Chapter Text
“Hey, move to the side one bit, I can’t see him!”
“Hmph! Can it be that I’m in your way?”
“Is he talking back?”
“Shut up! Let me hear his voice.”
“I don’t understand what the fuss is about. He looks nice, yeah. That black hair is poorly styled, though. And why’s he sporting those funky binoculars?”
“Not him! The one with the silver hair!”
“Can he actually see anything through that fringe? How weird.”
He closes the book, too distracted by his colleagues’ argument. The comforting moment of silence was washed away, just like that, as the group found interest in… Kaveh steals a glance as well. His brows shoot up as he watches the two men seated at the farthermost table in the House of Daena. Because of the distance, he fails to grasp core details, but he notices the criticized binoculars hiding one man’s eyes, and the gray fringe that shields the other’s left eye. They look as though they are sharing information. They appear to be studying. That’s the plausible conclusion that Kaveh reaches; exams are, in fact, creeping up. It’s precisely why he’s having this study session with his Kshahrewar peers.
Said peers are gradually lifting their voices, bluntly cutting each other off as jerking movements are made. It causes quite the hassle for the aspiring architect. What puzzles him more is the topic of conversation – why and how are they so curious about the two men?
Pff, the usual gossip, he thinks to himself, supporting one cheek on his fist.
He once again opens the book, finds his neat annotations on a page, and picks up his feather quill. Fate is cruel enough that he doesn’t get to write, instead, one heavy arm crashes down on his small back, making him flinch.
“The dead can wait, Kaveh. How about focusing on the living?”
It’s a joke. A stupid, unsolicited one, but still a joke. Don’t think of father.
He gulps down the lump that’s instantly barricading his throat, then gives a sigh, relieved of its burden.
“What do you mean by that? Did I get the purpose of our meeting wrong? This is a study session, no?”
“Yeah, sure,” his colleague replies. “But King Deshret’s pyramids aren’t going anywhere. These two might. Ha! Look. Are they having a fight?”
Kaveh steals yet another glance at the intriguing men. The brunette with the binoculars has risen to his feet and, without warning, slams his fist on the table. Kaveh’s mouth hangs open at that.
“How many times must I repeat myself? This is the way to ultimate human evolution!”
He is sneering at the other, who, surprisingly, seems unphased. He merely turns a page in his book. His answer is silent, but Kaveh can make something out:
“At this stage, Siraj, I consider it foolish to make assumptions as grand as that.”
“Which is why we must dive further into it!” the man named Siraj goes on, his other hand hitting the table with a loud thud.
Hunched over it, he challenges his… classmate? Kaveh doesn’t know who they are.
“My current knowledge in humanities is somewhat limited, but seeing your motivation, I can only encourage you to keep at it.”
“Damn your limited knowledge!” Siraj cries, packing up his books and manuscripts. “I thought we were on the same level here, Alhaitham.”
The smallest of grimaces appears on that young man’s face – Alhaitham. Kaveh heard his name.
“You are gravely mistaken. I study semiotics, while you study etiology. We are under two different Darshans, but coincidence makes it happen that we share some classes together. We are not on the same level, quantitatively speaking.”
“As if it hurt you to take interest in my hypothesis!”
“Again, isn’t this too early a stage for you to theorize about concepts you can barely begin to grasp? I suggest further documentation for accuracy.”
Siraj whips around, scowling, and it doesn’t take long for him to shout so loudly, all the other heads in the House of Daena are turned to him.
“Alhaitham, you’re truly insufferable! You’re the worst colleague or study partner one could hope to have. For the sake of my peers, I hope none of them has to deal with you.”
I hope that, too, Alhaitham says to himself, still unmoved by Siraj’s meltdown.
“Jeesh,” one young woman says, smirking at the scene.
“Yeah, no shit,” the student next to Kaveh says. “That’s Siraj, right? Wouldn’t wanna mess with him.”
“Rude. Unnecessarily loud,” Kaveh whispers, mostly to himself, but his colleagues hear him, nonetheless.
“Yeah. I kind of feel bad about the other one. He looks so quiet and alone.”
Kaveh can’t help himself. There’s too much kindness in his heart, too much hope for humanity. Alhaitham sits alone, taking notes from time to time, completely detached from the world around him. Is he suffering? Drowning the sorrow in self-imposed study? Most likely. That is also Kaveh’s coping mechanism.
It could have been anybody else. It could have been me.
If that were the case, Kaveh would have definitely appreciated somebody coming to his side, striking up random conversation, just for the sake of refreshing the mind. Companionship. Camaraderie. This is his chance to act the way he always dreamed somebody would act for him.
His colleagues throw a myriad of questions at him when he stands up. He doesn’t listen. He fixes the beanie on his head, subtly checks the pins in his hair, then strides toward Alhaitham. Behind him, small cheers and curious sounds mingle together, but he pays them no mind.
The student lifts his eyes from his book, probably because Kaveh’s shadow obstructed his reading. They share a look. Teal meets carnelian, and that is when Kaveh realizes nobody, absolutely nobody in his whole life has pierced his whole being so powerfully, so fast.
Does he have drills for eyes?
“Hi.”
“…Hello.”
“I’m Kaveh,” he introduces himself with a weak smile, a sheepish laugh following. “I heard– well, what I mean to say is–”
“Alhaitham.”
Kaveh scoffs, visibly nervous as he fidgets with his green Akademiya robe.
“Not quite. Um, that’s not– that guy before–”
“You’ve given me your name, I gave you mine. Isn’t this what introductions entail?”
Damn, he’s smug!
“Yes, sure… Are you alright?” Kaveh cuts to the chase.
Alhaitham blinks like an innocent child.
“Very much so, thank you.”
“Really? Because to me it looked like that man – Siraj, right? – gave you a hard time. Are you classmates?”
“In some lectures.”
“What year of study are you?”
“Two.”
Such economical talk!
“Well,” Kaveh walks around the table, his body language betraying his emotions as usual, “that makes me your senior. I’m year four.”
Alhaitham waits, poker-faced. An awkward silence falls unbidden, and Kaveh finds it’s all on him to take the conversation further. He clears his throat.
“As your senior, I take responsibility for the wellbeing of my underclassmen.”
“How charitable. I’d worry more about myself.”
Kaveh deadpans. Did he just get shut up? Simple as that?
“There has to be some gratitude somewhere within you.”
“What for?” Alhaitham asks, leaning back in his chair, cross-armed. “You interrupted me.”
The nerve of him!
Kaveh’s eyes light up, mouth twitching.
“What were you working on?”
“Exam preparations. Now, if you’d be so kind…”
I get it. No need to push me away, too.
“Huh. My colleagues and I are doing exactly that.”
Alhaitham glances at him, dumbfounded, as if he learned something so banal as the sky being blue.
“I figure as much, what with the session being around the corner.”
“My point is, what subjects interest–”
“I’ll be taking some time for myself now,” Alhaitham cuts him off like a blade cleaving a weed. “Bye.”
