Archive of Our Own

“Ugh, just who does he think he is?”

Kaveh is in the middle of an exchange at the market when he hears a sudden cry of anguish. He turns his head around, just about to collect the peaches he just bought. A researcher walks by, clutching his hat angrily, looking like he’s mere seconds away from throwing it onto the ground. 

Kaveh averts his eyes, trying to mind his own business. It’s nearing finals season at the Akademiya, and hearing cries of distress in the streets of Sumeru City isn’t exactly uncommon around this time. 

“That Grand Sage! Who does he think he is, denying my proposal?” 

That gets Kaveh’s attention. He shakes his head, sure he’ll be hearing about this when he gets home later. He can only hope the best for the application he’d turned in a couple days ago. No matter if it got approved or not, he’s bound to hear some snide comment about it later. 

“Oh? Yours got denied? Mine was just approved yesterday,” snickers the complaining man’s companion. He’s met with a groan. 

“Really? What’s your secret? I’m starting to think the only thing that’ll ever get a stamp of approval from that man comes with a bribe or something. I was just about to start thinking of ways to curry favor from him. Find a way to introduce him to my sister at the next Akademiya party or something.”

Kaveh huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes. These people don’t know the first thing about Al-Haitham. First suggesting he would respond to bribes, as if he doesn’t remind Kaveh of his financial security with every other breath he takes, and then suggesting that he shows his face at any of the parties the Akademiya throws? Insinuating that he would enjoy socializing with anyone he isn’t close with? Please. 

The man’s companion seems to think as much. “Ha! Save your poor sister the trouble. It’d only bring shame upon herself to associate with such a rude, coldhearted man. He’s always been like this. The best we can do is wait for someone to replace him.” 

At that, Kaveh’s blood runs cold. His teeth grind in irritation as he turns around to face the men. They’ve got it all wrong. Al-Haitham isn’t exactly polite, but he isn’t rude. He might appear that way to those who don’t know him, but he really just prefers to be brief with interactions he doesn’t care for. His words might come off harsh, but he isn’t cold-hearted. Al-Haitham cares quite a bit about the people around him, he just has different ways of expressing it. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being different. And sure, Al-Haitham gets under Kaveh’s skin, but after so long of getting used to him and his mannerisms, he only really irritates Kaveh when he’s trying to. It’s really on these scholars if they’re letting themselves get so worked up over Al-Haitham. 

“Just who do you think you are, to be saying such things?,” Kaveh snaps, vitriolic. The men look at him, surprised at his sudden outburst. “You clearly don’t know anything about him, yet you throw around these words to make up for your own shortcomings.” 

“Shortcomings?” the researcher scoffs. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if we didn’t have an absolute social failure in office.” He narrows his eyes. “Who are you, to be talking anyway? You’re telling me the Grand Scribe has friends now?” 

Friends. What a laughable thought. They hadn’t been able to call each other that for years. Not that Kaveh would admit that, not now, when he was sticking out his neck for Al-Haitham.

“You don’t have to be friends with someone to stand up for them.” 

The researcher rolls his eyes at that. “Mind your own business. Sucking up to him in the middle of the street isn’t going to get your application approved, you know.” 

Kaveh glares, and the man’s eyes widen almost like he’s afraid. “Neither is complaining about him for all of Sumeru to hear.”

The man laughs cruelly, a sharp bark ringing in Kaveh’s ears. “Still going? What, you like him or something? I don’t know what it is you see in him, but I hope you snap out of it soon. Unless you really are getting something out of this.” 

It’s then that Kaveh decides he’s had enough of this man. He turns away, telling himself he’s being the bigger person by walking away. Yet his blood boils in his veins, bubbling with the heat that drives him, threatening to burst. 

The whole thing is ridiculous. Kaveh shouldn’t have gotten himself involved anyway. There he was, minding his own business, picking up some fruit from the market, and now he’s mad. What had he gone and done that for anyway? Gods know he’s done his fair share of complaining about Al-Haitham, too. But it was different when Kaveh did it, because Al-Haitham takes time out of his day to intentionally piss him off. This nobody was going around the streets publicly airing his grievances like he knew anything about what he was talking about, like he knew anything about Al-Haitham. Just the thought of it made Kaveh’s blood burn all over again. 

And the assumptions he made of Kaveh as well! That he would stand up for him to curry favor from him? As if Kaveh isn’t the one who wipes the dust off of his stupid books once a week, tripping over them when Al-Haitham ignores his desperate cries to stop leaving them on the floor? As if Kaveh doesn’t make his dinner every other day, only for him to complain about his seasoning preferences? Kaveh doesn’t know what more he could do to possibly curry favor from the man, and his proposals still get rejected.

(He knows it’s his fault they do. After all, Al-Haitham takes the time to point out every last error Kaveh could have possibly made. It infuriates him, but Kaveh knows he’s fair. A little too fair.)

And to say he was standing up for him because he, what, liked him? How ridiculous. The thought alone is enough to send a shudder down Kaveh’s spine. He doesn’t know who could think such a thing. 

He comes home to Al-Haitham sitting on the divan, nose buried in another one of his books. Just the sight of him is enough to get Kaveh mad again, and he flings his cape at its hook in frustration. 

“You seem to be in a good mood.” 

“This is all your fault, by the way.” 

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t even look up at Kaveh, who so graciously defended him at the market today. Seriously, is it so hard to greet your roommate upon returning home?

“Oh? And what have I done this time to offend you?” 

Kaveh throws himself on the divan next to Al-Haitham, who frowns as his seat jostles under him. 

“Some idiot at the bazaar was yelling to the whole world about how you rejected one of his proposals.” 

Al-Haitham huffs, and Kaveh looks over at the sound to find an irritatingly smug look on his face, a little dimple creasing at the corner of his lip. 

“I’m starting to think you derive enjoyment from the suffering of others,” Kaveh says, narrowing his eyes as he pokes belligerently at Al-Haitham’s shoulders.

“What did you think I kept you around for?” 

Kaveh smacks him at that, and Al-Haitham laughs. It’s quiet. Kaveh would have missed it if he were any further away from him, if he weren’t listening for it. But annoyingly, he’s always been a little too good at picking up on these kinds of things when it comes to Al-Haitham. 

“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Al-Haitham says. “I did come across a rather ridiculous proposal today. Something about renovating a section of the House of Daena.”

“You— that was mine! Of course you wouldn’t see the merits of taking better care of the books in there, since you just leave yours around for any poor passersby to trip on.” 

“Oh? I don’t understand the attack, senior. I approved your proposal, after all. And yet I come home to violence. I had thought that the Light of Ksharewar was known to be a charitable man.” 

Kaveh stops at that, staring at the side of Al-Haitham’s face. He looks so stupid, with that smug expression gracing his features. Kaveh wants to strangle him. “What?” 

“Hm?” 

“You actually approved my proposal?” 

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see what the issue is with approving a proposal for a good cause and a reasonable budget. Do you think I'm such a cruel ruler that I would deny your proposals just because you yell at me every day?” 

“I only yell at you because you do things worth yelling at!” Kaveh yells at Al-Haitham. 

“And now you’re victim-blaming.” 

“I can’t stand you!”

“Is that why the first thing you did when you came home was hurl yourself at my side?” 

That shuts Kaveh up. He doesn’t know if he wants to stare or avert his gaze. He settles for looking at Al-Haitham’s shoulder just to avoid eye contact. 

Al-Haitham huffs a laugh, and Kaveh’s eyes flit right back at him, a force of habit. 

The sight that greets him makes his breath catch between his lips. Al-Haitham’s arm is propped on the back of the divan, his head resting in his hands. It’s unfair really, how his biceps look when he does that, his skin golden in the evening light. Kaveh tears his eyes away.

When he was younger, Al-Haitham’s face had been softer, rounder, with a touch of innocence. It had sharpened with age, his defined cheekbones handsome on his face, his lashes longer, thicker, highlighting the striking gem-cut of his eyes. Yet now, with his face rested against his hand, cheek smushed against it, Kaveh is reminded of just how sweet he used to look. 

It’d be all too easy to miss the way his dimple pokes out from behind his palm. A secret smile. But Kaveh knows how to look. He’s both an artist and a scholar, and he’s honed his craft through years spent by the other’s side, studying, observing, retaining. Even in the years they went without each other, he never stopped looking, picking him apart from the crowd. 

So even if Al-Haitham’s palm had been just a bit bigger, had been placed just a bit higher, Kaveh would still have seen his smile in the ways his eyes soften at the edges, a couple wrinkles appearing that were absent in their youth. And even if Kaveh were blind, he could pick up the soft huff of Al-Haitham’s laughter from across the room, because he knows just the kind of stupid things the man laughs at, knows when to expect his amusement. 

“Now,” Al-Haitham starts. And Kaveh could close his eyes to the sound of his voice and see it as a ray of light as it reflects off the delicate flutter of the wind. “Look how easily you’ve been distracted. Here we are, talking about you, when you were just about to tell me about that scholar who’s put you in such a foul mood. I’ll have to admit, I’m curious. After all, I’m the one who had to read all eight pages of his buffoonery, and I’m having myself quite a nice evening. What could he have possibly done to ruffle your feathers like this?” 

He pokes the feather tucked delicately in Kaveh’s hair. It tickles as it brushes against the blond’s ear. Kaveh glares, fixing it before poking Al-Haitham belligerently in the chest. 

“You’re acting like you’re not the one who made it about me in the first place.” 

“More violence and more accusations.” 

Kaveh scoffs. “As I was saying! This idiot was disturbing the peace at the market talking to his friend. They were calling you all sorts of things.” 

“Hm? I fail to see how this is an outstanding situation. I get called all sorts of things all the time, most of the time by you.”

 “Do you want me to finish telling you what happened, or are you going to keep interrupting me?” 

Al-Haitham quiets, looking at Kaveh expectantly as if to say, go ahead.

And Kaveh thinks of the words those men used. 

“Social failure”. “Cold-hearted”. 

“It’d only bring shame upon herself to associate with him.”

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to say them anymore. Not with Al-Haitham sitting in front of him, listening so intently. Alright, so he goes through his days with his fair share of criticizing the man. But none of his petty whining really means anything now. Not anymore. Not when he says them with a smile on his face. Not when they come with a playful poke, because it’s been years since he pushed Al-Haitham hard enough to put him out of reach. He doesn’t want that anymore. 

“It’s just,” he starts, and Al-Haitham raises his eyebrows. “You know.” 

“Do I?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t heard before,” Kaveh says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. 

“From your lips, I’m sure.” 

Kaveh huffs. “I’m allowed to.” 

