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The first time Kaveh accidentally let his affection slip was honestly an accident, an unintentional happenstance if you will. It was an ordinary evening not unlike any other, which is to say; that Kaveh and Al-Haitham may have happened to be arguing.
“I’m just saying, you made the wrong call.” Kaveh reasoned, ignoring his roommate’s rather intense stare.
It’s not that he wanted to ignore him, he just had to strain the chai out of the saucer and into copper cups. Al-Haitham had just returned from work, explaining what ‘dilemma’ seemed to keep him there an extra half hour. Contrary to popular belief, Kaveh isn’t the only one who laments over his various work-related troubles, Al-Haitham started doing it a fair bit as well ever since the whole ‘Acting Grand Sage’ promotion.
Only to me though, Kaveh thought, retreating the smug smile beginning to take form over his face, ignoring the rational part of himself going, Well, you live with him, who else would he complain to? Suspiciously, this rational part of him sounds like a certain grey-haired brat.
“Alright then, does our Light of Kshahrewar wish to elaborate?” Al-Haitham drawls, eyes focusing on Kaveh placing the copper bowls under their now chai-filled cups. He takes over, pouring the chai to and fro between the cup and bowl, leaving Kaveh to sink into the divan. Kaveh scoffs in retaliation,
“Of course he does, the Light of Kshahrewar believes that our dear Scribe failed to consider the sheer illogical ground that which the Vahumana scholar aims to cover within his estimated time frame. The consistent irregularities within Serai island’s terrain would mean that he would barely get an even coverage, not even enough for a control with what he aims to conduct,” He explains, stretching his arms slightly. Al-Haitham pauses, but Kaveh knows better than to assume victory this quickly. Indeed, he simply hands Kaveh the cup he’s finished frothing, before moving onto his own.
“Well, the Scribe has accounted for that fact. However, the Scribe also used his foresight when predicting the outcome of such an investigation. While the scholar’s initial hypothesis may not be logically concrete, much can come out of the resources and the overall procedure he seems to be undertaking. We may end up with a set of valuable findings, regardless of whether it aligns with the scholar’s original intention,” Al-Haitham reasons.
Kaveh decides to try out the chai before giving his junior a response. The spices blossomed within the frothy goodness, leaving him humming in pleasure. Al-Haitham micro-smiles, before nudging Kaveh’s feet with his own, prompting him to reply. Kaveh side-eyes the man briefly,
“Okay okay, you may have a point there, but you have to admit, there is a marginal risk factor involved with this, can the scholar even be trusted with producing findings irrelevant to his theory? It’s difficult to find academics who are– ironically, actually interested in academic findings. He could very well decide to pack his things up and simply call the experiment a failure, scribble down an accepted alternate hypothesis, submit a half-assed conclusion and call it a day.” Kaveh argues.
The truth was, this whole conundrum just seemed like the sort of thing Al-Haitham wouldn’t bother dealing with in the first place. Sure, there was potential knowledge to be gained, but he isn’t exactly accounting for causal factors, which is usually what Kaveh tends to feign ignorance towards.
“Quite hypocritical coming from you Kaveh, aren’t you the one who told me to hold faith in everyone?” Al-Haitham rebuttals, raising an eyebrow.
Kaveh gasps, that was supposed to be his line goddammit!
“I should be asking you that! Since when did you hold such blind faith in others? I’m simply following your typical line of thought. In fact, for an experiment that I see minimal worth in investing in comparison to say, a certain darshan’s ruin mechanic design allocation funding, even I can’t see why you would ever agree to this proposal!” He retaliates. Naturally, with Kaveh, it comes out ever so slightly louder than intended.
Al-Haitham sports a grin, before taking a long sip of chai. Kaveh rolls his eyes before kicking his ankle, causing Al-Haitham to splutter over his drink, throwing Kaveh yet another glare. Kaveh only smirked in response.
“Fine, you have a point. I simply felt like trying out... A new approach, call it an experiment of my own, I was getting bored.” Al-Haitham shrugged. Kaveh stared at him in disbelief.
Al-Haitham wasn't the type to simply ‘try out a new approach’, especially over something that would affect his work, it didn’t make sense. Unless-
Kaveh slammed his cup down, his eyebrows shooting up, “You ass! You made all that shit up?! Why the hell were you actually late then?”
Al-Haitham tilted his head to the side, which goddamn, why did he have to look so adorable? So gorgeous? So gorgeously .. Adorable. Fuck him honestly.
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating senior, but what I do know is that I never said that the scholar’s dilemma is what kept me after hours, it was but an unexpected overflow of paperwork. You really do need to work on your comprehension skills, don’t you?”
“Alright, you know what? I don’t care enough to know why you happen to derive so much enjoyment out of my misery, but you’ve just exhausted me. I hope you're proud, brat.” Kaveh sighed, pushing the cup further away from him.
Al-Haitham snarked, “It’s entirely your fault for believing me in the first place, what did I say about working on your naivete?”
