaitham is a looker. There’s certainly someone in his circle that has their eyes on him besides Kaveh.

…Kaveh is no longer so self-secure.

“Make a move soon,” Tighnari advises when he sees Kaveh’s dubious face. “That’s all I have to say.”

“You always have more to say,” mumbles Kaveh, thinking back to the many lab conversations they’ve shared. “But thank you, Tighnari.”

“Yes, yes,” Tighnari says, waving him off. “If you’re so thankful, you can show it by completing your cut of the work. The sooner you finish, the sooner I can leave and do more important things.”

Kaveh laughs and picks up the pencil. “Don’t worry. I’ll be done quickly.”

“Good. Now, I’m guessing by the end of the quarter you’ll have done something about your roommate situation?” Tighnari says, prodding.

“No promises,” Kaveh warns, “but hopefully.” He thinks back to Alhaitham’s sweet, private smile, reserved for what he selfishly hopes is only him. He thinks of his carefully concealed kind actions and his often bratty demeanor. He thinks about what it would be like to be unembarrassed in his arms, to be allowed to look whenever he wants, to be able to hold his boyfriend privileges over Alhaitham’s head whenever he’s annoyed with him.

Yes, Kaveh thinks dreamily. Hopefully, indeed.

----------

“Nice view,” Faranak comments, looking out the window at the scene of bustling college students below. “It’s so lively here. Reminds me of my younger days.” She sighs wistfully.

“Yeah,” says Kaveh, fidgeting. He’s antsy. When his mom texted she was right outside his building without a heads up, he stuffed everything he didn’t want her to see under his bed. Then, he did some impromptu cleaning, which mostly consisted of freaking out and wiping down every smooth surface on his side of the space. His room has never looked so organized before.

But he’s also antsy for other reasons. They haven’t had a proper conversation in a while. He’s relearning how to talk to her, adult to adult, as if he’s a child riding a bicycle for the first time again. Only this time, there’s no one at the bottom of the hill to catch him.

“Though, this building could use an elevator or two,” she muses. “Walking up all those stairs every day must be quite inconvenient, hm?”

“Tell me about it,” Kaveh mutters, aggravated feelings resurfacing. “It may be inconvenient for me, but it’s completely inaccessible for others! Unacceptable is what it is,” he says, shaking his head in disapproval.

“My sweet boy. Always thinking of others,” she says softly, pride twinkling in her eyes. “I hope you’re taking good care of yourself, too.”

“I am,” Kaveh says. Emotions clog his throat, unwilling to be swallowed or to come out. “Promise,” he adds when she looks at him skeptically. “You can ask Mehrak here.” He pets Mehrak, who is napping on his comforter. She yawns.

“Oh? I don’t remember you having a cat,” Faranak says, crouching down to Mehrak’s eye level. She holds out her hand, and Mehrak approaches her cautiously. Her tongue darts out to lick Faranak’s hand, then she rubs her head against her palm. “She’s a darling.”

“She is,” Kaveh agrees. “I adopted her earlier in the semester, and I never looked back.” He rubs her furry back, scratching here and there. She purrs in the luxury of having not one but two people’s doting attention.

Faranak hums in thought. “When will your roommate come back? I’d like to meet him,” she says, standing upright and pulling her hand away from Mehrak’s cheek. Mehrak whines and stretches her small neck toward the missing warmth. Faranak gives her one final scratch behind the ear before her arm returns back to her side.

“We don’t have to wait for him,” Kaveh says, and he means it. “He probably won’t be back for a while.” That part isn’t true—Kaveh has no idea when Alhaitham will come back to the room or where he is at the current moment. But his relationship with Alhaitham is precarious, and he’d rather his mother not think he’s made an enemy of his roommate.

Or worse, see through him and realize just how Kaveh feels about Alhaitham.

“How disappointing! I wasn’t able to meet the others from your previous years, so I was hoping I could meet this one,” she says, a hint of sadness in her tone.

A seedling of guilt blooms inside Kaveh, but it’s not pervasive enough for him to change his mind. “Aha. Yes. What a shame,” he says in feigned agreement as he ushers her toward the door. The sooner they’re out, the better. “I can show you around the new areas of campus, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that’d be lovely!” Faranak says, oblivious to how Kaveh nudges her to the exit. “Let’s stop by somewhere for lunch, too. The flight from Fontaine has me ravenous.”

“Of course,” Kaveh says, a perfect princely smile on his lips paired with his penchant to please. Seeing his mother happy makes him happy. Kusanali knows how rare those sights were in his childhood.

He reaches for the door handle, but before his fingers can make contact, the door swings open.

Alhaitham, in all his Alhaitham-ness, stands on the other side, keycard in hand.

Kaveh should never celebrate too early with his luck.

Alhaitham’s eyes dart between the two of them. Kaveh knows he’s a carbon copy of his mother, so Alhaitham must’ve put two and two together by now. It’s not difficult to draw the right conclusion.

Faranak’s eyebrows shoot up at Alhaitham’s appearance, and Kaveh quickly steps between them, ready to introduce the two of them to each other.

But before he can say anything, or think of the right words to say, Faranak pushes him out of the way with her forearm and pinches Alhaitham’s cheeks. “Oh my. Alhaitham! You’ve grown up so much.” She squishes the little baby fat he’s retained on his face as Alhaitham stares at her, bewildered.

Aghast, Kaveh has no time to process what his mom said. Again, he steps between the two, causing Faranak to drop her hands from Alhaitham’s face.

“Maman!” he says, horrified and half a mind away from scolding his own mother. “What has gotten into you?”

“Kaveh, why didn’t you tell me you’re rooming with Alhaitham?” she says, delighted. Kaveh’s dismay flies over her head in its entirety.

Kaveh turns his head and looks at Alhaitham, who mirrors his puzzlement. He turns back to his mom. “How do you know Alhaitham?”

She laughs, like Kaveh has asked the silliest question in the world. “Of course I know him!” she says in a confident tone for someone Alhaitham doesn’t seem to recognize. “Don’t you?”

Still perplexed, Kaveh purses his lips. “Well, yes. He’s my roommate.” He shares another glance with Alhaitham to confirm he’s not going crazy. Good, he thinks when Alhaitham’s expression confirms his sanity.

“No, no,” Faranak says. “Don’t you remember?” she asks Kaveh, who shakes his head hesitantly. “Do you?” she asks, directing the question toward Alhaitham, who also tentatively shakes his head no.

“Oh dear. I suppose it’s been a while,” she says, ruminating. “I was friends with your parents back in the day,” she says to Alhaitham, “before—well, before everything!” She rummages in her purse then pulls out a phone. “Give me a moment. I’ll find pictures.”

As his mom scrolls through her boundless photo album, Kaveh looks back at Alhaitham with the same We knew each other? in their expressions. His gaze falls to a spot on his cheek, slightly reddened from his mother’s pinching. Unthinkingly, Kaveh pokes it. Alhaitham’s mouth spreads into a subdued smile, and oh, is that a dimple? Overcome by cuteness aggression, Kaveh almost pokes his cheek again until he realizes that one—his mom is next to him—and two—his feelings are on his sleeve for everyone to see. And the only person he doesn’t want in that everyone category is standing in front of him, a witness to all his actions.

