Archive of Our Own

Kaveh could no longer remember when buying groceries had become something they did together.

There had been no discussion, no carefully negotiated division of household responsibilities. One week, Alhaitham had returned home with coffee and enough vegetables to last several days; the next, Kaveh had followed him to the Grand Bazaar after declaring that no rational person could be trusted to select fruit without considering its eventual presentation. Somewhere between those two occasions, the errand had become routine. Now, the empty coffee tin appearing on the counter was explanation enough.

The Grand Bazaar was already awake when they descended the final steps into its shaded streets. The lighting overhead slipped through the gaps between embroidered awnings, catching against brass ornaments and rows of glazed pottery before scattering over the stone in patches of blue, crimson, and gold. Near the Zubayr Theatre, Kourosh sent three painted balls spinning over his head for the benefit of a small audience of children, one of whom clapped so enthusiastically that his wooden Aranara slipped from his hands and rolled beneath a blanket display.

Kaveh slowed to retrieve it before anyone could tread upon it. He brushed a trace of dust from the toy’s carved face with his thumb, then returned it to the child, whose solemn gratitude lasted precisely until Kourosh added a fourth ball to the pattern.

"You’ll lose him again if you don’t hold on properly," Kaveh warned, though his smile softened the reprimand. He remained crouched long enough to straighten the little figure’s bent leaf, examining the joint with a faint crease between his brows.

The child hugged the toy protectively to his chest. "Aranara have delicate hats."

"That doesn’t mean the hat should fall off."

Alhaitham stopped beside the blond, the canvas shopping bag hanging empty from one hand while the other held a folded list that Kaveh had watched him compose from memory over breakfast. His eyes moved from the toy to Kaveh’s earnest expression; the corner of his mouth shifted so slightly that anyone less accustomed to watching him might have missed it.

"The structural integrity of imaginary forest spirits can wait," Alhaitham said, folding the list once more between his fingers. "We came for coffee."

Kaveh rose with a quiet huff, smoothing both palms over the front of his shirt where his crouch had drawn the fabric out of place.

A strand of blond hair had slipped across his cheek; he tucked it behind one ear while watching the child hurry back toward the performance. "You say that now. When the entire population of carved Aranara begins losing its foliage, everyone will wonder why no one listened to me."

"I doubt anyone will wonder."

"That sounded suspiciously like an insult."

"It was an assessment."

Kaveh rolled his ruby eyes and caught Alhaitham lightly by the sleeve before the other man could disappear into the crowd. The gesture had become so ordinary that neither looked down at the fingers curled against dark fabric. "Coffee first, then. Since civilisation apparently depends upon keeping you properly supplied."

"You were the one who declared yourself incapable of finishing your evaluations without it."

"That was different." Kaveh released him once they had fallen into step, his hand drifting instead toward the loose strap of his satchel. "My dependence is artistic. Yours is merely unpleasant."

Alhaitham glanced sideways at him. "You drink more than I do."

"I also create more than you do."

Their argument carried them towards Jut’s spice stall, where familiar glass jars lined the counter in careful rows and the air held enough cardamom, pepper, and cinnamon to leave warmth at the back of Kaveh’s throat. Jut had already begun folding a measure of dark-roasted coffee beans into thick paper when he saw them approach. He tied the parcel with a length of twine, gave it an efficient twist, and placed it beside a smaller packet of spices without asking what either man wanted.

"The usual," Jut said, wiping his fingertips against his apron.

Alhaitham reached for his coin pouch. "Yes."

Kaveh leaned one hip against the stall, his gaze moving from the prepared parcel to the merchant’s amused face. "You didn’t even wait for us to order."

"You buy the same roast every month," Jut replied as he counted the coins Alhaitham laid upon the counter. His hands moved deftly, separating the proper amount before nudging one coin back. "And he always remembers you’ll complain if I grind it too finely."

"I don’t complain." Kaveh’s brows rose as he accepted the returned coin on Alhaitham’s behalf, turning it idly between two fingers. "I'm just giving a critique."

"For twelve minutes."

"The extraction was uneven."

"It was coffee."

"It was badly prepared coffee."

Alhaitham slipped the larger parcel into the shopping bag, arranging it upright so the paper would not crease. "You drank two cups."

"I was confirming my conclusion."

Jut laughed, the sound disappearing into the bustle around them as he reached beneath the counter for another packet. "I put aside the dried mushrooms you liked last time. You said they worked well with the cream sauce."

Kaveh straightened, surprise brightening his face. "You remembered?"

"I keep records of my regular customers." Jut passed the packet to him, though his eyes flicked briefly toward Alhaitham. "Some are easier to remember than others."

Kaveh followed the glance and found Alhaitham already holding the shopping bag open for him. He dropped the mushrooms inside, then adjusted them away from the heavier parcel so their brittle edges would not crumble. Alhaitham waited until he had finished before closing the bag, patient in the way he often was when Kaveh’s attention became consumed by some minute arrangement neither of them would remember by evening.

"There," Kaveh murmured, patting the packet once. "Now they won’t break."

"They’re going into a sauce."

"That is hardly permission to mistreat them beforehand."

"I’m sure they appreciate your consideration."

Jut shook his head with open fondness as they moved away from the stall. "See you next month."

Kaveh lifted one hand in farewell, then looked down at the grocery bag swinging from Alhaitham’s grip. "Give me that. You bought the coffee."

"I’m aware."

"And I’m capable of carrying groceries."

"I’m also aware."

Alhaitham transferred the bag without argument. Their hands met around the canvas handles, Kaveh’s fingers briefly settling over his knuckles before the weight shifted between them. The bag was heavier than Kaveh expected. He adjusted his grip, raising it against his hip with as much dignity as he could manage while Alhaitham watched the effort in silence.

"Don’t," Kaveh warned, narrowing his eyes.

"I haven’t said anything."

"You were going to."

"I was considering how long you’ll carry it before becoming distracted."

Kaveh drew himself upright. "I can remain focused through one simple shopping trip."

A flash of turquoise glaze caught beneath the awning across from them.

His head turned.

Alhaitham followed his gaze towards the display of ceramic bowls, then folded the shopping list and tucked it into his pocket.

"I’ll buy the vegetables," he said.

Kaveh looked back at him, already halfway towards the pottery stall. "I’m only going to look."

"I know."

The answer held the ease of long practice. Kaveh opened his mouth to object, thought better of it, and surrendered the grocery bag into Alhaitham’s waiting hand before following the light across the painted ceramics.

The glaze caught the morning light differently the closer Kaveh leaned. Turquoise softened into jade along the rim before disappearing beneath a wash of pale cream, the transition so gradual it almost resembled watercolour instead of fired clay. He tipped his head slightly, watching the colours shift as sunlight filtered through the embroidered awning overhead.

"That's impossible."

The elderly potter glanced up from the wheel with an amused smile, his hands never slowing as damp clay rose steadily beneath his palms.

"Hm?"

"The glaze." Kaveh lifted one hand, his fingers hovering just above the bowl's rim without quite touching it. "You shouldn't be able to keep this much separation between the colours at that temperature."

The potter's eyes brightened.

"You noticed."

Kaveh stepped closer, entirely oblivious to the bustle continuing around him. One loose strand of blond hair slipped forward across his cheek as he bent nearer, studying the tiny veins of gold hidden beneath the blue.

"...Was it the mineral composition?"

"No."

"The kiln?"

The potter chuckled.

"No."

"Then how in Teyvat did you—"

"Kaveh!"

A familiar voice rang brightly across the bazaar.

Kaveh stopped mid-sentence.

His attention lifted immediately from the pottery, surprise replacing concentration as he turned toward the sound.

A short distance away, just outside the entrance to the Zubayr Theatre, Nilou looked up from the basket resting at her feet and lifted one hand in an enthusiastic wave. Several freshly woven floral bracelets lay nestled beside bouquets of padisarahs and Sumeru roses, their ribbons catching softly in the afternoon breeze.

Her smile widened the moment their eyes met.

"There you are!"

Kaveh's expression softened into one just as warm.

"Nilou?"

Nilou gathered the basket against her skirts as Kaveh approached, careful not to disturb the loose flowers resting across the top. Up close, he could see that several of the larger bouquets had already been taken apart; their ribbons had been wound into neat coils, while smaller blossoms lay sorted by colour along the woven base. She had begun braiding the remaining stems together in narrow chains, each one delicate enough to circle a wrist.