“I don’t remember giving consent.” 

“Shut up,” Kaveh groans, pushing his shoulder again. It’s habit, the way his hand finds Al-Haitham, the way a moth seeks the heat of a flame. A thought flickers into his mind, the image of his hand left on Al-Haitham’s shoulder, fingers curled gently against the curve of his muscles, staying there. He blinks more rapidly, tearing his eyes away. 

“Of course,” Kaveh continues, “I have every right to say whatever I want about you, since I’ve witnessed the full spectrum of your unpleasantness firsthand. All my claims are evidence-based.” 

“What’s to say that that man at the market hasn’t experienced the whole spectrum of my unpleasantness as well?”
Kaveh rolls his eyes and jabs a finger in Al-Haitham’s face. He hates how pleased it makes the man look. “Don’t you insult my experience like that. Anyone could tell he doesn’t get you like I do.”

“Oh? And what of my pleasantness?” 

“It’s funny you think you have any. It amazes me how I understand you even better than you understand yourself.” 

“Who knew the Light of Ksharewar harbored such humility?” 

“See, I knew you were going to say that. And yes, it is exhausting, all this knowing.” 

“Back on track, you’re getting distracted again, senior,” Al-Haitham says, and his voice is rich and deep as he croons, amusement evident in his voice. “You found it so horrible that this man was slandering my name because you found him unqualified to speak of me?” 

“There’s more!” Kaveh replies, holding up a hand. “You won’t believe the things he accused me of when I rightfully put him in his place!” 

“It’s hard to imagine anyone would question the leading expert in my affairs. Doesn’t Sumeru know better by now than to question the judgment of Ksharewar’s pride and joy?” 

“Now,” Kaveh says, and he can’t help his smile now. “Why can’t you speak this way all the time?” 

“I suppose, as the leading expert in your affairs, it wouldn’t do to let your ego go uncontrolled. Who is the greatest architect Sumeru has ever known, after all, without his humility?”

Kaveh hits him on the head this time. Al-Haitham, sick bastard that he is, only smiles wider. 

“As I was saying, he was talking to his companion about currying favor from you, even trying to set you up with his sister at the next Akademiya party! Anyone with half a brain would know that wouldn’t work, but I guess he really doesn’t have one. And then, when I stepped in, he accused me of trying to get on your good side by speaking against him on some Tuesday in the market.” 

Al-Haitham pretends to look taken aback. “And here I thought I’d be charitable for once today, and finally entertain your efforts to suck up. I suppose my goodwill was in vain.” 

“Do you live to oppose me?” 

And Al-Haitham smiles so wide that a sliver of his teeth peek out from between his lips. 

“You know it.” 

“And then,” Kaveh continues, because he really should have grown used to Al-Haitham’s insistence on interrupting him by now. Only he stops of his own accord this time as he recalls what the man had said to him. 

“What, you like him or something?” 

He finds his tongue tied, leaden against the weight of the words. He said I like you. And isn’t it ridiculous, unthinkable, that it would ever happen? Of course it isn’t true. Of course I wouldn’t. 

And he can’t think of himself either saying it or denying it. Al-Haitham raises a brow at him, and Kaveh finds himself in quite a difficult position. 

“Well?” 

“I forgot what he said.” Kaveh’s voice comes out much smaller, afraid even as it gives away nothing. 

“To think you were so angry over something so easily forgotten.” 

Kaveh glares at him. “It seems I’ve stuck my neck out for you in vain as well, since you clearly don’t appreciate my efforts. I suppose I just enjoy doing things for nothing, then.” 

Al-Haitham’s eyes turn soft, then, as he tilts his head towards him. Come on, they seem to say. You know I’m only teasing you.

“You didn’t have to do that. You know I don’t care what random people on the street are saying about me.” 

And Kaveh is used to their little back and forths now. In fact, he lives for it, loves the burn of the argument as his heart pulses hot blood through his veins. Al-Haitham gives him some stupid, witty remark in response to something he says, and he feels like he’s being lit on fire, relishes in the way the gears turn in his brain as he devises his own comeback. 

But now isn’t the time for that. Al-Haitham is looking at him a little too softly, the setting sun nice and golden as it smooths its warm rays into his hair. And Kaveh has always cared just a little too much, put a little too much of himself into everything he does. 

“But I do. Would it really be so much trouble to put in just a bit more effort into appearing palatable?” 

Al-Haitham goes quiet. The atmosphere changes immediately, air going still as a doll’s house, like no one dares to even breathe. Kaveh can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong. But the words have been spoken, and he can’t take anything back now. 

“Right,” Al-Haitham replies, voice quiet, solemn. 

Kaveh looks down, picking at his hands. They had reached for him so easily just minutes before, but he doesn’t dare lift them in Al-Haitham’s direction at this moment. 

“I’m going to wash up now,” Al-Haitham says, picking himself up off of the divan. When he walks away, he doesn’t look back at Kaveh, doesn’t leave some snarky comment or subtly point out some absurd decoration he’d bought. He doesn’t even tell him not to stay up too late. He just walks away. 

~~~

“Morning,” Kaveh calls into the kitchen.

 Al-Haitham grunts in response. He’s dressed for work, although his cape is absent, hanging next to Kaveh’s by the door. The broad expanse of his back is turned towards Kaveh while he pours coffee into their cups. The window catches the morning light as it streams towards Al-Haitham, making an eclipse of his body.

 What a sight, first thing in the morning. Briefly, Kaveh thinks of painting him like this. It’d be a good study in anatomy, the way that shirt Al-Haitham insists on wearing to the office clings to his body. He’d outline the edges of his silhouette with gold, let the color dip into his hair, his cheeks, the curve of his arms. Kaveh’s fingers twitch at his sides as he imagines it, immortalizing Al-Haitham in something more than a moment. But the sun never stays in one place for long, and Al-Haitham is already turning towards him, mug in hand. 

“Morning.” 

Kaveh takes the cup from him. He loves feeling the subtle warmth of the coffee through the walls of the ceramic. It stirs, light warbling as it reflects off the rich, brown surface of the liquid. 

He takes a sip, relishing the way the warmth fills him. It’s perfect. The result of many squabbles over the right amount of cream and sugar to add in, but perfect. 

“You’re welcome,” Al-Haitham just has to comment as he brushes (purposefully!) past his shoulder to sit at the table. 

“Hey, watch it! You almost made me spill it!” 

“After I so graciously made it for you, perfectly tailored to your tastes. It would be a shame if you did.” 

Kaveh huffs. Al-Haitham looks at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for Kaveh to tell him he’s correct, it’s wonderful, thank him for his service. But the blond would rather eat sand than admit Al-Haitham is right and the coffee is just right. 

“I don’t know, I think you might have put a little too much sugar in this time. Get distracted putting it in?” 

Al-Haitham crosses his arms. A frown pulls at the corners of his lips. “That’s not what my research says.” 

Kaveh grins at him. Of course, Al-Haitham, the obnoxious being that he is, is better than him at pushing the other’s buttons. But after some time studying, Kaveh has a few tricks up his sleeve as well. “Oh? Were your claims peer-reviewed? Because I’m telling you right now that it isn’t right.” 

Al-Haitham’s eyebrow creases in frustration. Kaveh bites back his laugh. He gets it now- why Al-Haitham relentlessly insists on pissing him off like this. It’s addicting, watching him try to remember every little thing he did that could possibly make his coffee taste different. 

“Perhaps you’re the one distracted, senior.” 

Kaveh raises his eyebrows, as if to say, really. “Oh? I think I would know how I like my coffee.” 

Al-Haitham glares, opening his mouth to object, insisting he does know, before quickly closing it. 

“Well, I don’t see how I could possibly be at blame for this, considering that’s how you’ve liked your coffee for the past two years.” 

“I think I would know.” 

And Al-Haitham is so frustrated, Kaveh can’t hold back his laugh any longer. It rings through the room like the tinkling of a bell. Al-Haitham’s glare could melt the Arctic Circle, but it only makes Kaveh’s grin grow wider. 

“If I were to get distracted, it would surely be your fault,” he grumbles, and Kaveh wants to touch him. He wants to squeeze the meat of his cheeks, his shoulders, his back, watch the skin give under his fingers, feel his heat against his skin. He wants to take him into the place between his arms and hold him until there’s no separating one from the other, until he can’t pull away without leaving a few stray hairs behind, a record of his affection. 

He doesn’t realize he hasn’t stopped smiling until he finds his face aching with the weight of his happiness. And Kaveh just can’t help but look at Al-Haitham and think that he wouldn’t mind this being his forever. 

“You’re making fun of me. This gracious junior made you coffee just the way you like it, and you’re laughing.” 

“I don’t see what there is to laugh about messing up my coffee,” Kaveh laughs. 

Al-Haitham only huffs as he moves towards the door, but not before taking the mug out of Kaveh’s hands and taking a long sip from it as he walks past him. The way he makes an effort to show just how irritated he is as he shoves on his coat only makes Kaveh roll his eyes in amusement. 

“I’ll be on my way to work now,” Al-Haitham calls as he reaches for his keys. 

Kaveh hums in acknowledgement, too distracted by the taste of his perfect coffee to notice Al-Haitham grabbing both of their keys on his way out—all while maintaining eye contact with Kaveh. 

“Hey!” the architect cries after him. It’s too late; Al-Haitham is already out the door. “Come back! You know I have a client meeting later!” 

The idiot hears him, but of course he doesn’t return his keys. 

“Pick up some oranges while you’re out,” Al-Haitham says over his shoulder, which Kaveh knows means ‘meet me at the market when I get out of work.” 

He sighs, watching his retreating form. Gods know why he puts up with him. 

~~~

It’s a beautiful day in Sumeru. It’s that time of year when the weather is nice and mild, and the dusk birds are preparing to migrate in preparation for the warmth that is to come a few weeks later. They fly overhead, colorful wings beating powerfully as they soar through the air. Kaveh has always loved them, with their rich colors and sonorous song. He walks by one hopping around on the ground and smiles. It’s a rare sight to be able to get so close, since the dusk birds usually hang out in the treetops. The sunlight shines wonderfully on its feathers, and it flaps its wings lazily, looking like an angel. It turns, the sun striking it at just the right angle, and its feathers shine a lovely, jewel teal that reminds him of Al-Haitham’s eyes. 

He’s been working with this client for some time now, as it’s quite a large project. They’ve grown quite familiar with each other, and even engage in nice conversation as they sip tea over Kaveh’s latest draft. Bita is a pleasant, older lady who was friends with his mother before she moved to Fontaine. That said, she knows a little something about architecture herself, never makes unreasonable demands, and is very nice to work with. Kaveh used to think that his misfortune would follow him everywhere like a never-ending pendulum of weal and woe. But in the past few years, his debt has been paid off, and he’s been able to take on commissions that actually mean something to him rather than cutting his fingers on glass picking up anything that shines. 