Kaveh knew Al-Haitham, much more than the average person at the least. Had this been said in a more serious context, he’d perhaps take offence to that comment. However, Al-Haitham was simply in a bratty mood. Why was he in said bratty mood? Simple.
“You know, there are better ways of telling me you missed me today,” Kaveh says, amused at the instant reaction it seemed to elicit from his junior, who immediately fixed him with a deadpan, I did not — teal bore into carmine. Well if Al-Haitham got to be annoying, so did he.
“You don’t have to get all shy, I know you love me, Junior,” He teased, about to continue being as insufferable as he could be, before he noticed Al-Haitham noticeably freeze, his eyes widening for but a fraction of a second.
Concerning.
“You alright?”
No response.
Very concerning.
Al-Haitham got up, the last of his chai abandoned as he suddenly swivelled, walking towards his room, “The weight of this day has finally taken its toll on me, I’ll be taking some time for myself now, goodnight.” He didn’t even bother casting a glance back at the older.
Immensely concerning.
Kaveh blinked rapidly, what was that reaction? He doesn’t think he’d ever seen Haitham back down this easy.. Huh. Was it something he said? Was their relationship not at the level at which they could joke about such things as they used to?
The second time, much like the first, wasn’t exactly intentional. In fact, Kaveh would argue that Al-Haitham practically forced the compliment right out of him!
“So, since the second phase of Collei’s learning’s finished, any hopes on her darshan of interest?” Kaveh prompted. Tighnari scoffed, meeting Kaveh’s questioning gaze with his smug one.
“Sorry to burst your bubble Kaveh, but the further she goes, the further her love for biology grows. Amurta’s our best bet.” Tighanri snorts. To be honest, Kaveh was expecting that answer.
They were currently in Pardis Diyai, chattering over TCG cards and mulled wine. It wasn’t very strong, much to Kaveh’s disappointment. Beggars can’t be choosers he supposes. The sun’s long set and Collei’s already bid them farewell, leaving the four men to let their tongues loose.
“There’s still a chance for Spantamad you know, she does have an interest of some sort towards the chemical reactions present within the medicine you make Nari,” Cyno gruffs, coincidentally using his own character-TCG card’s skill upon Al-Haitham’s Yae Miko card. Haitham grunted, staring at the cards contemplatively. He picked up his own Cyno card, deftly dealing damage to Cyno’s Razor card, knocking it out. Cyno glowered.
“She’s always enjoyed the romantic novels I’ve lent her, the chance of Haravatat doesn’t seem too out of bounds either, and she’s enjoyed stargazing and its adjacent historical significance based on the astrological origins I’ve seen her look into, so I suppose Vahumana and Rtawahist aren’t exactly out of the ring.” Al-Haitham muses, avoiding Cyno’s vengeful glare. Kaveh groans.
“So what I’m hearing is that she’s just not going to be in Kshahrewar,” Kaveh mutters bitterly. Never mind, he’ll just have to dazzle her with his recent Port Ormos renovations, that’ll turn her around.
“Ah yes, our light’s ever-growing collection of architectural achievements to show off, what will he boast over next I wonder?” Al-Haitham teases. Drat, guess he said it out loud. Tighnari raises an eyebrow, murmuring a questioning, “Our light?” The question went unnoticed by the two. Cyno was the only one to acknowledge it, meeting Tighnari’s eye and shrugging slightly.
“Well Haravatat, I can’t possibly expect you to understand the life of a visionary, but in order to execute my vision, I need to make others aware of my potential in the first place. Besides, what isn’t more inspiring than gazing at a Senior’s masterpiece” Kaveh replies, indignant. Al-Haitham’s lips twitch slightly, but Cyno gets to him first.
“Well, you’d be more of a Senior Citizen to her, if anything.”
“...”
Kaveh shoots up abruptly, his chair lightly scraping against the cobblestone, throwing Al-Haitham an apologetic glance at the screeching sound it elicited.
“Alright gentlemen, it’s been a wonderful night. I look forward to our next meeting, but I’m afraid I’m much too sober to carry on with whatever Cyno’s about to start,” Kaveh declares, waltzing out of the gazebo. Tighnari snorts, “Understandable.”
He could almost feel Cyno pouting at his partner in response.
What he did feel though, was Al-Haitham’s light grip on his scarf, causing him to slightly slow down, allowing Al-Haitham to catch up to his pace. Naturally, Kaveh wrapped his arm around Al-Haitham’s. Well, technically it was only ‘natural’ because Kaveh usually did it while drunk for stability purposes, as for why he’s doing it now... Well, Al-Haitham didn’t seem to complain so clearly it doesn’t warrant any explanation.
“Why not the Palace of Alcazarzaray? That’s clearly the most famous— ah well, some might argue, infamous —'' Kaveh rolls his eyes, “ —choice. It’s a masterpiece in craftsmanship after all,” Alhaitham suggests, before backtracking, “Ah, or you could show off the very gazebo we were just seated in? Lambad’s interior? There truly are too many choices.” He muses.
Kaveh softens imperceptibly, touched by how seriously Al-Haitham seems to be taking his hypothetical plan. “Is there a reason why you seem to be genuinely considering my options Haitham?”