"You’ve been busy," Kaveh said, lowering himself beside the basket so he could admire her work without forcing her to lift it. His attention moved over a half-finished strand of padisarahs, following the tiny knots where green thread disappeared beneath the petals. "These are from last night’s performance?"

"Mhm." Nilou’s fingers smoothed one pale blossom back into place. "Everyone brought so many that we ran out of vases backstage. Sheikh Zubayr suggested we dry some for the theatre, but there were still far too many."

"So naturally, you turned them into something else."

Nilou laughed, a light sound that blended easily with the music drifting from inside the theatre. "It seemed sad to let them wilt without anyone enjoying them."

"That would have been a terrible waste." Kaveh reached towards the bracelet nearest him, then paused before touching it. "May I?"

"Of course."

He lifted it gently between both hands. Fresh padisarah petals rested against the woven stems, joined by tiny white flowers he did not immediately recognise. The arrangement was simple, though every blossom had been placed with enough care that none crowded the others. Even the loose ends of ribbon had been trimmed at an angle to keep them from fraying.

"You made all of these this morning?" he asked, turning the wristlet so the light passed over it.

"Only a few." Nilou tucked a strand of red hair behind one ear, her smile turning sheepish as she glanced towards the basket. "I kept changing the pattern."

"I understand completely."

From behind them came the faint rustle of paper and canvas as Alhaitham stopped at Kaveh’s side. The grocery bag now rested against his leg, the vegetables he had gone to purchase arranged neatly around the packets from Jut. His eyes passed once over the flowers before settling on Nilou.

"Good morning," he said.

"Oh! Good morning, Alhaitham." Nilou brightened again, then looked between the two men as though some small concern had just resolved itself. "I’m glad you’re both here."

Kaveh glanced up from the bracelet. "Were you looking for us?"

"For you, mostly." Nilou reached into the basket and selected another wristlet, this one woven with a warmer shade of padisarah and a few sprigs of greenery tucked between the petals. She held it against Kaveh’s sleeve, comparing the colours with a thoughtful tilt of her head. "This one suits you better."

Before he could answer, she gently took his hand.

Kaveh offered it without hesitation, his fingers relaxing beneath hers while she wound the bracelet around his wrist. The stems were cool against his skin. Nilou fastened the ribbon beneath his pulse, then adjusted one blossom that had folded beneath the others.

"There." She sat back on her heels to admire it. "Much better."

Kaveh lifted his wrist, turning it carefully from side to side. The flowers looked almost luminous against the dark fabric at his cuff. "Nilou, this is beautiful."

"I’m happy you like it."

"Like it?" His ruby eyes widened as he examined the small knots more closely. "You balanced the weight perfectly. It won’t turn even when I move my hand."

Nilou laughed beneath her breath. "I was more worried about the flowers falling out."

"That too." He lowered his arm and smiled at her, warmth softening every edge of his expression. "Thank you. Truly."

"You’re welcome." Nilou’s gaze lingered on the wristlet, pleased enough that she missed the way Alhaitham shifted the grocery bag away from Kaveh’s side before the canvas could brush against the petals.

Kaveh noticed.

His eyes dropped briefly to the space Alhaitham had made for him, then returned to the flowers before the thought could fully take shape.

Nilou rose, brushing a stray bit of greenery from her skirt. "Actually, I was hoping I’d see you today."

"You said that already." Kaveh gathered the basket by one handle and lifted it onto the nearby bench for her. "Did the theatre need something repaired?"

"No, everything is fine." She folded her hands loosely before her, glancing once towards Alhaitham. "I only thought…" Her voice trailed away.

"I hope I’m remembering correctly." She looked between them again, her bright aqua eyes moving from the flowers at Kaveh’s wrist to the grocery bag at Alhaitham’s side. "Today is your anniversary, right?"

Kaveh’s fingers stilled against the ribbon.

Alhaitham met Kaveh's gaze.

His expression remained composed, though the slight lift of one brow suggested the question had surprised him as thoroughly as it had Kaveh.

"Our anniversary?" Kaveh repeated. His hand remained suspended near the flowers, thumb resting against one fragile petal.

Nilou’s smile faltered. "…It isn’t?"

"No," Kaveh answered all too quickly, then glanced at Alhaitham again, as though some overlooked detail might have appeared between them during the past few seconds. "At least, I don’t believe it is."

"It isn’t," Alhaitham confirmed. He shifted the grocery bag into his other hand, his attention settling fully on Nilou. "What led you to that conclusion?"

"Oh." Colour rose at once to her cheeks. "Oh, I’m so sorry."

She reached for the basket, then stopped halfway, seeming uncertain whether she ought to stay or escape before making matters worse.

"Nilou," Kaveh said, catching the handle before she could fumble it. "You haven’t done anything wrong."

"I must have misunderstood." Her fingers tightened around the edge of the basket. "Someone mentioned seeing the two of you together this morning, and then I remembered how often you come to the bazaar together, and how Alhaitham always waits when you stop to talk to the craftspeople, and…"

She looked at the grocery bag.

"And you buy food for the same house."

Kaveh opened his mouth.

Nilou hurried on before he could speak.

"I know you live together. I only thought— I suppose everyone speaks about you as though…" Her embarrassment deepened until she covered part of her face with one hand. "Oh, this is awful. Please forget I asked."

Beside Kaveh, Alhaitham adjusted the folded list in his pocket with two precise fingers. "There’s no reason to be embarrassed. Your conclusion was based on the information available to you."

Nilou lowered her hand enough to peer at him. "That doesn’t make it less awkward."

"No," Kaveh admitted, the corner of his mouth beginning to twitch despite himself. He lifted his flowered wrist between them. "But you gave me this first, so I’m willing to forgive you."

Relief softened her face. "You’re sure?"

"Completely."

"And you won’t feel strange wearing it now?"

Kaveh looked down at the bracelet. One small blossom had shifted towards his palm; he guided it carefully back into place.

"It’s still beautiful," he said. "Your question didn’t change that."

Nilou’s smile returned, hesitant at first and then bright enough to reach her eyes. "I’m glad."

A voice from within the theatre called her name. She turned towards the entrance, then back to them, already gathering the basket into both arms. "I should go. We’re rehearsing before the afternoon performance."

"Go," Kaveh urged, stepping aside to clear her path. "Before Sheikh Zubayr comes looking for you himself."

Nilou laughed and dipped her head in farewell. "Enjoy the rest of your day. And… I’m sorry again."

Kaveh waved her away with his unflowered hand. "You’ll ruin the apology if you keep repeating it."

She hurried towards the theatre, skirts swaying behind her as she joined the performers moving between the curtains. Within moments, the market folded around the space she had left. Shoppers passed between them, and the cheerful question that had stopped Kaveh so completely should have disappeared with her.

It did not.

He lowered his hand.

The padisarahs rested quietly against his pulse.

Alhaitham reached for the grocery bag he had set down beside the bench, checking the vegetables before lifting it again. His movements were unchanged, as practical and unhurried as they had been at Jut’s stall.

Kaveh watched him secure the canvas handles around one wrist.

"…Why do you think she thought that?"

Alhaitham looked up.

The crowd moved between them for an instant, forcing Kaveh to step closer so a pair of children could dart past without colliding with the groceries. His shoulder settled against Alhaitham’s arm. Neither moved away.

"She explained her reasoning," Alhaitham said.

"That isn’t what I meant."

"I know."

Kaveh’s thumb returned to the ribbon beneath the flowers, worrying gently at the knot Nilou had tied. "It sounded as though she wasn’t the only one."

Alhaitham’s gaze dropped briefly to Kaveh's hand.

"Apparently not."

A fresh burst of applause rose from outside the theatre as Kourosh caught all four painted balls behind his back. Kaveh barely heard it. He looked towards the stalls they had yet to visit, then at the grocery bag Alhaitham carried between them. Its familiar contents were packed for the house they would return to together.

For reasons the architect could not have explained, the sight no longer felt quite as ordinary as it had that morning.

The question followed them from the theatre without requiring either man to carry it.

Kaveh made no attempt to bring it up again. Nilou had apologised; Alhaitham had accepted her reasoning with the detached calmness he offered most misunderstandings. There were still groceries to collect, familiar stalls waiting farther along the lane, and enough noise around them that their mutual silence ought to have disappeared unnoticed.

It did not.

