Archive of Our Own

Kaveh wakes up at six AM to see his one-night stand sitting cross-legged on the floor, neatly folding his shirt and placing it onto a small stack of his clothes. 

“What hell are you doing?” he asks. 

His one-night stand turns to look at him. He’s really very hot—Kaveh claps last-night-Kaveh on the back. “What does it look like? Folding your clothes.”

“It’s…” Kaveh squints at the clock on the nightstand. “Six in the morning.”

“You just threw them on the ground. It’s messy.”

“Well,” Kaveh says, “forgive me for not thinking about cleanliness while I had your tongue down my throat.” 

“Okay. I forgive you.” 

Kaveh feels like he's dreaming—he’s very hungover. He rubs his eyes. “Are you kicking me out?” 

“No, I’m not.”

That’s all Kaveh needs to know. “Good,” he says, and goes back to sleep.

Kaveh really shouldn’t have slept over.

He usually wouldn’t have, but he’d been so tired from the alcohol and—to put it delicately—getting absolutely destroyed that he’d passed out immediately. But now it’s the cruel, cruel morning, and he’s stuck here with a pounding headache, wearing yesterday’s clothes, and awkwardly brushing his teeth next to this weirdo who’d fucked his brains out last night and whose name he doesn’t even remember, and it’s not actually hell, but it sure feels like it. 

“Take it home or throw it out.”

Kaveh blinks. “Huh?”

His one-night stand looks unimpressed. “The toothbrush.” 

“Okay.” And then, “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Al-Haitham.” 

“Oh,” Kaveh says. “Thanks for the toothbrush, Al-Haitham. And nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Al-Haitham says dryly. 

Kaveh tries to book it out of there, but somehow, Al-Haitham seems to be doing the same. They leave the house together, walking side by side. It’s quietly awful, like something out of a nightmare.

“I’ll—uh, I’ll call you,” Kaveh says. He definitely won’t. That laundry shit was weird. 

“You really don’t have to.”

Well, now he’s offended. “Why not? I thought I was pretty good last night.” 

“You almost threw up when you were blowing me.”

“Yeah, but it was good aside from that, right?”

Al-Haitham considers. “Well,” he says. “I suppose it was fine.”

“You suppose?” 

“Yes.” 

Kaveh is so insulted that part of him almost asks for another go, just for the opportunity to make this expressionless bastard come so hard he can’t speak. Instead, he just fumes silently, because he’s dangerously close to saying some very rude things. 

“Are you following me?” Kaveh asks, after more than a few moments of walking in the same direction.

“I’m not following you,” Al-Haitham says. “Why would I do that? I’m going to class.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” 

He is. They enter the same building together. And then the same lecture hall. Kaveh sits down, and Al-Haitham sits down next to him. 

Hell, truly. 

It’s the first class of the term, so there isn’t much substance to it, and it ends relatively quickly. Thank goodness, because Kaveh had been seriously considering flinging himself out of the window. He crumples up the course syllabus he’d been doodling on and shoves it into his bag haphazardly. It’ll probably never see the light of day again. Rest in pieces. 

“You’re going to need that, you know,” Al-Haitham says. 

Kaveh blinks. He’d assumed they weren’t speaking. “What?”

“The syllabus.”

“It’ll be online.”

“You really think so? This professor is a geriatric. He literally just said that he doesn’t have internet at home.”

“Gods, relax,” Kaveh says. “Thanks for being so invested in my academic career, but I can handle myself.” 

“Well,” Al-Haitham says. “If you say so.”

Kaveh bristles. He knows how he comes off, and that nobody usually thinks he’s the type to be serious about school, let alone good at it, but it irks him nonetheless. 

“You know,” he says, “it’s been nice meeting you—” He blinks. “No, wait. It really hasn’t. But either way, I think it’s probably best that we don’t speak to each other again, don’t you think?”

“I—”

“Have a good day,” Kaveh says, smiling sweetly, and pushes past Al-Haitham to leave the classroom. 

And this is all fine and well, until Kaveh pulls out the crumpled remains of his course syllabus and realises just how many books he’s going to have to buy for this course. He does some math in his head and checks his bank account. 

“Fuck,” he says. 

“Did you buy the readings yet?”

Al-Haitham is sitting in the same seat that he’d been in last week. He blinks when Kaveh settles down next to him. “I thought we weren’t speaking to each other,” he says. 

“We aren’t,” Kaveh says, face a little hot. His dignity’s a little scratched, but he can’t quite afford to protect it right now.

“I guess this is a new method of communication, then.”

“Gods, don’t be a smartass. Answer the question, will you?”

“Yes,” Al-Haitham says dryly, “I just did.”

“Oh, great,” Kaveh says. “Wanna share them? I’ll pay half.” 

“Not particularly, no,” Al-Haitham says. 

“Oh, come on,” Kaveh implores. “Half price. That’s a lot less, you know. Think about what you could do with that money.”

Al-Haitham furrows his brow, apparently considering. Kaveh grins inwardly. 

“Fine,” Al-Haitham says, after a few moments. “But you pay me now, and return them to me when I ask for them, on time. If you’re late, this is off.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kaveh says. “Sounds great, sounds good.” He takes out his wallet and sets the appropriate amount of cash on the desk, change and all.  

Al-Haitham blinks. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Al-Haitham says, taking the money. “I was just thinking you’d be pretty easy to scam.”

Kaveh glares at him. “Bite me,” he says. 

“Yes,” Al-Haitham says, “I’m sure you’d like that.”

Kaveh flushes, opening his mouth to retort. But then the lecture begins, and he has to shut up. After a moment, he steals a glance at Al-Haitham.

He’s smirking, the asshole. 

And so Kaveh ends up going to Al-Haitham’s place to pick up the first reading of the term. He hadn’t quite noticed when he’d first visited, but it’s a pretty nice apartment for a student. 

“Are you rich or something?” he asks.

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “Define rich,” he says. 

“More than three hundred in the bank account.”

Al-Haitham hands him the book. “Then yes,” he says dryly. “I’m insanely wealthy.”

“I knew it.” 

A huff. “Did you want to stay for a bit?”

“Why?” Kaveh asks, thumbing through the reading. It actually looks kind of interesting. At any rate, there are pictures, which is more than you can say for most academic material. 

Al-Haitham gives him a look. “Why do you think?”

“Oh,” Kaveh says, realising. He finds himself blushing, which is mortifying. “No, no, I’m—I have to go somewhere.”

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes,” Kaveh says, with great difficulty. 

A moment of silence. “Okay, then,” Al-Haitham says, and turns back to his reading. “Bye. I’ll see you.” 

“Later,” Kaveh says, and makes his way to the door. 

He’s done the right thing, he tells himself, as he puts on his shoes. Things are already a bit of a mess between him and Al-Haitham anyhow, and it’d been sleeping with him that started this whole thing in the first place. So it’s good that he said no, even if it took every ounce of his willpower, even if he hasn’t gotten laid in a while, even if Al-Haitham is very, very attractive, even if he’d literally propositioned Kaveh in his bedroom while wearing grey sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, and—

Kaveh kicks off his shoes and fairly runs back into the bedroom. Al-Haitham turns, looking startled. 

“I thought you were leaving—”

Kaveh kisses him full on the mouth. After a moment, Al-Haitham kisses back just as forcefully, and then they are both falling onto the bed together, breathless and desperate, and then his mouth is on Kaveh’s neck and his hands are under Kaveh’s shirt, and then—

Well.

It’s nice, Kaveh thinks hazily afterwards, to be fucked senseless once in a while. He’s loose-limbed, panting, still a bit teary out of how good it was. But it’s all ruined by Al-Haitham smirking down at him. 

“What’s so funny?” Kaveh hisses, returning to earth. “Pull out already, we’re done.” 

“Nothing,” Al-Haitham says, looking almost smug. “I just thought that you cry quite a bit, unexpectedly.” 

“I’m not crying, asshole,” Kaveh says, mortified.

Al-Haitham leans in close and brushes away one of Kaveh’s tears with his thumb. “Whatever you say,” he says smoothly. 

Kaveh is going to bite his fingers off. 

“Tighnari, I hate him.”

