Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stage One: Denial

Al-Haitham is not in love with Kaveh. That would be irrational. Inadvisable. Foolish.

Al-Haitham is none of those things, and that is why he is not in love with Kaveh.

That's maybe sort of a little bit of a logical fallacy and not, in fact, a valid line of reasoning, but it correlates, so that is the conclusion Al-Haitham will accept. No one would dare to call Al-Haitham foolish. They would call Kaveh that, maybe, but not Al-Haitham. By extension, perhaps some of that idiocy has rubbed off onto Al-Haitham, which is why certain thoughts have been put into his mind in the first place.

He blames the wine.

Al-Haitham hasn't been able to go to the tavern after work as often as he used to. He already had only gone sporadically, on the days he didn't feel like cooking or when he was due to pick up an order, but ever since Kaveh moved in, he finds that all of his time has been taken up.

There's always something with Kaveh. Sometimes it's that Kaveh insists he's made a special dinner and that Al-Haitham must come home and try it. Other times, he makes a large enough threat to Al-Haitham's book collection that he feels compelled enough to stay home and watch over them.

Most times, however, it's because Kaveh's offensive lion charm that he'd attached to his key as a cheeky homage to his alma mater gets stuck in the loop of Al-Haitham's own practical key. Those days, he arrives at his doorstep to find Kaveh sitting slumped against the side of the house, hidden behind the large vase he'd inherited from his grandmother and never cared to move.

"Took you long enough," Kaveh will hiss, pushing his way to the door as soon as Al-Haitham unlocks it, chancing a furtive glance over his shoulder on his way in as if the bright colors on his clothing do not betray his questionable hiding spot.

So, as with most things in Al-Haitham's life these days, everything is Kaveh's fault.

Today Kaveh has a meeting with a client that is scheduled for the early evening, so Al-Haitham is taking this chance to visit Lambad's tavern for the first time in what feels like months. It may have been. He's not sure when Kaveh exactly moved in.

Al-Haitham takes his usual spot on the second floor of the tavern, as far away from the crowd as possible. Drunkards don't normally have the motor functions to make it up and down the stairs; he would know, he's seen Kaveh try to walk after a night of indulgence. The only shame is that all the tables come with at least two chairs, and sometimes tipsy people will try to invite themselves into conversation with him. At the very least, that limits the number of intruders to one.

"Hello." The traveler drops into the seat opposite of him, accompanied by their little flying friend. Ah. There are two of them. He had not accounted for this anomaly.

"Traveler." He sets the wine glass back down on the table and leans back into his chair, crossing his arms. So much for his relaxing night in.

"Hiya!" Paimon says, floating over to his side of the table in a burst of sparkles and glimmers. Al-Haitham takes an involuntary gulp of his wine in response. She peers closer at him. "Did you really bring a book to a tavern?"

Al-Haitham snaps it closed in a way that is not at all defensive. "It makes for better company than most of the patrons you will find in here."

"Ah, but not better company than us, right?" Paimon cheers, sliding closer to him. The traveler grips her by one of her feet and drags her through the air back to their side, ignoring her squawk of protest.

"Why read in a place as crowded as this?" asks the traveler. "I would've thought you would prefer the quiet of your home."

Al-Haitham rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't exactly describe the place as quiet now that Kaveh lives there. And besides, this is one of the easiest places to gather information. It's not as easy to maintain a guise when you're inebriated."

"Wouldn't all of the smart people with secrets to hide stay away from a place like this, then?" Paimon asks, a hand on her chin.

"Most of my intel comes from innocuous observations that I hear from people who think that the whole world deserves to know the odd person they encountered during their day of work. You'd be surprised how much you can piece together about a case from those minute details."

The traveler nods in understanding. When the silence between them stretches on for more than a few moments, Al-Haitham reopens his book and focuses his eyes on the words.

"Uh-uh!" Paimon says, trying in vain to tug it out of his hands. All of her tiny weight has nothing on his strength training, however. In her defense, it doesn't stop her from trying. "We're here to talk to you, not to watch you stare at some words on a page!"