Kaveh kept his attention ahead as they returned to the flow of shoppers, one thumb resting beneath the ribbon at his wrist. The padisarahs shifted lightly with each step, cool petals brushing his pulse whenever his arm moved. Beside him, Alhaitham carried the grocery bag against his hip and unfolded the remaining list with one hand, reading it while navigating the crowd with an ease Kaveh might have found irritating under ordinary circumstances.

He refused to look at the scribe.

That decision lasted until a display of lacquered boxes caught the sun beneath a neighbouring awning.

The craftsman had painted each lid with a different forest scene, tiny golden leaves hidden among branches so fine Kaveh could trace the stroke of the brush from several paces away. His head turned despite every promise he had made to himself to remain focused, gaze lingering as they continued forward.

A porter emerged from the crossing lane with a wooden crate balanced high against one shoulder.

Kaveh noticed the movement too late to judge the distance between them.

A hand settled at the side of his waist.

Alhaitham guided him inward with one firm pressure of his palm, drawing him half a step closer before the crate passed through the space Kaveh had occupied. Rough wood skimmed the air beside his arm. The porter muttered an apology without slowing, already searching for the next gap through the crowd.

Alhaitham released him.

"Watch where you’re going," he said, refolding the list along its existing crease.

Kaveh remained close enough that the edge of his sleeve touched Alhaitham’s bare arm. Warmth lingered through the fabric at his waist, absurdly distinct from the afternoon heat pressing over the bazaar.

"I was watching," Kaveh replied. His hand tightened around the strap of his satchel, giving him somewhere harmless to put his fingers. "The porter came from the side."

"You were watching a painted box."

Kaveh turned towards him, prepared to defend the importance of appreciating local craftsmanship, and found Alhaitham already moving again. The scribe's expression had not altered. He had touched Kaveh with the same practicality he used to catch falling papers or shift a teacup away from the edge of a table; the gesture had apparently ended for him the instant the danger passed.

Kaveh hurried to match his pace.

"Have you always done that?" he asked.

Alhaitham glanced sideways. "Stopped you from walking into things?"

"That isn’t—" Kaveh caught the rest of the sentence before it escaped. A woman carrying folded fabric edged between two stalls ahead, and he shifted aside to let her pass, grateful for the interruption. "Nevermind."

Kaveh tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind his ear with more force than necessary and fixed his eyes on the path ahead.

The remaining purchases took little time. A bundle of herbs disappeared into the top of the bag. Kaveh paid when a vendor addressed him and carried whatever parcel was handed his way, applying himself so thoroughly to the errands that nobody could accuse him of becoming distracted again.

Alhaitham said nothing about his sudden efficiency.

That should have made it easier.

By the time they reached the steps leading out of the bazaar, Kaveh had become painfully conscious of every place their bodies nearly met. The back of Alhaitham’s hand grazed his when they both reached for the folded list. Each contact lasted less than a second and would have passed beneath notice that morning.

Now, Kaveh felt every last one.

He descended the first step too quickly, caught the edge with his heel, and recovered before the stumble became visible to anyone.

Or so he thought.

When the blond looked up, Alhaitham was already watching him.

His turquoise eyes rested on Kaveh’s face with concentration. He held the grocery bag in one hand, its canvas handles drawn securely around his fingers. The other remained near his side, as though he had considered reaching out and decided the danger had passed.

Kaveh’s foot settled properly on the next step.

"Were you looking at me?" he asked.

"Yes."

The scribe's answer arrived without embarrassment or defence. Alhaitham shifted the bag higher against his hip before continuing down towards the upper street.

Kaveh followed, a parcel of tea tucked beneath one arm. "Why?"

"You’ve been quiet."

"I’m capable of being quiet," Kaveh huffed as he moved beside him. The gesture felt reassuringly familiar, even if the warmth beneath his collar remained. "Occasionally."

"I’m aware."

"And that required observation?" Kaveh frowned.

Alhaitham stepped aside as two scholars passed them, leaving enough room for Kaveh to remain at his shoulder rather than fall behind.

Kaveh adjusted the tea parcel, pressing one corner flat with his thumb. "Nothing is bothering me."

Alhaitham’s mouth shifted faintly at one corner at the response.

Kaveh stared at him, caught between offence and the uncomfortable suspicion that Alhaitham had deliberately offered the answer most likely to provoke him into talking. Before he could decide, they reached the open street beyond the bazaar and the afternoon sun warmed their backs without the shelter of the awnings.

The architect turned his face towards the breeze.

Honey stopped him two streets later.

The scent drifted from Puspa Café’s open doorway, warm with browned butter and toasted nuts. Kaveh’s step shortened before he recognised the café ahead, its green roof curving over the shaded entrance while warm lighting softened the interior beyond. Enteka had set a tray near the door to cool; neat diamonds of baklava glazed with honey, their layered edges crisp and dusted with crushed ajilenakh nuts.

Kaveh looked as they passed.

The grocery bag was full. Alhaitham carried most of it already, while Kaveh had the tea beneath his arm and a parcel of rice hanging from two fingers. Dessert had not appeared on the list. They did not need it.

He kept walking.

Several paces later, the familiar weight of Alhaitham’s presence was gone from beside him.

Kaveh stopped and turned.

Alhaitham stood before the tray with one hand inside his sash, already reaching for his mora pouch. The grocery bag rested against his leg while Enteka came forward to greet him.

"…Alhaitham?"

"Two pieces," Alhaitham told her, indicating the baklava with a small tilt of his chin.

Enteka smiled and lifted her silver tongs. "Of course."

Kaveh retraced his steps, shifting the tea higher beneath his arm as he approached. "We already bought enough food to last several days."

Alhaitham opened the coin pouch and counted mora into his palm. "We bought groceries."

"It wasn’t on the list."

"That supports my argument," Alhaitham deadpanned.

Enteka placed the first piece into a shallow box, followed by the second. Honey shone along the pastry’s folded layers before she covered them with waxed paper.

Kaveh glanced at the groceries gathered around Alhaitham’s legs. "You’re carrying nearly everything."

"You can carry this."

"That isn’t what I meant." His gaze shifted from the little box to Alhaitham’s composed face. "You didn’t even ask whether I wanted one."

Alhaitham placed the Mora into Enteka’s waiting hand. "You stopped walking."

"I was looking."

"You continued looking after you passed it."

Kaveh’s mouth opened. The protest waiting on his lips seemed less convincing with the scent of honey still curling around his nose.

Enteka tied the box with a narrow green ribbon and offered it to the blond. Kaveh accepted it automatically, rearranging the tea under his arm so he could support the warm parcel with both hands.

"I might have decided against it," he muttered.

Alhaitham closed his mora pouch, his eyes settling briefly on the dessert now safe in Kaveh’s grasp. "You would have mentioned it before we reached home."

"That is speculation."

"You discussed the padisarah pudding for two days after it sold out."

"It was seasonal."

"So is the baklava."

"That hardly makes them comparable!"

Alhaitham lifted the grocery bag again, adjusting the handles around his fingers. "Then you can explain the distinction while you eat it."

Enteka lowered her head, though not quickly enough to hide her smile.

Kaveh looked down at the box. Heat seeped through the waxed paper into his palms, carrying the rich sweetness of honey close enough that his earlier resolve became embarrassing in hindsight.

"You really didn’t have to," he said.

"No," Alhaitham replied. He stepped aside for another customer and waited beneath the shade of the doorway, his posture loose despite the weight gathered against one hip.

Kaveh raised his eyes. "But you did."

"Yes."

No elaboration followed. Alhaitham simply turned towards the road home once Kaveh joined him, as though buying something Kaveh had wanted and refused to ask for required no greater explanation.

They left the café behind.

The afternoon quieted around them as the shops thinned into residences and walled courtyards threaded with flowering vines. Kaveh carried the pastries carefully between both hands. Alhaitham walked beside him with the groceries, shortening his stride whenever the box forced Kaveh to navigate an uneven patch of stone more slowly.

Their shoulders touched where the path narrowed.

Kaveh felt Alhaitham's gaze burn into his skin where it roamed.

This time, he did not ask why, though the words felt heavy behind his teeth.

The key had barely turned before Kaveh stepped past him.

He entered with the pastry box held level between both hands, crossing the threshold into the familiar wash of emerald and amber cast through the stained glass windows. The door closed behind them, muffling Treasures Street until the city became little more than footsteps beyond stone and the distant call of a merchant packing away his afternoon display. Within the house, dust floated lazily over the rugs, Alhaitham’s abandoned book remained open beneath its paperweight, and the same crooked cushion Kaveh had intended to straighten that morning still leaned against the low bench near the left hallway.