How does he always find himself in these situations?

“Here! I found some pictures of you two,” says Faranak, looking at the pictures on her phone with adoration. “Such cute children… Have a look.” She slots the phone into Kaveh’s hand.

Kaveh looks at the album as Alhaitham peers over his shoulder. Photo 1 is heart-melting, with young Kaveh waving excitedly to the camera as young Alhaitham holds a book close to his chest as if hiding from the photographer. Their linked pinkies attract Kaveh’s attention. How adorable. He scrolls. Photo 2 captures Kaveh, tongue stuck out to the side, drawing with a crayon, while Alhaitham looks at him with a pout from across the table. It’s almost as if young Alhaitham is envious of Kaveh’s drawing. Dangerous line of thinking. Next. Photo 3 is strikingly familiar. Young Kaveh has a big smile on his face as he holds hands with Alhaitham. Instead of looking at the camera, young Alhaitham is looking at him. Kaveh knows this photo because it’s one of the magnetic pictures on his mini-fridge. The main difference is that the photo in their room has most of Alhaitham cropped out of it. Only his hand, held by Kaveh, remains in the image.

Kaveh scrolls through many, many photos. The evidence is undeniable. Somehow, they knew each other when they were children. Even now, as Kaveh combs through his early childhood memories, he can’t find any that feature Alhaitham. But with the amount of photos there are of him and Alhaitham, they must’ve been quite close. Several photos picture a wide-eyed Alhaitham tottering after an oblivious, happy-go-lucky Kaveh. The way young Alhaitham looks at young Kaveh with unadulterated, innocent admiration is jarring. Has his Alhaitham ever looked at him like that? He turns around again, but Alhaitham’s face betrays nothing but surprise over their former friendship. Kaveh isn’t sure what to feel.

He hands the phone back to his mom. “Wow,” he says, a little lost and a little dazed. “This is a lot to take in.” It’s definitely not what he expected when his mom said she would be flying in soon for a visit.

“I think it’s wonderful you two found each other again. You were so close back when you were just little sprouts—two peas in a pod!” She smiles brightly, though nostalgia creeps through the cracks. “Oh, and Alhaitham, you’ve grown to be so handsome. Just like my Kaveh! You remind me so much of your father,” she says, almost forlornly.

“Thank you,” Alhaitham says—his first words since arriving. “I’ve heard we’re similar.”

“My Kaveh isn’t causing you trouble, right?” she asks, playful. “He was such a handful as a child.” She reaches up to pinch Kaveh’s cheek, but he swats her away.

“No trouble at all,” Alhaitham answers, no lie detected in his tone. He shares another look with Kaveh, like they have an inside joke going on. The subtle, sweet hint of a smile on his face has Kaveh simultaneously frozen and ready to combust.

Faranak’s gaze flicks between the two of them then lingers on Kaveh for a prolonged second. Kaveh has never wanted to melt through the floor more.

“Well, we should take our leave now,” she says, gracing Alhaitham with a grateful smile. Kaveh has always thought she looks beautiful when she smiles, pearly white teeth and all. “But I’ll make sure to return him to the dorm at a reasonable time tonight,” she adds with a wink.

“Maman,” Kaveh pleads. He cannot stomach any more humiliation.

“Don’t be embarrassed, my love. It’s only Alhaitham and I,” she says, patting his forehead.

That’s the problem, Kaveh thinks, stewing in shame. For the trillionth time, he looks at Alhaitham, who hasn’t closed the door yet. He’s watching them—Kaveh, especially—with that same soft, somewhat amused look in his eye.

Kaveh’s stomach somersaults. He needs out.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks his mom, internally begging her to spare his dignity. Can we please leave? is what he means to say. “Let’s go find somewhere to eat.”

Faranak laughs knowingly. “Goodbye, Alhaitham,” she says, then nudges Kaveh. “Say goodbye to your roommate.”

Kaveh mumbles a half-assed goodbye, then starts down the hallway before Alhaitham can reply. He waits for his mom to catch up, and they enter the stairwell together.

It’s silent for a moment. Then, hiding a smirk, she says, “So…” Their echoing steps sound much louder than before.

And Kaveh knows he’s in for a long day.

----------

Utterly drained, Kaveh flops on his bed, face down. What a taxing three days he’s had.

Mehrak paws at his hair, pulling at his signature red clips. He reaches up and takes out his hair accessories, then places them off somewhere to the side. He flips over and lifts Mehrak on top of his chest. She peers up at him in concern.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. He kisses her fuzzy forehead for good measure.

Still concerned, she pats Kaveh’s chin with her tiny paw. Overwhelming affection fills his heart. He’s never been so grateful to have a companion.

Seeing his mother off was bittersweet. As she waved goodbye to him from the cab, Kaveh choked back the words he’d never get to say to her. There was never enough time for him to build the courage to have that conversation, and he likely wouldn’t see her for many months at the very least. Kaveh understands. She has a life in Fontaine, where people love her and where she has people she loves.

She and Kaveh are strangers for most of the year, except on the few days they play their roles as mother and son.

Talking about the past is challenging for both of them. So instead, they talk about shallow things: How is work these days? Have you been doing well in your classes? Any good news to share? Over the past three days, his mom has specifically asked numerous questions about Alhaitham: How is he? Have you two been getting along well? He’s so handsome now! Kaveh, don’t you agree? Kaveh has attempted to dodge her many leading questions prying into their ambiguous relationship, but his mom is unrelenting. It’s one of the qualities he respects about her, but when it comes to him and Alhaitham, he wishes she would drop the topic.

Complicated is an understatement when it comes to him and his mother. Kaveh’s mind, which usually swarms with unwanted thoughts, draws a blank. But instead of the relief he imagined, a crippling sense of nothingness settles in his mind. He needs a reset, so he stares up at the colorless ceiling and lets time pass him by.

And so time does. He’s not sure how many hours, minutes, or seconds come and go while he lies in bed. At some point, he lets his head loll to the side and sees Alhaitham reading in bed. How strange. He never registered any footsteps in the room. Maybe he’s more out of it than he thought. Maybe he fell asleep and didn’t realize it. Maybe Alhaitham has been there the entire time.

It’s no matter to him. He runs his hands through Mehrak’s fur while she sleeps peacefully on his torso. The softness between his fingers keeps him grounded.

He hasn’t spoken to Alhaitham since the run-in with his mom. It’s only been three days, but for some reason, the time feels a lot longer. Perhaps, he’s gotten used to talking to (read: arguing with) Alhaitham so much that it’s strange to go without any banter between the two of them for over a day.

For better or worse, Kaveh can’t imagine his life without Alhaitham anymore.

“Sorry,” he says, catching Alhaitham’s attention, “for not warning you about my mother’s visit.”

Alhaitham hums. “I didn’t know that was in your vocabulary.” He flips a page in his book.