"About what?" says Al-Haitham. "I've already renounced the title of acting Grand Sage, so if you need to discuss anything important your best bet is probably Nahida."

The traveler gives him a weary look. "Not everything I deal with has to do with national issues."

"Right," Al-Haitham says doubtfully. "And releasing Sumeru's god from her cage was what? A civil dispute?"

"We just wanted to catch up," intercepts Paimon. "See how you're doing, Mr. Acting Grand Sage! Well, I guess it's ex-acting Grand Sage now…"

"I am doing fine now that I have returned to my original job," Al-Haitham says. "And Kaveh is held back doing some work, so I dare say I am having an above-average evening."

"Ah, yes," the traveler says, nodding knowingly, "the roommate."

The roommate. Kaveh would hate to be known as that if he knew of it. For one, he absolutely detests the idea of anybody knowing that they live together for reasons unknown to Al-Haitham, even though it is somewhat of an open secret at this point.

Kaveh would also hate to be known only for his relation to Al-Haitham. He has—and even Al-Haitham will not oppose this point—spent tireless years building up his reputation as an architect and defining himself as an alumnus of Kshahrewar, and to be associated only with Al-Haitham would be something of an insult to all his hard work. He's almost a nobody, even given his brief stint as Grand Sage, but he supposes the traveler wouldn't be too familiar with Kaveh's name unless they spent time sightseeing throughout Sumeru and visiting the Palace of Alcazarzaray.

"Roommate" also does not fully encapsulate what Kaveh is to Al-Haitham. He's not so sure that there's any other word that can summarize it in a better way, however. They are not friends; Kaveh had said so, Al-Haitham had overheard him talking to the traveler.

The notion that they are anything more than friends is reprehensible, not to mention infeasible, even as a hypothetical. It is a thought that Al-Haitham cannot even afford to entertain. To do so would imply something along the lines of love, and he studies linguistics to understand language, not to discover all the five hundred and one ways to tell another that he loves them.

However, they are not enemies. Not by far. He supposes that their arguments from the surface seem to suggest this, but if he truly disliked Kaveh then he would not have housed him for more than one night. It would be a lot of unneeded trouble in return for some rent that is insufficient for the location of his house and mora that he does not even need on top of his generous salary. (So why does he cohabitate with Kaveh, some may ask. To that question, Al-Haitham's answer stems somewhere near the heart, from the unspeakables and the wretched parts of his soul that yearn uncontrollably.)

But he is not in love with Kaveh, because Al-Haitham is a smart man.

So maybe roommate is the best term for Kaveh that there is. Or perhaps Al-Haitham is simply Kaveh's roommate, and Kaveh exists on his own separate plane—any other suggestion would, at best, insult Al-Haitham, and at its worst, insult Kaveh.

"The roommate," Al-Haitham agrees eventually. Kaveh doesn't have to know.

"That's actually part of why I wanted to speak with you," the traveler says. "You mentioned him so much during our… collaboration that it was somewhat surreal meeting him in the flesh."

"Yeah!" Paimon says. "From what you said of him, Paimon imagined some leeching freeloader, not some renowned architect hanging paintings on your walls! Well, you two did keep antagonizing each other…"

"Kaveh does that all on his own," Al-Haitham says. "I don't know what you mean."

"That's exactly what Paimon was talking about!" Paimon points a finger at him triumphantly. "You keep speaking about him as if he is the bane of your existence, but you can't stop talking about him! You can't keep his name out of your mouth!"

"I don't like what you're implying."

Paimon huffs. "Paimon wasn't implying anything, you're reaching conclusions all on your own…"

"Anyway," the traveler says, pulling an entire fowl out of their bag and handing it to Paimon to silence her for the time being, "it's funny that you mentioned civil disputes because that is exactly why I thought of you and Kaveh."

Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. "Thinking of what, exactly?"

"Oh, you know." The traveler shrugs.

Al-Haitham, despite all his knowledge and all the hundreds of books he has read, actually does not know.

"It's just entertaining, you see," the traveler continues. "You two are one of the most interesting couples I've ever come across, and I visited four nations at this point. You're up there with the god and her five-hundred-year-old divorcée."