“A visionary needs to make his visions perceptibly known, no?”
Kaveh snorts, lightly elbowing the man, “I suppose you are capable of listening to my wise words at times.”
“At times.”
The streaks of the moonlight reflected onto Al-Haitham’s grey hair, now border-lining silver, teal eyes shining effervescently under its pale rays. Kaveh’s breath hitched imperceptibly. How could someone truly be so…
“Ethereal.”
Al-Haitham stilled, sparing a glance at Kaveh.
“Did you say something?” He asks, softly.
Kaveh shook his head immediately, unhooking his hand from Alhaitham’s in an instant, trying to ignore the sudden lack of warmth at his side. Trying to ignore the slight downturn of Al-Haitham’s lips.
“Ah, nothing about you! Just wanted to point out how ethereal the moon looks tonight,”
Silence.
Fifteen seconds later, not that he was counting or anything, Al-Haitham hums in what Kaveh can only assume is agreement. He then turns to Kaveh,
“The sun is not credited enough for the moon’s allure, for that beauty awes purely due to the sun’s reflecting gaze,” Al-Haitham says, his eyes locking onto Kaveh, devastatingly so.
Somehow, time seemed to have frozen.
Kaveh snorts, “What poetry book did you get that one from?” He tries his best not to sound too hesitant while saying so.
Al-Haitham shakes his head, “One of my works of prose, what do you think?”
Kaveh thinks he should run his fingers through his junior’s silvery hair and kiss him passionately while the night is young. Kaveh thinks he wants to hear a different kind of prose coming from his mouth, a harmonious one, equally beautiful, though perhaps not quite as coherent. Obviously, Al-Haitham can’t know that.
“I think you’re trying to start something out of nothing,” Kaveh sighs, feigning frustration.
“Elaborate,” Al-Haitham says, eyes twinkling with mirth. Archons, this man and his visceral need to hear Kaveh’s every waking thought. How infuriating.
How endearing.
Kaveh frowned. His tie lay askew over his chest, with no amount of adjustment making it look any better. He grunted in annoyance, violently trying to fix it.
“With the rate you’re going at, we might only make it in time for the reception,” Al-Haitham deadpans, appearing in front of Kaveh. He took the red tie in his hands, retying the Windsor knot. While he was fully dressed in his grey suit with green accents, which complemented Kaveh’s white suit with red accents, his hair still looked like he’d just risen from bed. Kaveh would never say it out loud, but secretly, he adores Al-Haitham’s messy bedhead.
“Says the one who looks like he’s got a rat’s nest for a head,” Kaveh scoffs, Al-Haitham merely spares him a glance, tying the knot slightly tighter in retaliation, causing Kaveh to swat his hand away.
“I didn’t bother trying to fix it since I had a feeling you’d dislike whatever I attempted to style,” Al-Haitham retorts. He’s right, Kaveh would absolutely hate whatever bland hairdo Al-Haitham would end up giving himself, and his accurate notion fills Kaveh with an uncomfortable warmth. He picks up a hairbrush lying on his dressing table, sighing.
“You aren’t wrong,”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you” Al-Haitham says, a smirk playing on his lips. “You heard me asshole,” Kaveh mutters, gesturing for the other to sit on the stool, which he did.
Kaveh squeezes a little hair serum onto his palm, rubbing it between them before gently working through Al-Haitham’s scalp, to the ends of his hair. A content sigh escaped the other’s lips, causing Kaveh to chuckle.
“Enjoying yourself?” Al-Haitham decided not to deign him with a verbal response, simply leaning further into his touch. Kaveh couldn’t hold back a smile, seeing Al-Haitham at peace was truly a sight for sore eyes.
Once he worked through his scalp, he brushed his grey hair, holding back a laugh at the tiny cow lick refusing to settle. That’s just as well, Kaveh can’t imagine Al-Haitham without it anyway. He pushed the younger’s usual tuft of eye-covering bangs back and then decided to braid the small partition on the other end, tucking the end of the braid behind Al-Haitham’s ear. The whole time, Alhaitham’s eyes remained closed, soft hums of pleasure filling in the silence.
“Et Voila,” Kaveh whisper-cheered, so as to not suddenly startle the man. Al-Haitham most definitely did not pout, slowly fluttering his eyes open and staring at himself briefly. Kaveh waited with bated breath, would he question the braid?
Alhaitham frowned.
The one which matches my own?
“You forgot to apply kohl .”
Ah.
Kaveh laughed in response, shaking his head fondly, “Spoilt brat, wait let me get the maroon one you’re so obsessed with,” Al-Haitham rolled his eyes in response,
“Archons forbid I have a preference,” He says, eyes latching onto Kaveh, who crouched his knees to the stool’s level, scooting closer to him, Slotting his legs between Al-Haitham’s
Kaveh placed a palm under Al-Haitham’s jaw, bringing it closer to his own. He decided to ignore the hitch of Al-Haitham’s breath, angling his face so he could get a good area to work with. He grabbed the maroon stick.