“Savor it, because that’s the last time you’ll ever hear it from my mouth,” Kaveh grumbles. He doesn’t enjoy how nasally his voice sounds while he’s lying down, but he’s too beat to sit up.

“If that’s what you think,” Alhaitham responds cryptically.

“It is.”

A comfortable silence fills the space between them. Kaveh wonders when he began to feel at ease around Alhaitham. Was it gradual or sudden? He can’t be certain. All he knows is that he’s never felt more at home.

“Did you know that we knew each other as kids?” Kaveh asks, though he’s fairly sure he knows the answer.

“No,” Alhaitham says, as expected. “I have a few vague memories of that time, but I didn’t know it was you.”

“Funny. I don’t remember it at all,” says Kaveh with a touch of sadness. He wishes he did. He wants to remember what it feels like to be on the receiving end of Alhaitham’s affection. He wants to know what Alhaitham was like as a child. If he remembered at the start, would their relationship be different? He looks at Alhaitham, the very picture of serenity, on his bed. Despite his efforts, his heart flutters. Then and there, he decides that it’s for the best that he didn’t know. He wouldn’t trade their now for anything.

Mehrak yowls as she rises to the waking world. Kaveh pets her gently as she gains consciousness, blinking at him. Once she gets a good look at Kaveh, she wiggles out of his arms and jumps down from the bed. Then, she vaults onto Alhaitham’s bed, like she’s done so many times before. She snuggles next to him, burying herself against the fabric of Alhaitham’s clothes. Scenes like this—Mehrak curled up with Alhaitham—have become familiar to him. They’re inextricable from his routine, in a way.

“She loves you more than me,” Kaveh complains, watching Mehrak burrow against Alhaitham’s waist. He’s not jealous of his cat. He’s not.

“Correction: she likes my bed more than yours,” Alhaitham says, flipping yet another page. “I have a mattress topper. You don’t.”

“A mattress topper can’t make that much of a difference,” says Kaveh, suddenly becoming acutely aware of the feeling of his mattress, barely cushioned by his thin sheets, against his back. Sure, his limbs are stiff every time he wakes up, but a mattress topper can’t suddenly eliminate his joint pain.

“You’ll never know until you try it,” says Alhaitham. Then, in one smooth motion, he scoots closer to the wall. Mehrak must notice Alhaitham’s relocation because she rolls over until she’s snug against Alhaitham’s side once more.

Kaveh’s brain buffers. Alhaitham can’t possibly mean what he thinks he means.

“I’m offering, in case I wasn’t clear,” Alhaitham adds, as if he’s reading Kaveh’s mind. What a know-it-all.

Kaveh eyes the space next to Alhaitham. There’s barely enough room for another grown human body. Plus, Kaveh isn’t sure he could rest with Alhaitham’s body mere centimeters from his own. There’s a million reasons he could come up with to not take up Alhaitham’s offer, but the fact remains that Kaveh wants to.

So he does. As he shifts, his sore legs protest, giving him one last out if he so wishes. But Kaveh isn’t a quitter, so he pushes himself out of his bed and gets on Alhaitham’s bed with only a moment’s hesitation. He lies sideways, hair splayed on the pillow. There must be millions upon millions of atoms between them, but the finite space from skin to skin has never felt so small.

Alhaitham’s bed is more comfortable than his own, much to Kaveh’s annoyance. The mattress topper cradles his strained muscles and supports his weight quite nicely. Kaveh presses his nose into the pillow case and catches a whiff of an earthy scent, likely from Alhaitham’s shampoo. The combination of a plush, warm bed and a silky, fresh-scented pillow lulls him into a state of solace.

“So?” Alhaitham asks, voice cutting through the cloudy atmosphere of comfort. “Was I right?”

Kaveh tilts his head up at Alhaitham, only to see his stare returned. The book, while still in Alhaitham’s hand, fades into the background.

“Mm. Yeah,” Kaveh says, resting his cheek against the pillow again. He can’t think of anything snarky or witty to respond with.

“You’re unusually agreeable today,” Alhaitham remarks. If Kaveh strips the layer of teasing from his tone, he’d be left with the faintest hint of something deeper. Something like care.

“It’s been a long day,” Kaveh says in lieu of saying anything further. His tongue lies heavy in his mouth.

Alhaitham makes a sound of understanding. Quietness permeates the air.

One page flip. Then another. And another. And another. Then—

“I hadn’t spoken to my mom in a while,” Kaveh says, the words falling out his mouth with surprising naturalness. “It’s… hard. I don’t know. I forget how to talk to her. She reminds me of—stuff. Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

He doesn’t know why he’s telling his troubles to Alhaitham. And yet, he doesn’t feel the need to eat his words back up and swallow them. Instead, they lie in the open, somewhere within the millions of atoms between them.

Not only has it become easy to be around Alhaitham, but he’s become surprisingly fluent in talking to Alhaitham. At some point, he crossed a bridge, and he didn’t realize it. Now, here he stands, stranded on the other side but somehow exactly where he wants to be.

“Have you eaten?” Alhaitham asks lowly. Kaveh would find the question peculiar and out-of-nowhere if it came from anyone else’s mouth, but it’s Alhaitham who spoke it. He’s always had an unusual way of reaching out, now that Kaveh thinks about it.

“I haven’t,” says Kaveh, “but I don’t have the energy to go anywhere.” His limp body forbids him from getting up. Alhaitham’s bed is so much softer than his own. He doesn’t know how he’ll readjust to the rigidity of his mattress now that he’s tasted heaven.

“Then stay here,” Alhaitham says simply. “Rest.”

As if hypnotized, Kaveh closes his eyes. “I was going to do that anyway,” he says, trying to reclaim the last dregs of his dignity.

Alhaitham’s presence next to him is unexpectedly reassuring. Kaveh’s heart beats in tune to Alhaitham’s faint, even breaths. The slight rustles and shifts in the bed remind Kaveh that he’s not alone. Just knowing Alhaitham is there lets him fall asleep with fullness in his chest unlike the hollowness from earlier.

Alhaitham says something, but Kaveh is too far gone to hear it. The sound of purrs and pages flipping peter out until there’s nothing but pure, static silence. He breathes in the soothing scent lingering on the pillowcase and lets himself doze into a different dimension.

He wouldn’t mind falling asleep like this every day for the rest of the semester. Maybe even the rest of his life.

----------

Warm, humid wind caresses Kaveh’s already-feverish face. Rough, dusty ground rubs against his pants—old ones that are on their way out anyway. Giggles and shouts waft through the night air, lighting up the street with a sense of vibrance and life. Brilliant stars watch him from afar as he sits at a curb, lost in thought.

Clubbing isn’t as fun as it once was, Kaveh concludes after his second failed clubbing experience of the semester. The friends he came with this time, different from the time before, left one by one as they each found someone to spend the night with. Kaveh can’t bring himself to be disappointed when his expectations were nil to begin with. He too has somewhere else he’d rather be.