Everything waited exactly where they had left it.

Kaveh set the baklava on the central table and opened his mouth.

The question reached no farther than his throat.

Behind him, Alhaitham lowered the grocery bag beside the table with a muted thump, rolling one shoulder as the weight left his arm. The canvas handles had pressed faint red lines into his fingers. Kaveh’s gaze caught on them before he could stop it, followed their path to the pale skin of Alhaitham’s upper arm where the light from the windows rested in soft geometric fragments.

Alhaitham glanced up.

Kaveh turned immediately towards the groceries. "The yoghurt should be put away before it spoils."

"I’m aware," Alhaitham replied, loosening the folded cloth around the clay jar. He held it out without looking, already reaching into the bag for the rice with his free hand.

Kaveh accepted it.

Of course he did.

The cool clay settled into his palms, and his feet carried him towards the shaded cupboard at the rear of the house before either man had said where it belonged. He opened the carved door with his elbow, placed the jar beside yesterday’s sauce, and adjusted the nearby bottles so their sides would not knock together when the cupboard closed. By the time he returned, Alhaitham had arranged the remaining groceries across the table in small, sensible groups: dry goods near the storage jars, vegetables beside the cutting board, and herbs nearest the wash basin.

The basket of mushrooms sat precisely where Kaveh usually stood to prepare them.

His question pressed harder against the back of his teeth.

He reached for the herbs instead.

Alhaitham’s hand arrived at the same moment; their fingers closing around the stems together.

A trace of damp soil clung beneath Alhaitham’s thumb. The warmth of his hand travelled through the thin stalks between them, absurdly easy to distinguish from the lingering heat of the street. Neither released the bundle at once. Alhaitham’s eyes lifted from their joined hands to Kaveh’s face, his expression quiet, expectant.

Kaveh let go first.

"You can wash them," he said, rubbing his thumb against his palm as though the brief pressure had left something behind.

Alhaitham drew the herbs towards himself. "You prefer doing it."

"That doesn’t mean I’m obligated."

"No," Alhaitham agreed. He turned towards the basin, green leaves brushing his knuckles. "It means you’ll redo them if I do it differently."

Kaveh followed him with a faint scoff, catching the shallow bowl from the shelf before Alhaitham could reach for it. "You leave grit between the stems."

"Then you’ve made your decision."

"I was proving a point."

"You’ve proven mine."

Kaveh turned, herbs dripping between his fingers. "You’ve cut those too thick."

Alhaitham kept one hand flat over the remaining mushroom and glanced towards the pieces already gathered beside the blade. "They’re even."

"They’ll cook unevenly."

"That would require them to be uneven."

Kaveh crossed the narrow space and leaned over the board, one wet fingertip hovering above the offending slice. His shoulder pressed against Alhaitham’s chest as he inspected it. "This one is wider."

"By less than a millimetre."

"So you admit it."

"I acknowledge that you’ve found a way to delay washing the herbs three times."

Kaveh raised his head to object.

Alhaitham was already looking down at him.

They stood too close.

Close enough that Kaveh could see the pale orange ring around Alhaitham’s pupils and the faint crease beneath one eye from hours spent reading in poor light. A loose piece of blond hair had fallen across Kaveh’s cheek; Alhaitham’s gaze followed it before returning to his face.

Kaveh stepped back so quickly that water flicked from the herbs onto the counter.

"Fine," he said, turning towards the basin. "Ruined mushrooms are apparently a lesson you must learn personally."

"They’ll survive."

"That remains to be seen."

Dinner continued in a sequence of motions Kaveh knew all too well. Alhaitham heated the oil while Kaveh dried the herbs. Kaveh reached towards the spice shelf and found the cumin already waiting beside his preferred measuring spoon. Alhaitham extended one hand for the wooden spatula; Kaveh placed it into his palm before the request formed. When Kaveh turned with the chopped basil, Alhaitham shifted aside without looking, leaving exactly enough room for him to add it to the pot.

They moved around one another as though the kitchen had been designed for the pattern of their bodies.

Perhaps it had become so.

Kaveh measured the pepper, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

Alhaitham took notice.

"You’ve been trying to say something since we arrived," he remarked, stirring the sauce until cream folded smoothly between the mushrooms. His wrist turned with slow precision, the wooden spoon tracing the same path around the pot each time.

Kaveh’s fingers tightened around the spice jar. "Have I?"

"You’ve inhaled before speaking four times."

"You counted?"

"No." Alhaitham tapped the spoon once against the rim and set it aside. "You’re simply obvious."

Kaveh stared at the back of his head. "I am not obvious."

"You walked past Puspa Café while staring at the baklava."

"That proves nothing."

"It proved sufficient."

The small box sat on the central table where Kaveh had left it, its green ribbon neatly tied. He looked at it, then at Alhaitham’s hand resting beside the stove; the same hand that had closed around his waist in the bazaar, untangled Nilou’s ribbon from his ornament, and counted out mora before Kaveh admitted wanting anything.

The question surged upwards.

"Alhaitham—"

The pot hissed as the sauce began to catch near the edge.

Alhaitham reached past him to lower the flame, his arm crossing Kaveh’s chest. "Pass me the salt."

Kaveh stared at his profile.

Then at the jar sitting within reach of his own hand.

He passed it over.

Dinner was ready shortly afterwards.

Kaveh carried the pot to the table while Alhaitham brought the rice and bowls. They set everything down among the shifting patterns of stained light, making room beside the pastry box and the book Kaveh had closed. The house had grown warmer from cooking as evening gathered slowly beyond the windows.

Alhaitham held out a bowl.

Blue glaze with fine gold around the rim. A faint imperfection near the base that Kaveh had declared beautiful years ago when Alhaitham suggested replacing it. Kaveh accepted it with both hands, their fingers touching against the ceramic.

Again.

This time, Alhaitham did not release his grip immediately.

Kaveh looked up.

Alhaitham’s gaze searched his face, calm enough to make Kaveh wonder whether the pause had existed anywhere beyond his own imagination. Then the bowl settled fully into the architect's hands and Alhaitham took the plain green one for himself.

"You always choose that one," he said, lowering himself into the chair opposite.

Kaveh remained standing for another moment, trying to decipher what Alhaithan meant.

"I know."

He sat.

Dinner offered him every possible opportunity to ask and none that felt survivable.

The sauce needed praise. The mushrooms required a grudging admission that they had cooked evenly. Alhaitham commented on the excessive cumin Kaveh had not, in fact, added. Kaveh accused him of inventing criticism to preserve his reputation. Their voices settled into the familiar cadence of argument while their spoons moved through rice, every exchange giving Kaveh another few moments in which he did not have to say the words burning steadily behind his tongue.

Once, he looked up and found Alhaitham watching him across the table.

Alhaitham did not avert his gaze.

Kaveh lowered his head to his bowl and swallowed a mouthful he could scarcely taste.

By the time their bowls were empty, evening had filled the windows. The coloured light faded from the rugs as the room drew dim around the low glow of the lamps and the quiet sounds of Alhaitham stacking one bowl inside the other.

Kaveh’s pulse quickened at the realisation.

Alhaitham rose.

The moment was leaving.

The scribe gathered both dishes, balanced them in one hand, and reached for the stacked pot with the other. Tomorrow, they would wake in the same house. They would drink the coffee bought together, argue over breakfast, and continue living inside a routine neither of them had ever named. Nilou’s question might become another curious incident buried beneath work and all the little frictions of ordinary life.

Kaveh’s chair scraped sharply against the floor.

"Wait."

Alhaitham remained where Kaveh had stopped him, the two empty bowls balanced against one palm and the copper pot hanging from his other hand. Dim light traced a pale line along their rims.

Kaveh’s courage had carried him far enough to scrape his chair across the rug and demand that Alhaitham wait.

It offered no guidance beyond that.

His fingers loosened from the table, then closed around its edge again. The padisarahs at his wrist brushed the wood with every restless movement, petals softened from the long afternoon and faintly fragrant beneath the warmth of the room.

"Put those down," he said.

Alhaitham’s gaze moved briefly to the dishes in his hands. "They’re empty."

"I can see that." Irritation arrived quickly enough to lend Kaveh’s voice some strength, and he seized it with relief. "Must you stand there holding half the kitchen while I’m trying to speak to you?"