Bita is waiting patiently at the cafe they agreed to meet at, two cups of tea before her. She smiles genially when she sees Kaveh walk in, greeting him with a little wave. 

“Hello, Mr. Kaveh. How have you been lately?” 

They settle into easy conversation. The weather has been nice in Port Ormos, although it rains a bit too much. The kids are doing great; little Dara is actually preparing for the Akademiya entrance exams! Thank you, Mr. Kaveh for the advice; you’re really too sweet; I’ll be sure to pass your words along to her. 

“Speaking of which,” Bita says, leaning forward. There’s a twinkle in her eyes. Kaveh makes the mistake of taking it as a sign to be at ease. “Pardon me if this is a bit too personal a question, Mr. Kaveh, but I’ve been wondering: are you seeing anyone right now?”

Kaveh laughs awkwardly. ‘No’ is a word that should come easily. It’s true. His eyes dart nervously around the cafe, stray out the window and into the treetops. The tree branches sway gently in the breeze, and the leaves shine an emerald green that makes his breath hitch. He takes his teacup, hoping to hide behind a sip, but it’s still too fresh, still a little too warm through the ceramic. 

The tea is too sweet. 

“Not right now,” he replies, the words a little dry in his throat. 

“Ah,” Bita says with a smile. “You see, my niece is just around your age. I’ve been trying to set her up with someone for the longest time now, but she’s just been so stubborn, and she’s at that age, you know? She’s really a nice girl though, and I thought you would be a suitable match for her.” 

“Ha, Mrs. Bita, there’s really no need for that,” Kaveh says quickly, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, though, and I truly do wish the best for your niece.” 

Bita laughs, and the tension floats away. “You’re too kind, Mr. Kaveh, even in your rejections.” She tilts her head just a bit, as if to examine Kaveh further. “Say, are you sure you aren’t seeing anyone? I saw you with that man- ah, where did I see him before? Some government official.” She snaps her fingers as she tries to remember. Kaveh knows exactly who she’s talking about, but he can’t seem to bring himself to say a word. 

“Right!” Bita exclaims. “The Acting Grand Sage! How could I forget? I saw you two out shopping the other day. I was going to say hi, but you seemed so engrossed in your conversation I didn’t want to interrupt. Is he a friend of yours?” 

The situation only gets awkwarder and awkwarder. Kaveh laughs again, bringing up his teacup once more. “Ah, I wouldn’t exactly call him my friend…it’s a little more complicated than that.”

Bita nods slowly at him. “Right. I see how it is.” 

Kaveh doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him, like her eyes are boring through his skin and seeing some secret of his he’s kept tucked beating against his ribs. He wants to squirm, get away from her watch, but he finds himself holding his breath, unable to move a muscle. 

“I suppose you have your reasons for not being able to say outright what he is to you,” she says as she finally looks somewhere else. 

Kaveh feels no less exposed. He wants to retreat into a shell, wants to be anywhere but here, thinking about what Al-Haitham is to him. 

“Although, I will say, I don’t know if it would be best to get too close to him.” 

Kaveh’s eyes snap to her face now. His blood runs cold. “Why?” he asks, like he hasn’t thought of a million reasons on his own.

“He’s Acting Grand Sage. It’s dangerous. What if someone comes after you because of him? He’s made quite the reputation for himself as well, but I’m sure you know that. And you know people will talk.” 

All people do is talk. Kaveh has already heard it all. He’s done some talking too, after all. In the eyes of those who don’t know the first thing about him, he’ll either be an easy target to get at the Acting Grand Sage, or a parasite himself, trading companionship for favors, because who could ever truly love the man? Who could see a man so cold-hearted, rude, and ruthless without thinking of sinking his teeth into him? And what an opportunity it would be for Kaveh, who could never make something great of his own without ruining himself. Creative liberties are easy to consider with a pocket full of mora, and the pockets of the Grand Sage are overflowing with abundance. And when all is said and done, when the gossip mill has run dry, Kaveh could build a masterpiece so grand that all of Sumeru lies in its shadow, but at the end of the day, he’ll only be a man who loves a man—not that anyone would ever use the word “love”.  It’ll be him swallowed by Al-Haitham’s influence.

“It’d be easier to lie low, wouldn’t it? I mean, once the rumors start pouring in, you can never really get rid of them. And Kaveh, you’ve worked so hard for what you have now. You’re a smart man; I know you can take care of yourself, but I can’t help but worry for you, you know? You remind me so much of your mother, brimming with such passion. I can’t help but be fond of you. And I just think that it would be such a shame if you lost what you’ve worked so hard for by making the wrong choice.” 

‘By choosing him’, she doesn’t need to say. 

Kaveh sets down his mug, because now his hands are sweating, and he doesn’t want his grip on it to slip. He thinks he might have drunk too much of the tea too fast, because all of a sudden, his consciousness feels too big for his head, and all he wants to do is make himself smaller, curl himself into a ball, hide his face, hide away from the world. 

“Just remember to pick what you know is best for you.” 

And Kaveh thinks of how he smiled so wide when he teased Al-Haitham that morning that his face ached. He laughed, and it felt like getting drunk on a feeling just as potent as heartache, only a little lighter. But then he thinks of those nights he spent blackout drunk in Lambad’s tavern until Al-Haitham saved his pathetic ass. He has already learned what it is like to lose everything, to hear his name in whispers riding the wind and be colored with nothing but shame, shame, shame. Kaveh looks down at his hands. Hands that have ached from drawing too long, nerves spasming with pain every time he moved them, nails jagged from when he’d bitten them in lieu of a meal. Hands that have ached to feel warmth beyond the smooth ceramic of his mug, to dig their fingers into the creases of his chest until the core of his heart blazes a heat so undeniable it burns, stains. Hands that ache from being held back from holding a man he can’t even bring himself to call a friend. 

Kaveh looks at Bita and feels empty, like all the air’s been punched out of his lungs. There’s no tea left in the cup he’s been hiding behind, but he feels wrung dry anyway. 

“I see,” he says. The words taste like lead. Bita smiles. It looks genuine. The worst part about this is that she thinks she is being kind. 

Their meeting goes on fairly normally after that. Kaveh keeps his head down. He doesn’t look her in the eyes again, not even when they say goodbye. 

All Kaveh wants to do is go back home and hide. He pats his pockets and bites back a groan when he finds them without his keys. He walks through the crowds of people scuffling around the city and can’t help but feel like everyone’s eyes are on him, peering into his soul. They’ll look at his skeleton and find calcium made up of the milk Al-Haitham puts in his coffee. They’ll look into his lungs and find the air he shares with him; it smells like old books. He feels like he’s been turned inside out. Someone bumps into him, and he tucks his head down, tries to keep moving. He wants to keep running until he runs off the edge of Teyvat, until he runs into an endless abyss where no one knows his name. He doesn’t want to be known. 

His nails dig into his palms. Kaveh barely registers the dull pain. Old habits make him want to run to Lambad’s and hide behind a bottle until he forgets the way he’s feeling. But Al-Haitham had told him to pick up oranges today. 

Al-Haitham. Al-Haitham, Al-Haitham, Al-Haitham. Kaveh wants to see him, but he doesn’t. He wants to hide his face in his chest. He wants to hide from him. Al-Haitham’s fingers are covered in calluses from his sword, but they’d be gentle as they held Kaveh’s face, as Al-Haitham looks into his eyes. He wants to avoid his gaze, shrink into himself, hide in his ribcage. He wants, he wants, he wants in two different directions, but all of them include Al-Haitham. 

And how convenient is it that he did all this running away from himself just to end up running to the market. Well. He might as well pick up some oranges. Kaveh makes his way to a stall, halfheartedly looking at the fruits. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

Kaveh doesn’t even look up at the voice. After a couple years of sharing a home with someone, you learn to recognize him blind. 

“Just picking up some oranges, as you told me to.” 

“Don’t get that one, it doesn’t look like it’ll last.” 

Kaveh nods, moving his hand away from the one he was reaching for. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t meet his eyes. 

“You could have gotten them yourself, seeing as you clearly had the time to do so.” 

He can practically hear Al-Haitham’s shrug. “You were going out today.” 

And Kaveh knows what it means, knows it’s just another one of Al-Haitham’s attempts to spend a little more time with him. 

It’s sweet. 

Al-Haitham is sweet, in that weird, twisted way of his. So sweet, it makes Kaveh feel like his body is collapsing in on itself as the sugar rots his bones. He tries to push down the feeling, bite his tongue, hold it back. Nothing works.  

Al-Haitham moves behind him, reaching way too close to get an orange himself. When Al-Haitham’s arm brushes his side, Kaveh finally turns around. 

“What are you doing?!” he asks. 

Al-Haitham crosses his arms. “Helping.” 

“What are you getting so close to me for? What if someone sees us?” 

The Scribe’s brows scrunch together. “What did I do? I was just getting some oranges.” 

“You know what you were doing!”

“No, I don’t.” Al-Haitham crosses his arms. “Fine, I won’t get so close to you. Happy?” 

Kaveh doesn’t respond. He can’t bring himself to tell him that this isn’t what he wants. 

“Whatever, let’s go.” 

They walk in silence, leaving an awkward amount of distance between them. The work crowd is bustling through the city, and people keep on walking into Kaveh. He can practically feel Al-Haitham growing more and more irritated beside him, and can imagine that he must be getting the same treatment. 

At the sound of Al-Haitham’s voice, Kaveh turns his head a little too quickly. “Have you eaten yet?”

The architect shakes his head. 

“I’m in the mood for some fatteh. Come on.” 

He just so happens to be in the mood for Kaveh’s favorite when he’s visibly upset. Kaveh looks at Al-Haitham’s back as he weaves through the crowd and feels like crying, reaching out to take his hand. He follows him silently, unable to help the pang of guilt that rings through his chest when he looks around to see if anyone is watching. 

“Hello, you two,” the vendor greets them as he tends to his food. His eyes are kind. Brown as chocolate. 

“Two, please,” Al-Haitham says, holding up two of his fingers. 

Kaveh spaces out, looking at the floor. This is a normal interaction. It’s normal for two men to get food together. It’s something friends do. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. 

“Will that be together?” 

Kaveh’s head snaps up. His heart is beating too fast for his body. He feels like he’s in a vehicle he can’t control, gripping onto the car wheel like it’ll save him when he crashes. 