“Keep your eyes open for me,” Kaveh instructed, voice low and soft. He swiped the kohl over Alhaitham’s waterline before adding the two tiny spikes the man usually sports. He tried his best to focus on his under eye, avoiding contact with those diamond mine-filled eyes of his. He switched positions, dragging Al-Haitham’s face across.
Kaveh quickly finished applying the kohl to his remaining eye, sighing in relief. Eyeliner was always tricky, no matter how long he’d been using it. He leaned back, admiring his handiwork.
You see, in order to admire his handiwork. He had to look into Al-Haitham’s beautiful, aquamarine, citrine eyes. And that was when he made his fatal mistake.
“Gods they’re mesmerising.” He blurted, immediately slapping his palm over his mouth in embarrassment. Al-Haitham blinks,
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
“Calling your handiwork mesmerising isn’t exactly what I expected of you, mister humble craftsman,” Al-Haitham manages, in an almost careful tone, almost as if he was trying not to acknowledge what else it would have meant. What it had meant.
He is mesmerising.
“Kaveh, You’re here!” Nilou’s voice boomed through the crowd, sending an excited wave towards Kaveh’s, and by association, Al-Haitham's direction. The two made their way through the thick gathering of people, Kaveh’s hand firmly enveloping Al-Haitham’s as he guided him through.
Al-Haitham wasn’t great with crowds, but it would be impossible for nearly anyone else to notice. He usually fared well with his noise-cancelling headphones, but such a contraption would certainly not suit the environment such that a wedding beheld. Again, this didn’t leave Al-Haitham decrepit by any means, it just meant that he felt slightly uncomfortable, and Kaveh wanted to ease that tension in any subtle way he could.
Once they’ve made it through the thicket, Kaveh finally responds, winded, “Sorry we made it late, someone didn’t bother getting ready til the last minute.”
Al-Haitham scoffs in disbelief, “He’s referring to himself.”
Nilou casts them an awkward smile as they continue to mildly bicker about. To be honest, she doesn’t understand their dynamic all that well, but she figures it’s always best not to interrupt, lest that interruption further delays the end of their bantering.
Fortunately for her, a force greater than herself seemed to have successfully interrupted the two, that force being Dehya loudly slapping Al-Haitham’s back in greeting, causing the man to flinch. Kaveh’s eyes narrowed sharply towards the sound instantaneously, as if it were an instinctual reaction, before gradually softening at the sight of the back-slapper.
“Al-Haitham! Never thought I’d see you willingly attend a wedding.” Dehya greeted, waving to Kaveh and Nilou. Al-Haitham clears his throat slightly,
“Believe me, being here isn’t exactly my ideal. However, what with this being Rahman’s wedding, and considering all that occurred between the lot of us a year ago, it only seemed appropriate to congratulate him on this occasion.”
“That and I dragged him out here.” Kaveh snarked, earning himself one of Al-Haitham’s glorious deadpans. He calls this one the-unamused-yet-unable-to-deny-him-look. It’s one he’s particularly familiar with.
Dehya laughs, “That sounds more like it alright, you really do have him wrapped around your finger blondie, I wouldn't be surprised if the next wedding I see myself at happens to be yours,”
Kaveh’s brows shoot up, along with the flush creeping up his neck. Al-Haitham, the ever-infuriating, simply walks away to leave Kaveh to his own devices, deciding not to acknowledge what she just said by paying attention to the waiters’ carrying around glasses of champagne. Nilou, sensing the tension, decides to speak up,
“Dehya, didn’t you say something about your latest commission being for the Fontainian Iudex?”
Dehya, thankfully, accepts this change in topic. She begins to ramble on about… something about the taste of Sumeru’s water or whatever, Kaveh honestly isn’t paying attention, shooting Nilou a grateful glance. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk about whatever he and Al-Haitham had going on at the moment, mostly because he didn’t know.
Man, he could use some wine.
As if Kusanali heard his prayers, he felt a wine glass pressed to his left cheek. His eyes darted to the side, unimpressed. Without even looking at the other man, Kaveh identified the stem of the glass and graciously decided to load the burden of carrying the champagne off of his poor junior,
“Thanks love,” He mumbled, trying his best not to down the glass by taking a generous sip instead. It was after this sip of his, when what he said finally dawned on him.
He slowly lowered his glass, trying not to look at Nilou’s and Dehya’s slacked jaws, which caused him to accidentally look at the person he probably should’ve decided to prioritise avoiding to look at.
Al-Haitham stilled, his hand frozen in the motion of handing Kaveh his glass, the tips of his ears red, clearly still processing what had just happened. Kaveh blinks, every save in the book running through his mind before realising that the answer was laid right in front of his very eyes-
“Er, champagne! Love champagne. So, so much!” Kaveh managed, animatedly pointing to his champagne, taking another obnoxiously loud slurp. Dehya’s the first to thaw, immediately contorting her expression to a look of pure amusement. She opens her mouth, but before she gets any words out, a loudspeaker blares throughout the venue, announcing the commencement of dancing.