A correction visibly occurred to Alhaitham. His eyes flicked from the two bowls to the pot before returning to Kaveh’s face. He set the dishes back upon the table, fitting the bowls together before lowering the pot beside them with a muted sound of copper against wood. Then he pulled out the chair nearest Kaveh and sat.

Beside him.

The choice brought Alhaitham’s knee against his thigh beneath the table. The contact was light and easily avoided. Yet neither of them moved.

"You asked me to wait," Alhaitham said. One forearm settled along the table while the other remained loose across his thigh. "I’m waiting."

"Nilou thought we were celebrating an anniversary."

"I remember." Alhaitham's expression remained unchanged.

"She didn’t appear particularly uncertain until we corrected her."

"No."

Kaveh wound the loose ribbon from the bracelet once around his forefinger. "And she made it sound as though other people had reached the same conclusion."

"Apparently."

The architect's hand stilled.

Kaveh turned towards him. "Could you contribute more than one word at a time?"

Alhaitham’s brows lifted a fraction. "You haven’t asked a question."

The answer slipped neatly beneath Kaveh’s irritation and found the fear hiding there.

He released the ribbon and rose.

The chair shifted behind the blond as he crossed towards the darkened stained-glass window, putting several paces and the corner of the table between them. Kaveh placed one hand against the carved frame.

"Do we act like that?"

Alhaitham did not ask what he meant.

"Yes."

The word struck cleanly through the room.

Kaveh stared at their reflections. "Yes?"

"Yes," Alhaitham repeated.

"That cannot possibly be your entire answer." Kaveh felt himself blinking more than once.

"It answers what you asked."

Kaveh turned. The hem of his sash caught against the low cushion near the wall; he tugged it free with an impatient motion and left the cushion more crooked than before. "Why are you saying it as though we’re discussing the weather?"

"How should I say it, Kaveh?"

"With some indication that you understand how absurd this is."

Alhaitham’s attention followed him as Kaveh paced away from the window. The scribe did not rise. He merely shifted in the chair enough to keep Kaveh within view, the movement slight and maddeningly composed.

"I don’t think it’s absurd," he said.

Kaveh stopped beside the bookshelf. A stack of journals leaned precariously near the edge. He straightened them one by one despite knowing Alhaitham had arranged them that way deliberately, aligning every spine until the task gave his hands nothing else to do.

"You knew," Kaveh's brows scrunched in frustration.

"I considered the possibility."

"For how long?" The blond couldn't stop himself from demanding another answer.

"That depends on which possibility you mean."

Kaveh laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. He dragged both hands through his hair, dislodging a few blond strands from beneath one ornament before turning on him again. "Do not make this one of your exercises."

"I’m not."

"You are waiting for me to phrase the question correctly so you can provide the smallest technically accurate response and pretend that counts as cooperation."

Alhaitham looked down at the table. His thumb moved once along a shallow scratch in the wood; one Kaveh had made while trimming mounting board without anything beneath it. "What are you trying to ask?"

The directness stopped Kaveh, hands falling to his sides.

"I want to understand why this morning felt perfectly ordinary until Nilou asked one question." Kaveh's fingers tightened around the journal’s spine. "And now I cannot walk through my own home without feeling as though I’ve overlooked something enormous."

Alhaitham remained silent, watching as Kaveh held his breath before finally releasing his tight grip on the journal.

"You touched my waist in the bazaar," Kaveh began as he heard the faint shift of fabric behind him.

"I prevented you from walking into a crate."

"That is not the point, Alhaitham."

"You haven’t explained what the point is."

Kaveh’s hand moved before he could stop it, settling against the side of his own waist where Alhaitham’s palm had rested.

"You did it as though you’d done it a hundred times," Kaveh accused, scrunching up his face as he huffed.

"I may have."

Kaveh looked over his shoulder. "You don’t know?"

"I don’t catalogue every occasion on which you fail to watch where you’re going."

"That isn’t—" Kaveh caught himself and turned fully towards him. "You were looking at me."

"Yes."

"You handed me the yoghurt, and I put it away before you said a word. We cooked dinner without discussing who would do anything. You gave me that bowl."

He pointed towards the blue glazed bowl stacked on top of Alhaitham’s, its imperfect gold rim visible beneath the light.

Alhaitham followed the gesture. "You always use it."

"I know!" The words left Kaveh louder than intended.

He crossed the room and lifted the bowl from the stack, turning it between both hands. His thumb found the small flaw near its base automatically, tracing the uneven glaze he had once defended so fiercely that Alhaitham abandoned the idea of replacing it.

"I know," he repeated, quieter now. "That’s the problem."

Alhaitham’s gaze sharpened. "Why?"

"Because I don’t remember when any of this began…"

The bowl warmed slowly between Kaveh’s palms. He looked around the room. The books he had rearranged, the furniture he complained about, the cushion he had just made worse, the table scarred by both their work. There was no clear seam anywhere. Nothing marked the place where two separate lives had become one arrangement.

He set the bowl down as if it would shatter on impact.

"What are we doing, Alhaitham?"

"Living together."

Kaveh made a frustrated sound and paced away again, only to find the wall before he had taken three steps. He braced one hand against the back of a chair and looked down at the woven pattern beneath his feet.

"You know what I mean."

"I know what you’re avoiding," Alhaitham finally pushed back.

Kaveh’s head snapped up.

Alhaitham had finally moved.

He stood beside the table, one hand resting against its edge where Kaveh’s had been moments earlier. The calm remained in his face, but his stillness had changed; it no longer resembled patience.

"What am I avoiding?" Kaveh asked.

Alhaitham’s eyes moved over him, travelling along the hand clenched around the chair, the flowers at his wrist, and settling on the restless fall of hair around his face.

"An answer you may not want."

Kaveh’s grip tightened. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

"No."

"Then tell me." Kaveh all but pleaded.

Alhaitham did not.

Instead, he stepped around the table.

The first footfall barely disturbed the rug. The second carried him into the open space between them. Kaveh remained where he was, every instinct urging him both to retreat and close the distance himself.

"What answer do you want?" Alhaitham asked quietly, merely an arm's length away.

Kaveh pursed his lips. "I wouldn’t be asking if I knew."

"That isn’t true."

Kaveh’s laugh came without humour. "Then enlighten me."

Alhaitham’s gaze dropped briefly to the hand still gripping the chair. "You want reassurance that nothing has to change."

The accuracy of it left Kaveh cold. His fingers loosened on the wood.

Alhaitham continued before he could deny it.

"You also want to know whether it could."

Kaveh looked at the scribe.

No dry amusement softened the statement. No cleverness offered an escape. Alhaitham stood before him with the same brutal clarity he brought to every conclusion he considered worth stating aloud.

Kaveh’s voice emerged smaller than he wanted. "Could it?"

"Yes."

Kaveh released the chair completely. His hand hovered uselessly at his side before finding Nilou’s ribbon again, twisting the loose end around his finger until the fabric pressed into his skin.

"And you?" he asked. "Would you want it to?"

Alhaitham’s attention dropped to the ribbon.

He crossed the final step.

Kaveh’s breath caught as Alhaitham reached for his wrist. Long fingers closed gently beneath the flowers, steadying Kaveh’s hand before the ribbon could tighten further. With his thumb, he eased it free from Kaveh’s finger and smoothed the creased fabric flat against his skin.

The gesture was maddeningly tender.

Kaveh watched his hands. "That is not an answer."

"No."

Alhaitham did not release Kaveh. Instead, he brushed a thumb against the architect's hand.

Kaveh raised his gaze, allowing himself to ask an entirely different question. "What do you want?"

Alhaitham’s gaze moved to his mouth.

The glance lasted only a second, but Kaveh felt it like a touch.

The scribe's free hand came to rest on the chair behind Kaveh, closing in the room until the only open path for the blond remained the one directly through him.

"You asked what we’re doing," Alhaitham began.

Kaveh could feel the warmth of his breath. "I have been for the last ten minutes now."

"I’ve been living it."

The words struck with none of the grandness Kaveh had once believed love required.

Every shared meal. Every grocery list. Every lamp left burning when Kaveh worked late. Every complaint, correction, waiting silence, and practical kindness that had become too ordinary to name. Alhaitham had not been waiting for a life to begin.

He had been living it beside him.

Kaveh caught the front of Alhaitham’s shirt in a poor attempt to ground himself. "You might have told me," A dry humourless laugh left his throat.

"You might have noticed."

"That is unbelievably unfair and you know it," Kaveh hissed.

"It is accurate."