“No!” he says too quickly, too loudly. The market isn’t quiet, but the word feels deafening in his ears. He wants to squirm, shrug off this feeling. “We aren’t, we aren’t anything.” His voice comes out weak, like he knows the words were never meant to be spoken. Everything feels cold. 

“Okay,” says the vendor, lifting his eyebrows as he goes back to preparing the food. “I meant as in paying.” 

“Oh,” Kaveh responds softly. And it's a habit, at this point, to make Al-Haitham pay, but Kaveh doesn’t think he can even look him in the eye right now. “I’ll pay for mine.” 

“He likes his with extra sauce,” Al-Haitham says beside him. 

Kaveh’s ears burn red. He wants to cry into his hands, but instead they reach out as Al-Haitham gives him his fatteh. When the container makes it into his hands, Kaveh looks at Al-Haitham’s outstretched arms for the split second they remain empty and thinks of running into them, hiding his face until the world disappears around him.

Neither of them speaks a word as they walk home. Kaveh busies himself by shoving food in his face to give himself an easy way out of conversation, but Al-Haitham doesn’t say anything either. 

It’s just Kaveh’s luck, then, that they walk past two boys in long, green Akademiya robes. One has an arm around the other, and they’re laughing, the sound free as a bird as it rings through the air. They look at each other like they’re the last two people left on Teyvat, and then one is leaning in, pressing a kiss to the other’s cheek, oblivious to Kaveh’s lingering eyes. 

He wonders, then, what it feels like to love like that. To hold another so unapologetically, to declare one’s affection without a care in the world. He watches until they’re too far for Kaveh to comfortably look at, and Kaveh mourns the sound of their happiness. 

He thinks of what could be, if things were that easy. Kaveh and Al-Haitham, walking side by side, weaving through the crowd with their hands intertwined. Would people think they look good together? Would people smile when they saw the two together, look at one and come to expect the other? Or would they whisper behind their hands, turning the adoration in Kaveh’s eyes into desperation. They would twist their happiness with their words until there’s nothing left of it. 

Kaveh walks a little faster, getting ahead of Al-Haitham. He doesn’t look back for him, trusting himself to pick out the sound of his footsteps as the distance between them grows wider. No one can see this, can turn him into something he’s not. He walks away until they’re so far apart it looks like they’re nothing, then pats his pockets only to remember that Al-Haitham is still the one holding their keys. Kaveh swears under his breath before hiding behind a large plant. 

When Al-Haitham walks to their door, his expression is cold. Wordlessly, he slots his key into the lock without once glancing at Kaveh. 

It’s exactly what Kaveh had wanted, isn’t it? No one can speculate on a relationship that doesn’t exist. No one can accuse him of currying for favor that isn’t there. The door is deafening as it creaks open. Al-Haitham doesn’t even hold it on the way in. It hits Kaveh in the shoulder as it swings shut, but that’s just what he wanted, isn’t it? 

The silence inside is so loud it’s suffocating. Kaveh can’t bear it anymore. It’s been so long since it sounded like this between them. 

He wants to say something, but Al-Haitham’s back is turned towards him as he sets his food down on the table. And Kaveh has no idea what he would even say. 

I didn’t mean a word I said. You mean the whole world to me. I’m scared, and it makes me want to hide in your arms. I’m scared, and it makes me want to hide from you. I’m sorry.

Kaveh is used to screaming. It’s been a long time since Al-Haitham last made him cry, but he’s used to that too. He’s used to hurling words they don’t mean at each other. He’s seen it all. 

Now, it's still, silent, sterile, and Kaveh doesn’t know what to do. It had been so good for so long that he had forgotten who they used to be, and all he wants is for him to say something, anything. Or at least look his way. 

“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh whispers, just to see if he can make Al-Haitham look at him again. 

The scribe sighs. “Kaveh.” 

The architect swallows hard, not knowing how to continue. He has his attention still. Kaveh wishes he knew how to dig his nails into it, hold it so tight he’d never be able to get the claw marks out. 

Silence spans between them again. When Kaveh finally opens his mouth, Al-Haitham interrupts him. “Do you have something to say?” 

“I didn’t mean it! It’s just, I—you know. I freaked out today. My job revolves around the public’s opinion of me. And I just, I just don’t want them to see what I’ve become. A man in so much debt he has to leech off of his junior.” 

“Right,” Al-Haitham says, his voice dry. 

It’s not right. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Kaveh almost wants Al-Haitham to pry, to ask him what’s really wrong. He won’t. Kaveh wants to hide from everyone in the world, but he’s grown so used to telling his best friend everything, but he can’t. Kaveh looks at Al-Haitham with his tongue tied. He’s scared of the words between his lips, so scared he can’t even place a label on them in his head, even if the breath in his lungs knows the truth. 

It’s Al-Haitham’s turn to remain silent now as he chews on his fatteh. Kaveh doesn’t know what to do with himself, where to put his hands. He looks at the floor, realizes he’s still stupidly standing in the living room, and takes a couple of steps before realizing he has no idea where he’s going. 

Al-Haitham doesn’t make fun of him for looking dumb as he steps without direction. He doesn’t look at him at all. 

A sigh would be too loud, so Kaveh denies himself the comfort of letting it out. He steps quietly to his room, and doesn’t come out. 

~~~

When Kaveh closes his eyes, he sees Al-Haitham. 

There he is, in the nothingness. It’s just a dream, Kaveh tells himself as he lets himself reach for him. 

Since it’s just a dream, Al-Haitham is sweet and warm under his hands. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pull away, only closes his eyes when Kaveh’s fingers swipe across the defined curve of his cheekbones. His lashes flutter, tickling Kaveh’s finger. The touch is so gentle, barely there. It’s the most intimate thing Kaveh has ever felt. 

And since it’s just a dream, and it doesn’t matter if anyone sees, Kaveh stares and stares and stares. He traces the curve of his lips, lets himself imagine what they would taste like. His fingers find their way to the soft down baby hairs at the back of Al-Haitham’s head, and Kaveh lets out a sigh, wind under wings. 

When he finally pulls his hands away, there’s dirt under his nails, like he’s dug a grave. Maybe he has. Al-Haitham opens his eyes, beautiful as ever. He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for Kaveh, doesn’t do anything at all. 

Kaveh pulls his hand away and feels himself getting colder. He shivers like the last autumn leaf quivering on a branch, its end inevitable. The frost is numbing, and soon, his limbs feel heavy at his sides until it feels like he’s been buried six feet further from the sun. 

He’s scared. He steps towards Al-Haitham, and it’s better. But the dirt is dry where it cracks under his nails. There’s no good ending to this. Might as well. 

He walks back towards Al-Haitham, but the distance between them only seems to grow. It’s been growing, ever since he pulled his hands away. He reaches, tripping over himself in his desperation. His throat goes sore from silent cries. Kaveh runs, and he cracks and crumbles until there’s nothing left of him. 

~~~

The next morning, a cup of coffee waits for him on the table with no Al-Haitham to hand it to him. It’s too sweet. Kaveh’s keys sit in the bowl right where they’re supposed to be. 

It makes Kaveh feel sick. He tries to drink it, he really does. It’s just a little sweeter than usual. He wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been taking his coffee the same way for years. But he had, and it’s wrong. He knows Al-Haitham knows it, too. 

Kaveh sits at his quiet desk in their quiet house, and tries to draw. The sound of his pencil against paper is grating against the silence. He doesn’t realize he’s biting at his nails until his teeth sink just a little too deep, and he’s hissing at the pain. He sits and sits and sits for what feels like hours, only to look at the clock to realize that it’s been no more than twenty minutes since he’s sat down and six more hours until Al-Haitham gets off work. 

And then he finds it unbearable to sit still, so he decides to get up. He paces and paces and paces in the living room before he finds a painting out of place, so naturally it’s time to get out the ruler to straighten it out. And then there’s a speck of dust on the painting, so it’s time to clean the entire house. 

By the time he’s done, there’s still a couple more hours before it’s time for Al-Haitham to come back from work. Kaveh puts his head in his hands and groans. He’s been hosting a debilitating sense of dread between his ribs all day. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he can do. The feelings inside him well up in a dangerous way that makes him feel like they’ll burst out from this too-small vessel of his. He just wants a breath of fresh air, something that’ll wash away the jitters that color his lungs, the shaking in his hands. 

It shouldn’t bother him so much that Al-Haitham just left for work without saying anything to him. They’re only roommates. It’s just how it’s supposed to be.

Kaveh barks a laugh at the thought, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s ridiculous even to think, because that’s not the way it is between the two of them, and he knows it. 

Maybe it’s better this way, with a little more distance between them. And then people can stop telling him all about how rude Al-Haitham is whenever he mentions him in passing. They can stop telling him not to get too close to the man he shares his life with. They can stop looking at him like they know something about them that he doesn’t. 

He hiccups, and it hurts. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

It’s been so long since he’d gone to Lambad’s like this, looking to forget, feel a little less. Things had been so good the last time he went. They were celebrating Collei’s Akademiya admittance. Kaveh had drunk an acceptable amount of alcohol, a nice buzz settling in his veins. Everything was beautiful and hazy and golden. 

Right now, he can’t quite grasp the pulsing in his head, threatening to bubble down his throat. It’s just like before, what he told himself he never wanted again. But right now, Kaveh needs something he understands. He wants to grab this feeling by the neck and twist, wring it out from his mind. Before he knows it, Kaveh is out of the house, the cool air kissing his skin. The way to the tavern is like muscle memory to him. He even remembers to pat his pockets for his keys. A groan is stifled when he finds that they aren’t there. Whatever. Al-Haitham will pick him up, and when he puts his nice, broad hand against his back, Kaveh can tell himself it’s because he cares. If he steps a little closer, he can even tell himself it’s because he wants to hold him. 

“Kaveh!” Lambad calls when he sees him walk in. “Haven’t seen you in a while!”
“Hi Lambad,” Kaveh greets as he tries to smile in a way that’ll make the bartender believe it’s real.

“How have you been? Oh, and how’s Al-Haitham doing?” 

Kaveh’s smile drops immediately. He’ll never escape him. 

“Al-Haitham?” he laughs, and even to his own ears, it sounds a little too high-pitched for it to be true. “Who knows? Not me!” 

Lambad frowns. “You’re acting like he isn’t your favorite subject. Is it another one of those nights?” 

“What?” 

“When you’re mad at Al-Haitham.” 

Kaveh sighs. “I’m not mad at him. I just– I don’t know. Wait! Stop saying his name so loud! What if someone hears? I can’t—” 

He puts his head in his hands. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” Kaveh says, and his voice sounds shrill in his ears. “There’s nothing! Just, let’s talk about something else. Not Al-Haitham. I’ve had too many people talking to me about Al-Haitham lately, and it makes me feel like I’m not myself anymore.” 