He looks across the street to see two people walking side by side, hand in hand. To his left, there’s a couple making out against the building’s brick wall. To his right, a girl is holding another girl upright as she stumbles on high heels. Everywhere he turns, there’s a pair of people. He’s the only one without his matching half.

Despite everything, he thinks of Alhaitham—the quirks in his expressions, the intonations of his voice, the way his hair looks in the morning. The thoughts are endless. He thinks of waking up in Alhaitham’s bed a few dawns ago as the streaming pinkish-orangeish-bluish colors painted Alhaitham’s face, uncovered without his eye mask, a holographic hue. Gentle warmth swelled where their skin touched, and their clothes weren’t much use in keeping their bodies separate. Mehrak, who was sleeping between them before Kaveh shut his eyes, seemed to have left the bed at some time during the night. The distance between Kaveh and Alhaitham seemed to have vanished as well, since Kaveh clearly remembers falling asleep with their bodies a few solid centimeters apart. He’s glad that he was the one to wake up first, so that he was able to detangle their limbs and leave the bed before Alhaitham stirred, but he’s also a tad regretful. How would Alhaitham have reacted to waking up with his arms ensnaring Kaveh’s waist and his nose buried in Kaveh’s unruly hair? Kaveh will never know.

The alcohol from tonight—he drank much less than the previous time because he does not want to relive that hangover—lightens his heart and lowers his inhibitions. His feelings flow freely, unstopped by shame or embarrassment. He loves Alhaitham, and he’s okay with that. More than okay with that, actually. He loves loving Alhaitham and how loving makes him feel. He’s giddy with the thought that he gets to come home to Alhaitham tonight. He wants to see him, preferably as soon as possible. He’d call a cab, except for the fact that his rating on the ride-sharing app is currently in the trenches from his last few rides. So instead, he sits at a curb, contemplating life.

Make a move soon, says Tighnari in his mind. Kaveh stares at his reflection in his phone. Call me next time, says Alhaitham in his memories. Maybe he should.

He unlocks his phone and dials Alhaitham’s number. Not even a full ring goes by before Alhaitham picks up.

“Where are you?” asks Alhaitham with no preamble.

“Some club,” Kaveh answers. “I forgot the name.” He cranes his head to take a look, but the angle and the sign’s neon lights make the letters difficult to make out. “I’ll share my location.” With a few quick taps, he sends his whereabouts to Alhaitham.

“Stay there. I’ll come to get you,” Alhaitham says. Footsteps and other miscellaneous noises crackle through the speaker.

“Okay. I’ll wait.” Kaveh doesn’t hang up. The call stays connected, even though neither of them speak.

And wait he does. Kaveh doesn’t like waiting, but he doesn’t have a choice, so he sits at the curb patiently as couples frolic around him. He’s been asked out several times, but he’s never gone on more than one or two dates with those he’s said yes to. If he asks out Alhaitham and he says no, Kaveh doesn’t know how he could go on as his roommate. But if he asks him out and he says yes, what will change between them? Kaveh likes what they have now. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything after all. But then again, Kaveh knows he won’t be able to stomach it if Alhaitham gets into a relationship with someone else. Either way, he stands to lose something. He stands to lose Alhaitham.

But would change really be so bad? Maybe he’d finally get to know what Alhaitham’s lips taste like after staring at them so long that he knows their color’s hex code. Maybe he could touch him without pulling away at first contact because they’d be boyfriends, and boyfriends aren’t embarrassed about skinship. Maybe they’d sleep in the same bed every day, and Kaveh wouldn’t have to ask—Alhaitham would open his arms, and Kaveh would waste no time in finding his rightful spot snuggled up next to him. What a dream that would be.

Kaveh lets the figments of his imagination take him for a spin. The fantasies keep him company in his undying boredom. He only comes back to consciousness when familiar footsteps amplify and the beep of ending a call reaches his ears.

He looks up. And—

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, crouching down. Shallow pants fall from his lips—the same ones Kaveh dreamed about—and small beads of sweat drip from his forehead. Just how much did he exert himself to get here?

Out of his control, Kaveh’s mouth spreads into a smile. A giggle slips out. Then another. More and more come out until he’s a laughing mess. He’s not sure what’s funny. Maybe it’s Alhaitham’s expression. He’s not sure anyone has ever looked so relieved to see him.

“Hi, Haitham,” says Kaveh once his laughter dies down. A dark color blooms on Alhaitham’s face from ear to ear, traveling across his prominent nose bridge. At the moment, pretty is the only word Kaveh can think of to describe him.

“How much have you had to drink?” Alhaitham asks, scrutinizing him.

“A little.” Doubt swirls in Alhaitham’s gaze. “I have some restraint,” Kaveh protests, defending himself after sensing his disbelief.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Alhaitham stands up. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Not even a hand to help me up, Kaveh grumbles internally as he gets to his feet perfectly fine on his own. He dusts his pants off. I should’ve said I drank more. Maybe then, Kaveh would have an excuse to lie his head on his shoulder and to have Alhaitham’s arm wrapped around his waist. Missed opportunity.

After Kaveh stands up, Alhaitham turns and starts walking in the direction of their dorm. The trace amounts of alcohol he consumed must have eliminated his inhibitions because he reaches for Alhaitham’s hand without a second thought.

His palm is just as soft as he remembers.

Alhaitham doesn’t look back at him, but his naked ear burns a deeper color than before. Kaveh is surprised his headphones are nowhere to be seen, especially since they’re in a noisy area. Alhaitham must’ve rushed out of the dorm quickly if he forgot his most important accessory.

He can only see half of Alhaitham’s face, but he can tell that he’s wincing. So Kaveh halts and pulls him closer to whisper in his ear, “I know a shortcut.”

Alhaitham turns to him, his eyes flicking between Kaveh and what’s behind him. Then he says slowly, “It’s not through that alley, is it?”

Kaveh squeezes his hand. “Trust me.” And without waiting for permission, he pulls Alhaitham through the alley.

They weave through several alleys, sidewalks, and streets with interlocked fingers. Kaveh dodges several littered bottles and too many cigarette butts lying on the concrete. Perhaps he should start a petition to organize a community cleaning crew in Sumeru City, though he knows most students would walk past with their heads hung low. It takes about a minute for them to navigate to a quieter, calmer street. Kaveh recognizes the buildings now. The way back to their dorm, or their home as Alhaitham called it, should be simple.

“I do,” Alhaitham says once they’re on the quieter road.

“You what?” Kaveh’s heart skips a beat. For a moment, he thinks of the dream he had yesterday, where Alhaitham said those exact words. Calm down, he scolds himself.

“I do,” repeats Alhaitham. “Trust you.” Earnest eyes peer at him through thick eyelashes.

Kaveh swallows. What can he say when Alhaitham looks at him like that? What can he do when Alhaitham goes off-script and says things that make Kaveh’s heart race?

He never knows when it comes to him.

“Did I wake you up with my call?” Kaveh asks instead of addressing the elephant in the room.

“I was already up,” answers Alhaitham easily. Waiting for you goes unspoken, but Kaveh hears it anyway.