Kaveh tugged him closer before Alhaitham could produce another infuriating truth. "If you correct me again, I will throw you out of your own house."

"That would be difficult."

"Alhaitham." Kaveh's voice broke between warning and plea.

The restraint in Alhaitham’s face gave way.

His hand left Kaveh’s wrist and rose slowly towards his cheek. He paused before touching him, fingers suspended close enough that Kaveh felt their warmth.

"Tell me to stop."

Kaveh stared blankly at the scribe.

All afternoon he had wanted words. Definitions. Evidence arranged into a shape he could understand before risking anything precious. Now the answer stood close enough.

He pressed into Alhaitham’s palm.

Warm fingers curved beneath his jaw, brushing the loose hair away from his cheek. The gentleness of the contact made Kaveh’s chest ache more sharply than any dramatic declaration could have.

Alhaitham leaned in.

The first touch of their mouths was careful, almost unbearably so. A question offered rather than taken. Kaveh answered by shifting the weight on his feet and sliding both hands up to meet Alhaitham's chest.

The kiss deepened at once.

Alhaitham’s hand slid behind the architect's neck, fingers threading into the loose flaxen hair there while Kaveh pulled him closer. The chair pressed against the backs of Kaveh’s thighs; he barely noticed. Every anxious thought that had followed him from the bazaar broke apart beneath the warmth of Alhaitham’s mouth and the startling certainty with which his body recognised something his mind had spent years refusing to name.

Kaveh parted his lips on a breath.

Alhaitham followed, controlled only until Kaveh’s other hand found his bare shoulder and gripped. A quiet sound escaped the scribe; entirely unlike the composed man who had answered every question with maddening calmness.

Vindication flared hot through Kaveh’s ribs.

He kissed him harder.

Alhaitham moved with him, one arm settling around his waist as the distance between them vanished. The same hand that had guided him from danger in the bazaar now held him there deliberately, fingers spread against his back with no practical excuse left between them.

When they finally separated, neither went far.

Kaveh’s forehead rested against Alhaitham’s. His breath came unevenly, touching the mouth he had spent an entire day trying not to watch.

Alhaitham’s thumb moved once beneath his ear.

Kaveh opened his eyes.

Turquoise met ruby at a distance too small for misunderstanding.

"…Oh," Kaveh breathed.

The corners of Alhaitham’s mouth curved.

Kaveh saw it and narrowed his eyes. "Do not."

"I haven’t said anything."

"You were going to," Kaveh breathlessly huffed.

"I was considering how long it would take you to reach that conclusion."

Kaveh’s face burned. He caught Alhaitham by the shoulders and drew back enough to glare properly. "You have just kissed me and are already finding ways to be intolerable."

"You kissed me back."

Alhaitham’s hand remained at his waist.

Kaveh glanced down at the dark fabric previously twisted beneath his fingers, smoothing the crease he had made in Alhaitham’s shirt.

"I thought everyone lived like this," he admitted.

The words felt foolish now, though Alhaitham did not treat them that way. His hold tightened slightly, drawing Kaveh closer until their bodies met without uncertainty.

"Not everyone does," Alhaitham said.

Kaveh looked up at him. "And us?"

Alhaitham’s gaze dropped to his mouth again.

Kaveh did not need another answer.

He kissed him before Alhaitham could offer one.

When they finally parted, the warmth lingered against Kaveh's lips. Heat climbed into his face. He drew his hands back at once, rubbing absentmindedly at the padisarah bracelet around his wrist instead.

Kaveh's eyes drifted towards the table, to the little pastry box waiting patiently between them.

"We forgot the baklava."

He crossed the room as he spoke, reaching for the box just as movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Alhaitham had gathered the bowls instead, turning almost automatically towards the kitchen.

"Oh, no."

The protest escaped Kaveh before he had considered it.

He intercepted him halfway across the room, lifting the bowls neatly from his hands and returning them to the table with careful determination. Porcelain met wood with a soft knock.

"The dishes," he decided, straightening the stack by habit, "can wait."

Alhaitham watched him rearrange bowls that had required no rearranging.

"They usually don't."

"Tonight they do."

The final piece of baklava disappeared between them in smaller portions than either had intended.

Kaveh gathered the loose flakes with the folded cloth Alhaitham had passed him, brushing them into his palm before carrying them to the waste bowl near the wash basin. Honey remained tacky along the side of his thumb. He raised his hand to wipe it against the cloth, only for Alhaitham’s fingers to close lightly around his wrist.

The gesture held none of the urgency from moments before; Alhaitham merely turned his hand, inspecting the narrow streak of honey with the same attention he gave anything placed before him. His thumb passed once over Kaveh’s skin, gathering the sweetness before he released him and reached for the cloth himself.

"You missed some," he said, folding the stained corner inward.

Kaveh looked at the place his fingers had been.

"I was handling it."

"So I observed."

Kaveh opened his mouth, caught the faint curve threatening Alhaitham’s expression, and let the argument dissolve beneath his breath instead.

The dishes still waited on the table.

This time, when Alhaitham reached for them, Kaveh allowed him to take the bowls. He gathered the pot and abandoned spoons himself, balancing everything against his forearms before following into the kitchen. The lamps cast their shadows ahead of them across the floorboards; overlapping figures drawn long and thin beneath the coloured panes.

They settled into the work without discussion.

Alhaitham filled the basin while Kaveh scraped the remains of dinner into a covered dish. The water steamed faintly where it met the cooled ceramic, carrying the scents of cumin and basil back into the room. Kaveh passed the first bowl across once it had been rinsed. Alhaitham accepted it with one hand and reached for the cloth with the other; his fingertips brushed Kaveh’s knuckles in the exchange.

Kaveh lowered both hands into the basin before the attention could unsettle him again. "You could dry instead of supervising."

"I am drying." Alhaitham turned the bowl within the cloth, wiping the thin gold rim before placing it on the rack. "You stopped moving."

"I was thinking."

There had been comfort in believing their closeness accidental. Habit had demanded nothing from him. A shared cupboard, familiar footsteps behind him, a hand reaching into the same drawer; each could be accepted and forgotten before it required a name.

Now he could feel the choice inside every small delay.

Alhaitham reached for the pot.

Kaveh caught the cloth first and pressed it into his hand. Their fingers folded around it together; Alhaitham’s gaze lifted to meet his across the narrow space.

"What?" Alhaitham asked.

Kaveh turned the spoon beneath the water, tracing its clean edge with his thumb. "Nothing."

"That’s unlikely."

"I’m becoming accustomed to new information."

Alhaitham’s hand remained beneath his around the cloth. "Slowly."

Kaveh looked up at once. "I have adjusted remarkably well considering you allowed half the city to understand my life before I did."

"I didn’t arrange a public announcement."

"You hardly prevented one."

"Nilou asked a question."

"And now I’ll never be able to walk through the bazaar again without wondering who has been discussing our supposed anniversary."

Alhaitham finally drew the cloth from between their hands. He folded it once over the edge of the counter, his attention lingering upon Kaveh rather than the task. "There was no anniversary."

Kaveh rested his damp hands against the basin. "There is now."

Kaveh stared at the water gathered around his fingers, wishing briefly that he could plunge his entire face into the basin and remain there until morning. "I only meant today would technically mark—"

"I know what you meant."

The quiet answer stopped the explanation before Kaveh could bury himself beneath it.

He looked towards the dark hallway.

Then back at Alhaitham.

"Come with me," he said.

Alhaitham’s thumb moved once across his knuckles. "Are you certain?"

Kaveh’s nerves returned in a bright rush, but they no longer resembled fear. He tightened his hold and drew him one step from the basin.

"I’m certain I don’t want the evening to end here."

Alhaitham followed him from the kitchen, switching off the nearest lamp as they passed. The central room dimmed behind them; books, bowls, ribbons, and familiar furniture dissolving into the warm shadows of the house they had already made together.

Kaveh did not release his hand when they reached the hallway.

Neither of them looked back.

The hallway was shorter than Kaveh remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way, with Alhaitham's hand still wrapped around his, guiding him past the guest room door without so much as a glance. Kaveh's own room; the one he'd slept in for years.

Alhaitham walked right past it.

Kaveh stepped forward. He reached past Alhaitham and pressed his own palm over his on the door, nudging it open the rest of the way. An answer without words.

Alhaitham's hands found his waist. Warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. His thumbs swept unhurriedly, grounding arcs against Kaveh's hips, and Kaveh let his head fall forward, forehead bumping against Alhaitham's collarbone. He breathed in the faint trace of tea leaves from the kitchen.