Lambad tilts his head to the side. “Strange, I always thought you were more yourself when you came here with him. At least, you looked more open. Less restrained.” 

Kaveh covers his face with his hands and groans. “Do people really see me like that?”

Lambad sighs. “I don’t see what you’re so afraid of, Kaveh. What happened now? And what are you doing, pretending you don’t know him?”

He frowns, and Kaveh’s heart sinks.  

Kaveh tries to swallow down the pride that bubbles up in his throat at his words. “Lambad,” he says softly, chidingly. “I don’t know.”
He does know. 

I’ve made a mistake, he doesn’t say. The voices on the streets are too loud, and I want to be in control of my own story. I want the world to see me for me and not just a man who’s with Al-Haitham.

The issue is, it’s easier to say he doesn’t know him at all than to say he knows him inside and out. He takes a big sip from the glass Lambad slid at him from across the counter. 

Most of all, I want Al-Haitham to bring me home. 

He doesn’t even end up drinking that much, but he stays. The happy sounds of the tavern soothe him. He was never meant to sit in silence for so long. 

He feels his footsteps more than he hears them. Something about Al-Haitham changes every room he walks into. The world changes, as if the light is bending around him to welcome him. Or maybe that’s just how Kaveh sees him.

“Kaveh,” comes Al-Haitham’s voice. It’s soft. Kaveh wants to lean into the sound, wrap himself in it. 

“Hi, Al-Haitham,” he returns. Smiles, because he wants to. 

The look Al-Haitham gives him is so heartbreakingly tender Kaveh feels himself melting under his gaze. 

The sage pulls out the chair beside him, glancing at his wine glass. “Have you eaten anything?” 

“Not really.” 

Al-Haitham grunts in response. “Lambad,” he calls. “Two fish rolls, please.” 

And Kaveh does not panic when the fish rolls come on the same platter, or when Al-Haitham pays for both their shares because it’s only Lambad, and Lambad knows him. This is a tavern, and there’s a glass of wine next to him. What comes after can be explained away easily, without words like ‘feelings’. 

They eat their fish rolls quietly, but Al-Haitham’s leg touches his under the table. Kaveh leans into the contact a little, because he’s drunk anyway, so what does it matter if he takes every excuse to touch him? 

“How was work today?” he asks, because he likes the sound of Al-Haitham’s voice. 

“Miserable,” Al-Haitham responds, which tells him nothing, because that’s what he says every day. “I can’t wait for Nahida to approve my resignation.” 

Kaveh blinks. “And then you won’t be the Grand Sage anymore.” 

“Nope!” Al-Haitham’s eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s so annoyingly happy it makes Kaveh laugh. “I’ll be back to nothing but a lowly scribe. I’ll still keep the salary, though.” 

“Hm,” Kaveh hums. “So you can still pay for my drinks.” 

“Which you should have been doing in the first place, were you a little more responsible with your finances.” There’s a smile in his voice. Kaveh looks, because when Al-Haitham smiles, it’s not an occasion he can afford to miss. 

He’s so beautiful in the soft lights of the tavern, his hair golden where it’s tousled by the lamplight. 

“I’m being responsible by making you do it.” 

Al-Haitham huffs and rolls his eyes. Kaveh laughs a little too loud.

“What are you laughing at? I didn’t say anything funny,” Al-Haitham asks.
“You’re funny looking.” 

The flat look Al-Haitham gives him in response only makes Kaveh laugh harder. 

“If you’re done laughing at my face, I’m just about done with these fish rolls here. Let’s head home.” 

Kaveh follows him out the tavern. The evening breeze kisses his ears, and the world looks so beautiful all he wants to do is smile. It’s one of those moments where he’s so giddy with happiness that he wants to take Al-Haitham by the shoulders and spin him around until they stumble on their feet, where he can see every single color that shines through the leaves above, so much that it makes him want to paint Sumeru using only shades of green. 

He isn’t drunk enough that he can’t walk straight. If Kaveh concentrates very, very hard, he can almost walk in a perfectly straight line. But Kaveh wants to concentrate on Al-Haitham, who is looking so dashing, with his strong nose and sharp jaw, that Kaveh just wants to swallow him whole. 

He takes a clumsy step, and sure enough, Al-Haitham's hand comes around him. 

“Just how much did you drink?” Al-Haitham mutters, mostly to himself. 

Not enough. But the weight of Al-Haitham’s arm around him almost feels like a hug, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“Al-Haitham,” he says, just to feel his name in his mouth.

“Hm?” 

They’re close, so much that Kaveh feels the vibrations in his chest from where he’s pressed up against him. It’s addicting. He wants to bottle it up and drink the feeling. 

“Al-Haitham.” 

“Kaveh.” 

There he goes. The sound of his voice is sweet as honey dripping from Al-Haitham’s lips. Kaveh sighs, and Al-Haitham gives him a weird look, but he doesn’t mind it at all as long as his eyes are on him. 

Kaveh’s gotten a lot of bad attention these past few years. Everyone seems to have something to comment on. Some criticism of his ideals, some comment on his work, some words about how they’ve seen him at the tavern a little too often. There is one person in Sumeru who looks at Kaveh and sees him for what he is, who sees him as someone worth saving. Sue him if Kaveh wants him to look a little longer. 

Usually, when Al-Haitham picks Kaveh up from the tavern, he’s almost too drunk to function. He’s certainly too drunk to remember how gentle Al-Haitham is as he keeps him upright while opening their door, how Al-Haitham sits him down on the divan before getting him water. This time, Kaveh is fully aware of the way his fingers card through his hair as he takes out his hairpins. He put a couple extra in to make the moment last just a bit longer, but it seems he didn’t need to. Even after the last pin is removed, Al-Haitham keeps his fingers in his hair, syrupy sweet as he plays with it. 

Al-Haitham’s gaze holds a gravity to it that makes Kaveh think about kissing him. And he’d been so lonely that morning, with no one to share his breakfast with. Consider it payback for messing his coffee up on purpose. Not once do Al-Haitham’s eyes leave him, so Kaveh knows he sees the way he smiles as he leans in. They’re so close that Al-Haitham’s breath is warm as it kisses his lips. Kaveh feels it hitch, and knows he has Al-Haitham exactly where he wants him. 

“I’m drunk,” he says, like it changes anything. Like there’s still something to hide.
But then Al-Haitham puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes. And there’s nothing like being under Al-Haitham’s hands; there’s no universe where Kaveh doesn’t want it, no matter how much he says otherwise. But he’s torn away from Al-Haitham when he had been so close, and he feels so frustrated he could sob. 

Al-Haitham meets his eyes, and Kaveh tries to look as pitiful as possible. The younger sighs. 

“You’re drunk,” he reasons, like that hadn’t been Kaveh’s excuse to kiss him. 

He isn’t, though. Kaveh wants it so bad that he feels like squeezing something in his hand so hard it breaks. He just wants to hold Al-Haitham so tightly nothing is left between them, wants to kiss him until he loses his breath, breathe the same air as him, feel those eyelashes against his face as they flutter. 

“Al-Haitham.” His voice comes out as a whine. It would be embarrassing, if he weren’t so desperate for him. “Please.” 

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham sighs. “It wouldn’t be right. I’ll get you some more water.” 

And he stands to leave. Kaveh scrambles for him. “I don’t need it.” 

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. “You clearly do, if you’re here trying to kiss me.” 

“Al-Haitham.” Anyone who hears his voice can tell he’s begging now.

“Kaveh. You’re drunk. I can’t let you.” 

“Is that the only reason?” His heart thunders in his chest, like it’s trying to beat out of it. And Kaveh prides himself so deeply on knowing Al-Haitham inside and out, but he can’t help the fear that wells up inside of him that maybe, just maybe, Al-Haitham doesn’t feel the same. 

But then Al-Haitham cups Kaveh’s face with his warm hands, and he’s held close again. The act alone is enough to make all the tension seep out of Kaveh’s body. The architect scrabbles with his hands, clinging onto any part of him he can hold onto. 

Kusanali, he prays. Please, let me have him. Let me keep him. 

“Yes,” Al-Haitham breathes, like he’s still scared, as if Kaveh hadn’t been throwing himself at him all night. “It is,” he says, like it’s obvious. His voice is still quiet, but Kaveh knows. 

“Al-Haitham,” he says again. He doesn’t even ask anymore, because they both know what he wants. 

He looks at Kaveh like he’s searching for something. “Don’t you want to remember it?” he asks softly. Kaveh’s heart just about breaks.

“I will,” Kaveh insists, and his voice comes out a little too strong, a little too sober. “Of course I will remember.” 

Al-Haitham sweeps a finger over Kaveh’s cheek. It feels like he loves him. Kaveh blinks slowly the way he does when he’s sleepy in the morning, the way that always makes Al-Haitham smile. 

Al-Haitham moves him so that Kaveh’s face is tucked into his chest. He grumbles at not being able to see his face anymore, but he’s quite comfortable so he can’t really complain. 

Neither of them say anything for a while. Kaveh appreciates the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s comforting to hear his heart beating steadily, announcing that Al-Haitham is safe and alive and near. 

“You’re being so unfair,” Al-Haitham says, and from where Kaveh is, his voice sounds so breathy it makes the blond go insane with desire. 

He loves how it feels, hearing the vibrations of Al-Haitham’s voice deep in his chest. But more than that, he needs to see his face, needs to kiss him. 

At that, Kaveh pushes, and Al-Haitham lets him go, because he always does. It’s all he ever does. It makes Kaveh so angry. All he ever wanted was for Al-Haitham to ask him to stay, to hold him by the ends of his cape to keep him from running away from him so they can finally both have what they want. 

The architect puts his hands on Al-Haitham’s shoulders and puts all his weight on him. He’s almost on top of him now, with Al-Haitham with his back against the side of the divan, and Kaveh leaning over him. 

Al-Haitham grins, unrestrained laughter ghosting over his lips. It’s a sharp, wolfish thing that immediately fills Kaveh with annoyance. He pulls his hair, delighting in the way his head falls back against the divan. The scribe looks back at him through his lashes, the smile still on his face. The expanse of his neck is bared, and Kaveh wants to bite, taste his flesh against his teeth. 

“So unbecoming of a senior, to beg his junior like this for his attention.” 

Kaveh knows it’s just another way to get him to back off. He almost thinks about doing it. But then Al-Haitham tucks a lock of golden hair behind his ear, and it’s honestly unfair how he keeps denying him just to look at him like he wants it just as much as Kaveh does. 