“You can’t just start every story off like this, Kaveh,” Tighnari says, not bothering to look up from his assignment. “I never know who you’re talking about.” 

Ah, Tighnari. Kind and warmhearted and lovely to look at, with a vicious streak that jumps out at the most unexpected of times—a best friend anyone would be proud of. Kaveh adores him. 

“I’m talking about Al-Haitham—”

“I have no idea who that is.” 

“I’ll tell you.” 

“I don’t want—”

“I’ll tell you.”

So Kaveh tells him, and makes Tighnari put his big, beautiful ears to good use. After he’s done, Tighnari sighs. 

“Kaveh,” Tighnari says tiredly, “why do you always find the weirdest people to hook up with?” 

“Did you not hear me just now?” Kaveh says, affronted. “He’s hot, Tighnari.”

“Whatever makes you happy. Do you like him?”

“I like… having sex with him.”

“Romantic.”

“Says you—” And then Kaveh remembers. “Oh! I got you something.” He holds out a box of mushrooms, the slightly fancy kind.

Tighnari’s tail wags. “Oh, you didn’t have to,” he says, and even though his tone is even, Kaveh can tell he’s pleased. “Aren’t you a little tight on money as it is?”

Kaveh laughs. “For you, gorgeous, anything.”

Tighnari rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” 

“Plus, I end up eating your leftovers whenever I come over, so in a way, I’m just feeding myself—”

“Yeah, I know, Kaveh. You don’t have to ruin the moment.” Tighnari sounds amused. “That being said, there’s some food in the fridge,” he says. “Have some.” 

Kaveh is rummaging through the fridge before Tighnari finishes his sentence. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” Tighnari says. He watches Kaveh stuff his face with cold pizza—his first meal of the day—and there’s a strange expression on his face. 

“What?” Kaveh says, his mouth full. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I was thinking,” Tighnari says dryly, “that you’re very fortunate that you’re handsome.” 

“You think I’m handsome?” Kaveh asks, delighted. 

Tighnari sighs. Kaveh takes that as a yes. 

In an ideal world, where Al-Haitham is a normal person, maybe he and Kaveh would’ve been friends by now. Because that’s usually how things go, isn’t it? Even if you’ve had a rocky start, a month or so of being acquaintances is usually enough to foster some kind of camaraderie. 

But unfortunately, Al-Haitham is not a normal person. No, he is an insufferable asshole, a bastard of bastards—the type of person to say  “Well, actually,” in any given situation, who would tell you that you look awful and that you should just “go home if you’re not feeling well” (Kaveh has been on the receiving end of both these behaviours firsthand). And so here they are, having a thinly-veiled argument in the guise of academic debate, which went off-topic almost three minutes ago.

“Well,” Kaveh says, already on the brink of an anger-induced migraine, “I think that’s an unfairly pessimistic interpretation—”

“Well, you would,” Al-Haitham says. His voice is still infuriatingly even. “But it’s clear in the text that all the characters are worse off than they were before because they choose to pursue what they love, no matter how they feel about it. Maybe if you’d read a little more closely instead of doodling on the book margins, you’d see that there’s not much room for any other interpretation.”

Kaveh fumes. “That’s—” It had been one doodle, before he’d remembered that the book wasn’t his, and he’d done his best to erase it. 

“Would anyone else like to weigh in?” the professor says before Kaveh can finish, no doubt desperate for the discussion to end. 

Kaveh raises his hand.

The professor looks defeated. “Yes, Kaveh?”

Kaveh turns to Al-Haitham. “Screw you,” he says.

The professor blinks. “I don’t think that constitutes a discussion point,” he says gingerly. 

“It doesn’t,” Al-Haitham says coolly, holding Kaveh’s gaze. “We can move on.”

Fuming, Kaveh kicks his ankle under the table. Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say, that’s all you’ve got? 

No, Kaveh thinks. No, you haven’t seen anything yet. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know,” Kaveh hisses. “Asshole.”

They’re at Al-Haitham’s apartment again somehow. Kaveh doesn’t even really know how or why. All he knows is that they’d kept arguing even after class ended, and he’d gotten into Al-Haitham’s car to keep arguing, and maybe they’d made out a bit in the car, now here he is on Al-Haitham’s undoubtedly expensive memory-foam bed, getting his brains fucked out. 

“Gods, be quiet,” Al-Haitham mutters, his breath short, and shoves his fingers into Kaveh’s mouth. Kaveh is annoyed at himself for finding it hot. “It’s not my fault you’re terrible at literary analysis.”

Kaveh comes right then and there, out of sheer anger. 

And so Kaveh gets to studying. 

Does he need to do well in this class? No. He is an architecture student, and this literature course is, for all intents and purposes, a bird course elective. Does he try his best to outdo Al-Haitham anyways? Yes, absolutely, at every opportunity. And so, much to the amusement of his peers and the chagrin of the professor, he and Al-Haitham become the foremost contributors to class discussion. Honestly, Kaveh hadn’t even known he could disagree with anyone so much until now. 

“Kaveh, Al-Haitham,” the professor says to them privately one day, “I’m glad that you’re… engaging so much with the material, but I do have to remind you both that the classroom is not a place to… resolve relationship issues.”

Al-Haitham’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” Kaveh says. “We don’t have any kind of relationship. I met this man two months ago.”

“I—I see,” the professor says. He looks resigned. “Never mind, then.”

So, yes. Al-Haitham is a cold, insufferable bastard, and Kaveh’s blood boils whenever they see each other. But he is also unfairly handsome and brilliant, and the unsavoury mix of all these elements in one single person flips a weird switch in Kaveh’s stupid little lizard brain that he can’t quite turn off. For what it’s worth, Al-Haitham seems to be in the same boat.

And so their… entanglement continues alongside everything else. These days, Kaveh finds himself equal parts horny and furious. He’ll get it out of his system eventually, he’s sure. But until then, it’s arguments and trading insults and getting railed until his legs shake, sometimes all at the same time. And—hey, Kaveh would be lying if he said he doesn’t enjoy it sometimes, just a little. 

One day, Kaveh wakes up, bleary-eyed and disoriented after a night out, and realises that he’s slept through his alarm. An hour ago, Al-Haitham had texted him three times: 

where are you?

I’m not going to take notes for you if you skip.

seriously

Kaveh can’t help but smile. i dropped out, he texts. 

The response comes immediately. sounds about right.

Kaveh stops smiling. fuck you

ok. come over when you’re ready. And then, a few seconds later, you didn’t even return this week’s reading.

“Ah, shit,” Kaveh says out loud.

To his credit, Al-Haitham takes back the book without much of a fuss. Rather, he seems much more irritated at Kaveh for skipping class. 

“What were you doing this time?” he says. “Drinking yourself unconscious?”

“Hey, I went to my friend Nilou’s dance performance,” Kaveh says, frowning. “It meant a lot to her, okay?”

Al-Haitham gives him a look.

“Fine, yes, we drank afterwards,” Kaveh says. “I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to miss my alarm.”

Al-Haitham huffs. “Because you weren’t there, some girl sat beside me and started talking to me,” he says. He sounds affronted, aggrieved. “During lecture.” 

Kaveh bursts out laughing. “Hot guys have it rough, huh?” he says. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll help—”

“What do you—”

Kaveh clambers into Al-Haitham’s lap and takes a few minutes to suck a dark, conspicuous bruise onto his neck. Strangely, Al-Haitham doesn’t even object. 

“Ah,” he says afterwards, observing it in his phone’s camera. He almost looks pleased, but maybe Kaveh’s just imagining it. “I see.”

“You’re welcome,” Kaveh says. “Nobody’s going to talk to you now.”

Al-Haitham puts his phone aside and reaches out for him instead, pushing him down gently. “I hope that’s not all you came here to do,” he says.

“Well,” Kaveh says, grinning and reaching up for him, “of course not.” 

Afterwards, they lie next to each other, sweaty and spent. It’s kind of gross, but Kaveh has no energy at all to move.

“Hey,” Al-Haitham says. “You’d better come to class next week.” 

“Make me,” Kaveh says, rolling his eyes. 

“I will.” 

There’s nothing sexy about that. Al-Haitham just calls him incessantly the morning of their next class. And when Kaveh finally picks up, annoyed, he says, “Good morning, see you soon,” and promptly hangs up. 