Al-Haitham blinks slowly, taken aback. "Excuse me?" He can't remember the last time he's begged for pardon. "You're incorrect on several levels of that, actually."

Paimon resurfaces from her voracious snacking. "Whaaat, but Paimon is never wrong!"

"Well, you're wrong about this."

"You're being obstinate on purpose!"

"Now you're starting to sound like Kaveh."

"Kaveh this, Kaveh that. If you're trying to convince us that you're not in love with him, then you're making a poor job of it," the traveler says drily.

The misunderstanding that he is in love with Kaveh is making something strange and unpleasant rise up in his chest. "We are not a couple because we do not love each other," Al-Haitham insists. "I had considered you one of the more perceptive people I've met, and I wouldn't like to retract that belief."

The traveler raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Kaveh literally told me that you two used to be friends and aren't anymore. I'm not sure how much clearer you could make it."

Al-Haitham's wine is starting to taste like regret. Maybe it's a good thing he hasn't had the chance to visit the tavern lately. Or maybe, more aptly, this one is Kaveh's fault—if he hadn't scheduled this client appointment on this certain evening, then Al-Haitham wouldn't have run into the traveler and Paimon on this day.

"Is that all you sought me out for?" Al-Haitham downs what is left in his glass. "A waste of your time, I'm afraid. The update on me and Kaveh is that there isn't one."

The traveler looks at something in the distance. "We can ask Kaveh about that. I'm pretty sure that's him—oh, he's walking up the stairs. He looks a little mad. Did you stand him up or something?"

"Very funny."

"I know the traveler has a… strange sense of humor," Paimon says, "but they're not joking about this. Ooh, he's getting closer, closer—hi Kaveh! We were just talking about you!"

"Were you now?"

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Al-Haitham should have listened to the traveler because as soon as it makes contact it sends thrills up and down his back. He's not familiar with Kaveh's touch; they've never been in a situation in which that would be an appropriate approach, but now that he knows it he thinks he could never forget it. It feels like being branded.

Alcohol can make people anxious and hyperactive. Al-Haitham knows this. That must certainly be why something as simple as Kaveh's hand elicited such a reaction in him—it must be the wine, even though he's only had one glass of it.

He is not in love with Kaveh. He doesn't know why he has to keep telling himself that.

"What are you doing here?" Kaveh asks. Paimon is right. He does look angry, for whatever reason. It could be any. He's always been hot-tempered.

"I'm not sure why you think you have the right to know my location at all times," Al-Haitham responds, shrugging off his hand. "I don't have your key this time. If you lost it, then you're going to have to recompense me for it."

"Always coming to the worst conclusions," Kaveh sniffs, folding his arms across his chest. "I was just wondering why you were here, and without me. I've never seen you at Lambad's if not to pick me up. And—" he shifts his gaze to where the traveler sits across from Al-Haitham, "—with company, no less. I guess you didn't pay them to pretend to be your friends the first time after all."

"Not everything I do is about you, Kaveh," Al-Haitham says. Something turns in Kaveh's expression before it goes carefully blank, the mask that he's always hated to see.

"Alright," he says blandly. "So what are you guys doing here?"

"Just catching up," the traveler says vaguely. There's something in their expression that gives Al-Haitham the distinct impression that they're scheming, and it makes him a little uneasy. "Times are tumultuous in Sumeru. We just wanted to see how Al-Haitham is settling in. It's nice to meet you again, though. How has your work been going?"

"It's been good," Kaveh says, equally as vague. He looks between them and Al-Haitham again, evidently coming to some conclusion in his head.

The traveler nods. Paimon looks between the three of them apprehensively. Al-Haitham, though he never cares to pay attention to the social atmosphere, can tell that it's become uncomfortable.

"So, come across any more troublesome corrupt government officials?" Kaveh asks at the same time the traveler says, "Well, Paimon and I have got to get going," peering at the wall as if checking the time even though Al-Haitham is almost certain there is no clock there.