“You’re giving it to me.” 

“Touché.” 

But no matter how Al-Haitham is looking at him, he just won’t do it. All the bravado seeps out of Kaveh’s body as he lets himself sink down, lying his head on Al-Haitham’s chest. His hands go immediately into Kaveh’s hair, and it’s just so unfair that Kaveh has to bite back a sob. 

“Haitham,” he says. “If you won’t let me kiss you, can you at least kiss me?” 

Al-Haitham has the audacity to laugh, like he isn’t breaking Kaveh’s heart. “And what would the difference be between the two?” His hands pet through Kaveh’s hair. He would have closed his eyes if he thought he would ever have this again.

“I just want—” Kaveh starts. He can’t finish the sentence. After all, he’s not that drunk. 

The scribe takes one of his hands, rubbing his fingers with his thumb. He doesn’t need a kiss to know Al-Haitham is in love with him, but gods, does he want one. Just to placate the heart that beats like it still needs to run.

“Just once. Surely, that isn’t so hard?” 

Al-Haitham presses his lips together the way he does when he’s thinking hard about something. His eyes sweep down to look at Kaveh’s mouth. It won’t take much more to get him to cave. 

“I’m not that drunk,” Kaveh mumbles. It’s soft, spoken like a secret. There goes his cover. 

He feels Al-Haitham’s breath hitch from under him. They both know what it means. 

Al-Haitham puts his hand to the side of Kaveh’s face, and then they’re facing each other again. He looks into Kaveh’s eyes, and the architect knows that he sees right through him in a way that no one else could. He knows exactly just how much he wants this. A lock of golden hair is tucked behind his ear. 

“I’ll only do it if you really, really want me to.” 

Kaveh moves closer. “Is it really that hard to tell? For someone who specialized in linguistics, I would’ve thought you’d be better at—”

And Al-Haitham kisses him. It’s too short. Hardly any more than a peck. It shuts Kaveh right up. He reaches forward for more, but Al-Haitham holds him in place. It’s not enough, not after a lifetime of wanting. He needs more.

“Ask again when you’re sober.” 

And Kaveh almost tells him again that he’s not really drunk at all, but they both know what he means. 

~~~

The morning comes far too quickly. Kaveh blinks slowly at the morning light as it shines onto his face. He’s got a mild headache, but Al-Haitham had left a glass of water on his nightstand. There’s none of the painkillers he usually leaves when Kaveh comes home drunk, but Kaveh doesn’t need them this morning anyway. 

He blinks some more as he remembers what happened last night. Him pushing Al-Haitham against the couch, smiling as he leans against him. Begging to be kissed just for one tiny peck. 

Kaveh puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to step outside his room. He’s so embarrassed he thinks he might just die. What the hell was he thinking?

And then he remembers just how softly Al-Haitham had touched him, how he’d looked at him like he was the only thing worth seeing. He was gentle the whole night, and all it did was make Kaveh feel like drowning, going off the deep end, lungs burning as he fights to see the light of the surface. 

He would have thought it was a dream if he wasn’t being consumed by this crushing feeling right now. He would have thought that only in his dreams would Al-Haitham look at him so tenderly, smile when he put his hands in his hair. Only in his dreams would Kaveh be brave enough to do it, to press their faces together and be almost honest about what it is he really wants. 

He thinks about hiding in his room until Al-Haitham leaves for work. He can panic in there until he devises a plan to run away forever and never see anyone ever again, because what is he supposed to do? 

Realistically, he can go outside and neither of them will say anything about it; Al-Haitham won’t move unless he does. But realistically, Kaveh will look at Al-Haitham and all his emotions will well up inside of him until they choke him up in his throat. Or he’ll avoid his gaze until Al-Haitham gets the message, and he’ll go about his life knowing that he’ll never have that night again. 

So he hides. Looks at the clock and finds the sun woke him up far too early. Kaveh muffles a groan of unadulterated anger. The covers are shoved over his head in an attempt to drown out the light, but the world is still too bright. He may remember every detail of the night before, and have been entirely in control of his actions, but he still drank, and the sunlight is piercing nonetheless. He shifts a bit in his bed, the covers growing a bit too warm. A slight pain courses through his abdomen. 

Shit, shit, shit. Seriously? 

He muffles a groan. There goes his attempt at hiding away in his room forever. He angrily throws his covers away, even more frustrated at how the cool air feels against his skin. So he needs to go to the bathroom. If he goes as quickly as quietly as possible, he can even retreat fast enough to find success in his plans of avoiding Al-Haitham. 

Unfortunately, Kaveh has never been that lucky in his entire life. As soon as he steps out the door, Al-Haitham walks out of his room, arms held high in a big stretch. Kaveh doesn’t watch the way his muscles flex, doesn’t stare at his hair tousled from sleep. 

“Good morning, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham greets, his voice sleepy. It’s so endearing that Kaveh wants to bite him. 

“Morning,” he mumbles in return before bolting towards the bathroom. 

When he comes out, because of course now he’s too hungry to ignore it, Al-Haitham is getting started on breakfast. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Not bad enough to warrant asking about it, but Kaveh won’t admit that. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, like he does every time Al-Haitham asks him that. 

The man hums in return. He doesn’t make Kaveh his usual hangover soup. He makes a nice, normal breakfast for people who didn’t get drunk the night before, and sits next to him to eat. 

“What do you have planned for today?” Al-Haitham asks. 

Kaveh hums. “Nothing much. I was just going to work on my blueprint, as usual. The weather’s nice outside, so I was planning on taking a walk and treating myself to lunch outside.” 

He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s perfect. Looks like Al-Haitham is happy today. 

And Kaveh’s guilt is so heavy that something sinks in his heart. 

“Sounds nice.” The younger’s face twists into a frown, as if remembering something. “I have to work late today.” 

Kaveh can’t hold back the chuckle from seeing just how disgruntled Al-Haitham is at the thought. “I’ll bring dinner back for you.” 

Al-Haitham’s dimple pokes out on his cheek at that, and his eyes linger on Kaveh just a moment too long. 

“Thank you.” 

Kaveh blinks in surprise. “What was that? Could you say that again?” 

Al-Haitham sighs, and the annoyed tone of it delights Kaveh. “You heard me the first time.” 

“I’m not sure I did.” 

It’s a trick Al-Haitham has played on him far too many times. He gets it now, the delight that comes from getting under his skin. Once, he told himself he would never stoop to his lows, but he supposes one tends to pick up habits from those they surround themselves with. 

“I’ll be heading to work now,” Al-Haitham announces loudly. But he looks at Kaveh again as if waiting for him to say something. He moves slowly as he brings their plates to the sink, languidly as he puts on his cloak. 

When he finally makes his way to their doorway, he lingers, looking at Kaveh. The architect knows what he wants. It’s written all across his face. He knows how it feels, too, having begged for the same thing last night. The blond looks away, and apparently that’s the wrong thing to do, because almost immediately, Al-Haitham is calling for him. 

“Kaveh.” 

The architect tentatively looks back at him. Al-Haitham’s eyes are pretty as they plead. His collar is folded up under his shirt, and Kaveh sighs as he walks over. He knows it’s just an excuse, that no one really cares about Al-Haitham’s collar but himself, and that he could just tell him to fix it from all the way over there. But he’s never been good at keeping his hands to himself when it comes to Al-Haitham. 

“You can’t possibly be thinking about going out like this,” he mutters under his breath as he fixes Al-Haitham’s collar himself. 

The younger looks so smug Kaveh has half a mind to think he did it on purpose. 

“I suppose this marks the second time I owe you my thanks this morning,” Al-Haitham teases. 

Kaveh swats him on the shoulder. “You owe me a hell of a lot more for all the things I’ve done for you.” 

“I’ll just have to make it up to you, then.” 

And Kaveh is used to their bickering, throwing half-hearted insults around just to see who can one-up the other. But since when did their back-and-forth get so sweet? 

Al-Haitham is still standing like he’s waiting, and Kaveh just can’t do it. Can’t stop denying himself of what they both know they want. So instead of kissing him goodbye like he’s wanted to for years, Kaveh takes the skin of his cheek in his hands and pinches, hard. 

Al-Haitham’s glare is delicious when he finally turns away. 

“Goodbye, Kaveh,” he bites.
Kaveh laughs as he watches him go. “Bye, Al-Haitham,” he calls after him. And just because it’ll annoy him: “Have fun at work!” 

There’s an empty feeling when Al-Haitham leaves. The house is too big and quiet without him. Kaveh sighs. 

~~~

When Kaveh steps outside, he can’t help but think about how much he loves this city. Sure, he does his fair share of complaining about people who get on his nerves, but he wouldn’t have spent his life fighting to make it beautiful if he didn’t love it. What can he say? The gods didn’t give Sumeru its majestic, towering trees, the delicate petals of a nilotpala lotus, the graceful muscles of a rishboland tiger for its people to go uninspired. 

The stones sing with his footsteps. People mill about, and Kaveh lets himself settle into the rhythm of the city. 

“Mr. Kaveh!” calls a voice near a new cafe. 

Kaveh squints against the sunlight to see who was calling for him. “Oh, hi Arshia! Long time no see!” 

He’d worked with him for some time on a project. Arshia is a likeable man, and Kaveh had always gotten along with him well. 

“It’s so nice to see you! How have you been?” 

“I’ve been doing well,” Kaveh chirps. “What brings you to Sumeru City?” 

Arshia laughs, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Oh, you see. We were just about to set out on an expedition into the desert to look at some ruins, but one of our guys happened to get into an accident, so we’re short a man. He’ll be alright, but we’re on a bit of a time limit, you know how strict the Akademiya is with these things, so I’m looking to see if I can recruit anyone.” 

His eyes light up. “Hey! Actually, you’d be perfect to come with us! It’s super short notice, so I totally get it if you aren’t able to. We have to leave tomorrow, actually. But it’s only for three days, and the pay is quite good.” 

Kaveh grins back at him. “Oh, in that case, I’d be happy to help. Why don’t you give me more of the details?” 