Knew I should have stayed at home today. What a drag.
Stunned in place, the Kshahrewar student can only watch as the other picks up his stuff and leaves. No last glance over the shoulder. No hesitation.
Is he a sociopath? Kaveh asks himself. Did I come to him too strong?
The only concrete answer he receives is from his colleagues, calling his name and waving at him.
~
Alhaitham is sick of it all. Too many voices, offensively piling up like the files on his desk, are interfering with his thinking process. He hates being interrupted, therefore he does what comes naturally – he leaves. Carving a path through the waves of stirring students – stirring like bothersome insects – he reluctantly shifts his shoulders, moving through the unreasonably tiny gap. From time to time, he even needs to touch his peers lightly on the shoulder in order to pass. He hates it.
I can’t breathe.
The pair of doors are swung open, waiting for him at the end of what seems like a tunnel. A tunnel of insects, poking him, needlessly making contact with him. He’s not claustrophobic, of course, but he can’t stand being among so many people at once. A few more steps. Almost there.
“Alhaitham, wait up!”
Get lost.
Frowning, he turns away before their eyes can meet, but Siraj has already seen him. That Vahumana student obsessed with human evolution has been nagging him for too long. With an instinctive gasp, Alhaitham breaks free of the crowd. He’s out. Fresh air. The pleasant warmth of the sun. He doesn’t want to step inside the Akademiya for the rest of the week.
“Hey, did you hear me? Wanna have lunch?” Siraj asks, having reached him with a jog.
“I’m not hungry,” Alhaitham declines.
“Oh, come on! Tab’s on me.”
Suddenly, Alhaitham reconsiders. His mind works incredibly fast, weighing the pros and cons. On the one hand, he’d be treated to a meal. On the other, he’d be forced to endure the company of his obnoxious classmate. Decisions, decisions.
“Where are we going?” he replies with a question, his signature method of expressing agreement, signature that he strongly believes he’s perfected.
“There’s a new place on Treasures Street. Apparently, they’ve opened up shop recently. Let’s check it out.”
I’d rather have take-out.
Alhaitham makes the terrible mistake of closing his eyes, if for a brief second, when Siraj grabs his hand, pulling him down the alley at his pace. Disgust seeps out of his eyes and mouth, violently breaking free from the calloused grip. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to – his face is dark with annoyance. Siraj must have had a death wish.
“You’re such a bore, Alhaitham!” he laughs, his hands falling limp at his sides. “Suit yourself then.”
They walk in silence to the tavern which looks like having undergone repairs; crates are loaded here and there, raw materials are somewhat obstructed from sight behind it. The welcome board next to its door reads ‘student’s lunch – 20% discount!’. How convenient, indeed.
Oh no.
It’s anything but convenient! Alhaitham’s brilliant mind connects the dots at lightspeed. It can only mean this place is crawling with people, people he can’t avoid. He stares ahead, frozen, until Siraj sighs dramatically and opens the door for him.
“Ladies first,” he says, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Alhaitham smirks smugly, turning around to look for said ladies. His movements are languid, mimicking his classmate’s. Only a few Corps of Thirty soldiers are patrolling the street.
“I’m afraid I can’t see any.”
Defeated, Siraj bats a hand through the air.
To dissipate his own stupidity, more like.
They enter the tavern, Alhaitham making sure to walk behind Siraj to further mock him. Inside, the noise hits him hard, hits him mercilessly. Bards? Isn’t it too early for their performance? Moreover, those clinks of glasses, the prickling sounds of meat roasting on the rotisserie, the wild laughs…
“Actually, I feel hungry now,” he plays his part.
He isn’t aware of it, but he’s a splendid actor on the social stage, his choleric wit and irony – his tools of choice.
“Let’s take a seat, shall we?” Siraj offers.
The tavern is small, which makes it worse for Alhaitham. There isn’t enough space to breathe. How can one enjoy themselves in such a crammed place? He glues his back to the chair as the other man sits across from him. Time crawls like an insect whose legs are severed in a cruel lab experiment.
They order the student menu, Siraj insisting on treating him to a beer, but Alhaitham doesn’t want to put his mouth on that. Instead, he requests the blackest of the black coffees, one elbow propped on the table to support his head on a hand. So heavy. Siraj makes small talk, but Alhaitham can only channel his energy towards that enigmatic page he’s come across in his library, at home. As soon as he returns, he wants to ask his grandmother to decipher him the mystery.
Siraj keeps rambling about virtues that he clearly has no hope of reaching. Alhaitham sips the bitter beverage that is brough to him.
A quarrel is started.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I betcha he does far more interesting things to her.”
“One more remark concerning my mother and it’ll be the last thing you say.”
The greater, egocentric part of his conscience is screaming at him to let it fly by; it’s not his business, it’s not his call, the coarse scene doesn’t concern him. However, his eyes snap open when he realizes he’s familiar with that last voice. Without thinking, his head jerks to the side.
“Is it true that she’s instructing you to man up?”
“Learning from the best, I see. She’s had a child, she obviously can teach him a thing or two.”
Alhaitham isn’t aware of his feet propelling him like a catapult. He’s short for his age, but standing up, that murderous disgust back on his face, gives the impression that he’s towering above those jerks. No, the semantics of the word doesn’t cover what they fully are. Vulgarly ignorant. Superficial, which truthfully reflects their intelligence, or more precisely, lack of.
“Does she kneel for you? Or–”
The bottle of whatever alcohol was inside is smashed outright on the attacker’s head. His lackeys back away at that. Alhaitham has just stepped closer to the scene, recognizing that stylish brown hair, kept in place with uncountable red pins.
“You disrespectful cur!” Kaveh sneers. “My mother is a top Kshahrewar graduate, known and admired for her craft! That the best you can do? Let your jealousy speak through obscenities?”
The ‘cur’ pats his face, checking for injuries. Kaveh’s mighty blow knocked him down on the ground, but he rises slowly, spitting a thin trail of blood.
“Learn more about your mommy. At this point, you literally are a son of a bitch. She’s been going all out with scholars, even sages. You can’t blame us for questioning how ‘admirably’ she graduated.”
Kaveh’s lips jerk. There’s lightning in his eyes, yet it cannot strike at his attacker.
“What did you just say?”
“Are you deaf or in denial? I don’t know which is worse.”
Kaveh wants to throw up. He wants to throw this man out through the window, too.
“That’ll be one thousand Mora.”
The small crowd parts for Alhaitham as people would before a saint. Kaveh doesn’t notice him until it’s too late; stepping back, away from the arrogant jerk, he bumps into Alhaitham’s chest. As if burnt, Kaveh stirs and turns around.
“Are you talking to me?” the bully asks, and the Haravatat student nods calmly.
“I’ve inquired about the price of the spilt drink. Turns out it was Dandelion Wine, imported all the way from Mondstadt. Lambad demands that you pay an additional fee for disrupting the peace.”