Kaveh hates him. But he goes, anyways.

Halfway through the course, they’re given a group project that’s worth a considerable part of their grade. Which would be fine—Kaveh is more than used to picking up the slack for bad group members—but it’s for groups of two. 

Al-Haitham turns to Kaveh. “Do you want to be partners?”

Kaveh raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because it’s better than the alternative.”

Kaveh glances at the rest of the class, which largely consists of excitable lower-years, of which he knows none. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. He grins and puts his arm around Al-Haitham’s shoulders. “I’m your best friend here, aren’t I?” 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Yeah, thought so,” Kaveh says, spitefully delighted. “Are you busy after this? I bought more condoms yesterday.”

A pause. “No,” says Al-Haitham, sounding resigned. “I’m not.”

“I’m telling you, this is what the professor wants to hear—”

“But it doesn’t even make sense. Why would I present something that doesn’t make sense?”

They’d decided to get an early start on their assignment, and with both of them operating on post-nut clarity, it’s not going too well.

“Gods,” Kaveh groans. “If you want to argue with him so badly, do it outside of class! I’m tired of getting a bad rap just because you are. Fuck.”

“Don’t blame me for your reputation. You’re doing well enough on that front by yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kaveh says, rolling his eyes. “Either way, I’m telling you, this is the only way we’re going to get a good mark. Aren’t you in humanities? Shouldn’t you know that there are some profs you should just agree with?”

“I don’t care if they disagree with me,” Al-Haitham says. “If they give me a grade I don’t like, I’ll just discuss it with them after.”

“Wow, they must hate you,” Kaveh says.

“Probably.”

“Either way,” Kaveh says, “just follow my lead on this one, alright? It’ll be less work for you.”

A moment of contemplation. “Fine,” Al-Haitham says. “I’m trusting you.” 

Later, when Kaveh goes home, he realises that coming from Al-Haitham, this is a pretty high compliment, all things considered.

They start seeing each other even more often because of the project. Which is fine, but Kaveh’s getting a little bored of their usual routine of alternating fucking and schoolwork, and Al-Haitham’s got a big flat-screen TV that never seems to see any use, so Kaveh takes matters into his own hands.

Al-Haitham looks mistrustfully at Kaveh’s gaming console. “Why’d you bring this?”

“Study breaks.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I mean, come on, you have a nice TV and speakers and everything—it’s a pity if we don’t use it.”

“I do use it,” Al-Haitham says, frowning.

“Yeah, for the news or something, right?” Kaveh laughs. “Relax, it’s just for study breaks, I promise. It’s not like we’re going to waste the whole day.”

They end up wasting the whole day.

Surprisingly, Al-Haitham is a pretty shoddy gamer, even though he seems to enjoy it. Most of the time, he’s just asking Kaveh which button to press. 

“Did you not game when you were younger?” Kaveh asks.

“Not much,” Al-Haitham says. “I was busy because of extracurriculars.”

“Oh. Like what?” 

“I ran track.”

 Kaveh recalls what a track uniform looks like, then puts his imagination to use. “Hot,” he says. Al-Haitham rolls his eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

“Too much effort. And I wouldn’t have been good enough to pay bills with it, anyways.” 

“Not everything needs to pay bills,” Kaveh says, frowning.

“Well, of course you’d say that,” Al-Haitham says. “You’re an artist.”

“Excuse me—”

“Let’s play again,” Al-Haitham says, picking up the controller again. “Be a better teacher this time.”

Gods, this bastard. This bastard. Kaveh had even given him the good controller, the expensive one. “Learn by yourself,” Kaveh mutters, but ends up helping Al-Haitham anyway. 

“I’m going to make you start paying part of my utilities bill,” Al-Haitham says, after Kaveh comes over for the fourth time this week. “Your showers are way too long.” And then, “Why can’t we go to your place instead? It’s only fair.”

“You really want to see how I live?” Kaveh says.

“Maybe,” Al-Haitham says. “I do enjoy visiting the zoo.”

Kaveh bites him on the shoulder in lieu of a retort, making him hiss. “My landlady’s got a kid,” he says. “She visits sometimes, because one of my roommates is her brother. I don’t want her hearing any… incidents, if you catch my drift.”

Al-Haitham frowns. “Seems like a hassle.”

Kaveh shrugs. “Doesn’t really bother me. She’s a cute kid. Plus, rent’s cheap and my roommates are nice.” 

“You think everyone’s nice.”

“That’s not true. I think you’re horrible.”

“Then leave.”

Kaveh sits on Al-Haitham’s lap and grins. “Make me.”

Al-Haitham sighs and kisses him instead. And then he kisses him again, and again, and then things proceed how they usually do. 

Al-Haitham always comes a little too fast in Kaveh’s mouth. It makes Kaveh feel like a winner, really.

“That good, huh?” he says after swallowing.

“Well,” Al-Haitham says, voice steady despite his flushed cheeks, “it’s more that I always like it when you shut up.” 

Snarky asshole. Kaveh bites him in the thigh, hard enough to bruise nastily. Al-Haitham hisses. “You—”

“What?” Kaveh says, grinning. He’s still very teary, but he doesn’t mind. “Don’t like that?”

Al-Haitham scowls. “You’re an animal.” He lets go of Kaveh and stands up, making himself decent, then takes out a tissue and wipes Kaveh’s face with it. “Are you coming again tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Kaveh says. “We didn’t even get anything done today.”

“And whose fault is that?” 

Kaveh grins. “Don’t pretend you didn’t have fun.”

Al-Haitham looks a little irritated, which means Kaveh is right. “Whatever.”

“Oh, Kaveh. You’re home.”

It’s Albedo, one of Kaveh’s roommates. They’re not particularly close, but they get along fairly well—despite being in science, Albedo is artistically inclined as well. 

“Hi, Albedo,” Kaveh says. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I feel like I hardly see you anymore,” Albedo says.

Kaveh laughs. “I mostly just come home to sleep.” 

Albedo hums. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know that Klee is probably coming by sometime next week.” Klee, Albedo’s adoptive sister and their landlady’s daughter, sometimes stays the weekend with Albedo when Alice is out on business. Sometimes, Kaveh wonders. He’s smelled smoke coming from Albedo’s room more than once. 

“You guys aren’t… you aren’t smoking while the kid’s around, are you?” he’d asked previously, concerned. 

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Albedo had said. “I don’t smoke, and neither does Kaeya. She’s just very partial to explosives.”

“Oh, okay,” Kaveh had said, and only afterwards thought, hold on, what the fuck? But, well, it’s been this long, and Kaeya and Albedo are pretty good roommates on the whole, so he just lets it go. 

“Fine with me,” Kaveh says. “I’m not sure I’ll even be here during the day. Tell her I say hi, will you?”

“Of course,” Albedo says, and smiles.

With that, Kaveh bids him farewell, and heads off to bed. It’s late—he passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

Despite all the time they spend on their presentation—well, not working on their presentation, it goes pretty well. And since they’re in the same group, there isn’t even anyone to challenge their opinions aside from the professor, who poses a few tricky questions about the decisions they’ve made, the texts they elected to use.  

Al-Haitham opens his mouth to answer; Kaveh speaks before he can. Things like this always come easy to him—he lays out the logic behind it all, about how it just happens to tie into one of the professor’s favourite analytic methods, and so on and so forth. 

Their professor looks very pleased. “Wonderful,” he says. “That was wonderful, you two. Truly.”

When they return to their seats, Al-Haitham’s cheeks are pink, and he’s looking pointedly at anywhere other than Kaveh. To the casual onlooker, this is barely noticeable. But Kaveh, who has learned the full range of Al-Haitham’s emotions by now, knows what it means, and has to keep from laughing as the class continues with their presentations. 

Afterwards, they don’t even make it to the apartment, Al-Haitham jumping him in his car’s backseat instead. 

“Hey, why were you turned on?” Kaveh says between kisses, and laughs. “No, seriously, why are you—”

“Stop talking,” says Al-Haitham, his voice tight. 

He fucks Kaveh’s thighs roughly, too desperate to even say anything clever. He’s breathing heavily, his face buried in Kaveh’s neck. 