“Ah well, too bad we couldn’t chat more, I was enjoying all of this wonderful jabber! We should catch up more often, I need to go. I uh, I owe Haitham a waltz,” Kaveh says, grabbing the younger man’s wrist and practically jogging towards the other end of the courtyard, trying to miss the way Al-Haitham’s fingers almost instantly slotted into his despite his silence. He slowly let go of Al-Haitham’s hand once they reached, but Al-Haitham wasn’t having it, squeezing them in place instead,
“I thought you said you owed me a dance, Senior?”
Oh, so now he talks.
It had been a month since the ‘love’ incident, also known as one of Kaveh’s least proud moments. Not that he regretted the contents of what he said exactly, it felt nice to say if he was being honest. No, what he regretted was saying it out loud. Regardless,
Al-Haitham was acting odd. Well, more odd than usual. That is to say, he’s been staring at Kaveh quite a lot. It didn't bother him at first, Al-Haitham always stares at Kaveh, a silent way of reprimanding him. Kaveh didn't do the dishes? Kaveh’s still working on his draft at three in the morning? Kaveh forgot to buy Al-Haitham his favourite coffee blend? These are just a few examples of what he’s usually subjected to in terms of his Junior’s judgemental intensity.
But, this was different. The stares felt like— expectant ones. Not the usual over-critical ones he’s used to but almost expectant. Like he was waiting for Kaveh to react in some way or do something. Kaveh prides himself on knowing all things Al-Haitham, but some phenomena must stump even the most specialised of scholars he supposes.
It happens again today. Kaveh groans in misery, staring at his twenty-seventh draft for the Birmarstan’s new pediatric expansion. This agony is well over his pay grade, and Al-Haitham says as much.
“Twenty-seven drafts in a night is well over your pay grade Kaveh,” He sighs, placing a cup of warm chamomile tea on top of a Kshaerwar stitched coaster. Kaveh frowns, “Well you know what isn’t over my pay grade? Sick children. Now if you’ll excuse me and go back to whatever nuclear theory book you’ve probably gotten yourself into, I’d be grateful. Also thanks for the tea.”
Al-Haitham however, doesn’t budge. He opens his mouth, then closes it. It’s not often that the Scribe struggles with his words. Kaveh raises an eyebrow in question, yet Al-Haitham remains resolute in his silence, choosing to stare at one of Kaveh’s paintings hanging on the wall instead, and so Kaveh shifted his focus to said painting. It was of Alcarzarzaray.
Oh.
Understanding dawned on Kaveh, bringing in a surge of affection along with it. He loosely held Al-Haitham’s wrist, directing him to make eye contact. “It’s okay Haitham, I’ve cleared my debts. This commission fee is quite enough, I’ll be fine. Thank you, for worrying about me.” Kaveh reassures, pouring in as much sincerity as one could in a gaze. Al-Haitham’s eyes widen, before he smiles, beautiful crescents staring right back at him with that— stare.
Before the Interdasrshan Championship, Kaveh would most certainly not have interpreted Al-Haitham’s words for concern, he would not have noticed the underlying care. That fated desert kerfuffle certainly brought his unearthed emotions to the surface. Kaveh should have felt more grateful to have been starved by the likes of desert foxes, knowing it led to this development in their relationship.
“What was that?”
“I’m not thanking you two more times brat.”
Al-Haitham shakes his head, a fond chuckle escaping his lips. “Just, call me if you need me, okay? Otherwise, I'll be dealing with your nuclear reactions in practice,” He turns around, but before leaving he, pauses, and adds, “Twenty minutes is your limit. Unless you want me physically catapulting you to bed.”
“Okay, Mom.” Kaveh retorts, his brain fixating on that stare of his. What did he really want to say? He stared at his blueprint. Now that Al-Haitham had effectively brought him out of the zone, the lines were starting to blur, and the wave of tiredness he hadn’t felt came crashing ashore.
Well, maybe it is time to pack it all up and drop dead into his bed.
Kaveh burst through the front door, accidentally knocking over the coat and cape rack. It crashed to the floor loudly, causing Kaveh to wince. Al-Haitham, luckily enough, had his noise cancelling turned up high it seems, for his reaction simply consisted of an exasperated sigh as he got up to place the rack back upright.
“Zackariya is being so infuriating over his interior design choices for the pediatric wing, it doesn’t even look like it’s supposed to be a room designed for children at this point! I could scream right now, maybe I should scream right now—”
“Please refrain from screaming.”
“Okay fuck you,” Kaveh snaps, irritatedly ripping off his cape and throwing it onto the rack, causing it to tumble yet again. Al-Haitham slowly picked the rack up again, casting an unimpressed glare at the older man. He moves back to the couch after picking his book up and picking up from where he left off. He tilts his head ever so slightly towards Kaveh’s direction.
Any annoyance Kaveh was harbouring began to melt at Al-Haitham’s telltale indication that he was listening to whatever it was Kaveh was about to say. He doesn’t even think Al-Haitham is aware of this trait of his, which makes it all the more endearing. His tiny sprout even leaning towards Kaveh, gods, it’s almost like,
“You’re photosynthesising, Junior,” Kaveh coos. Al-Haitham lowers his novel, looking at Kaveh in confusion. Kaveh elaborates, “Your little head sprout seems to be leaning towards me like it’s found the light.”