Alhaitham gracefully moves, Kaveh’s eyes fully trained on him as he pivots himself in front of his senior. A human shield.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Alhaitham counters, imitating the passive-aggressive tone. “The choice is yours. Whether you pay now and you are excused for whatever pathetic one-man show you put up, or the Corps of Thirty will gladly escort you out. Mind you, that means you won’t be welcome here any longer. Didn’t you read the large note on that wall, over there? ‘Lambad’s tavern reserves the right to choose its clientele’.”
The bully is completely silent in defeat. Head sunken between his shoulders, he carefully walks past Alhaitham. What his destination is, the Haravatat student can’t be bothered to check. His presence alone is enough to make the lackeys scramble away, which only leaves…
“I knew your mother has been a widow for years, but who would have thought she’s having fun with multiple partners? Does she even get paid for that?”
Siraj.
Alhaitham breathes in once, breathes out, then breathes in again. Footsteps are approaching him. That miserable…! The gears of time halt, and he feels as if he were sinking, oxygen lacking, the music of the tavern dulled by the water… Would he drown? No. He has to push himself up. Rise to the surface. Fight back. Clacking his teeth, he grabs oblivious Siraj by the nape, roughly pulling some strands of hair for good measure, then smacks him hard on the nearest table, face-first.
No sound comes out of it, save for Kaveh’s muffled gasp. Siraj stumbles and falls, but Alhaitham doesn’t cut him any slack, doesn’t allow him to catch his breath. He grips the front of his Akademiya robe, swings his right arm backwards, and brings his fist crashing into that filthy mouth. From his spot, Kaveh can swear he sees blood flying.
“For an aspiring humanitarian, you seem to be misplaced.”
Siraj looks up at Alhaitham, dizzy and confused. Poor man didn’t even get to see what hit him.
“The hell?” he croaks, a painful hiss in his voice.
“I don’t need your money or, more importantly, your company. I’ll pay for my own lunch.”
With that, Alhaitham flicks his wrist, probably sore for the strength he channeled into that punch. Again, he feels the egocentric pull of his conscience, he hears it loud and clear, ushering him away, but, against his better judgment, Alhaitham wants to stay. He feels like staying. Other students have left the tavern in the wake of the violent event, patrons have returned their focus on their plates and partners of conversation. It’s just him… and Kaveh. Leaving a semi-conscious Siraj on the floor, Alhaitham turns around, doing the unthinkable.
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
Perhaps Siraj hears it better than Kaveh; the friendly offer hurts worse than the beating he took. He can’t find the power to move, so stunned he is. He watches, lips wrinkling in anger, as that brunette senior nods, then walks to the table where his own and Alhaitham’s lunch have been served. The gray-haired young man simply moves Siraj’s plates elsewhere; for all he cares, he can dispose of them, but he’s never been one to show disrespect to food, especially cooked meals.
“Let me put this on my tab,” Kaveh speaks, no enthusiasm whatsoever. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for what you did.”
“No need,” Alhaitham replies, handing him the menu. “Have you ordered yet?”
“No, I only came for a change of scenery, but it turns out I made the most unfortunate choice. My colleagues ate something, I’ve only had coffee. Huh. They left in a hurry.”
“It would seem so.”
“Alhaitham, I insist. Your lunch is on my tab.”
It’s a trap. He’s making you feel indebted to him, so that the next time you meet him, you have to repay him. Don’t–
“Thank you, then.”
He doesn’t know what’s gotten to his head. Only now, when Kaveh leans forward to relax his shoulders, he notices the long earrings his senior is wearing. And how does that feather stick to his hair like that? Oh. The pins. When Kaveh looks to the side, unaware that he’s being scanned for all he has to present, Alhaitham corrects himself; it’s not just a feather, it’s a quill. The evidence points at the obvious conclusion: Kaveh is an artist.
The younger man forces himself to gulp down the bitter coffee, unable to suppress a grunt of disgust. Suddenly, he can’t tolerate the taste anymore. He doesn’t like it one bit. Kaveh shoots him a puzzled look, he merely massages at his temple with two fingers. If only he could have swallowed his feelings along with that bitterness!
Kaveh is not just an artist, he’s an artist Alhaitham has taken interest in, against all the odds. So intently he watches his senior that he can barely make out Siraj in the faint background, exiting the tavern.
~
Gently taking his earrings off, Kaveh rotates them, turning them into a pair of calipers. Then he plucks the feather quill from a perfect braid, and sets out to measure the schematic on his paper pad. He focuses, mumbling numbers under his breath, unaware that his stoic junior is stealing lightning-quick glances at him from across the table. He can hear the soft rustling of pages, the click of a pen every now and then. He lets them fade in his subconscious mind as he taps a nervous finger on his forehead, struggling to calculate the area of a rectangular that fairly resembles… a house?
“Um, Alhaitham? What is 6 times 24?”
The gray-haired student drops his book and gives him a stare so blank, Kaveh could swear he’s in a trance.
“What is 12 squared?”
Kaveh blinks, a laugh escaping him.
“144.”
“You’re welcome,” Alhaitham says, then returns to his reading.
First things first. The Kshahrewar student puts down the number, circling it in haste. When he detects no movement from ahead, he sighs all too dramatically, raising his voice:
“You’re not even going to feign curiosity?”
“Why would I?” Alhaitham answers too fast for him to process. “I’ve been of assistance in your field of study, now I leave you to it and get to mine.”
“That’s… cold.”
“It’s respect.”
“Respect?” Kaveh shouts, not caring if he disturbs the other people in the House of Daena. “I’m designing a palace here. I have a great idea. Is this how you show ‘respect’ to it?”
He feels annoyance building up, making the luster in his eyes shiver, but, as he waits, he notices a faint smile gracing Alhaitham’s lips. The Haravatat student meets his gaze.
“In your opinion, sharing interests is a form of respect, I take it. A questionable judgment. People should stick to their business, lest they create unwarranted problems for one another.”
“Pff,” Kaveh scoffs and huffs, slamming his quill on the table. “What are you insinuating? That I’m ‘creating problems’ for you?”
“Not currently,” Alhaitham replies leaning backward, his shoulders relaxed. “Let’s keep it this way.”
“Forget that. Suppose no trouble arises whatsoever. Would you still not be interested in this? A palace?”
He lifts the paper pad to show it off, his index moving with precision over the corners of the rectangle. Alhaitham’s mouth opens, soundless. The details, written in pen and ink, the arrows and the circles… If this is what the schematic looks like, then what would the finite product?
“You designed this,” he says quietly. “And you’re going to build it?”
Proud of his accomplishment, Kaveh crosses his arms on his chest, the schematic forgotten between them.
“However long it takes. It’s a monster of a project, yes, but I know I have it in me to do it.”
A faint smile is Alhaitham’s sole reply. Then they both duck their heads back into their work. It’s quiet in the House of Daena, the murmurs of the scholars and students fading in the background. After Kaveh delivers his finishing touches to the blueprint, he admires it with a soft chuckle. The other man hears it – he hears everything – and lifts his eyes again.