Kaveh grins. He’s still grinning, even after they both come, the evidence hot and sticky on his skin. 

“Kind of a pervert, aren’t you?” he says, wiping himself off with a tissue.

“Shut up,” Al-Haitham says. His cheeks are still flushed; he looks almost ashamed. Kaveh laughs, delighted. 

Kaveh walks home content and exhausted, ready to take a legendary nap. But before he even climbs the front steps, from within the house comes the two most terrifying words he’s ever heard: 

“Klee, no!” 

And Kaveh watches, helpless on the sidewalk, as his student house explodes. 

The school’s student centre is pretty nice, Kaveh thinks absently as he lies on a couch there, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he’ll live here for the rest of the year. 

Thankfully, everyone had been fine, but Kaveh’s still kind of in shock. His landlady Alice had called, to tell him that she’d refund him and more, and that she’d do her best to find him another place to stay. But it’s so late in the year, and student housing is always packed to the brim, so Kaveh is feeling pretty pessimistic about it all. Not to mention he’s lost quite a few valuables. But at any rate, he’s still got his laptop and gaming console, which he’d left at Al-Haitham’s by chance. If he’d lost those, he’d definitely be drinking himself into a stupor right now.

“Are you asleep?” someone says, sitting next to him. It’s Al-Haitham.

“Well, if I were, you would’ve ruined it,” Kaveh says. He turns away from Al-Haitham—he’s not particularly in a mood to have a verbal duel at this point in time. 

“I heard your place burnt down.”

“It exploded, actually,” Kaveh says. 

“How?”

“My roommate’s little sister. She likes bombs.” Kaveh sits up. His hair is a mess—he can feel it. He’s been so stressed he hasn’t slept. “Gods, I don’t know. What do you want?” 

“Do you know where you’ll be staying?”

Kaveh shrugs. “Do I look like I do?” he says. “Maybe I’ll ask Tighnari or Nilou, but I know neither of them have the space.” He runs a hand through his hair and smiles mirthlessly. “Fuck, maybe I’ll have to move back home for the year.”

“How long’s the commute?”

“Two hours.”

“That’s awful.”

“I know,” Kaveh snaps. “I don’t need you to tell me. What do you want, anyways? Are you here to laugh at me?”

Al-Haitham is silent for a moment. And then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. “I was just wondering if you’d need this.”

It takes Kaveh a few seconds to understand. 

“You can’t be serious, Haitham,” he says. “We despise each other.”

“I don’t despise you.”

“But I do,” Kaveh says. 

“That’s your problem.” Al-Haitham holds out the key. “Yes or no, Kaveh.” 

Kaveh thinks for a few difficult moments, and then grabs the key out of Al-Haitham’s hand. “Fine,” he says. “Since you asked so nicely. Since you’re so lonely, and you want me so bad—”

“I change my mind,” Al-Haitham says. “Give it back.” 

“Too late,” Kaveh crows, and presses a sloppy kiss to Al-Haitham’s cheek. “You’re stuck with me now. Domestic bliss, and all that.” 

Al-Haitham glares at him. But he takes Kaveh home with him, anyways. 

“I mean, I’m glad you have a place to stay,” Tighnari says, when they meet up a few days later. “But with Al-Haitham? I thought you hated him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Kaveh hisses. “I don’t want anyone else knowing.”

Tighnari tilts his head in confusion. “I don’t—there’s nobody else here—”

“I mean, I do hate him,” Kaveh says. “But I didn’t have much choice.” He exhales. “I do hate him,” he says again.

“I’m sure you do,” says Tighnari, looking sceptical. “At any rate, he seems like a difficult person to live with. And you’re… you. Are you sure you’ll be alright?” 

“Well,” Kaveh says, raising his water bottle in a toast. “We’ll see, won’t we?” 

Tighnari is right. Al-Haitham is a difficult person to live with. 

Kaveh had barely gotten over his gratitude before Al-Haitham started listing off ground rules, like don’t shower for more than fifteen minutes at a time, do your dishes right after you’ve eaten, eat your own food, go to bed before eleven (which, what the fuck, are they fifty?) and so on and so forth. And Kaveh had done his best for the first week or so, but there’s just so many rules that really, who can be bothered? Is it the end of the world if he forgets to turn the lights off in the bathroom before he leaves? 

And the thing is that Al-Haitham isn’t even the neat freak you’d think he is. Half the time, his things are scattered about. Books on the floor, on the bed. On the couch too, which is technically Kaveh’s bed. 

Despite all this, they don’t have their first real fight until a few days before exam season. Kaveh is on call with one of his classmates, Jazari, trying to help him finish his assignment. 

Al-Haitham looks murderous when he steps out of his bedroom. “It is three in the morning,” he says. “I can hear you through my headphones.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kaveh says, lowering his voice. “We’ll be quieter, I promise.”

“Is this the same person?”

“What do you mean?”

“The same idiot you’ve been tutoring for the past few days?”

“Hey, what the—” Kaveh covers his microphone. “Watch your voice, he probably heard that. And yes, it is—”

“So you’ve been helping this—this incompetent excuse of a student for three nights straight,” Al-Haitham says. “You’ve been sleeping at four. I’ve been sleeping at four.”

“Gods, I’m sorry,” Kaveh says. “I’ll keep it down, I swear.”

“No, it’s—” Al-Haitham runs a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. “Why are you doing this?” he demands. “You know you’re just being used, right? Or are you so stupid that you can’t even tell?”

“No, I’m not!” Kaveh retorts hotly. “Just because you can’t fathom not being selfish doesn’t mean that helping someone means being used.”

“Have you seen yourself?” Al-Haitham says. “You’re so sleep-deprived, you can barely function in the day. And for what? Some classmate who’s going to flunk out of the program anyways?”

“I just want to help!” Kaveh snarls back. 

“It’s not your responsibility!”

“And it’s not your responsibility to tell me what to do!” Kaveh says. “If I’m so loud, I’ll just go to the library! Gods!” 

With that, he grabs his things and marches out of the apartment, fuming. Al-Haitham makes no move to stop him.

The library’s closed. It’s three in the morning, after all. Kaveh finds himself at the student centre again. 

“Hey,” Jazari says, over the call. “I’m sorry, Kaveh.”

“For what?” 

“I didn’t know you were going through so much to help me.”

“Oh, gods. You heard all that?”

“Most of it.” A pause. “Your roommate was right. Well, not about the dropping out thing—no way am I doing that. But I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me already; I shouldn’t ask more of you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kaveh says. He puts his head in his hands—he really is tired. “I wanted to help.”

A laugh. “I know. But all the same.”

With that, he bids Kaveh goodnight. Kaveh resists the urge to send him his notes. Even as a child, he’d wanted to be kind. He’d always thought that he had much to give, and it makes him happy to do so. Which is, perhaps, one of the reasons Al-Haitham had rubbed him the wrong way—Al-Haitham is unbelievably individualistic, so selfish that he isn’t even ashamed of being thought of as such. But in a way, he’d been thinking of Kaveh too, had been concerned for him, even if he’d expressed it in the worst possible way. And so Kaveh cannot be too angry at him, not for this. 

Kaveh sighs and lies down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow. He’ll go back to Al-Haitham tomorrow. 

It’s ten in the morning when he makes his way back home. Al-Haitham is sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast. He doesn’t look up from his phone. 

“I won’t be helping him anymore,” Kaveh says, breaking the silence.

“That so,” Al-Haitham says curtly. He’s still bitter—Kaveh can tell. 

“Listen,” Kaveh says, even though it kills his pride to say it, “you were right. I’m sorry I ruined your sleep, and for all the other stuff too.”

Al-Haitham finally meets his gaze. “Thank you,” he says, and he sounds uncharacteristically genuine. And then, “But if you’re really sorry, go do your dishes. They’ve been in the sink for days.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes and heads to the sink. “Fine, fine.” 

After a few minutes of dishwashing, Al-Haitham comes up behind him. Kaveh feels the warm weight of him when he rests his head on Kaveh’s shoulder. “I said too much,” Al-Haitham says. “There’s nothing wrong with being kind. It’s… good that you are. But prioritise yourself. Don’t burn out and collapse like an idiot.” 