“I figured.” They stop at a crosswalk. Only a few more minutes of walking until they’re back on campus.

“Did you, now.”

“You’re not as mysterious as you think you are,” quips Kaveh.

“I’m not?” says Alhaitham in faux surprise.

“Not at all. You’re an open book,” Kaveh says. Then, he laughs to himself. “Open book,” he repeats, still laughing. It shouldn’t be so funny to him, but he’s imagining Alhaitham reading to himself, opening books every night. Alhaitham looks at him strangely. Oh well. At least he knows someone would be laughing alongside him if he was in his biology lab section.

“Only a little, you said,” Alhaitham mutters, much to Kaveh’s confusion. Then: “Did you press the pedestrian button?”

Kaveh looks at the red-orange stop hand on the other side of the road. “Yes,” Kaveh answers, as he discreetly presses the pedestrian button behind him.

But the button is a snitch, so it chirps, “Wait,” in its robotic voice back at him once his fingers make contact.

Alhaitham snorts. “You shouldn’t lie. It’s unlike you.”

“Unlike me?” Kaveh echoes.

“You’re honest. I like that about you,” Alhaitham says, straightforward without a hint of sarcasm.

Honest. Kaveh hasn’t thought of himself as honest. Most of the time, he feels as though he’s living a lie, especially with all the praise he gets from the architectural department. He’s not the prodigy they think of him. Pretending is all he ever seems to do, whether it’s to his classmates, his mom, or himself. So he disagrees with Alhaitham. He isn’t honest.

But he supposes he’s always disagreed with Alhaitham.

“What else do you like about me?” asks Kaveh innocuously with guts he wouldn’t have if he was sober.

“Fishing for more compliments?” Alhaitham teases, an audible smile in his voice. “I already gave you one. It’s your turn to say something nice about me.”

Is there anything nice to say? Kaveh almost replies but bites his tongue. It would be the easy thing to say, the expected thing. But it’s deflective. Dishonest. And didn’t Alhaitham say he liked his honesty?

“I like everything about you,” Kaveh answers. Then, he backtracks. “Well, not everything. Your attitude is atrocious, and your habits really drive me up the wall. And you're always looking to start a damn argument! You annoy me so badly that I want to tear my hair out some days.

“But then again, you’re surprisingly sweet. You’re a good listener. A good cat caretaker too. And you held my hair back when I was vomiting,” says Kaveh, reminiscing. “Sometimes I forget that we’re just roommates.”

Alhaitham’s eyebrows shoot up momentarily before he schools his expression. “That’s a lot of compliments, senior,” he says, though his voice has a strange quality to it that Kaveh can’t place. “What are you saying?” Alhaitham asks, searching his face.

A genuine, small smile plays on Kaveh’s lips. Honesty, Kaveh reminds himself, though his tongue needs no reminder. “I like you. More than I should. That’s what I want to say.”

The red-orange stop signal turns into the white pedestrian walking symbol. Step forward is what it seems to say. Kaveh takes a step, in more ways than one.

Alhaitham remains rooted to the sidewalk, so Kaveh pulls him forward. They cross the street in near-silence. The wind whispers in Kaveh’s ear—the only sound he can hear. Even their footsteps are soundless.

Kaveh glances over to Alhaitham, who wears a conflicted expression. What could he be thinking about? Kaveh muses. They make it to the other side of the street. Only then does Alhaitham open his mouth.

“...Thank you for letting me know,” he says finally.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Every blood vessel in Kaveh’s body pauses. Thank you? he thinks in incredulity. The words reverberate in his head. Once upon a time, a simple “thank you” made his heart pound at twice the speed, but now, his heart sinks into his stomach. He should’ve made sure he shared his feelings before he told him.

Kaveh tries to pull his hand away from Alhaitham, but Alhaitham holds it in place. Kaveh glares at him. If the warmth between their palms wasn’t so comforting, he would’ve yanked it away.

“You and your thank yous,” Kaveh grumbles, not bothering to hide his displeasure and disappointment. “You can say that you don’t feel the same, you know.”

“Stop jumping to conclusions,” Alhaitham says. “You’re not very good at it.”

“Then enlighten me,” says Kaveh. “What conclusion should I draw?”

“Nothing while you’re not sober.”

“I’m only tipsy! I’m not drunk,” Kaveh says, and because the universe is out to get him, he trips over a crack in the sidewalk at that very moment.

Strong, agile arms steady him. Kaveh wants nothing more than to sink into that warmth, but no. He’s supposed to be upset at him. So once he trusts his legs to hold him upright, he pulls away and crosses his arms.

“I’m moving on from you,” huffs Kaveh. “I’m going to find someone much nicer. Someone who’ll buy me flowers and chocolates. Someone who won’t say thank you when I tell him I like him.”

“Someone who’s a good listener and petsitter too, I bet,” Alhaitham muses. “Someone who’ll pick you up when you’re drunk outside of a club in the middle of the night.”

“Tipsy,” Kaveh corrects. “And it’s technically the morning.”

“Right,” Alhaitham says, amused. “Good luck finding that someone.”

“I will.”

Kaveh looks at the concrete below. Humiliation crawls beneath his skin, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge Alhaitham, who’s right there. In his peripheral vision, a hand comes into view. Alhaitham’s hand.

“We’re still a few minutes from the dorm,” he reasons.

Kaveh looks at his hand then back at him. It’s open, outstretched, asking for Kaveh’s hand in return. A magnetic force pulls at his fingertips, beckoning him to reconnect their palms, allowing skin to meet skin.

“Fine,” he says, rejoining their hands. Their fingers slot perfectly into place. It’s almost annoying how perfect their hands fit together. Kaveh can lie to himself all he wants, but he’ll never find someone more suited for him than his aggravating asshole of a roommate.

With their hands linked once more, they walk. Kaveh wants to demand what Alhaitham means, wants to kiss him silly on the street, wants to tell him he likes him again—maybe with a stronger “L” verb this time. But he exercises patience, knowing that none of his dreams will come true while Alhaitham doubts his sobriety. In the morning, Kaveh thinks, though he’s unsure how brave he’ll be without a splash of alcohol, especially after the sort-of-rejection he’s already experienced.

But Kaveh pushes those thoughts out of his mind, which grows sleepier with each passing minute. He squeezes Alhaitham’s hand again, just because he can, and Alhaitham squeezes his hand back. The action might mean nothing to most, but to Kaveh?

It’s as if they’re already together.

----------

Daylight shines into the room as Kaveh blinks his heavy eyelids. Too early, he thinks, half-lucid, as he turns over and shuts his eyes again. A jolt of discomfort shoots up his spine. Ugh. He almost forgot. Ever since he slept in Alhaitham’s bed, his body has become spoiled. All he wants is a good night’s sleep, but his back refuses to cooperate unless he’s on a premium, ultra-soft mattress topper.

He reaches for his phone and checks the time: 8:58. It’s not horribly early, but Kaveh still wishes he could get extra rest, if his body would allow it. As long as he doesn’t have to do any mentally strenuous tasks during morning hours, he can manage. At least he’s better with mornings than Alhaitham, who needs his eight hours at minimum to be a functional human being.