“How can you be an artist as well as an architect? I can’t see the two instances coexisting.”
“Oh, really? It’s quite simple. Art and practicality articulate each other, as in, a beautifully designed roof serves no purpose if it’s not properly measured and built. Conversely, the same roof is dull without a sprinkle of artistic ingenuity. I just need to close my eyes, envision both aspects, and find the link between them. Every decent Kshahrewar student will tell you the design is the primordial, most important step in this field of work.”
“Hmm,” Alhaitham ponders. “I’ve never heard of such possibility.”
“What? You’re surprised I can do maths and paint?”
“Yes, and both on a professional level.”
“Well, here I am,” Kaveh makes a reverent bow. “Pleased to meet you, Alhaitham.”
The stoic one snorts at the theatrics, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, nonetheless.
“Are you self-taught, too?”
“I own my mother most of my passion and skill.”
My mother, wherever she may be these days. I hope she’s happy.
“I see. I look forward to more conversation, then.”
Kaveh’s fists fall soundlessly on the table. A rebel bang is pulled by gravity between his eyes.
“You. Want to talk to me?”
“What I just said,” Alhaitham retorts. “Tell me more about this palace. Who is going to provide the funds for it? How will you recruit the building team?”
Pragmatic. Functionality above all.
“I’ll… I’ll figure that out once I finish my exams. I still have to prepare my speech for when I’ll be defending my graduation paper.”
“Oh?” Alhaitham arches a thin brow. “You’ve finished it already?”
“Yes, I hate the pressure. I can’t work under pressure. Well, I mostly do, heh, but I mean… I don’t fare well in stressful contexts, so I try to avoid them as much as possible.”
“What are the title and the topic of your thesis?”
“I called it ‘Unearthing a Civilization: The Temples Forgotten – an Overview of Old Sumerian Architecture’. And there’s your topic. I’ve studied the ruins in the desert of Hadramaveth, the ones past the Tanit camps. Those were difficult field trips indeed.”
Kaveh looks to the side, reluctant to meet the other’s gaze, as he expects to find nothing but a respect that is too cold for comfort. However, Alhaitham suddenly stirs to life, and for the first time, Kaveh sees the enthusiasm, the burning curiosity, the passion that Alhaitham has sealed within himself for years.
“Can you show it to me, please? I’m studying the relics and runes found in the Mausoleum of King Deshret by a party of researchers. I’ve used their insights as the theoretical framework of my paper. In a few days, I’m heading out to investigate, and I’d be glad if you could share your views with me.”
Huh. Where you’ve been keeping that tongue until now?
Kaveh is 100% positive he has never heard Alhaitham utter such a long discourse. He can only nod, shy to the point of blushing, summoning Mehrak at his side to rummage for his thesis.
“What’s that?” Alhaitham asks, staring at the green briefcase which floats.
“Oh, meet my mapping partner. I’ve created… her? with the same energy blocks that power up Ruin Guards. It’s completely safe, don’t worry. She’s been one of my coolest, most useful inventions. Consider it a… virtual storage? It can basically scan everything I show her, and she will keep a digitalized record of it within. When I need to retrieve it, all I have to do is this.”
He clicks his fingers, Mehrak beeps friendly, making Alhaitham crack a smile. A neat document materializes on the table, bearing Kaveh’s name and a consistent, golden-engraved title.
“May I?”
“By all means.”
Alhaitham takes the book with utmost care. It makes Kaveh frown at the gentleness.
He treats written stuff more humanely than actual humans.
“Wait just a minute. Did you say you’re already working on your thesis? But aren’t you year two?”
“What of it?” the Haravatat student shrugs a shoulder. “I have the ideas, the interest, and all other necessary materials. Plus, I have a valuable reference now.”
Valuable. My work is valuable.
“You mean it?” Kaveh asks in a whisper, because his voice fails him.
“Have more self-confidence, senior. You’re supposed to be a shining example to us juniors, no?”
“Y-You…! Huh. Fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time just because you addressed me properly. A fine start to a lucrative cooperation.”
“You seek lucrative cooperation with me?”
“I believe you’ve requested it in the first place. Let me see your paper then.”
Alhaitham offers it to him, completely forgetting how he once brushed Siraj off when asked to do the same, contradicting himself with what he’s said merely minutes ago, about people minding their own business. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he trusts Kaveh. He trusts that Kaveh is worth his energy. It dawns on him that he wants to share his knowledge with him, he wants the two of them to have long, meaningful conversations despite exams knocking at his mental door and even bursting it open.
Session be damned. He wants to spend more time with Kaveh.
In mutual understanding, they proceed to reading each other’s work. The sun is beginning its descent, sending out its brilliant rays through the mosaic glass of the windows. Dots of red, pink, orange, green, blue, and purple glitter like tiny diamonds on the marble floor, and the light immediately catches Kaveh’s eyes.
“Hold on, Haitham, I need to take this!” he nearly shouts with excitement as he pulls out a blank page, then his painting supplies. “Oh my God! Sorry!”
He slaps his mouth, eyes large, unblinking.
“What for?” the gray-haired man asks, his tone unusually warm. “You can call me like that if you wish.”
“R-Really?” Kaveh insists, taking up a brush. “We’re… study partners, which–”
“Is that what you want us to be?”
To hell with him and his brain wracking puzzles!
“You interrupted me.”
“Yes, because you uttered a non-truth. Or, more precisely, an incomplete one.”
Kaveh can’t focus anymore on the light or the colors. All he sees is a perfectly proportioned face, hair that he swears would be soft to the touch, sparkling teal twin jewels, brought into spotlight by the mosaic of colors filtering through the windows, a mouth he wrongly assumed to be ill-intended, but now he thinks… He thinks that mouth…
“What are we then?” he asks, to bring a swift end to his train of thought.
“Friends, Kaveh. We’re friends. Your bangs are unruly, by the way.”
The soon-to-be architect laughs, his shoulders shaking, unbothered to fix his brown hair. If anything, it’s thick enough to conceal his flushed cheeks. Alhaitham waves a hand at him to anchor him in the present. Back to work.
The nerve of this man! He’s got like zero social skills!
Somewhere across their spot, a student places a book back in its shelf and furiously leaves the House of Daena.
~
Lectures are over for the day. Kaveh walks out of the Akademiya, Mehrak swung over his shoulder, and just as he considers where to grab a late lunch from, Alhaitham is calling his name with something that can only be… enthusiasm.
Never thought I’d run after you, yet here we are.
Kaveh turns, Alhaitham slows his jog. Wordlessly, the senior asks him what the matter is, then the junior holds out two plastic containers.
“Grandma’s made stew today. I told her you like Fatteh, and she’s made some for you, too.”
Kaveh’s face is shrouded in darkness, all life vanishing from it. His chin falls to his chest for a few seconds, but he quickly snaps out of it, laughing nervously.