Alhaitham's hand came up to the back of his head, fingers threading through the loose strands near his nape.

Kaveh reached up and began to peel off Alhaitham's shirt. His fingers fumbled on the hem. He let out a frustrated huff, breath ghosting over Alhaitham's throat. "These are ridiculous. Why do you even wear—"

Alhaitham caught his wrists.

He held them for a moment, allowing Kaveh to feel the warmth of his thumbs pressing against the fragile skin beneath his palms. Then he guided Kaveh's hands up to his collar, where the fabric was looser, easier to work with and peel off in one fluid motion.

Kaveh's hands settled on bare shoulders. Warm skin flexed beneath his fingertips. He'd seen Alhaitham without a shirt before, but it had never been with permission to look.

Kaveh pulled his own shirt over his head and let it fall.

"Bed," Kaveh whispered.

Alhaitham's hand slid to the small of his back and guided him back, step by step, until the edge of the mattress met the backs of Kaveh's knees. Kaveh lay back, the familiar sheets cool beneath his shoulders. He looked up at Alhaitham, who stood at the edge of the bed, silhouetted against the window.

Alhaitham didn't climb over him immediately. Instead, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand and clicked it on.

And then Alhaitham was there, one knee on the mattress, then the other, bracing his weight on his forearms as he lowered himself over Kaveh. Close enough to kiss. He looked down instead, his gaze lingering on Kaveh's face.

Alhaitham's hand found Kaveh's. He interlaced their fingers and pressed them into the pillow beside Kaveh's head.

Kaveh's eyes fluttered closed as Alhaitham's lips brushed his. The blond tilted his chin up, chasing the contact, and Alhaitham answered in a slow, patient kiss. His free hand found the scribe's shoulder, fingers curling into the warm skin there, pulling him closer.

Alhaitham's hand released his, sliding down to brace against his hip. The thumb swept across his hipbone in a slow arc, and Kaveh arched into it without thinking.

Kaveh's hands drifted. From Alhaitham's jaw down to his neck, tracing the column of his throat. Then lower; over his shoulders, down his spine, fingers spreading wide against the warm skin of his back.

A large hand found his waist again, sliding lower. Alhaitham's thumb hooked into the waistband of Kaveh's trousers, not pulling, just resting there-asking. Kaveh's breath stuttered.

Alhaitham's other hand came up to his face, brushing the stray strands of hair from Kaveh's forehead that had fallen into disarray.

Kaveh reached down and covered Alhaitham's hand with his own, where it rested at his waistband. He pressed it there, holding it. The line of Alhaitham's mouth eased. He ducked his head, trailing his lips down to the corner of Kaveh's mouth.

Alhaitham's fingers worked the clasps of Kaveh's trousers with deliberate slowness, causing Kaveh's breath to move in shallow pulls. His hands had found their way back to Alhaitham's shoulders, gripping like he needed something solid to hold onto.

Alhaitham's fingers stilled at the waistband. He looked up through his lashes, and there it was-that dry, knowing glint that made Kaveh want to throw a pillow at him.

Kaveh opened his mouth to retort. Then Alhaitham's hand slid lower, palm pressing flat against the front of his trousers. Whatever retort he had prepared vanished.

"You— you're enjoying this."

"I am." The corners of Alhaitham's lips curled. "You're less convincing when you lose your vocabulary."

Kaveh's gaze averted. His hands tugged Alhaitham up by the jaw and kissed him hard to shut him up. Alhaitham made a small sound of surprise against his mouth before relaxing into it, one hand still pressed warm against Kaveh's groin, the other coming up to steady his face.

"Arrogant," Kaveh muttered. But his hands were already reaching for Alhaitham's waistband.

They worked together, both clumsy and breathless, until the last of their clothing lay abandoned somewhere on the floor. Kaveh didn't look. He couldn't look away from Alhaitham's face.

Alhaitham leaned down and pressed his forehead to Kaveh's again. His skin was warm, slightly damp with the effort of undressing. His breath fanned across Kaveh's lips.

"Don't think too hard now," Alhaitham hummed quietly.

Kaveh shoved his shoulder. But he was laughing; and Alhaitham's lips curved.

Alhaitham's hand drifted down, slower now, settling between them. His fingers wrapped around Kaveh's length, and Kaveh's laugh caught in his throat.

"Oh," Kaveh managed to breathe, a shiver running down his spine. "Oh, that's—"

Alhaitham stroked him once. Twice. Slow and thorough, as he learned the shape and curve before brushing the pad of his thumb along the tip. Kaveh's hips twitched forward involuntarily, chasing the sensation, and his head fell back against the pillow. The blond's eyes fluttered closed as Alhaitham's hand continued its slow, patient rhythm.

Alhaitham leaned down and pressed a kiss to his throat. Then another, lower, just above his collarbone. His lips were soft, and Kaveh's fingers found his chest, caressing along the ridges and curves like he would with fine materials.

"I want—" the words died on Kaveh's tongue. His cheeks burned, but he forced each syllable to leave his lips between soft breaths. "I want you. Inside me. Please."

Alhaitham's hand stilled. He pulled back, just enough to look at Kaveh's face as he reached for the nightstand drawer. The drawer opened with a soft click. Alhaitham's hand emerged with an unassuming glass bottle. But Kaveh recognised the appearance, and his breath caught in his throat.

Alhaitham set it on the mattress beside them. Then he hesitated, glancing down at Kaveh with a questioning look.

"You'll tell me if—"

"Yes." Kaveh reached up, fingers brushing Alhaitham's jaw. "I'll tell you. I promise."

The bottle opened with a soft pop. The scent of almond oil drifted between them, subtle and sweet. Alhaitham poured a small amount into his palm, allowing it to warm between his fingers, and Kaveh followed along with his eyes.

"You're staring," Alhaitham murmured.

"I'm admiring." Kaveh's voice came out steadier than he expected. "There's a difference."

Alhaitham's lips twitched. "Is there?"

Kaveh's breath hitched as Alhaitham's oiled hand settled between his legs, fingers brushing against his entrance.

Kaveh's hands slid back over Alhaitham's sides before reaching to his shoulders, grounding himself with a squeeze. Alhaitham's thumb traced slow circles against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and Kaveh's legs fell open wider without conscious thought.

"Breathe," Alhaitham reminded him.

Kaveh sucked in a shaky inhale, yet released an even slower exhale.

Alhaitham's finger pressed against him with the smallest amount of pressure, allowing Kaveh to acclimate to the sensation. Kaveh's hips twitched, uncertain, and Alhaitham stopped immediately.

Kaveh's fingers curled into fists before dropping to his sides and fisting the sheets beneath them. "Just— give me a second."

Alhaitham waited. His thumb kept that slow, soothing circle on Kaveh's thigh, and his other hand came up to rest on Kaveh's chest. His palm lay flat against the blond's sternum, feeling the rhythm of each heartbeat.

Kaveh's breath evened out. "Okay. I'm ready."

Alhaitham's finger pressed again; slow and deliberate with care. Kaveh's back arched at the intrusion, his fingers tightening against the fabric, and a sound escaped him-half surprise, half something more.

"Keep going," Kaveh hoarsely begged. "Just— please."

Alhaitham moved with methodical patience, each press and retreat measured. His free hand never left Kaveh's chest, anchoring him, feeling the rhythm of each heartbeat. He added a second finger when Kaveh's tension eased, and Kaveh's head fell back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut with a choked moan. The angle pressed something inside Kaveh that left him seeing stars.

Alhaitham eventually withdrew his fingers as Kaveh's hands came up to frame his face. The blond's thumbs brushed against high cheekbones, tracing the slight flush that had crept up the scribe's neck from the sight below him.

Alhaitham reached for the bottle again. By the time Kaveh glanced down between them, the scribe was settling between Kaveh's legs, the head of his length pressing against Kaveh's entrance.

Kaveh's breath caught as he wrapped his arms around Alhaitham's shoulders. Pulled him down, close enough that their chests pressed together, skin to warm skin.

"Come here," Kaveh whispered. "Just— come here..."

Alhaitham pressed forward slowly, pausing whenever Kaveh's breath hitched, allowing him to adjust to the sensation. Kaveh's arms tightened around his shoulders, fingers digging into the warm skin of his back, and his legs wrapped around Alhaitham's waist on instinct, pulling him deeper.