"Oh, of course. Have a good night," Kaveh says, finally finding it in him to be gracious, and Al-Haitham nods curtly in agreement, bidding them farewell. The traveler smiles and tugs Paimon along, who is saying something along the lines of how they just arrived and didn't get to try any of the snacks.

"And Kaveh," the traveler says as they're about to leave, "about your question… nothing I can't win over." They look deliberately at Al-Haitham, who has no choice but to hold their gaze, then flick their eyes back to Kaveh, something smug in the line of their lips, then take Paimon and descend down the stairs with a wave over their shoulder.

Odd. Al-Haitham doesn't know what to think about that.

Kaveh clearly has a bone to pick with it if the way he turns on him in indignation has any indication. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Kaveh scoffs. "You're being obtuse. Or maybe just dense."

"Don't call me things you are guilty of being."

Kaveh rolls his eyes. "Stupid." He drops the matter, surprisingly, and he plops into the seat the traveler had been previously occupying, resting his cheek on his hand and sighing. When Al-Haitham had anticipated an unwelcome intruder accompanying him at the tavern, it hadn't been this.

Kaveh traces patterns with his fingertip on the whorls in the wood of the table. Al-Haitham wishes he would sketch the same lines on the palm of his hand and immediately banishes the thought. Kaveh's eyes trace Al-Haitham's face, then his torso and the defining lines of his body against the static blur of the tavern. Then his gaze lands on Al-Haitham's book.

He snorts. "Did you really bring a book to a tavern?"

Al-Haitham glowers. "I don't see why everybody thinks it's so funny."

Kaveh shakes his head fondly. "You're such a dork." He doesn't say it like it's an insult though. It sounds like something else when it rolls off his tongue. It's the way he says it, the way he intones the word dork—like it's something endearing, like it's a compliment.

Al-Haitham doesn't know how Kaveh does that, how he makes everything sound as if it is divine in nature if it only comes from his mouth.

It has to be the wine talking.

Kaveh glances at Al-Haitham's empty glass. "What'd you order?"

"I don't know. It was a recommendation."

"Oh." Kaveh deflates, but for what Al-Haitham has no idea. "The traveler's recommendation?"

He looks at him. What is Kaveh's hang-up with them? "No, Lambad's. The traveler showed up after I had been here for a while. You're only the second person to take that seat tonight."

Kaveh cocks his head. "What, are there normally strangers trying to talk to you? You mean I'm not special? They must've given up pretty quickly after learning what you're like under that unfair exterior." Despite his teasing words, he looks resigned.

Al-Haitham's lips quirk up in half a smile. "They give up pretty quickly after talking to air for five minutes. That's where the book comes in handy."

"Everything's a ploy with you."

Kaveh smiles, then, and Al-Haitham is not so hopeless as to think it is for him. He's in a good mood, strangely complacent—his meeting with his client must have gone well. "Are you ready to leave yet? You finished your wine."

"Sure." Al-Haitham and Kaveh stand to leave. "How did you know to find me here? Were you stalking me?"

"No!" Kaveh shakes his head vehemently. "I wouldn't waste my time on the likes of you. My client wanted to buy me a drink, but then I thought I recognized you and the traveler. That floating pet thing of theirs was most obvious to me."

"I thought you don't want to associate with me."

"Public is fine. It's when we get home that the problem starts."

It's not quite night yet. Al-Haitham had headed to the tavern straight after work, and he hadn't spent a very long time there anyway. The city sky melts into a marble of distinctive auburn and indigo purples, clouds blotting frayed patches on its surface. It casts a golden glow that breaks like a promise over Kaveh's face.

Kaveh very clearly wants to say something, though, and the light of the setting sun does nothing to hide the look on his face.

"Out with it," Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh shoots him a dirty look, but he speaks anyway. "You and the traveler, huh?"

"...What."

"Don't play dumb with me, Al-Haitham," Kaveh cries, flapping his arms uselessly by his sides and stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Look, I thought it was weird to see you hanging out with someone voluntarily a few weeks ago but to see them with you again? Sharing drinks? Surely you do not have to insult my intelligence that much to insinuate that I am wrong."