As he always does.
“Wow, that’s… She needn’t bother! Can you give her my thanks, please?”
“Well, after mentioning your name over and over again throughout the days, she’s figured you’re important to me, which automatically makes you important to her.”
“Hah. Grandmas will be grandmas, no?” he replies, his voice shaking.
“You can say that again. I have to admit, it feels nice when somebody’s looking out for you.”
Kaveh accepts the food, smiling as he finds the lid still warm. Pleasantly warm. He’s sure if he takes it off, the tantalizing aroma will make him salivate. Light returns on his features. His fingers are twitching.
“You’re going to drop it. Relax,” Alhaitham giggles. “Come with me. I know a nice place. It’s not far.”
His heart starts pounding in his chest the moment he hears Kaveh’s footsteps following him. A safety measure that he developed through the years commands that he walk faster than Kaveh, leaving him to trail behind, but a conscience – a conscience which Alhaitham is surprised he has – is kindly relieving the all body muscle tension, telling him to set his pace to his senior’s. Why? What does that mean? He’s breaking out a small sweat and he realizes it’s not from climbing up the stairs.
The closer they get to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, the faster Alhaitham’s heart beats, making him blink rapidly and gnaw his bottom lip. Eventually, he motions at the grand edifice before them, the temple of Sumeru’s God, then steps away from the alley to sit on the soft grass. Kaveh follows without comment.
Say something. You’re the more talkative type, so say something.
They keep a certain distance between one another. Instead of cringing under the awkward silence, Kaveh helps himself with the Fatteh as soon as Alhaitham gives him a spare pair of plastic cutlery.
He’s got a point. The most productive conversations are carried on a full stomach.
The sun is still high in the sky, and Alhaitham is sweltering in his Akademiya uniform. He puts down his beanie, taking one last bite from his favorite stew. To his side, Kaveh doesn’t stir. He probably rejoices in receiving the warmth, as the iridescent rays caress his hair, turning its shade into… melted chocolate. Alhaitham licks his lips, and it’s not from the delicious Sabz Meat Stew. From the corner of his eye, he notices how the brown strands of hair frame Kaveh’s left cheek, how obediently they hover above that soft patch of skin, porcelain skin, a bit more tanned than his own, because the sun seems to favor Kaveh.
His senior delicately wipes his mouth with a paper towel, wraps the used cutlery inside it, then hands Alhaitham the container.
“Please tell your grandmother this was great. Thank you very much.”
The stoic student can’t do anything but smile back, subconsciously reflecting Kaveh’s every single expression. And, boy, is Kaveh the most expressive person alive!
She was right, he’s over the moon. I’m glad I listened to her.
Alhaitham places the lid on his own now empty container, proceeding to wipe his mouth as well. His conscience laughs at the realization that he wouldn’t have bothered with that, had Kaveh not been here. Why is he trying to look his best, act his best, speak his best… all in all, be the best version of himself in his senior’s presence?
Alhaitham never bothered to change his behavior, let alone his mental patterns for anybody. Being self-taught, he takes great pride in his rightful accomplishments, in accumulating knowledge and using it to his advantage. However, just a few days ago, he’s shared priceless information not for his own gain, but for Kaveh’s thesis. For Kaveh. After learning the true significance of the eight runes in Gurabad’s ruin, Kaveh shakingly grasped his temples, flipped rapidly through his paper, desperate to find and modify the mistakes he’s made. Alhaitham could have let him see about it; he could have so easily stayed out of it… but his body moved before his intellect could give the command – a first instance of uncharacteristic behavior. That afternoon, which turned to evening, which turned to somber night, he sat by Kaveh in the House of Daena, helping him rephrase tens of paragraphs.
An effort which wasn’t aimed at his ulterior benefits.
A fair amount of his time that wasn’t invested in himself.
What’s going on with me?
Kaveh’s voice pops the heavy bubbles in his mind:
“By the by, I’ve finished going over three chapters. Thanks again for your assistance that day. Now I only need to re-read the last two chapters and the conclusions.”
Keep talking.
“Huh. If get lucky, the professor will support that project of mine I’ve told you about. The palace.”
Don’t stop. Keep going.
“I’ve made it official. A potential client even answered! I’m meeting them tomorrow, in Pardis Dhyai. You’re rooting for me, aren’t you, Haitham?”
Not even grandma calls me nicknames.
“Of course,” he nods, gulping down something in his throat. “Let me know how it turns out.”
“Aww, such a kind-hearted junior!”
Kaveh does the unthinkable, taking Alhaitham by surprise: he beats twice on his back, laughing, perfect teeth on display. The smile is blinding Alhaitham like a blitz, short-circuiting his brain. Whereas the touch… Has Kaveh just touched him? The hand retreats faster than Alhaitham can process the sensation.
Do it again.
“There are high prospects for this. As soon as I graduate, I get to work on the palace. I’m so happy, Haitham.”
Good.
Kaveh shifts nervously, fidgeting, drumming his fingers on a knee, tapping his foot. It’s challenging Alhaitham’s selective attention, but the gray-haired junior wants to pay attention. To everything. He’s not aware of it, but he turns his body towards Kaveh, wordlessly expressing interest. A storm of voices whirls inside his head – most of them screaming, the others muffled. His hands feel sweaty. It’s too hot, he can barely breathe… and he likes it.
“What’s the matter?” Kaveh breaks the magic that has fallen on them. “You’re quiet. Am I talking too much? Wait, I remember you said you’re hypersensitive to sound.”
“Sensitive,” Alhaitham corrects, but the tips of his ears grow red with the lie.
“Um, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Pff, too late for that.
“You’re not.”
Again, he feels the blood rushing to his ears. They burn.
“Are you okay?” Kaveh asks, brows raised in two beautiful arches.
Alhaitham wants to trace them with his fingers, his lips…
“Must be the heat,” he says, brushing it off with a careless hand.
“We should go indoors somewhere.”
As soon as Kaveh makes the slightest move to stand up, something feral snaps in Alhaitham. His conscious mind shatters to pieces, adrenaline courses through his veins as if keeping his senior close to him is a fight or flight situation. He grabs Kaveh’s forearm, applying a pressure so great, the poor young man yelps in pain. Alhaitham releases him immediately.
I’m sorry.
“I didn’t mean to– I don’t know what…”
He’s never stuttered before, not even in class, replying to his professors. He’s never left sentences unfinished. He can only stare at Kaveh, hoping against all odds that the senior understands. He’s always so perceptive, his emotional intelligence must be skyrocketing through all the roofs in Sumeru City. Alhaitham envies that. It’s a new feeling to him.
“Haitham, the sun has baked your head,” the aspiring architect says with a sympathetic look on his face.
No, you have.