Al-Haitham blinks several times before a smirk slowly takes form on his infuriatingly handsome face.
“Are you implying that you’re a source of light– My Light of Kshahrewar I suppose?” Alhaitham says, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
My Light.
Kaveh screams.
“Kaveh?”
Kaveh doesn’t bother replying to whatever that was supposed to be. He paces to his room at lightning speed, slamming the door shut, and locking it for good measure.
My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light. My Light –
He was going to kill this man. Or himself. Maybe kill him and then himself, the Mahamatra couldn’t touch him then. No, he’s not being rational. Kaveh doesn’t think he can take it anymore. He doesn’t think he can take looking at the other man’s face, say a word to him, without professing his now undying love for him, without craving that he wasn’t imagining the fond looks he’d get, without grabbing Al-Haitham’s face and pressing his lips against Kaveh’s, without calling Al-Haitham his. Oh, what he would give to have Al-Haitham say these ridiculously romantic things and mean them.
He paces around his room, desperately looking for an answer to his predicament. He looks over at his drafting table, scanning the surface for something, anything. And that’s when he spots it, a now scrunched-up letter under one of his blueprints. He hastily throws the blueprint to the side, grasping at the letter in desperation.
Dear Esteemed Mister Kaveh,
It would be of my utmost honour to invite you to Aaru Village to check on the progress of the children’s library. It’s well underway, and we are working on its basic structural mechanisms. It would be wonderful if we could gain your insights before wrapping it up.
Please, do not hesitate to stop by within the next two weeks to check up on our progress,
Best,
Badawi
Kaveh flipped the letter over to check the date on which it was sent. It was sent yesterday. The rational decision would obviously be to avoid Al-Haitham for the foreseeable future. That sounds about right.
It had been about two weeks since Kaveh’s last seen Al-Haitham. Once he’d informed Al–Haitham of his absence by sticking a note on his bedroom door at four in the morning, he’d trekked all the way to Aaru Village and managed to get there by sundown. He’d tirelessly been helping Badawi and his team since he’d reached the site. Only resting at Badawi’s insistence.
Kaveh had been getting better and knowing when he needed to stop thanks to his internal Al-Haitham monitor, but he’d purposely been ignoring it. He couldn’t afford to think about what Al-Haitham was feeling right now, or for as long as he was here.
He oversaw every change, applauding the team for their hard work while simultaneously providing his critique where he deemed fit. It was, all in all, a genuinely good experience, despite his reasons for coming. Badawi, however, seemed to notice something being amiss.
Kaveh was about eleven days in at this point, and the constant work was starting to pull at his temperament. He found himself snapping at one of the on-site craftsmen over accidentally breaking apart a mechanism Kaveh had set up the day before. In Kaveh’s defence, destroying an engineer’s creation is akin to killing one’s child. The craftsman profusely apologised, offering to fix it at the earliest. Kaveh waved him off, grabbing the stray pieces of machinery to put back together.
Badawi soon joined him, offering Kaveh a glass of water. Kaveh accepted it, paying him no heed as he continued to work under his microscope.
“Back when my wife was still around, and we got into our little lovers’ spats, I’d always head out with my buddies after, drinking away in hopes that it would help me forget about what we were fighting about. I’d pray that by the time I got back, she’d magically forget it happened and pretend like things were how they were. Obviously, that never happened,” Badawi starts, sipping on his own glass of water as he stares at the window overlooking the village in front of them.
Kaveh puts down his screwdriver, “What happened then?”
“She’d always be upset that I left. She would tell me she wished I had talked about it with her, and that my leaving would make her feel terribly lonely. I failed to consider how she felt about my sudden leaving, how worried she’d get. In hindsight, it was selfish of me to up and leave her like that, even if it gave me some sense of comfort knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with something potentially worse,”
Kaveh frowns, not liking where this is going at all, “Why are you telling me this Badawi?”
Badawi hums, a slight smile creeping up his face, “Let’s just say, I can tell that something more than the state of this mechanism has been bothering you, Mister Kaveh, it almost seems like you’re burying yourself in work to avoid dealing with your issues.”
Damn, Kaveh didn’t expect to be psychoanalysed today. He languidly sighs, “I see little with what that has to do with your anecdote.”
“Mister Kaveh, relationships– they’re never easy, but they’re not impossible. It’s scary to realise how loved you are, especially if you are not used to receiving such love. Once you get to my age, you’ll realise how blind you really were, because it is so irrefutably simple. All you need to do is open your eyes,” Badawi says, eyes now trained onto Kaveh’s.
Kaveh feels a lump form in his throat. To Kaveh, it had been decades since he’d received such fatherly advice, never had he ever realised how badly he missed such wisdom. He takes a shaky breath, if he had any chance to ask a third party, now would be the best.