And Kaveh loves Sumeru City, but it’s been far too long since he’s taken a trip out of it. Maybe it would be good for him to get out of here, get away from the crowds and crowds of people and just work on something in the quiet. He thinks of Al-Haitham, waiting at home. It’s just a couple of days. It’ll probably do him some good to get his head straight and buy himself some time as he figures out what the hell is going on in his life. 

~~~

Kaveh is packing his bags when Al-Haitham comes home. He flinches at the sound of the door creaking, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. 

He hears Al-Haitham moving, hanging up his cloak, pouring himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He can pinpoint his location almost perfectly through sound alone. When he nears him, Kaveh freezes. He looks up at Al-Haitham in the doorway of his room, standing perfectly still as he watches him. 

“Dinner’s on the table,” he says. 

“What are you doing?” Al-Haitham responds. His voice is unreadable. Kaveh hates when he does that, when he can’t tell exactly what Al-Haitham is thinking. 

“What does it look like? I’m packing.” 

“Where are you going?”
“The desert. I’m going on an expedition.” 

Al-Haitham presses his lips together. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving.” 

Leaving, he says. The word sounds so definite, like Kaveh isn’t coming back. Suddenly, a lump forms in his throat. 

“I just got invited today. A former colleague of mine needed someone to fill someone’s spot. So I’m going.” 

“With one day’s notice?” 

“Yea, they were in a bit of a pinch.” 

Al-Haitham looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to put the words together. 

The scribe nods. “I see.” 

“They’re paying very well,” he says, because it’s an easy excuse. I’m not running away, I’m just doing a job. I need to do this. It’s not a choice, I don’t have a choice in anything. I stay with you because I’m in debt. None of this has to mean anything. 

“You’re not in debt anymore.” 

That gets Kaveh to freeze for good. He isn’t. It’s been a while since he brought up his debt. He’s grown used to it. It’s comforting in a way, something to hide behind.

“You don’t have to do these kinds of things anymore for the money.” 

“I can also do these things because I want to.” 

Al-Haitham hums. Kaveh misses the way his eyes dart around the room. 

“Will you be back?” 

Will you be back? 

The words echo in Kaveh’s head. What? 

He moves slowly as he turns his head to look at Al-Haitham. The expression in his eyes isn’t unreadable the way it usually is during moments like these. It’s sad. Sad as he watches Kaveh pack his bag and leave his house. Kaveh is making Al-Haitham sad. 

Will you be back, he’d asked, like Kaveh might not. You’re not in debt anymore. 

Kaveh turns to look at his bags again as he reaches to pack another shirt. He knows what Al-Haitham is alluding to, but he’s never been very good at looking these kinds of things in the eye. 

“What?” Kaveh says, his voice barely louder than a squeak. “What are you saying?” 

“You’re packing quite a few clothes. I was curious if you wanted to come back home, now that you’re debt free.”

Kaveh doesn’t look up at him, busying his hands with his packing. Al-Haitham is right. His suitcase is far too full for someone leaving for a few days. 

“I’ll be back soon. The expedition will only take three days.” 

Al-Haitham hums. Kaveh wants him to go away, take the searing heat of his eyes off of him. He can’t bring himself to tell him to go. 

“And then what?” 

Kaveh squeezes his eyes shut. Just what is about to happen? 

“And then I come back?” 

Al-Haitham sighs. “And keep pretending you don’t live here?” 

Kaveh’s head jerks to look at Al-Haitham. So they’re talking about it. And Kaveh isn’t ready at all. His bag isn’t zipped up yet, and Al-Haitham is standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

He puts his head in his hands. “You know why I do that, Haitham.” 

They both know he’s lying. 

“Do I? Because last I heard, you were scared of people finding out about your debt. But you don’t have debt anymore, and money isn’t the only reason two people live together.”

Now he’s staring at Al-Haitham, mouth parted. Where can he run now, when Al-Haitham’s gaze holds him in place? 

“Money isn’t the only reason I’m hiding either,” Kaveh protests. It sounds fickle even to his own ears.

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re the Grand Sage,” Kaveh tries to reason. He wants to squirm, crawl out of his skin, anything if it’ll get him away from here. “I’ve put so much of myself into my work. I’ve given so much for it. But I just–I don’t know.”

And how cruel is it, that after all the years the two of them have spent dancing around the topic, they still don’t call it what it is when they finally talk about it. 

“I know how this city talks, Haitham. I’ve heard it all. It would be so easy for people to point fingers. ‘Oh, what an extravagant project. It must be nice to have the Grand Sage’s favor in mind when deciding your budget.’ ‘Oh, what’s that architect’s name again? You know, the Grand Sage’s partner.’ ‘Who designed that building? Oh, the same one who designed the lighthouse in Port Ormos and the Palace of Alcazarzaray and married a man.’ My name won’t just be mine anymore, you know? I won’t be the only one representing my work, what I do. And they’ll change my story until it isn’t mine anymore, and I just don’t know what to do.”

“I’m resigning,” Al-Haitham says, like it’s that simple. Like a resignation letter and a different title can change the fact that nothing good Kaveh’s ever had has come from himself. They both know it isn’t enough for him.

“Prove them wrong,” Al-Haitham continues, like it’s that easy. “Who said you had to let them define you for you? Your creations quite literally stand tall and grand for all of Sumeru to see. Their beauty speaks for itself. You’ve changed the arts for Sumeru, who’s to say you can’t do it for yourself?” 

“And just what did that cost me, Al-Haitham?” Kaveh says, voice rising now as the nerves take over his body. He wishes he weren’t conscious, couldn’t feel the pounding against his skull. “You know more than anyone what that did to me. I stood my ground, and I lost everything because of it. And I’m not saying that I regret it, I wouldn’t have done it if I was going to regret it. But it's hard, and I’m just so tired of my life being hard. I just need something in my life to be easier.” 

“And pretending is easy?”

Al-Haitham looks defeated, eyes downcast, head bowed. Kaveh wants to cry and run towards him, hold his face in his hands. He wants to tell him that he’d move heaven and earth for him. Each person carries a different perception of everyone else, gets the image of them a little wrong in their head. Kaveh looks at the abandonment in Al-Haitham’s eyes and wants to tell him that he is the only one he trusts to get him right every time. But that’s just a bit too intimate for two men who still aren’t brave enough to call it love.
“It’s not!” Desperation colors Kaveh’s voice then. He’s a breath away from sobbing. “It’s not, it really isn’t. I promise you it isn’t. But it’s easier than the way things were.” 

“Things aren’t going back to the way things were, Kaveh.”

“You don’t know that, Haitham!” he cries. There’s tears running down his face now. “I would have never thought I would have ended up the way I did when I graduated, but it happened anyway.” 

“Kaveh, you have a home, and you’re not losing it unless you leave,” Al-Haitham says softly. It’s almost enough to calm Kaveh down. 

“Because of you!” he yells, gesturing wildly with his hands. “All I have now, I have because I needed you to bail me out! Where would I be without you?! I may not be in debt, but it's because I sleep in a room you gave me and drown myself in drinks you buy. My success is never my own. Maybe I just want the dignity of keeping that to myself.”

Al-Haitham breathes slow, and he’s biting his lip the way he does during moments like these, when Kaveh feels like a ticking time bomb and one wrong word can send him flying out the door. 

“I only meant to say that you aren’t alone anymore.” 

Kaveh looks at Al-Haitham, and he feels weak. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to him. He wants to lean against his shoulder, feel the comfort of his warmth as he rests his head on him. Would Al-Haitham wrap an arm around him, let Kaveh feel secure under his weight? Would he do it without him asking for it, knowing what he needs? 

“Maybe I should be.” He wipes at his tears with his sleeves. The friction feels good against the burning of his eyes. “At least then I won’t be dragging anyone else through my shit.”

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says. “You know you would have never let anyone else go through what you did alone. So why do you think you deserve that?” 

The architect sniffles as he looks at Al-Haitham. All he wants right now is to be held, but he has learned to reach for everything except Al-Haitham. 

He opens his mouth, and a million excuses almost tumble out before he realizes he’s proving Al-Haitham right, and his pride couldn’t bear it if he did that. 

So Kaveh closes his weary eyes, sore with the aftermath of his tears. “I already agreed to go.”

“Is that still what you want?” 

Kaveh opens his eyes again slowly, just to look at Al-Haitham, ever patient Al-Haitham. He’d feel worse about making him wait so long if he didn’t do it so readily. 

“I don’t know. I’ll be helping out anyway, and it might do me some good to get away from everyone for a couple days.” 

Al-Haitham nods beside him. “Alright then. I’ll help you pack.” 

For the millionth time this evening, Kaveh’s heart wells up with emotion. Al-Haitham helps him pick just enough clothes for three days—not too few, not too many. He nags and nags and nags about sunscreen, snacks, water. A lot of it goes in one ear and out the other, but Kaveh appreciates the sound of his voice. Maybe one day he’ll have the courage to tell Al-Haitham that. 

~~~

The heat in the desert is sweltering. Kaveh frowns at the sweat that runs down his face. He collapses onto the bed, muscles aching with exhaustion. It’s a pleasant strain, one that comes with being a little bit more active than usual in the past few days. It’s good for him, Kaveh supposes, to get out every once in a while. He’s glad he came. 

But gods, is he ready to go home. Sure, he’s had a hell of a time not being asked a single thing about himself, only being consulted on the architecture styles of the desert ruins. It’s refreshing to forget himself and just focus on getting something done. But some strange habit makes Kaveh turn his head to the side, looking for someone who isn’t there. And even though no one asks him about Al-Haitham, he finds himself talking about him anyway. He’s spent too long biting his tongue. Here, where nothing matters, he lets the words spill, lets him share a little bit of the Al-Haitham he knows.

The crew laughs at the sound of his name. Kaveh, they say, as a flush spreads across Kaveh’s cheeks when he realizes he’d been talking about him again. Why does it feel like your roommate came on the expedition with you? 

So, Kaveh misses Al-Haitham. He won’t be in the desert long enough to receive a letter from Sumeru City, but gods, he wished he’d taken something of his with him. 

Instead, Kaveh spends his nights staring at the ceiling. Here, all alone under the desert sky, he closes his eyes and tries to see the curve of his nose, the sharp edges of those jewel-toned eyes. And Kaveh has always been a little more adept at the visual arts. He can almost paint Al-Haitham from memory, but no matter how much he strains his brain, he just can’t quite recreate the sound of his laughter in his head. 

Something more than accomplishment washes over Kaveh as the team claps each other on the back for a job well done. There’s no one to help him pack his bags this time as he prepares to leave the site, but it goes quickly nonetheless. 

And as Kaveh turns his key in the door and is hit with the scent of Al-Haitham’s favorite meat stew, he finds that there really is nothing like coming home… 

To an empty house. 

Strange. It’s far past Al-Haitham’s work hours, and the man almost always dashes home immediately after he clocks out. The fridge is stocked with groceries, and a book lies half read on the side table next to their divan. There isn’t much reason for Al-Haitham to be out. Kaveh frowns, sitting on the divan. It felt like so long ago, but the last time Kaveh came home from an expedition, Al-Haitham was entertaining the Traveler in their home after they overthrew the government together. He supposes some things do change, after all. He just thought that Al-Haitham might’ve wanted to be here when Kaveh came back. 