Kaveh glances over to Alhaitham’s bed, expecting him to be sleeping soundly amidst his mountain of blankets. But when he looks, there’s no Alhaitham or any person to be found.

A neatly-made bed stares at him. Kaveh doesn’t think he’s ever seen Alhaitham’s bed made, though he supposes half of the reason it’s never made is because Alhaitham is always in the damn bed. But against all his presumptions, Alhaitham’s sheets lie flat on his mattress topper, not a single wrinkle in sight.

That begs the question: Where is Alhaitham?

Memories from their walk home flash in Kaveh’s mind. He wants to scream into his pillow. He turns to look at his innocent pillow, the same one he was lying on just moments before. He could, if he wanted to. He decides against it. With his luck, the moment he screams into his pillow will be the same moment Alhaitham walks through the door.

He directs his attention to a groggy Mehrak instead. She squirms and blinks on Kaveh’s bed, having woken up from Kaveh’s rustling. He pets her little head. Moments of crisis are incomplete without her boundless comfort. She yawns, then licks Kaveh’s fingers, like the cutie she is.

“What do I do, Mehrak?” he says, lost in uncertainty as she nuzzles his hand. The softness of her fur reminds Kaveh of the softness of Alhaitham’s palm. All of his thoughts find his way back to him, whether he likes it or not. It’s the curse—or blessing on his better days—of being in love.

Kaveh wants to go back in time and scold his tipsy self for spilling his feelings. He should’ve waited. He was too impulsive. But the only way to walk is forward, so Kaveh is powerless now.

“Should I bring it up with him, or should I let him bring it up first?” Kaveh asks aloud. Not understanding, Mehrak pulls back and tilts her head. Kaveh rephrases. “Bring it up myself,” he says, holding out one palm for her to touch, “or let him bring it up.” He shakes his other palm, distinguishing her two options.

She looks between his two hands in deep concentration. She studies his left hand in intensity then moves on to the right. Her head flips side to side as she ponders her decision. Kaveh holds his breath when she raises her paws, ready to pounce on one of his palms.

But instead of jumping to one side, she places one paw on each palm, stretching her short arms as much as she can. Wanting a reward for getting the “right” answer, she blinks expectantly up at Kaveh.

He sighs, defeated. This is what he gets for trying to outsource important choices to others.

When Kaveh doesn’t give her a head pat, massage, or treat for several seconds after she made her decision, she turns away from Kaveh and jumps on his chair. She sends a final glare his way, then curls up on Kaveh’s seat to go back to sleep. Lucky, Kaveh thinks, dismayed.

He gets out of bed with much reluctance and slips his indoor slippers on. Grabbing his caddy of get-ready supplies, he heads to the floor’s bathrooms. He places his stuff by the sink and looks into the mirror. Maybe it’s a good thing Alhaitham isn’t in the room because his appearance is unkempt, to say the least. His hair looks like he’s been run over with all its knots and tangles, and his under-eyes are fiercely violet—the shade of the sky toward the end of sunset. Though, Kaveh supposes, it’s nothing Alhaitham hasn’t seen before. He’s already seen all of Kaveh’s lows, so his perception of him can’t possibly get any worse.

People walk in and out of the bathrooms as he brushes his teeth and applies skincare, but he pays them no mind. He also combs his hair, attempting to get rid of all the snags and clumps he’s accumulated over the last few hours of him clubbing then sleeping. Once he’s completed his morning routine and made himself look somewhat presentable, he carries his stuff back to his room.

Usually, he gets dressed for the day after he gets ready in the bathrooms, but today, he sits back on his bed with his pajamas—a loose tee and worn-out shorts—still on. Going on a walk to clear his head sounds nice, but Kaveh can’t bring himself to. He knows that Alhaitham’s absence by his side is all he’ll think about.

Nevertheless, even within the four walls of the dorm, Kaveh thinks of Alhaitham. Every time he thinks he has him all figured out, Alhaitham goes and confuses him again. Stop jumping to conclusions, Alhaitham said. Kaveh is always thinking about what he says. It’s embarrassing—clinging onto the words of his junior—but as long as Alhaitham doesn’t actually possess the mind-reading skills he claims to have, he’ll never find out.

He replays yesterday—technically, earlier today—in his head. Sitting on the curb. Calling Alhaitham. Waiting for him to show up. Pulling him into the alley. Walking, hand in hand. Spilling his feelings into the warm morning air. Hearing thank you from Alhaitham’s lips. Thank you.

He’s still hung up on that. Who says thank you after someone confesses their heart? Alhaitham, that’s who. He’s lucky Kaveh is willing to overlook his transgressions.

He recalls stumbling then feeling Alhaitham’s arms wrapped around him. The memory of that addicting warmth tingles across his skin. Archons. He wants to bash his head into the wall. He has it bad.

And finally, he thinks of Alhaitham’s extended hand—exposed and unwavering. How easily their hands slid together. How right it felt to be together like that, walking home on an ordinary night.

How ridiculous is it that the person for him is his irksome, argumentative, first-year roommate?

Fate, or rather the higher-ups that assign rooms to all undergraduates, works in mysterious ways. He would’ve never guessed he’d find someone so important to him, so irreplaceable, in room 405 in a shabby dormitory.

Immersed in sentimentality, Kaveh almost doesn’t catch the clicks of keycode buttons coming from the other side of the door. He whips his head toward the faint noises. Then, there’s a much louder click of a door unlocking.

Kaveh expects Alhaitham to walk in, and to his credit, he does. What Kaveh does not expect is the oversized bouquet of every flower ever to come with him.

“Speechless” doesn’t begin to describe what he’s feeling. He’s floored.

Alhaitham acts like nothing is amiss. He takes his shoes off by the door, then shrugs off his jacket. The bouquet lies on his desk like an afterthought.

Firstly, Kaveh is appalled by his mistreatment of the gorgeous arrangement. Cut flowers don’t survive for long, but they should live the last of their days in beauty before they wither away. A vase with a little water would do. But dropping them on the desk like that unquestionably irritates and crumples their petals. If Kaveh had the bouquet, he’d take care of it properly. That’s for sure.

Secondly, did someone give these flowers to Alhaitham? He only entertains the idea for a split moment. Alhaitham would never accept flowers from anyone, given that plants are troublesome to care for. He’d surely reject the notion of additional work. Unless…?

Fidgeting in place, Alhaitham stands by his desk. He’s waiting for something, Kaveh realizes. He’s waiting for me.

It’s then that another memory from his tipsy walk home pops into his mind. Something he said off-handedly. Something Alhaitham must’ve taken seriously.

Airiness enters his chest. He feels lighter. His heart balloons with affection. The urge to kiss Alhaitham all over his face consumes Kaveh. He’s really in love with this loser, huh?

“Who are those for?” Kaveh asks casually, as if he’s not on the edge of his seat, or bed, for a certain answer.

Alhaitham’s eyes dart to the bouquet then back to Kaveh. “Someone,” he says, purposefully vague.