“I love him, Badawi. I love his eyes, his hair, his stupidly arrogant smile, his real and glorious smile, the way he laughs when I drunkenly call him Haravatat’s most infamous ghost story, and the way he listens to my rambling spiels with rapt attention, despite it sounding nonsensical to him. I feel this innate sense to– to give him my everything,” Kaveh confesses, feeling like the most massive weight has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. He doesn’t think he’s ever voiced out the true extent of his affections to almost anyone before.
(If he didn’t count that one time he accidentally said he wanted to knock Al-Haitham down a peg in more ways than one to Tighnari but that didn’t count.)
Badawi smiles, “He sounds lovely, what is holding you back my child?”
“He doesn’t love me Badawi, he can’t.”
“And why not?”
“I am not as worthy as I once was,”
“Are you not worthy or are you scared to be of worth?”
Kaveh stares at him, bewildered, “I don’t understand,”
Badawi shakes his head, “Ah, forgive me. I must sound like a blabbering old coot to you, I simply mean– do you truly believe you are not worthy of his love, or are you terrified of this changing your relationship?”
Kaveh blinks, stumped. He supposed he was somewhat worried. Al-Haitham and he had only recently gotten along well, nearly half a year since he moved in, and the last time they were this close, well. Kaveh could barely handle losing his best friend once, to have to go through it again with the feelings he now has, he wasn’t sure if he could hang through again.
Badawi seems to beat him into replying, “Mister Kaveh, if I may, you are one of the most headstrong individuals I’ve come to meet. My wife, she would’ve liked someone like you, you know? I believe you are at a point where you can overcome your adversaries, you are not the boy you once were, for you are now a man.”
Kaveh finds himself blinking in a stupor yet again. However this time, he seems to be blinking with watery eyes, “Badawi I–”
Badawi nods at Kaveh, patting his shoulders, “I’m an old soul, I know these kinds of things when I see them, young love most of all. Regardless, I’ve arranged for a sumpter beast carriage to take you back to Sumeru City, you should probably be back by midnight, let me know when you two will be free for the opening ceremony, don’t be a stranger child,”
Kaveh feels like this isn’t real, he grabs the man’s hand, shaking it vigorously, “‘Thank you. Gods, Thank you, Badawi. I will drag him out here if I have to don’t you worry,” Badawi nods yet again, before pushing Kaveh out towards the Sumpter Beast. Kaveh quickly rushes to write a letter bidding farewell to the team, including an apology to the poor craftsman he probably ruined the day of.
He imagines, briefly, of bringing Al-Haitham to Aaru Village. Watching Al-Haitham read fairytales he’d secretly criticise out loud for some of the toddlers, or explore the depths of runes they would trek past on their way to the desert. He finds himself daydreaming for nearly the entire ride home.
The moonlight bathes Sumeru City’s borders with its beauty, and Kaveh can't help but fight the urge to pull out his sketchbook to capture the sight. He climbs down the sumpter beast, feeding it a perfectly ripe Zaytun peach he’d bought on the way when he was feeling peckish. Zaytun peaches probably didn’t constitute a proper meal but Kaveh was feeling far too nervous to get back home, a day early nonetheless.
Once Kaveh got through the gates, the tiredness he’d been feeling the last two weeks had begun to weigh him down yet again, and he found himself putting in a great deal of effort to take each step. When he finally made it to the house, Kaveh could barely find it in him to ring the doorbell he installed last month.
He waited about thirty seconds or so and stood back as the door creaked open. Al-Haitham stood there, mild surprise evident across his features. He seems to take Kaveh’s appearance in, as Kaveh does to his. Al-Haitham looked quite dishevelled, which Kaveh supposes would be the case for someone who was probably in bed. He was about to apologise before he noticed how dark the rims of Al-Haitham’s eyebags were.
“Were you not sleeping?” Kaveh found himself asking, sharply.
“Speak for yourself, Senior,” Al-Haitham scoffs, “You look like you were dragged here by a rampaging sumpter beast.” Kaveh feels a familiar annoyance rise within him.
“Wow. Thanks. I guess you’re not all that off the mark with that sumpter beast–”
“What? Did you actually? Fuck, are you hurt?” Al-Haitham gently pulls Kaveh closer to him examining his face closely with tight-knit concern. Kaveh found himself laughing, Al-Haitham must’ve been far too tired to fully use his brain it seems, the warmth of annoyance quickly turning into endearment at his Junior’s worry.
“I’m fine, I’m sorry for making you worry,” Kaveh says, tucking a strand of Alhaitham’s bangs behind his ear. Alhaitham makes a face akin to that of a grumpy cat’s, “You sure didn’t sound all sorry there, laughing it up.”
“I promise I am.”
“Hm. I made soup, heat it, I’m positive you haven’t been eating well.”
Kaveh rolls his eyes at the remark, and darts towards the cryo-powered box they keep next to their stove. Al-Haitham wanted to call it a ‘refrigerator’, but Kaveh vehemently refused at such an abhorrent name. So for now, it remained known as the cryo-box. He grabbed the container filled with what smelt like tomato soup. Kaveh’s absolute favourite. He smiled at the box before Badawi’s words reverberated in his mind.