Kaveh smiles. He turns back to peck Al-Haitham on the cheek. “Is that your way of saying sorry?” he says. 

“No,” Al-Haitham says, “it’s my way of telling you not to be an idiot.”

“Whatever you say,” Kaveh says. He’s still smiling. 

Things are a little easier after that. Perhaps, Kaveh thinks, having a big fight helps to clear the air a bit. It isn’t as if everything is smooth sailing—the arguments still persist, of course. But they’re petty and stupid, and easily forgotten after some gaming or cooking or sex, and so on and so forth.

The new semester rolls around, and their class together ends. But it’s fine, since they see each other more than enough at home. Kaveh takes an elective with Tighnari instead, which is nice—this time, there’s nobody to get under his skin and make him try his best for a grade that doesn’t even quite matter. In fact, it’s relatively serene, aside from Tighnari getting confessed to by some cute, antisocial pre-law student out of the blue. In the lecture hall. Needless to say, Kaveh is very invested in the situation. 

“Why?” Al-Haitham says, brow furrowed.

“Because it’s fun?” Kaveh says. He huffs. “Not that I’d expect you to understand the appeal of romance.”

“If it’s romance you’re talking about,” Al-Haitham says, “wouldn’t it be a better use of your time to worry about your own prospects?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaveh says, affronted. “Anyways, you think I have time for romance with you around?”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Al-Haitham says dryly, “for coercing you into cohabitation.”

“I accept your apology,” Kaveh says magnanimously. And then he sighs, almost wistful. “It’d be nice though, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Romance. Being in love. All that stuff.” Al-Haitham is making a face that makes his opinions on the matter very clear. “Alright, stop it. You don’t have to look like that.”

“I just think it’s probably not as nice as you think it is.”

“How would you know?” Kaveh demands. “Have you ever been in love?”

Al-Haitham meets his eyes. “Have you?”

Kaveh blushes. “Well… no.”

“Hm,” Al-Haitham says. “That’s surprising. You look like the type to fall in love a lot.”

“Is that an insult?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t like where this conversation is going,” Kaveh says. He picks up his bag and gets to his feet. “I’m heading out to class.”

“You still owe me this month’s rent,” Al-Haitham calls after him.

“Yeah, yeah. Relax, I’ll pay it on time.”

“What do you mean? You’re already late.”

Kaveh blows him a kiss and leaves. 

Recently, the weather has been deceptively cool. Even though the sun is out and the sky is clear, it’s still chilly enough for layers. So it’s not too much of a surprise that people are getting sick left and right. However, it is a surprise that one of those people ends up being Al-Haitham.

“Hey,” Kaveh says, after Al-Haitham sneezes for the fifth time in as many minutes, “are you… sick or something?”

“Of course not,” Al-Haitham says. He looks terrible. “It’s just allergies.”

He’s down with a fever the next day. 

It’s pretty bad. 

Al-Haitham is confined to bed, burning up and lethargic. According to the doctor, it’s more uncomfortable than it is serious, and will be over with in a couple of days—all Al-Haitham can do is rest, take some meds, and ride it out.

“This is stupid,” he murmurs, as Kaveh tends to him. His voice is hoarse. “I haven’t caught anything for years.”

Kaveh huffs. “Well, you have now. Congratulations.”

“Why are you still here?”

Kaveh blinks, offended. “What, you want me to leave?”

“No, I meant—” Al-Haitham swallows. “Weren’t you supposed to go out with Tighnari today?” 

“And who else is going to take care of you if I do?” 

“I can take care of myself,” Al-Haitham protests weakly.

Kaveh scoffs. “Sure you can,” he says. “It’s fine, I can reschedule. And I’m sure Tighnari can keep busy with Cyno, anyhow. Stop worrying and go to sleep already.”

Al-Haitham huffs, but there’s no heat behind it. In a few moments, he’s knocked out, deeply asleep. He looks strangely young like this, vulnerable. Almost endearing. Kaveh smiles, and heads to the kitchen to make some soup.

Thankfully, it’s the weekend, and it’s not like they have much to do anyways. Kaveh cancels the rest of his plans and does his best to keep Al-Haitham happy, healthy, and alive. He’s made enough soup the past few days to start building a false sense of confidence for it. 

To his credit, Al-Haitham is a lot more cooperative when he’s ill. Kaveh gets him to eat, gets him to rest, and is hardly insulted even once. 

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says. “I’m cold.”

Kaveh frowns. “Do you want more blankets?” 

“No. I said, I’m cold.”

And then Kaveh realises, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. He gets into bed too, letting Al-Haitham hold him and share his warmth. 

“You act so smart, but you’re just a big baby, aren’t you?” Kaveh murmurs. 

Al-Haitham hums, evidently too tired to retort. After a few moments, his breathing evens out and the furrow between his brow disappears. 

Kaveh lies there with him. Truth be told, this isn’t the most comfortable position—Al-Haitham is heavy and Kaveh’s arm is already going a little numb, not to mention he hadn’t really been planning to sleep quite this early, but it can’t be helped. So he closes his eyes, still stroking Al-Haitham’s hair, and drifts off into unconsciousness. 

He wakes up the next morning to see Al-Haitham sitting up, drinking from a glass of water.

“Did I wake you?” Al-Haitham says. “Sorry.” He looks a lot more lucid now, the sharpness returning to his gaze, his tone.

“It’s fine,” Kaveh says, yawning. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” Al-Haitham says. “Thanks to you.”

“Well, you don’t have to be weird about it,” Kaveh says, a little flustered. 

“Your soup could use some work, though.”

“No, it can’t. Make your own soup.”

“Gladly.” Al-Haitham lies back down. “I’m going to sleep a bit more.”

“Okay,” Kaveh says, getting up. “I’ll move back to the couch.”

Al-Haitham takes his wrist. “Why? Just stay here.” 

“Oh,” Kaveh says, a little taken aback. “Oh, okay.”

He doesn’t ask any more questions. The bed is much nicer than the couch, after all. But even better is Al-Haitham’s comforting presence, and that irreplaceable contentment of sleeping next to someone you trust.

It’s not like everything changes after that. But a nice bottle of wine appears magically in Kaveh’s section of the pantry, as well as a few of his favourite snacks, and Kaveh never has occasion to sleep on the couch ever again. 

As it turns out, Al-Haitham skips a lot more class than you’d expect him to. 

“I can’t believe you gave me so much shit that one time I skipped,” Kaveh says, “when you’re skipping half the semester. How do you even get the grades that you do?”

Al-Haitham doesn’t look away from the game of Smash he’s playing. “I don’t need some out-of-touch old man to teach me what I can learn by myself in half the time,” he says. “I’ll go if I think it’ll be useful.”

“You thought our literature class last term was useful?” Kaveh says, perplexed.

“Not particularly,” Al-Haitham says. “But you were there.” 

Kaveh blinks. “Wow,” he says. “That’s actually kind of… sweet.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Al-Haitham says. “I enjoy debating with someone outrageously wrong, that’s all. Widens my horizons.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaveh says. And then, “What is a useful class to you, then?”

“I’m in humanities,” Al-Haitham says dryly. He finishes the game and sets aside the controller. “So not much, really. I’m just studying for personal interest. Once I graduate, I’ll get some unrelated job that pays well.”

“So you just want money.”

“Yes,” Al-Haitham says. Which, alright, isn’t unexpected, but Kaveh rolls his eyes anyways. “I want to live comfortably.” He reaches out to straighten Kaveh’s glasses. “What about you? And don’t say something ridiculous like you want to change the world.”

“I want to change the world,” Kaveh says, just to piss Al-Haitham off. Judging by his expression, it works. “Or local architecture, at least. I want things to be more accessible and I want things to be beautiful, too. Is that so terrible, Haitham? Tell me.” 

“Well, I suppose not,” Al-Haitham says. “Depends on the execution, though. Beauty is subjective, so how could you know you’re—“

“I think you’re beautiful,” Kaveh says. “So I think my subjective taste is pretty good, objectively.” 

Al-Haitham frowns. He actually looks a little flustered. “None of that makes any sense.”

“That’s fine.” Kaveh pats his cheek, grinning. “I’m the architect here, so don’t you worry your pretty little head.” 