Kaveh inhaled sharply against his shoulder. "W-Wait Just— ah—! just give me a second."

Alhaitham obeyed, and the skin of his hips finally rested flush against Kaveh's body. The scribe's forehead pressed into the curve of the architect's neck. His breath was hot and uneven against Kaveh's skin. Both hands braced on either side of the blond's head, trembling just slightly.

"You can move," Kaveh whispered. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Alhaitham's damp temple. "I'm— I want to feel you."

Alhaitham pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then pushed back in with a low groan that Kaveh felt vibrate through his entire body. Kaveh's back arched, a broken sound falling from his lips, and his arms enveloped Alhaitham's neck to hold on.

"That's—" Kaveh's voice cracked. "That's mmh—!"

Alhaitham's response was a huff of breath that might have been a laugh. He pulled out and pushed in again, faster this time, finding a rhythm that made Kaveh's thoughts dissolve into static.

"You're—" Alhaitham started. Stopped. His hips rolled forward, and his voice came out rougher than usual. "You're still overthinking."

Kaveh's laugh was breathless, broken. "I'm not— ah! I'm just lying here—"

"Don't." Alhaitham's hand found his jaw, tilting his face up so their eyes met.

A broken sound escaped Kaveh. He pulled Alhaitham down and kissed him, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of their lips.

Alhaitham's hips never stopped moving; forming a grounding rhythm that made Kaveh feel small shocks with each roll of the other's hips. Strong hands roamed Kaveh's body before finding purchase on his hips for a better angle.

"'Haitham," Kaveh gasped against his mouth. "I'm— I'm close—"

The scribe's free hand slid between them, wrapping around Kaveh's length. He stroked in time gently as he played with the tip. Kaveh's vision went white at the edges. "Let go," Alhaitham murmured. His voice was low and wrecked, stripped of all its usual composure. "I've got you. Let go."

And Kaveh did.

His eyes squeezed shut as a silent whine left his mouth and his body arched sluggishly off the bed. Alhaitham followed moments later; releasing a broken sound against Kaveh's lips. His hips faltered as he buried himself as much as he could into the architect's figure.

Alhaitham's face dropped back to Kaveh's shoulder. His weight pressed Kaveh into the mattress when the blond's arms wrapped tightly around his frame.

"'Haitham," Kaveh whispered.

Alhaitham hummed against his skin.

"I—" Kaveh's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Thank you... For waiting. For all of it."

Alhaitham lifted his head before pressing a kiss to the corner of Kaveh's mouth.

They disentangled slowly, Alhaitham pulling out with an unhurried motion that made Kaveh's eyes water. The scribe disappeared into the adjoining washroom for a moment, then returned with a damp warm cloth to clean them both.

When he was done, Alhaitham dropped the cloth somewhere and climbed back into bed. He pulled Kaveh against his chest. One arm wrapped around the blond's waist, the other cradling his head.

The lamp was still on.

Kaveh reached up, fumbling blindly, and clicked it off.

A comfortable darkness settled around them. The street lamp painted stripes of faded light across the ceiling. The house fell quiet once more. Kaveh's hand found Alhaitham's where it rested on his stomach. He interlaced their fingers and gave them a squeeze.

"'Haitham?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you going to be insufferable in the morning?"

Alhaitham's chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. "I'm always insufferable."

Kaveh snorted. "True."

He smiled nonetheless. And when Alhaitham's arm tightened around him, pulling him closer, Kaveh's eyes drifted closed. The house settled around them. The night was quiet.

And for the first time in years, Kaveh fell asleep without a single worry about the morning.

Kaveh woke reaching across an empty bed.

His hand found only the shallow warmth left behind in the sheets. For several drowsy seconds, he frowned into the pillow and searched farther, fingers passing over rumpled linen before memory returned with enough force to make his eyes open.

Alhaitham’s room.

Alhaitham’s bed.

Kaveh withdrew his hand as though the mattress had caught him doing something embarrassing, then immediately felt ridiculous. There was no one present to witness it. Alhaitham had apparently abandoned him to recover his dignity alone, which might have been considerate if Kaveh had possessed any dignity worth recovering after the previous night.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

"…Archons."

Morning light filtered through the curtains, falling across the nightstand and the book Alhaitham had left there beneath a folded pair of lenses. One pale padisarah petal rested beside them. Kaveh recognised it from Nilou’s wristlet; the flowers themselves had been removed sometime during the night and placed inside a shallow dish of water, their heads leaning together beneath the window.

Kaveh sat up, blond hair falling into his face as the blanket slipped to his waist. A glass of water waited beside the flowers. He drank it before searching the floor for his clothes, finding them folded over the chair rather than abandoned where he remembered leaving them.

By the time Kaveh stepped into the hallway, he had fastened his shirt incorrectly twice and given up entirely on the hair clips refusing to sit straight near his nape. Coffee reached him before the kitchen did, accompanied by the quieter scent of toasted nuts warming in a pan.

Alhaitham stood at the counter with his arms. He had already changed into the simple dark loose shirt he wore around the house, though the hair near his nape remained slightly disordered. Kaveh slowed in the doorway at the sight of it.

He knew precisely whose fault that was.

Without turning, Alhaitham lifted the pan away from the heat. "You’re staring."

Kaveh folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the frame, grateful that irritation remained available to him even after everything else had changed. "You have no evidence."

"You stopped walking."

"That proves I stopped walking." Kaveh lifted a hand to inspect his nails.

"It usually means something distracted you."

Alhaitham tipped the nuts into a small bowl before glancing over his shoulder. His gaze moved over Kaveh once, pausing briefly at a crooked hair clip peeking out from the back of his head.

Kaveh reached up to correct it and only made it worse.

Alhaitham looked away first, though the corner of his mouth shifted.

"Don’t," Kaveh warned as he crossed the kitchen. "I have had a difficult morning."

"You’ve been awake for less than ten minutes."

"And they have been exceptionally demanding."

A cup waited near the edge of the counter. Kaveh wrapped both hands around it, breathing in the steam before tasting the coffee. Enough milk. No excessive bitterness. Prepared exactly as he liked it, which would have been comforting if it had not also felt like another piece of evidence Nilou might have cheerfully presented in her defence.

Alhaitham opened the cupboard and removed two bowls. The plain green one went beside the stove. The blue bowl with the uneven gold rim was placed before Kaveh.

Neither of them commented.

Kaveh’s thumb found the familiar flaw near its base. He held the bowl for a moment longer than necessary, then set it beside his coffee while Alhaitham measured oats into the pot.

"You cleared the table," Kaveh said, reaching for the jar of honey.

Alhaitham moved it closer before his fingers arrived. "Eventually."

"And folded my clothes."

"They were in the way." Alhaitham set two scoops inside the pot.

"You put the flowers in water."

"They would have wilted faster otherwise."

Kaveh looked at him over the honey jar. "You have an explanation for everything."

"Most things have one."

Alhaitham returned his attention to the pot. Kaveh watched the slow turn of the wooden spoon, the quiet precision of his wrist, the ease with which morning had resumed around them. The same stove. The same cupboards. The same man making breakfast as though kissing Kaveh senseless and sharing his bed required no special alteration to the household schedule.

Kaveh set the honey down and caught Alhaitham lightly by the forearm.

The spoon stopped.

Alhaitham turned his head.

Kaveh had no speech prepared. No question, either. The absence of both seemed less like failure than freedom.

He leaned forward and kissed the scribe.

It was brief; only the warm press of Alhaitham’s mouth beneath his before Kaveh drew back, still holding the other's wrist. Alhaitham regarded him in silence, one brow lifting by the smallest degree.

Kaveh raised his chin. "What?"

"The oats are burning."

Kaveh released him at once. Alhaitham turned back to the stove and moved the pot from the flame before anything could catch, though the quiet sound leaving him might have been laughter.

"You could have mentioned that sooner," Kaveh said, reaching for the spoon.

"You appeared occupied."

"By you." Kaveh's lips continued to hold his small smile.

"Yes."

The answer arrived too easily.

Kaveh stared at the side of his face, then laughed despite himself and bumped their shoulders together as he took over stirring. Alhaitham remained beside him, close enough that their arms touched while he divided the toasted nuts between the waiting bowls.

Morning light climbed slowly across the counter. The padisarahs rested in their borrowed dish near the window. The blue bowl waited for Kaveh, as it always had. Nothing in the house looked different.

This time, Kaveh understood what that meant.