“Are you not worthy or are you scared to be of worth?”
He grips the container, slowly pouring the soup into a heating pot over their pyro-combustion generator. Again, Al-Haitham insisted on calling it a ‘stove-top’. Kusanali knows where he comes up with these.
An uncomfortable silence seemed to stretch within the time of Kaveh waiting for the soup to heat, and Al-Haitham simply standing there, staring at him. It takes about two minutes until—
“Kaveh, you’re giving me mixed signals.”
Kaveh drops his ladle.
“What signals?”
Al-Haitham stares at him, determined.
“You— you tell me all these things, these things that make it sound like— and then you hold my hand with so much care, with so much— but when I try to reciprocate, you just run away to Archon fuck knows where—”
“I told you I was in Aaru Village with Badawi and the rest—”
“That is not the point Kaveh. You just left, You left for two weeks, leaving me here, alone. Wishing I had taken back what I said but also, feeling conflicted because I feel like I’m not in the wrong for what I said, unless I misinterpreted your intentions—?” He stops, staring at Kaveh, waiting.
Kaveh looks back, unable to form any words, his brain stuck processing what he is hearing. They’re at a stalemate it seems. Al-Haitham’s the first to crack, for once.
“I see… It seems I have grossly misinterpreted your words Kaveh, I apologise for any discomfort I may have caused you. “ Al-Haitham says, his fists clenched together. He looked so upset. More Upset than Kaveh thinks he’s seen him since the Akademiya.
Oh. Kaveh fucked up. His brain seemed to finally catch up to his thoughts, and what Al-Haitham had just said, He snapped his focus onto Al-Haitham, Only to realise he had gone back to his room.
Kaveh dashed to Al-Haitham’s bedroom door, knocking on the door repeatedly. Al-Haitham’s door was swiftly opened mid-knock, causing Kaveh to crash right into Al-Haitham. Luckily, Al-Haitham immediately holds him by the waist. He settles Kaveh back standing before glaring at him tiredly.
“What do you want Kaveh.”
His eyes looked watery, Kaveh was going to kill himself.
“Badawi invited me to the library’s opening ceremony,” Kaveh states. Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow.
“...Good for you?”
Kaveh shakes his head, “I want you to come with me,”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, uneasily. Kaveh frowns, grasping at Al-Haitham’s wrist.
“Please, it would mean a lot to see you there, I really did work tirelessly on this project,”
Al-Haitham gazes at their interlinked hands and sighs. “Alright.” Kaveh beams,
“Alright! It’s a date then!”
The smell of burnt tomato soup wafts through the air.
“Fuck.”
Kaveh runs to the kitchen to salvage his soup, throwing it into a bowl and blowing on it desperately. It’s okay, he could fix this. He needed cream, he needed–
“Kaveh. What did you just say?” Al-Haitham seems to have run behind him, his eyes wide open, face sporting a deep shade of crimson. Kaveh, deciding to finally be the little shit here, aptly says,
“Fuck?”
“Kaveh.” This is probably as close to whining as Al-Haitham will get, so Kaveh supposes he’ll take it.
“I called it a date Haitham, do you not know what that is? Something two people do when they like each other?” Kaveh laughs, trying to ignore how nervous he sounded saying it.
The aforementioned stare is back. And Kaveh thinks he finally knows what it means. He walks forward, cupping Al-Haitham’s cheek. Al-Haitham’s breath hitches, continuing to look at Kaveh with uncertainty.
“Nothing gets past you Haravatat, you weren’t misinterpreting anything. I was just– scared. I was scared that, we were just going to fight again, and I didn’t think I could go through that again, I don’t think I’d want us to hurt each other like that again,” Kaveh admits, his voice trembling. Al-Haitham’s eyes soften imperceptibly.
“Kaveh, if we were the same stupid kids we were back then, then I’d doubt we’d ever reach this point in our lives. I understand what you’re feeling, and our opposing philosophies will always remain a point of contingency in our everyday lives.
But we understand each other now, and we appreciate those parts of each other. I believe we’ve grown tremendously, and we can read each other in a way we have never been able to before. Things will be different Kaveh, because we are different, and because we care about our differences.”
Kaveh lets out a sigh of relief, “I’m glad to hear you say that, I’ve come to that conclusion on my own as well thanks to Badawi, but it is nice to hear it again from you.”
Al-Haitham hums, “Seems I have Badawi to thank,”
“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Murmurs Kaveh, far too distracted by Al-Haitham’s lips this close to his face to really think of much else.
He tilts his head, before closing the gap between them, Al-Haitham kissing him back slowly. Kaveh’d imagined it a thousand times before, but he’d never imagined them to be so incredibly gentle. Al-Haitham seemed to smile into the kiss, eventually to the point of it breaking off,
“What’s gotten you so happy?” Kaveh teases, unable to stop his own smile from growing. Alhaitham only smirks.
“Ah nothing, just remembered something about you saying nothing escaped me.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wow Senior, at least take me to dinner first.”