Kaveh doesn’t know whether to laugh or slap his forehead at Alhaitham’s ludicrousness. Too impatient to play mind games, he chooses the direct route—which he rarely takes. Alhaitham remains one of his only exceptions to the rules he’s written for himself.

Locking eyes with Alhaitham and making sure he doesn’t look away, Kaveh utters a devastating blow: “You’ll do anything but say it back. Isn’t that right?” He cocks his head for good measure. A little teasing goes a long way.

Kaveh doesn’t need to say what it is. Alhaitham already knows.

“You win,” Alhaitham says, gaze burning into Kaveh’s retinas. Kaveh is unable to look away, deep in hypnosis from the beautiful teal and orange colors blending into each other in his irises. Just moments before, he was in control of the situation, but now as Alhaitham approaches him, the control he once had slips from his grasp. “I like you too, Kaveh. If that mind of yours didn’t figure that out yet.” Then, as if embarrassed, he buries his face into the crook of Kaveh’s neck. Kaveh mourns the loss of the pretty view.

Kaveh’s hand finds itself in Alhaitham’s hair. As his fingers weave through the soft strands, Alhaitham hums, sending vibrations down Kaveh’s trapezius. Alhaitham reminds him of a much bigger Mehrak with a breathtaking smile and a jaw-dropping physique. Equally cute though, Kaveh decides.

“Thank you for telling me,” Kaveh says, quoting Alhaitham because he’s petty and he can. He feels Alhaitham’s mouth move into a smile. “It must’ve been so hard to wait until morning.”

“I wasn’t going to mess up,” Alhaitham defends, muttering into Kaveh’s skin. The hairs there stand on end. “I couldn’t take the risk that you’d forget, or better yet, pretend to forget.”

“I didn’t forget,” Kaveh says, looking up at Alhaitham's eyes once more. If only he could save a portrait of this moment forever and hang it in their room. “I’m sick of pretending, too. So what are you going to do now?”

“Kaveh,” says Alhaitham, reverent in a way Kaveh has never heard before from his ever-so-rude roommate and awkward in a way he’d expect from a first-year. “Can I kiss you?”

“So polite,” Kaveh murmurs before taking hold of Alhaitham’s chin and bringing their lips together. It’s about time he gets to know what Alhaitham tastes like.

He must’ve had something sweet and fruity for breakfast. Zaytun peaches, perhaps? A slightly sticky residue adheres to Kaveh’s lips. The sensation of kissing Alhaitham is pleasant, although Kaveh thinks that his enjoyment has more to do with Alhaitham than the kissing. Objectively speaking, Alhaitham is an amateur kisser—the softness of his lips can’t hide the stiffness of his body. Regardless, Kaveh can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

It’d be nice to lie down, Kaveh thinks as Alhaitham’s lips shyly match his pace, but he does not want to deal with an aching back tomorrow, or whenever they stop meeting each other lip for lip. However, being the smart cookie he is, he has a solution.

“Can we do this on your bed instead?” he says into the kiss, as if breathing into the expanse of Alhaitham’s mouth.

Alhaitham doesn’t answer, but his hands hook under his thighs and he hauls Kaveh up. Kaveh yelps and grabs onto Alhaitham’s shoulders for balance. From the corner of his eye, he sees the prominent flex of his arm muscles. Alhaitham really is the whole package: infuriatingly attractive, absurdly intelligent, and surprisingly sweet. Kaveh can deal with his bursts of attitude and insolence with the rest of his favorable attributes.

A part of him enjoys being carried, since he’s usually the bigger and stronger one out of the people he meets. It’s a nice change of pace, he figures. His thighs clench around Alhaitham’s waist until he sets him down on his bed. Ah, yes, he thinks, feeling the softness beneath him. He lies back, taking up all of the limited space on the twin bed, and Alhaitham climbs on top of him.

“I hope you didn’t forget the chocolates I asked for,” Kaveh says as Alhaitham uses his forearms to keep himself hovering over Kaveh so as to not crush him.

“We can get those later,” Alhaitham says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. His eagerness is endearing to Kaveh, just like every other aspect of him.

“Impatient, are we?” Kaveh teases, brushing his fingers over the side of Alhaitham’s face.

“I’ve spent weeks thinking about this,” says Alhaitham, voice betraying vulnerability Kaveh has never heard from him. His unexpected honesty sparks a match in Kaveh’s chest.

“Hah. So have I,” answers Kaveh, a little breathless. Wasting no more time, he pulls Alhaitham in again.

Their teeth clash, but Kaveh pays it little mind. Practice makes perfect, so the more they kiss, the more Alhaitham will improve. Once Alhaitham gets a hang of the motions of kissing—the pushing, pulling, love-exchanging of it all—Kaveh will be so, so screwed.

Alhaitham dips a hand under Kaveh’s loose tee, eliciting a full-body shudder from Kaveh. He smiles into the kiss, confident in the effect he has on Kaveh. Lost in the sensation of kissing Alhaitham and touching Alhaitham, Kaveh can’t bring himself to feel flustered. All he wants is to be close to Alhaitham, as close as humanly possible. He doesn’t care if Alhaitham crushes him as long as he can feel his body on his skin.

For a second, both of them pull away to catch their breaths. Seeing Alhaitham heaving on top of him is a sight he wants to savor forever. His lungs expand and contract rapidly too, causing shallow pants to leave his mouth. His respiratory system screams at him while his cardiovascular system works overtime. It’s a small cost, Kaveh decides, for what he’s getting.

Alhaitham’s face breaks into a brilliant smile, teeth showing and all. Small dimples emerge from his cheeks. If Kaveh thought Alhaitham couldn’t get more attractive, he was sorely mistaken.

A smile also breaks out on Kaveh’s face, reflecting Alhaitham’s expression. Happiness blooms inside Kaveh, invading every space in him. And to think it all sprouted from a seed planted in the beginning of the semester with their rocky relationship.

Neither of them need another reason to go back in for a kiss. And their lips meet again, and again, and again, per their hearts’ requests.

----------

After their mutual confession and makeout session, most things stay the same. They still argue every chance they get, and Alhaitham still drives him crazy. Though, he’s driven crazy in more ways than one now.

Although there hasn’t been that many changes, Kaveh likes the way their relationship is shifting. It almost feels silly to think back to his fears of losing what they have between them when it’s never been more real.

He hasn’t slept in his own bed since they became sort-of, probably boyfriends. They haven’t discussed their relationship in full, but Kaveh is pretty sure they’re on the same page. After all, Alhaitham is ignorant to hook-up culture, so there’s no way he’s getting the wrong idea now, in spite of all the miscommunications they’ve had before. Kaveh’s body, especially his back, has never been more grateful for the change of sleeping environment.

His seven alarms still go off every school morning, and he still wakes up to Alhaitham’s disgruntled face—at least once Alhaitham lifts up that princess-pink eye mask he still wears to bed on occasion. Only this time, Kaveh has a closer view of the wrinkle between his eyebrows, the downturn of his lips, and the deep-seated irritation in his teal-orange irises. And now, he can also kiss him on the nose in the morning and turn his peeved expression into one of begrudging affection. Kaveh has never enjoyed mornings so much.