Alhaitham never thought he’d need somebody else’s sympathy. He’s doing a poor job at receiving even his grandmother’s, but Kaveh’s… Kaveh’s simply flows into his welcoming heart. All gates are open. All barricades are fallen, useless. What’s most intriguing – he’s not bothered about this. Words fail him. His very Darshan fails him.
“You’re a pleasant company, you know, but how about we move elsewhere, since the heat is getting to me, too? I get dizzy when I’m under the sun for too long. Come on, let’s go.”
I’m… pleasant.
Kaveh innocently holds out his hand to help his junior to his feet, when Alhaitham takes his wrist instead, pulling him down to his level. He hears a gasp, but it’s cut short as soon as he swings his arms around Kaveh’s tender frame. He’s never touched anybody. The only tiny hugs he’s ever accepted are rare, and they are all his grandmother’s. Kaveh’s skin is hot. He drags a thumb over the back of his palm, before bringing a hand up to his chin. All the while, the chocolate-haired senior stares, stunned in place, mouth agape.
Mouth agape, yes. It’s open for Alhaitham. He tilts his head slightly, searching for consent in those carnelian orbs.
“…Whatever this is,” Kaveh says softly, “don’t stop now.”
A dam is broken, leaving mighty waters to flow, to assault, to take over the rationality of Alhaitham’s mind. He takes a breath, his thumb wiping across Kaveh’s chin, and, at the sight of those lips, parted for him, he closes his eyes and dives in. He doesn’t know what he’s going to find. He doesn’t know whether the impact will mark him for life or not. But he’s never been more certain in life about another thing. He wants Kaveh, he wants to be physical with Kaveh, he wants to be a part of Kaveh, he wants…
Companionship? No, he’s had that. Now, it has leveled up to a romantic relationship.
Alhaitham snickers at the thought. He’s barely touched Kaveh’s lips with his own. He pulls away, his breath not enough. His senior remains in the same place, same pose, eyes still closed. His tongue darts over the spot where he’s been kissed. He doesn’t speak when he shifts closer to Alhaitham, their legs and hips touching now. He puts a hand on Alhaitham’s right cheek, pulling him in again, only this time, he himself responds. Alhaitham’s initiative has shocked him to the core, but he can deliver some high voltage, in turn. He makes a sweet sound as their mouths find each other again, faces fitting in an almost perfect angle. For a first kiss, it’s unforgettable – no clumsy mistake, no drunken courage.
It’s love, blooming.
It doesn’t matter to them that they can taste the other’s lunch – instead, they feed it to each other passionately, Alhaitham taking a liking to Fatteh, and Kaveh learning to appreciate a new recipe of stew. Hands are growing bolder by the second, eager to explore. Kaveh pushes his chest against Alhaitham’s, which results in fingers threading in his hair, to the back of his neck.
A sudden moan escapes Kaveh, and Alhaitham swallows it with his kiss.
“Mm, you like it here?” the junior asks, retreating from the plump, swollen lips, but not all the way.
He caresses the hot scalp which he can feel through equally hot locks. The sun is merciless today. The senior wasn’t aware that his nape is that sensitive. He nods, a stark blush taking over his cheeks, all the way to the tip of his nose.
Beautiful. Breathtaking.
As Kaveh humbly bows for him, Alhaitham kisses the middle of his forehead.
“Wow. I never thought– I mean you’re gorgeous and mysterious and–”
“Hmm. Do I intrigue you, dear senior of mine?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We can keep each other enthralled.”
They slide caresses to the other’s face, smiling at their newfound connection.
“I’ve never seen you so happy,” Kaveh admits, tracing Alhaitham’s lips. “That was my first kiss.”
The Haravatat student beams, the luster of his eyes not escaping Kaveh’s gaze.
“I’m happier then. It was a first for me, too.”
Kaveh’s breath comes out ragged as he giggles and laughs, shaking his head from uncountable emotions.
“You really want this,” he says slowly, daring to take Alhaitham’s fringe out of the way, to meet his left eye as well.
“There are many things that I realize I want. They’re too many to name. But I can synthesize them all in one if I give it some thinking.”
So Kaveh waits, one armed woven around his junior’s shoulders, feeling grateful for this level of intimacy. In the end, Alhaitham’s hand gives a gentle squeeze to his own, and they lock enamored eyes again.
“I want to spend more time with you.”
~
“According to Old Desert lore, King Deshret was a demigod. Therefore, his subjects considered it appropriate to build him a sarcophagus which fairly… crosses? human scale.”
Kaveh grins nervously, his teeth clacking as he looks to his side, where Alhaitham waits patiently, arms folded on his chest. He detects one single trace of skepticism on his face.
“I suggest rephrasing the last part. What do you mean by ‘crossing’ human scale?”
“The thing is way too big for a man to fit inside, even one of above average height. Have you seen it? In the Mausoleum?”
“I have. Say instead, ‘the sarcophagus was built by his subjects as an homage to his greatness, both in physical and metaphorical aspects. Hence, the size, the intricate details of the gems on its lid, the golden levers, and, most importantly, the grand chamber which preserves Deshret’s remains’.”
Kaveh listens, pupils dilated. This man has an unearthly way with words! He takes furious notes, Alhaitham smiling at his success.
“…Good. Moving on, the layout of the temples resembles a labyrinth of utmost complexity, and I am bound to believe it served two purposes: one, they were the many areas of access for subjects, priests, healers, guests, and members of the royal family. The clearance level functions as a key to certain pathways, designated for each of these people, based on their title. Second, it is a deathtrap for trespassers. The various mechanisms protect the Temples Forgotten by any who are not familiar with their design, or graverobbers.”
Alhaitham stirs next to him, tapping a finger on Kaveh’s paper, to show him where the blunder is.
“The sentence ends too abruptly. ‘Any who are not familiar with the design’ is a complex noun phrase, whereas ‘graverobbers’ kills the mood and strength of the utterance. Why don’t you try ‘or those who seek to rob the ruins of their riches’?”
Kaveh squeezes his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in a grimace, but he writes down the suggestion.
“I’m so sorry, I’m bad at this,” he says, sighing heavily.
“Not at all. I’ve seen how far your potential goes, I’ve read your paper.”
“All of it?!” Kaveh screams outright.
“Yes, it was a fascinating read,” Alhaitham replies. “I finished it in one sitting, and I’ve grown accustomed to your language. This is the pressure speaking through you. Haven’t you realized you lose focus the longer your sentences are?”
“Um, no? Really?”
“Yes,” Alhaitham says as if it were obvious to anybody who didn’t specialize in linguistics. “Your ideas are well connected, supported by pertinent arguments, you provide clear examples to your observations and hypotheses, but stress kicks in the more you speak. Don’t worry. It only means you’ve put great effort and dedication into this. For a much easier rhythm, and also to avoid unneeded stress, try making shorter sentences.”