Al-Haitham huffs, but doesn’t move away. “You’re being very condescending.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

The kiss, when it comes, is uncharacteristically gentle. Sweet, almost. Kaveh smiles into it, and for a few golden moments, it feels like all is right with the world. 

Cyno, Tighnari’s new… friend, doesn’t smile all that much. It’s strangely familiar, and then Kaveh realises that this is because Al-Haitham is essentially the same.

“Hey, Haitham,” Kaveh says one day, curious. “What’s it take for you to smile properly? Blue moon, stars aligning?” 

Al-Haitham rolls his eyes. “Yes, exactly that.”

“Checks out.”

“I smiled a lot more before I met you, actually.”

“Doubt it. I’m the light of your life.”

Al-Haitham scoffs. “Do you ever get tired of lying to me? To yourself?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kaveh says primly. 

“Whatever. Come here, I’m starting the movie.”

So Kaveh settles between Al-Haitham’s legs, and Al-Haitham rests his head on Kaveh’s shoulder, his arms coming to wrap around Kaveh’s waist. Satisfied, Kaveh leans back, resting all his weight on him. 

“You’re heavy,” Al-Haitham says.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No, I’m calling you heavy.” 

“Well, your chin’s sharper than an army knife. I’m going to have a stab wound by the end of this.”

Al-Haitham huffs, evidently amused. “My condolences,” he says. 

They watch the movie in comfortable silence. Kaveh doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until Al-Haitham is shaking him gently.

“If you’re tired, just go to bed,” he says.

“But I don’t want to go alone,” Kaveh mumbles, still drowsy.  

“I’ll come with you.” And without a warning, Al-Haitham gets to his feet and picks Kaveh up like it’s no big deal at all. Bridal carry and everything.

“What the—” Kaveh holds on for dear life. “How—” 

Al-Haitham places him gently on the bed. “It’s late, anyways,” he says, as if that explains anything.

“Well, I’m awake now,” Kaveh says, wide-eyed and maybe a little turned on.

“Too bad.” Al-Haitham turns the lights off. “We’re going to sleep.”

This is fine too, Kaveh thinks, as Al-Haitham comes close to him, draping an arm around his waist. Sex is nice, but there’s something just as quietly thrilling about moments like these. And so he closes his eyes, feeling the rise and fall of Al-Haitham’s chest, his quiet breathing, and falls asleep in a haze of contentment and warmth. 

Al-Haitham rarely makes mistakes of any kind, so when Kaveh notices that he’d forgotten his assignment at home, he’s tempted to message Al-Haitham and tease him about it. But he must be going soft, because he sees the time and books it to the lecture hall so Al-Haitham can hand it in on time.

Al-Haitham is standing outside, scrolling on his phone. Kaveh kicks his ankle.

“Hey,” he says. “Forget anything?” 

“What?” Al-Haitham looks perplexed. “What are you doing here?” 

Kaveh holds out Al-Haitham’s precious, precious paper. “You’re welcome.” 

Al-Haitham blinks. “No,” he says, taking it. “What—I could’ve sworn—” 

“You must’ve mixed it up,” Kaveh says. “Brought the draft instead, probably.”

“Oh,” Al-Haitham says. And then, after a moment, “Thanks.” 

Ah, Al-Haitham and gratitude. Name a better couple.

“Well,” Kaveh says, struck by an intense urge to roll his eyes, “that’s all. I’ll go now—”

“Kaveh, wait.”

Kaveh turns, only for Al-Haitham to take his face in his hands and kiss him. It’s short but intense, and leaves Kaveh reeling, because they’ve never kissed in public before, have they? Have they?

When they break apart, Al-Haitham clears his throat. “Okay,” he says. “Take care.”

“Bye,” Kaveh says, and flees. 

His heart is racing in his chest; he’s blushing like a schoolgirl. Oh gods, he’s going crazy, he’s ill. Please, send your well wishes. 

It only gets worse from there.

Kaveh doesn’t know what’s happening to him. One day he’s fine and everything is normal, and then Al-Haitham kisses him once—once—outside the house and now the world has turned upside down, and he is a mess. It seems all he can do these days is blush. Al-Haitham talks to him. Blush. Al-Haitham looks at him. Blush. Al-Haitham puts on his headphones. Blush. Al-Haitham takes off his headphones—

And so on and so forth.

At first, Kaveh had suspected some kind of health issue, maybe a stress-related allergy or something. But no, according to the doctor, he’s completely fine. In fact, he’s healthier than ever, probably because living with Al-Haitham has forced him to become a little more regulated in terms of mealtimes and sleep. So what is it, and how can he make it stop? 

Just sitting next to Al-Haitham gets him as high as a kite. It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. And then there’s the sex. All Al-Haitham has to do is cradle his cheek and kiss his forehead, and then Kaveh’s heart is beating out of his chest, and his face turns so red it probably emanates heat. 

“You’re… really warm,” Al-Haitham says, in the middle of things. He’s frowning, concerned; he reaches out for Kaveh’s forehead. “Are you feverish?”

Kaveh bats his hand away. “No!” he says, too quickly. “Gods, just hurry it up and fuck me, won’t you? And stop being so nice, it’s weird.”

A pause. “Fine,” Al-Haitham says flatly, and gives it to Kaveh rough and fast, and yes, this is better, Kaveh can handle this. But then afterwards, they fall asleep together with Al-Haitham basically spooning him, and Kaveh is back at square one. Part of him yearns for the couch again, despite the discomfort.  

Gods, it’s like he’s in—he’s in—

No. No way. Kaveh refuses to finish that thought. 

One day, he walks around the apartment, taking in the two toothbrushes at the bathroom sink, his clothes hanging in Al-Haitham’s closet, Al-Haitham’s sticky notes for him on the fridge—all the ways that they’re mixed together—and is terrified at how happy it makes him. 

Oh, gods, he thinks, I’m going be sick. 

“Where are you going?” Al-Haitham calls, when he hears the door open.

“Out with a friend!” Kaveh calls back, and flees. 

Thankfully, Nilou actually happens to be free, so they meet up at a nearby cafe. 

“Kaveh, what’s wrong?” Nilou asks. She knows him too well not to notice.

“Nothing,” Kaveh says, a little too quickly. “I’m not in love. I’m not.” 

His denial is lost on Nilou, who hums sympathetically. “I get it,” she says. “Everyone’s dating these days, and it feels kind of lonely not to, doesn’t it?” She pats his head like he’s a dog or something. “It’s okay, Kaveh! I’m sure you’ll find someone you like soon!”

Kaveh doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d totally misinterpreted his words. “Nilou,” he says, “you make me wish I liked girls.”

Nilou smiles, radiant. “Aww! That’s very sweet of you, Kaveh.” She tilts her head. “Oh, if you’d like something to take your mind off of things, some of my friends are having a house party tonight. I can bring you!”

“Oh, man,” Kaveh says, grateful. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that, Kaveh,” Nilou says. “You’re the only person who’s come to all my dance performances, you know? If you’re ever feeling down, you can talk to me about it!” 

“Thanks, Nilou,” Kaveh says, and manages a smile.

The house party is nice, Kaveh supposes. Nilou’s friends are all dance majors too, so everyone’s frighteningly attractive, which is always a plus. It does make Kaveh feel a little insecure when they start blasting music and dancing, though. 

He drinks way too much, way too quickly. Unfortunately, all this does is make him sad, and then he starts thinking about Al-Haitham, and then he can’t stop thinking about him. Now, he realises that the scary part hadn’t exactly been the happiness itself—it was knowing that he’s the only one who feels this way. Because Al-Haitham, despite how he seems, loves many things, but Kaveh would never be one of them. If anything, Kaveh is just… a specimen to him, a convenience at best. And Kaveh hadn’t minded this before, but it really hurts now. 

And so he finds himself drunk and desolate on the couch and maybe crying and ranting a little, while the others play a drinking game the next room over. Nilou, that angel, is taking care of him, giving him water, letting him lean on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Kaveh,” she says, from time to time, and strokes his hair. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Kaveh says, wiping his eyes. Her kindness makes him cry harder. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“That’s alright,” Nilou says kindly. 

“No, it’s not,” Kaveh says. “I’ll just—I’ll just go.” And without thinking, or any brain activity at all, he pulls out his phone and calls Al-Haitham. 