Another welcome change is that they kiss regularly now. Typical boyfriend-relationship stuff. With the amount of time they spend locking lips and getting familiar with each other’s tells, Alhaitham has improved by a significant margin. How the tables turn so quickly. Now Kaveh is the one trying to keep up with him. Though he can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy it. Taking the lead all the time is exhausting, so he’s relieved Alhaitham can take that role often.

Their honeymoon period only lasts so long because the daunting, inevitable avalanche of finals week approaches them. Neither of them are particularly worried about any grade, but at least Kaveh isn’t arrogant enough to go without studying, unlike his roommate-turned-boyfriend. So Kaveh works himself to the bone, ensuring that he’s not just getting an A but that he also knows all the content. Amidst his hyper-focused studying sessions, Alhaitham brings him warm food to break his self-destructive concentration. Kaveh never expects Alhaitham to go the extra mile, but he always does—case in point being that the food he brings always comes from outside of campus. Kaveh is immensely grateful for the inconveniences Alhaitham undergoes to get him dinner that actually tastes like something edible, but any time Kaveh tries to express his gratitude, Alhaitham waves him off and tells him that he can say thank you by taking care of himself properly.

Eventually, Alhaitham drags him away from his desk to his bed for a kissing break, and who is Kaveh to deny him? Finals week is no match for a new relationship, he learns.

Life must be turning up for Kaveh because he secures an internship at a Liyuen architectural firm over the month-long break. As he’s leaving, luggage in one hand and cat carrier in the other, he looks over his shoulder to Alhaitham and asks teasingly, “Are you going to miss me?” expecting a no paired with a poorly-concealed blush.

What he gets instead is, “Of course I’ll miss you, Kaveh.” Alhaitham’s straightforwardness causes heat to rise to Kaveh’s face. He can’t resist giving Alhaitham one last smooch on his way out, promising that he’ll text and call over the break.

Kaveh keeps good on his promise. Once he arrives at his temporary apartment in Liyue, generously paid for by the company he’s interning with, he shoots Alhaitham a text. He sends many texts throughout his days, ranging from pictures of his coffees and lunches to randomly dispersed what are you up to? texts. Alhaitham answers as dryly as ever, but Kaveh imagines that he’s trying his best. When did Alhaitham’s awkwardness become adorable to him? Kaveh doesn’t know. They say you know you’ve fallen in love once you start to find every little thing that person does cute, and if that’s true, Kaveh must’ve fallen many, many weeks ago.

The time zone difference isn’t too bad, since Liyue is next to Sumeru, so they’re able to call often, whether it’s during Kaveh’s lunch break or when they’re going to sleep. Alhaitham responds very differently on call than text. Instead of one-word replies, or the occasional three-word ones, Kaveh gets full sentences. His favorite time to be on call is in the dead of the night, arguing nonsense and talking about things they’ll forget tomorrow. Plus, he gets to see Alhaitham on facetime, lying in bed, sleepy but staying on call regardless. Similarly, Kaveh’s cheek presses into his pillow and his tousled hair lies around him, but he doesn’t care what he looks like because Alhaitham is on the other end. Archons know how many times he’s praised Kaveh’s features in between fervent kisses, to which Kaveh always responds with some variant of stop teasing and shut up and kiss me properly.

It’s a wonderful surprise to wake up with his phone in his limp hand and find out the facetime call hasn’t ended yet. If he’s lucky, Alhaitham falls asleep with the phone facing himself, so Kaveh can see his peaceful, resting face. If he’s unlucky, Kaveh sees a view of the ceiling, wall, or pitch black darkness. The only evidence of Alhaitham’s presence are his soft snores that the phone picks up. Kaveh never hangs up the phone until Alhaitham wakes up, and even then, he hesitates to hang up until work calls him away. If he told Kaveh from week one of the semester that he willingly chooses to talk to Alhaitham every day, on his break no less, he’d surely pass out.

By week two of his break, Mehrak mopes, tail drooping, due to a certain someone’s absence. It’s only when Kaveh shows her the phone on facetime does she liven up—pawing at the screen as if she’s able to touch Alhaitham’s face. Kaveh is mildly miffed that he isn’t missed the same way, but his envy melts when she cuddles up next to him every night. Alhaitham laughs at him when Kaveh grumbles about her preference for Alhaitham. It’s only a matter of time before Mehrak and Alhaitham start ganging up on him in arguments, too.

The weeks fly by in the blink of an eye, and before he knows it, the break approaches an end. On his flight back to Sumeru, also paid for by his internship company, he looks forward to seeing Alhaitham again, and being able to touch him and kiss him on his shockingly soft lips instead of dreaming of it when he falls asleep on facetime. Kaveh wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t leave the dorm at all since the end of finals, since he was staying in the room over break anyway.

He drags his luggage and the cat carrier up eight flights of stairs. They’re not as heavy or cumbersome to carry as the mini-fridge, but the trek is annoying all the same.

He pushes open the familiar door out of the stairwell and starts down the hallway. He doesn’t need to look at the room numbers. His feet instinctively stop in front of room 405.

Like he’s done so many times before, he takes his keycard out, lays it against the sensor, and types in 1-1-0-9. The door unlocks with a click, and Kaveh opens it.

There, leaning on his bed, book in hand, is Alhatham. The book shuts with a snap, and Alhaitham turns to Kaveh.

Never before has Alhaitham looked so ethereal. The light streaming in from behind him creates a halo around his head and draws attention to expression—eyes crinkled and lips stretched into a mellow smile. His hair appears as though it hasn’t been brushed in days, with the flyaways sitting atop his head, but Kaveh finds it charming nonetheless. He’s standing still, but his body language tells Kaveh that he’s ready to come up to him and embrace him and do all the things couples do.

So Kaveh beats him to it. He sets the cat carrier containing Mehrak on the ground, and she meows in indignation. How dramatic. Like father, like daughter, he thinks adoringly.

“I’m home,” Kaveh says, pulling Alhaitham into a hug. Alhaitham’s hands, newly free after placing the book on his bed, hover at his waist before he comes into consciousness and seems to realize that yes, he’s allowed to touch Kaveh now. Even with them nearing their two month anniversary, Alhaitham’s naivety when it comes to romance never fails to stir Kaveh’s fondness for his bumbling freshman.

Home slipped out of Kaveh’s mouth by surprise, but after a few seconds of thinking, he realizes that he’s not wrong, is he? Alhaitham has said something similar once, too. Their room may be part of a temporary dormitory building that’s in less-than-favorable conditions, but it’s where they come back to every day. The walls of their dorm—half tastefully decorated and half blank—have enclosed a comfortable space for the two of them to share their lives.

Plus, home doesn’t have to be a place now, does it?

“Welcome home, Kaveh,” Alhaitham whispers back in the same tone someone would say, I love you.

And what a good start to the semester that is.