The architect snaps to attention when a knock sounds out the door. It takes him a couple seconds to tell himself that it isn’t Al-Haitham. Why would he be knocking? Kaveh cautiously goes to open it, raising an eyebrow when he sees Cyno at the door. His heart sinks at the grim expression on his face. 

“Hello, Cyno. What brings you here?” 

“Welcome back, Kaveh. I was just coming by to tell you that Al-Haitham is in Birmarstan right now.” 

“What?” Kaveh cries. “What happened? Is he alright?” 

Cyno puts his hands up at Kaveh’s barrage of questions. “His condition is stable, but he got attacked by some people who were mad he denied their proposals. You know how it is.”

“Just what exactly did they do to him?” 

Cyno winces at that. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to stick around much after he got taken to Birmarstan, so I don’t really feel confident giving an accurate assessment of his condition. All of his attackers have been taken into custody, though.” 

Attackers. More than one. Al-Haitham had been ganged up on. 

Kaveh almost runs into Cyno on his way out of the house. He hardly hears it when Cyno wishes him luck from behind him. All he can think about is Al-Haitham, covered in red. Multiple attackers. Multiple people who wanted to hurt Al-Haitham, and succeeded. Al-Haitham, with his face cracking at the edges, dirt on his face, gone with the wind. All while Kaveh, stupid, cowardly Kaveh, never had the courage to hold him with everything he had. 

Heads turn as he bursts into Birmarstan. Kaveh’s being loud, he knows that. He lowers his head as nurses shush him. 

“Sir,” says a lady in scrubs. Golshan, her nametag reads. “You can’t just barge in here like this.” 

“I’m looking for Al-Haitham.” 

Golshan crosses her arms. “I’m sorry, sir. But due to privacy concerns, we cannot confirm or deny whether Al-Haitham is here or not.”

“I know he’s here.” Desperation chokes the words out of his throat. “The General Mahamatra told me. Please, I need to see him.” 

“And you are? What is your relationship with the Grand Sage?” 

Acting Grand Sage, Kaveh almost corrects. Al-Haitham hates being called the Grand Sage more than almost anything. 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t quite know what to say. He doesn’t want to say they’re roommates. It would be offensive to the state of their relationship to imply that that’s all they were. He doesn’t want this nurse to be the first person to hear him call Al-Haitham his lover, before he tells the man himself. Golshan’s expression only grows more and more skeptical as Kaveh scrabbles for purchase, his heart beating faster and faster in his chest as he thinks of anything to say. 

“We live together,” sounds most appropriate when he says it. It’s true.

“Do you?” Golshan replies. Like it doesn’t matter. Like Kaveh is nothing more than an ant that crawled into his home. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kaveh, but with Al-Haitham’s condition, only family is allowed to visit.” 

Family. What a cruel thing to say, when the only semblance of family Kaveh has is lying in a hospital bed behind a door Kaveh isn’t allowed in. 

“Family?” Kaveh says. His voice comes out barely stronger than a squeak, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Al-Haitham doesn’t have any living family members. He’ll be all alone in there.” 

“Family only, and those he consents to seeing. But unfortunately, the Grand Sage is currently unconscious and is unable to consent. We can ask when he wakes up, but you will have to wait.” 

She goes to move away, but Kaveh stops her. 

“Ma’am, please,” Kaveh begs. He doesn’t care anymore who hears him, what they’ll think it looks like. Not when the only word he heard was “unconscious.” 

“You have to let me in there. I need to know if he’s okay. He’s all I have. He is my family.” 

The nurse sighs. “I’m sorry, but rules are rules. Spouses and relatives only.”

Kaveh blinks at that. It’s his fault Al-Haitham is alone in that room right now. He’ll wake up in pain to a sterile room surrounded by nothing but white, white, white. There will be strangers milling about him, machines beeping, but nothing familiar in sight. And it will be all Kaveh’s fault for pretending to be something he’s not, for being so scared of the eyes on him, for denying them both this simple comfort. He’d spent so long telling the world they were nothing, and what a dangerous thing that was, when no one would have even thought to tell Kaveh had Cyno not known him. 

Kaveh had thought he lost everything before. He thought it meant sitting alone in a tavern, losing his wits in a bottle, because he just couldn’t hold onto anything good in his life. Certainly not the empty house his mother left him, not the memories of his father slowly slipping away, not even the good name he’d built as one of the Akademiya’s top graduates. He lay there, cold and shivering, hair matted until Al-Haitham put a coat around his shoulders and took him home when even he didn’t think he deserved it. And he did it over and over again, gave him warmth, gave him whatever he had every time Kaveh needed it. He gave him everything. And it always pisses Kaveh off when he thanks Al-Haitham, just for him to ask him to say it “one more time”, but now that he thinks about it, he can never really thank Al-Haitham enough. 

He wants to shout it from the rooftops. Let the world bear witness to Al-Haitham’s unwavering kindness. Let them witness their touching knees in the tavern, intertwined pinkies in the market, softened gaze in the morning sun. This life of theirs is shared, and Kaveh is in love with it just as he is in love with Al-Haitham. 

A ding sounds, and a light turns on above one of the doors. 

“Ah,” Golshan says. “It seems the Grand Sage woke up.” 

Kaveh’s heart pounds in his throat as Golshan walks over. She opens the door, leaving only a crack open as she speaks to Al-Haitham. He doesn’t notice his nails digging into his palms until he looks down to find red crescents pressed into his hand. Al-Haitham can’t be seen from the other side of the door, so Kaveh strains his ears as hard as he can to listen. 

“Kaveh?” comes Al-Haitham’s groggy voice. “Where’s Kaveh?” 

At the sound of Al-Haitham’s weak voice, Kaveh’s heart breaks. “I’m here,” he says, but finds his own voice far too quiet to be heard. 

There’s a bit of shuffling from behind the door before Golshan opens it, beckoning Kaveh inside. 

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham calls again. He’s buried in a mess of white. White sheets, white pillow, white bandages covering his body. 

Immediately, Kaveh is at his side. “I’m here,” he repeats.
“You’re back,” Al-Haitham says, voice pitching up like he’s witnessing nothing short of a miracle. Like that’s what it takes to have Kaveh here. No more of that. It’s about time they made their love ordinary. 

“What took you so long?” Al-Haitham asks. Kaveh knows he’s teasing; that’s just the way it is with Al-Haitham, but once the tears come, they don’t stop rolling. 

Al-Haitham’s eyes widen, scared he’s done something wrong. Just another thing they need to stop doing. 

“They almost didn’t let me in,” Kaveh answers, voice barely more than a whisper. “Family only.” 

Al-Haitham’s gaze hardens at that. “Oh.”

Kaveh takes his hand in his, gently, carefully. He’s spent too long holding back. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Kaveh says, sweeping Al-Haitham’s bangs out of his eyes just to give his hands something to do. “How badly did they hurt you?” 

“It’s fine. The people who attacked me were just about as lacking in their combat as they were in their proposals.” 

Despite himself, Kaveh rolls his eyes. He tries to sigh, but it comes out as a laugh instead. He looks back at Al-Haitham when he feels him squeeze his hand, the slightest smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

The tiniest jolt of fear runs through Kaveh when he leans in. But he’s done being scared, and if there’s one person in the world he can trust, it’s Al-Haitham. 

The Scribe’s breath hitches when Kaveh presses a kiss to his face. The sound only makes Kaveh’s smile spread wider. 

“Taking advantage of your junior in such a vulnerable state?” 

Kaveh would hit him, but considering Al-Haitham is lying in a hospital bed, he settles for squeezing his hand extra hard instead. 

“Couldn’t last a couple days without me before ending up like this? Some homecoming you’ve prepared for me.” 

“I think you give yourself a little too much credit.” 

Kaveh rolls his eyes before giving Al-Haitham another kiss. The satisfied look on his face tells him everything he needs. 

“Is this what we’re doing now?” Al-Haitham asks. 

Kaveh hums. “If that’s what you want.” 

Al-Haitham closes his eyes. “Okay then,” he says, before lifting his shaking hand to press a kiss to Kaveh’s knuckles. “And I can tell anyone I want?” 

The question would have flooded Kaveh with fear before. But so would kissing Al-Haitham. Now, he answers without hesitation.

“Tell anyone you know.” 

And the sound of that makes Al-Haitham so happy he smiles with his teeth. It’s ridiculous that this was all it took to make Al-Haitham, usually so put together, so soupy as he blushes with his whole face. 

“Thank you,” Kaveh whispers, ignoring the smug look Al-Haitham gives him. 

“Oh? And what is it I’ve done to deserve your thanks?” 

“For everything,” Kaveh finishes. 

Al-Haitham doesn’t say anything, but he kisses Kaveh’s hand again. And they’ve gone so long telling each other how they feel without using their words that Kaveh knows exactly what it means.

He squeezes his hand a little tighter, finger tracing against a certain finger. 

“If I get you a ring, would you wear it?” Al-Haitham asks. 

And Kaveh stares. “Yes,” he says before he even realizes his lips are moving. He finds that he means it with everything he has. 

“Alright then,” Al-Haitham says, happiness etched into every line of his face. “I’ll make the arrangements when we get home.” 

Kaveh nods. 

Al-Haitham closes his eyes, hand still in Kaveh’s. The blond’s breath hitches as he looks at his resting face. The scribe looks happy, and Kaveh wasted so much time denying them both this. 

Al-Haitham frowns when he opens his eyes again. He looks at Kaveh like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, even though Kaveh hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t say anything either, instead just lifting Kaveh’s hand up to press another kiss to it, keeping it next to his face when he puts it down again. 

“You think too much,” Al-Haitham says. There’s a touch of petty annoyance in his voice, and it makes Kaveh smile. 

“Don’t you always complain about people thinking too little?” 

“Have you ever heard of an equilibrium?” 

“I thought no one was perfect.” 

Al-Haitham rolls his eyes, like he’s thinking of something stupid to say back to Kaveh. But then he looks at him, and his gaze softens. He runs his thumb against Kaveh’s palms, giving his hand a little squeeze.

“Close enough,” he says, lips quirking up just a bit. 

His smile only grows when Kaveh kisses him again.

And when they finally walk home, if Kaveh reaches for Al-Haitham’s hand in the middle of the crowded streets of Sumeru, chooses the front of their house to fuss over Al-Haitham’s bandages, out in the daylight for the whole city to see, it’s no one’s business but his own.