Al-Haitham picks up after the first ring. 

“Kaveh? It’s two in the morning—”

“Hey, Haitham,” Kaveh says, a little slurred. “Haithaaam.”

“What?”

“Can you—can you come pick me up? I wanna go home.”

“What the—” Al-Haitham sounds irritated. “Pick you up? From where? Are you drunk?”

“I miss you,” Kaveh says, almost tearing up. “Even though you’re mean and you don’t pick up after yourself. I miss you, okay?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m on the street with the convenience store,” Kaveh says. “Number—twenty-nine?” Nilou nods. “Twenty-nine.”

A moment of silence. “I’ll be there. You owe me for this.”

“I miss you,” Kaveh says, and hangs up.

“I’m sorry,” Nilou says. “But I couldn’t help noticing. Did you just call the guy who you’ve been crying about this whole night?”

“Huh?”

“You definitely did,” Nilou says. “Al-Haitham, right?”

“Oh, fuck,” Kaveh says. “Oh, fuck. Nilou, tell me it’s going to be okay.”

“It’s—it’s going to be okay?”

Kaveh groans and buries his face in her neck, closing his eyes to the world. 

He wakes up to someone shaking him gently. 

“Kaveh,” Nilou says, “your boyfriend is here.”

“Huh?” Kaveh blinks, bleary-eyed. His hair is a mess.

“Charming.” Oh gods, it’s Al-Haitham, standing over them. He looks pretty pissed. “I’m here. Let’s go home.”

“No,” Kaveh says, still drunk. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to call you. You can go home without me.” 

With that, he lays his head on Nilou’s shoulder again, pointedly refusing to look at Al-Haitham.

Al-Haitham huffs. “Kaveh.”

“No.” 

“Kaveh, don’t be like that!” Nilou says. She pats Kaveh’s shoulder and laughs, more than a little nervously. “Come on, now. You don’t want to give him the wrong idea, do you?” 

“What wrong idea?” Kaveh mumbles, spiteful. Not that Al-Haitham would care, anyhow. 

“Kaveh!” Nilou wails. “He—he doesn’t like girls, really,” she says, presumably to Al-Haitham. 

“Good to know,” Al-Haitham says dryly. A pause. “I do, though. What’s your name? Are you seeing anyone?”  

“Um, I—I—”

“What the fuck?” Kaveh jolts upright, letting go of Nilou, and whips around to glare at Al-Haitham, incensed. He’s so pissed he forgets that he’s drunk. “What’s your problem—”

“Gods, finally,” Al-Haitham says, taking Kaveh by the wrist. “Now apologise to your friend and let’s go home.” 

Kaveh is sober enough to realise he’s been played. But he’s too tired to retaliate. “I hate you,” he says, defeated. And then he turns to Nilou, contrite. “I’m sorry, Nilou.”

“It’s okay!” Nilou says, smiling, but no, it really isn’t. She’s just too nice about things. “I hope you guys work things out. You know, they offer couple’s counselling at the clinic next to the—”

“We’re not a couple,” Kaveh says. 

“Yes, thank you,” Al-Haitham says. “Sorry about that just now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” 

“No, wait,” Kaveh says, suddenly realising he’s going to be stuck alone with Al-Haitham for the next half-hour in a car, “I change my mind, Nilou, come with me, Nilou, please—”

Nilou does not. 

“So,” Al-Haitham says, once they’re on the road. “Mind explaining?” 

“What’s there to explain?” Kaveh shoots back, defensive.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Al-Haitham says cuttingly, “maybe that whole fiasco? You want me to pick and choose specific parts to dissect your idiocy? Because I can, Kaveh. I really can.”

Kaveh is still drunk. “You’re so—you’re so fucking mean,” he says.

“I’m mean?” Al-Haitham says. He actually sounds heated. “I’m the one who drove to pick you up in the middle of the night because you drunk called me, only to see you cuddling with some girl on the couch, and I’m the mean one here?” 

“She’s not some girl, she’s Nilou, and you hit on her, in front of me—”

“Yes, because you wouldn’t get off of her in the first place.” 

“She’s my friend! And unlike you, she actually cares about me.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“What?” Kaveh retorts. He feels like crying again. “Don’t pretend you care about me half as much as I care about you.”

Al-Haitham huffs, looking disbelieving. “Kaveh. You have got to be joking.”

“Why would I be joking?”

“After I let you live in my apartment. For half a year. After… everything. You think that’s how things are?” 

“You sound so mad,” Kaveh mumbles. “Don’t be mad. I’m drunk and my head hurts. You’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

“You are completely hopeless,” Al-Haitham says disdainfully, shaking his head. “Completely, utterly hopeless.”

“Then just leave me alone.”

The light’s green; Al-Haitham steps on the gas. “Make me,” he says.

They don’t say much when they make it home. Their anger has cooled off, replaced by a sort of quiet tiredness. When Al-Haitham gets into bed, he faces away from Kaveh, and it feels so foreign after nights of sleeping curled against each other that Kaveh cannot bear it. He reaches out to touch Al-Haitham’s back.

“What?” 

“Can you—can you kiss me?” Kaveh mumbles.

Al-Haitham turns around, frowns. “Gods, what’s with you these days?” 

“Fine,” Kaveh says, cheeks burning. “Never mind.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Al-Haitham says, a little exasperated. “Come here.” He reaches out for Kaveh, pressing their lips together. Kisses him gentle and slow, unhurried. Kaveh feels like his heart is going to overflow. He doesn’t want this to ever end. But of course, it does. 

“Go to sleep,” Al-Haitham whispers. “It’s late.” 

So Kaveh closes his eyes and drifts off, his heart aching. 

The next morning, Kaveh wakes up absolutely mortified. As usual, Al-Haitham is in the kitchen, drinking tea and scrolling through his phone.

“You’re awake,” he says. “I made toast, and there’s milk in the fridge if you want it.” 

So they’re going to pretend nothing happened, then. Kaveh breathes a sigh of relief and heads for the fridge. “Thanks,” he says. 

Al-Haitham hums. “Oh, Kaveh?”

“What?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you in love with me?” Al-Haitham asks. He tilts his head. “Because it kind of feels like you are.” 

“What?” Kaveh says, feeling like he’s been slapped. He forces himself to laugh, and almost chokes in the process. “No. No way. Are you insane?”

“I don’t know,” Al-Haitham says. He raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“You know you are,” Kaveh says, and flees to the bedroom before Al-Haitham can say anything else. 

Kaveh moves out the next day. Quietly, secretly, while Al-Haitham is in class. He makes sure to block Al-Haitham’s number too. It might be the most cowardly, underhanded thing Kaveh has ever done. 

But he doesn’t care anymore. Truth be told, he is terrified. And like most terrified creatures, all he can do is run. 

It doesn’t take a lot to convince Tighnari to take him in. Despite his sharp tongue, Tighnari has always been nothing but kind. 

“Tighnari, please, I’ll do your laundry and everything, I’ll be your housewife—”

“Oh, gross,” Tighnari says, his nose wrinkling. He sighs. “I don’t mind you staying, but just until you find somewhere else, okay?”

“Yes, yes! Of course.” Kaveh hugs him. “Thank you, thank you!”

And so he starts life anew. A Haitham-less existence.  

It’s fine. Kaveh doesn’t miss Al-Haitham at all. He doesn’t miss their stupid arguments, doesn’t miss waking up to him in the morning, doesn’t miss making breakfast and lunch and dinner together, doesn’t miss the quiet moments where they sit close to each other on the bed just reading and enjoying each other’s silent company. 

And so if Kaveh finds himself unbearably lonely sometimes, it’s definitely nothing to do with Al-Haitham, nothing at all. 

“Kaveh,” Tighnari says, a few days into their cohabitation, “I change my mind. I think you need to move out soon.”

“Why would you say that?” Kaveh says. 

They’re lying next to each other in Tighnari’s twin bed, packed together like sardines. Last night, Kaveh had somehow pushed Tighnari off of the bed and onto the floor. Tighnari still has the bruises to show for it. 

“Take a wild guess.”

“I bet you wouldn’t say that to me if I were Cyno,” Kaveh says. 