Kaveh stands up again, ready to continue his speech. They insisted that he get on his feet while talking in order to more accurately simulate the examination that the senior will soon undergo. It’s gotten dark in the House of Daena; to put up this thesis defending repetition, they have waited until all the other students left, turning all the lights off, save for a desk lamp. Alhaitham turns his chair around, watching Kaveh take small steps to and fro. He advises him to keep his back straight, make use of hand gestures, but not obsessively. The older student is having a hard type maintaining eye contact. He slowly moves around as he recites his speech, shortening his sentences, relieved that Alhaitham’s supposition is right: the stress of speaking doesn’t nudge him so badly anymore.
“Could you elaborate on the historical aspect of the ruins?” the junior asks, anticipating a possible question from the assessment committee.
Don’t panic, Kaveh screams internally. You know the answer. Don’t panic.
“Yes,” he says, stepping forward to Alhaitham. “During King Deshret’s rule, the structures served multiple purposes: places of worship, strongholds, royal chambers, passageways for servants and slaves. One can tell which by looking at the symbols engraved on the arches of every entrance.”
He can’t see Alhaitham’s brows – so high are they lifted.
“All right, where’s my blunder this time?”
“‘One can tell which’… what?”
“What?” Kaveh repeats, puzzled.
“It’s what you’ve just said.”
“Okay, the repetitive use of ‘what’ is becoming a nuisance.”
“Rephrase,” Alhaitham advises, his tone neutral.
“Argh, I’m getting sick of this!” Kaveh bemoans, slamming his hands on the desk. “I can barely think straight anymore.”
“We have, in truth, been here for a long time. Fatigue comes naturally.”
“Yeah, what time is it? Damn it, I’ve said ‘what’ again!”
A small chuckle escapes Alhaitham seeing his senior so flustered.
“It’s 10:40. Good to know we don’t have classes tomorrow.”
“So we can stay up all night, no?” Kaveh challenges, but hoping within himself that his junior reclines the offer.
“There’s this thing of utmost importance called biological clock. Y’ever heard of it, Kaveh?”
“Nope. Must have had one, but it seems to have left me. Asshole.”
They snicker at the joke, and Kaveh brings a mug to his lips, sipping the cold coffee. He then cradles his temples, trying to shake off the fatigue. He can feel Alhaitham’s eyes on him. He doesn’t know whether that is comforting or not. Perhaps he needs to push harder, to be a ‘shining example’ for his junior, so he takes his quill pen again, and tries to write. His wrist hurts like hell, his fingers are numb. He has no command whatsoever over his calligraphy.
“Ow, seriously?” he laments as he feels calluses on his thumb, index, and middle finger.
“Let me see that,” Alhaitham replies so softly, so genuinely concerned for him.
It’s no wound, nothing special, but it hurts Kaveh. Alhaitham can’t stand it. He takes his hand, trails his knuckles across Kaveh’s, and his brows knit in worry at the sight of his senior, wincing. Without thinking, he brings Kaveh’s fingers to his lips, kissing each of them gently.
“You’ve worked hard today. You deserve praise and a good night’s rest.”
The Kshahrewar student smiles, still not believing the words are coming from Alhaitham. Alhaitham, of all people. He’s soft for him. Because he loves him. Does he? Kaveh bites his lower lip. They kissed the other day, but there’s still a long road ahead, he doesn’t want to rush it. However, he remembers that Alhaitham prefers actions to words, even though he’s mastered the art of speaking. And what are kisses if not the demonstration of love, an act of romantic compassion? It’s not enough though. Kaveh needs proof. Solid proof. Explicit confession.
“I couldn’t have done this without your help,” he says, relishing the feeling of Alhaitham sucking on his hurt finger.
Alhaitham is sucking on his finger!
Kaveh stirs, back glued to the chair, catching a peek of that red tongue licking up and down, circling around his calluses. He. Can’t. Move.
“Enjoy compensation for your efforts, dear Kaveh.”
‘Dear Kaveh’. Not ‘dear senior of mine’.
They are going deeper into the levels of intimacy. He’s so happy, he could cry. His other hand reaches out to Alhaitham’s cheek, holding it like it’s a precious artifact. The junior pierces him with his emerald gaze as he sucks his fingers slowly. As soon as Kaveh slips up – one slight slip up, by closing his eyes in delight – Alhaitham wraps his lips around the first knuckle and dives his head in. He is certain Kaveh will be a successful architect. He does wonders with his hands; he’d love those hands to do wonders to him now.
“Haitham,” the brunette whimpers, “this feels real nice.”
Alhaitham deftly delivers the same treatment to the other two fingers, all the while watching the light shimmer in Kaveh’s eyes. He finishes with an adorable ‘pop’, then moves closer to him. Kaveh gulps when he’s pulled in for a kiss. Alhaitham has left his place on the chair, now standing up, bowing to Kaveh’s level. He’s never leaned down for anybody, but his conclusion is that Kaveh deserves him. He finds purchase on his shoulders, and Kaveh willingly raises his head to meet him, hungry for his taste.
The light goes out.
Kaveh breaks the kiss with a gasp, realizing that Alhaitham has turned off the desk lamp. A pale moon is sending its rays into the House of Daena, but other than that, it’s completely dark. Kaveh laughs at Alhaitham’s… naughtiness? It’s relieving to know that the stoic student has a mischievous, humorous side, as well.
Said student makes his way into Kaveh’s lap. As soon as he sits, Kaveh swings his arms around him. Alhaitham towers over him in this position, but his senior doesn’t feel inferior. He makes the most of it by running his hands all over Alhaitham’s back, increasing his speed when he hears…
What’s that? Can it be Alhaitham’s voice?
A noise that Kaveh can neither recognize nor interpret. He seeks to bring it out again, catching his junior’s lower lip between his own, and sucking, pulling it with a little too much force.
“Haah,” he hears.
Now he knows Alhaitham can moan, too. Good, he’s human after all. He giggles through their kiss, unconsciously pulling his lover closer – if he can get any closer than this – suddenly groaning at their groins making contact. He moves one hand to the back of Alhaitham’s neck, making him lean further to the right, kissing him with a passion he didn’t know he had in him. His lover is so sensitive… and responsive. He reciprocates! He caresses Kaveh’s chocolate hair, twirling long strands on his fingers. His tongue meets Kaveh’s in every kiss, which reduces both of them to a sobbing mess of limbs and mouths seeking ravenously. With each swipe of the tongue, it feels as if more fuel is poured over a fire within their bodies; the flames are wicked, spreading without asking permission. They are aware of the danger, but they risk getting burned… for this – this unmatched pleasure.
Alhaitham pulls away, out of breath, leaning on Kaveh’s shoulder, as one last reasonable thought flickers like lightning in his mind.
“We should stop,” he huffs, yet his grasp strengthens.
“Mm, wouldn’t wanna be found in this less presentable state,” Kaveh responds, yet he holds Alhaitham with tenderness.
They should definitely stop.
Something makes Kaveh jerk in his seat, his hips thrusting into Alhaitham. Their window of opportunity to stop slams shut.
Alhaitham stands up, as well as a certain part of his body, pulling Kaveh’s hand. Desire dances in their eyes, rapture seeps out of their mouths every time they break a kiss. It never ends. Neither of them wants it to end. In the darkness of the grand room, Alhaitham hoists Kaveh up on the desk, fitting between his legs. Kaveh has no idea how he’s allowing that, Alhaitham pushing him down until his back meets firm wood, his feet wrapping around Alhaitham’s waist for support. Emboldened, the Haravatat student presses his weight on Kaveh, attacking the spot of skin exposed on his neck. He sucks on the tendons there, learning their shape, following their contour, kisses the pulse point, smiling at his discovery, and seeks more of Kaveh. His senior is roughly tugging on his hair, one arm shaking on the desk. His lips are beautifully parted in an ‘o’ as he takes in a deep breath, and even without much of a light source, Alhaitham can see the hot flush on his cheeks. When he kisses them, he feels their warmth. Kaveh’s blood is boiling to a simmer, so must be his own.
What is this? Alhaitham’s mind is screaming.
Something purely carnal urges him to slip his hand inside Kaveh’s robe, where he’s met with the thin fabric of a shirt. Through it, he can sense the skin shivering under his touch. He slides his lips lower, past Kaveh’s collarbone, kissing him with fervor. His senior writhes in pleasure, his feet, still encircled on Alhaitham’s waist, pulling him in harder by the second. He’s found a naked spot on Alhaitham’s nape, and his fingers press on it, kneading, teasing, luring. His junior has buried his head in his chest, mumbling something incoherent, but Kaveh only chuckles, his breath coming out hot and labored.
“I don’t know…” Alhaitham whispers.
“I only know it feels right,” Kaveh comforts him, dragging him up by the shoulders.
He wants more. They share one glance, eyes dark, blown out with lust, then their mouths seek each other again. Harder. Faster. Sweet, wet sounds escape into the empty chamber. Their bodies are against each other flush by now; they both flinch at the contact of their intimate parts. Alhaitham looks stunned, Kaveh looks flirtatious.
“Here?” the grey-haired young man asks.
“Mm, anywhere,” the brunette replies, “but do it now.”
Their first kiss was premeditated, this certainly isn’t. Alhaitham doesn’t feel comfortable plunging into the unknown with no landmarks, let alone no information concerning it, however, he indulges his senior with a broad smile on his face. They’ll be each other’s guide. His mind made up, Alhaitham trails his hand down Kaveh’s torso, untying the belt which keeps his robe in place. Holding his breath, he touches Kaveh where it hurts most.
“Undress me,” his senior demands, his voice heavy.
Just as Alhaitham nods obediently, movement is heard. A door opens. High heels tap on the marble floor at a slow pace.
Gathering Kaveh in his arms, Alhaitham jumps away from the desk. Kaveh almost cries out in shock, but his junior clasps his mouth shut at lightning speed, dragging him towards the closest corner. Too fast – they would be heard, too slow – they would be seen. Alhaitham processes the scenarios in his mind, making frenzy calculations. In the end, he pushes Kaveh in the narrow interval between two tall bookshelves. They reach the farthermost point, where the wall doesn’t allow them to proceed. His hand never leaves Kaveh’s mouth as he purses his lips so as not to let even the slightest of his breaths slip out.
The footsteps approach the center of the room. Kaveh’s eyes meet Alhaitham’s, and they exchange obvious questions. Alhaitham shakes his head firmly. Held tightly against his chest, Kaveh squeezes back as much as he can, simultaneously feeling fearful of the situation and aroused by it. It’s so quiet that he can hear the tiny puffs leaving Alhaitham’s nostrils.
“Not here. Where was it?” the intruder speaks to no one.
It’s Layla, the students in hiding realize. Alhaitham hopes against hope she doesn’t seek guidance from a book on these shelves, but in the unfortunate event that she does…
Layla’s high heels can be heard louder as she heads towards the same narrow interval. Kaveh screws his eyes shut, muffling a burst of laughter on Alhaitham’s shoulder, while the latter takes action: he unwraps himself from his lover, chooses a book at random, then holds it open. Kaveh mimics the example, suddenly bringing three fingers to his chin, looking up at the shelves with what seems like scholarly curiosity.
Layla’s green robe comes into view. As soon as Alhaitham turns his head at her, she drops the materials in her hands. Notebooks, written pages, pens, and an encyclopedia fall to the ground with a monster of a thud.
“Ah! Layla! What are you doing here?” Kaveh screams, noticing the loose belt on his own robe.
He ties it, giggling sheepishly at his clumsiness.
“Senior! And… Alhaitham, wasn’t it?” she replies, holding up shivering palms. “What are you doing here in the dark? How can you read that?”
Think, junior, think, Kaveh mentally encourages him, because he himself can’t come up with a reasonable answer.
“We already know which materials we require,” Alhaitham says, unphased.
Subtly, he tries to shift his lower body away from Layla’s sight. An idea flickers inside Kaveh, and he delivers salvation to the both of them:
“My junior here kindly offered to assist me with my speech. You know me, Layla, I can’t stand a crowd. It’s easier to make repetitions in an empty room.”
The young woman smiles at them. She gathers her things, muttering something about being in need of references, too.
“In that case, I’ll let you get back to your… rehearsal.”
“See ya, Layla,” Kaveh waves a hand which trembles like crazy.
It’s 10 dreadful seconds, but eventually, Alhaitham hears the door closing behind the Rtawahist student. That was a close call. Too close. He exhales as loudly as he can. Behind him, Kaveh has his face in his hands, body convulsing from the explosion of laughter. The first thing that Alhaitham considers is scolding him, not too harshly, because he shares the blame in this circumstance, but, without uttering a word, he simply pushes Kaveh back into the bookshelf, seductively catching his chin. Kaveh is wheezing, happy tears streaming down his cheeks, and Alhaitham dives in to catch them on his lips.
“Something amusing you, senior?” he speaks in a hushed tone, adorning Kaveh’s skin with kisses.
The brunette releases the moans he couldn’t swallow, fingers entangling in Alhaitham’s hair, urging him to continue. He winces at the love bites on his neck, huffs when a slack tongue appeases the small marks, and cries without warning the moment Alhaitham’s hand is back between his legs.
“Are you amused now?”
Kaveh’s head falls back, sending some of the books on the shelf to the floor. Alhaitham scoffs, moving to put them where they belong. Kaveh already misses his touch.
“Haitham, I can’t keep on like this,” he says, desperately cupping his junior’s face.
Alhaitham would reply with peerless smugness if it weren’t for the scandalous tent he himself is pitching in his pants.
“The risk is too great. Besides, if– when I have you all for myself, I want to take my time to savor you.”
Kaveh watches helplessly, his mind too slow to process. All that he hears is ‘I want you’… and God, does he want him too!
“My place,” he breathes out after kissing Alhaitham again. “Let’s go.”
A low, content sound comes from the junior’s throat.
“Lead the way."