“If you were Cyno,” Tighnari says dryly, “you’d live in your own apartment.” 

“If I were Cyno, you’d be making out with—ow! What the hell, Tighnari—” 

“Move out or get a sleeping bag.”

“How much do those cost?”

Tighnari sighs. He reaches for the lamp, turns it off. “Goodnight, Kaveh.”

Kaveh’s out shopping for a sleeping bag when he gets a text. It’s from Tighnari, which is fine. What’s not fine is the content of the message.

bumped into Al-Haitham today. apparently you left your controller at his place.

he said that you can come over to pick it up tomorrow

A few moments later, as if Tighnari had been hesitant to send it, did you guys fight?

Kaveh is in the middle of texting haha no way I did before realising that it really has been a while since he’s seen his controller. And then he realises that he doesn’t recall putting it in his bag when he’d moved out, either. 

He rushes home and goes through his belongings like a madman. The controller is indeed nowhere to be found. Kaveh sits on the ground and despairs. 

No, no, the sane part of him says, don’t do it, don’t go, it’s a trap. The other, louder part of him says, that thing was expensive. You ate ramen noodles for a month to buy that.

“Fuck,” says Kaveh. “I’m doing this, aren’t I?”

And so Kaveh finds himself knocking at Al-Haitham’s door the following day, so nervous he feels a little sick. 

After a moment, Al-Haitham opens the door. He looks royally pissed off. 

“Um,” Kaveh says, terrified and yearning for the sweet release of death. “Hi.” 

Al-Haitham doesn’t say anything, just holds out the controller to Kaveh. Kaveh takes it. Or he would have, if Al-Haitham would let go of it. 

“Why’d you move out?” Al-Haitham asks. 

Kaveh tugs harder on the controller, to no avail. “Are you mad?” 

“Take a guess.” 

“Don’t be mad,” Kaveh says, smiling nervously. “I’m sure you didn’t like living with me, anyways.”

“I like it less when you flaunt your stupidity like this.” Al-Haitham sighs. He does look a little tired. “Is this because you’re in love with me?” 

“For the last time, I’m not in love with you, you egotistical asshole—”

“Liar.” 

“Excuse me. I’ve never lied to you.”

Al-Haitham sighs, frustrated. “I don’t even know what to say to that.” He runs a hand through his beautiful, beautiful hair, and he’s still so hot, why is he so hot, why hasn’t he gotten uglier so that Kaveh can have an easier life and more blood circulation for his brain instead of his dick? “Stop being an idiot already,” Al-Haitham says. “Just move back in, for heaven’s sake, and stop ruining whatever poor soul you’ve coerced into sheltering you the past few days.”

The sheer nerve of this man. Kaveh resorts to strategy. “Oh my god,” he says, pointing behind Al-Haitham and doing his best to sound horrified, “what the hell is that?” 

Al-Haitham actually falls for it and turns around, which would be hilarious if Kaveh weren’t in fight-or-flight. It gives him an opening, and he takes the opportunity to wrest the controller out of Al-Haitham’s hand and take off sprinting down the sidewalk. He hears Al-Haitham curse, and a part of him laughs inwardly. That is, before he realises that Al-Haitham is chasing after him at an unholy speed, considering that he’s wearing slippers. 

Kaveh runs faster. So does Al-Haitham. It’s terrifying; he’ll never watch a nature documentary the same way again. Those poor gazelles and rabbits and penguins, his kindred creatures. 

“What the fuck!” Kaveh shouts. “Why are you chasing me?” 

“Because you’re running!” 

Kaveh’s lungs are burning. “Leave me alone—”

They’re on campus now, tearing across the fields. Some people turn to watch them; Kaveh couldn't care less. He just has to make it into the crowd near the student centre, and hide there until he can call Tighnari to spirit him away to safety—

And then, terrifyingly close to Kaveh’s ear: “Got you—” 

A hand closes around his wrist. Kaveh panics and trips over his feet, taking Al-Haitham down with him. They crash onto the grass ungracefully. Kaveh’s breath is knocked out of him; he feels like dying. For a moment, the two of them just lie there, breathing hard, exhausted. Finally, Kaveh breaks the silence. 

“I hate you,” he says, covering his eyes with a hand. He wants to cry. “I hate you, really.”

“Yes,” Al-Haitham says, “I know.” 

“I just want to have my dignity,” Kaveh says, voice breaking. “Is that too much to ask, even from you? To spare my feelings, just once in your goddamn life?”

Al-Haitham scoffs. “Your feelings, yours—what about mine, Kaveh? Have you ever thought about mine?”

Kaveh opens his mouth to retort, but Al-Haitham doesn’t let him.

“Do you know how I felt when I came home and you weren’t there?” Al-Haitham continues, sitting up. He looks incensed. “When I saw that all your things were gone, and you didn’t leave me so much as a note? And when I found out you blocked my number?” 

Kaveh swallows. “I—”

“No,” Al-Haitham says. “No, you don’t, because you’re so insecure and scared of getting hurt that you only think about yourself.” 

“Hey, now,” Kaveh says weakly. “I’m sorry, alright? You don’t have to pull out the big guns—”

“You are the most selfish, cowardly person I’ve ever met,” Al-Haitham continues, merciless. “Truly. So believe me when I say everything you feel towards me is reciprocated tenfold.” 

“Well, fuck you too,” Kaveh snarls. “Asshole—” And then it hits him. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

A pause. Kaveh exhales. “Oh. Damn.”

“Indeed.”

Kaveh sits up. “That was kind of a shitty love confession,” he says, and he’s glad he doesn’t have a tail like Tighnari, because if he did, it’d be wagging so hard he’d need to have it reattached surgically. 

Al-Haitham’s cheeks are pink, just a little. “Better than yours.”

“Bite me,” Kaveh says, and takes Al-Haitham’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Al-Haitham does not pull away. They stay like that for a few moments, silent. 

“Hey,” Kaveh says, holding up his controller, which had been under him when he fell, “do you think this’ll still work?”

“Bring your console back to my place and we’ll find out, I suppose,” Al-Haitham says. 

“If it’s broken, you’re buying me a new one.”

“No.”

“Fine. We’ll go halfsies.”

“No.”

“Seventy-five twenty-five?”

A pause. “Fine.”

Kaveh laughs. And the stars must’ve aligned and the moon will be blue tonight, because Al-Haitham is smiling too. His hand is warm in Kaveh’s, like sunlight.

“I still don’t understand why you had to pick a white couch,” Al-Haitham says.

“Because it goes well with the rest of the furniture!” Kaveh says, indignant. He gets to his feet. “You should pay me for interior design. Look me in the eye and tell me this apartment doesn’t look amazing.”

Al-Haitham looks him in the eye. “I can’t really tell,” he says. Kaveh fumes. “I’m just glad we have two bathrooms now. Anyways, we’re pretty much done unpacking, right? Are there any more boxes?”

“Maybe just some clothes,” Kaveh says, peeking at the bedroom. “We can do that later. Let’s take a break—oh, come make out with me on the balcony! It’ll be romantic.”

“Will it?” Al-Haitham says dryly. 

Kaveh rolls his eyes and steps out. “Whatever, just come. You haven’t been on the balcony yet, have you?”

“Not really,” Al-Haitham says, following him. 

The two of them lean on the railing, gazing out at the horizon. It’s a lovely day today; the birds are singing, the sky so blue it almost hurts Kaveh’s eyes. In a word, beautiful. On a day like this, he can hardly help being almost giddy, cannot help but look forward to the future. He turns to Al-Haitham, who is already looking at him intently. Even after all this time, it makes Kaveh blush. 

They’re leaning in close to each other when Kaveh suddenly remembers. “Oh!” he says. “I should let Cyno and Tighnari know they can head over soon. Nilou, too, if she wants. Do you think we have enough plates—”

Al-Haitham frowns. “Stop talking about other people when I’m trying to kiss you,” he says.

Kaveh laughs. “Sorry, sorry.” And then he grins. “Make me.”

Al-Haitham has a hint of a smile on his lips, and seconds later, Kaveh realises he’d been right: making out on the balcony is pretty romantic. The sun is warm on their skin, Al-Haitham warm and lovely in his arms, and Kaveh—

Kaveh is home.