"But you are wrong," Al-Haitham says amusedly. "Sharing drinks? I was the only one drinking. And both times the traveler found me—it's not as if any of it was planned. Spending time doesn't mean much, anyway. It could have easily been a colleague who tagged along on my way out of work."

"But you wouldn't have let them," Kaveh grumbles, kicking a pebble on the ground. "It matters when it's you, Al-Haitham. You don't let very many people stick around for long."

"I daresay I spend more of my time with you than most people," Al-Haitham muses. "Does that mean anything by your logic?"

Kaveh turns an impressive shade of red in an impressive amount of time. He points a finger at him accusingly. "You're—you're doing this on purpose!"

Al-Haitham peers closer at him. "Were you jealous?"

"I don't need to hear any more of this blatant goading," Kaveh hisses, covering his ears. He's still a kind of red that rivals the sky. "God, I hate you. I'm going to go run for the door so no one sees me enter your house. You—you stay here. Take a walk or something. Celestia knows you need it with how often you sit glued on your ass with your books."

When he leaves, Al-Haitham thinks he hears Kaveh's answer to the question a few exchanges before: "If it doesn't mean anything to you, then it can't mean anything to me."

But that makes no sense. Nothing Kaveh says ever makes sense.

Kaveh looks a little bit of an idiot like this, walking at so brisk of a pace that it doesn't look relaxed but not so fast that he is running, an awkward in-between gait. He keeps glancing around him as if watching out for people looking out for what residence he's made home recently as if most people don't already know.

He looks so stupid it's almost endearing. Al-Haitham scrubs his hands over his eyes and sighs.

He is not in love with Kaveh, who is so territorial over his things that the idea that Al-Haitham and the traveler were involved made him antsy and jealous, who uses all of his produce to create elaborate architectural designs in his food and then complains about how frequently they have to go shopping for groceries, who looks so beautiful under the setting sun that it is almost as if the entire universe and all its grace, the stars and the gentle curve of the moon, its answering ocean and mountains of sea foam were made for him—everything, for Kaveh. Whose hair reflects the color of hope so aptly that Al-Haitham has begun to equate that color with dreaming. Whose eyes would fly open in shock, the same shade of vermillion as a heart eaten raw, if Al-Haitham were to hold him by the chin and press his mouth to his own. Blood dripping down his chin.

So. Al-Haitham is in love with Kaveh. This has got to be somebody's fault.

Stage Two: Anger

As all investigations go, it is imperative to first collect evidence to first determine the suspects at fault. It's pretty easy to do so, given that there aren't many people involved in the first place, but Al-Haitham comes up with a list: Kaveh (duh), himself (even he has his faults), and Celestia itself (he'll unpack this later).

The first to stand trial is Kaveh. He is also the most obvious offender, given the circumstances of the situation. Maybe if he didn't look so perfect curled up on his couch in his home then Al-Haitham wouldn't have fallen in love with him. Maybe if he weren't quite so brilliant then he wouldn't be Al-Haitham's best intellectual match. Maybe if he weren't so successful then Al-Haitham wouldn't feel the urge to steal him away from the public and cradle him in his hands and call him his, his, his.

But none of that is really Kaveh's fault. The smudged kohl on his eyelids and the hairpins he holds in his teeth might be his responsibility, but the blaze of his carmine eyes and the lilt of his hands were things decided by genetics.

That's why his next suspected offender is his own self. Kaveh may be the brightest point in his life, but it is Al-Haitham who chooses to stand in its onslaught every day. It is he who invited him into his home. He is the one who fell, not Kaveh. Physics isn't his forte, but gravity is a simple enough law to comprehend, and even if the fall was inevitable, choosing Kaveh day after day was not.

Choice is active. Falling back into habit is easy, but the choosing is hard. Every day Al-Haitham makes two cups of coffee in the morning even though he'll have one more dish to wash—three hundred and sixty-five extra dishes a year. Every day Al-Haitham comes home to a debate and a spark of flames and a person. The fact that Kaveh is not Al-Haitham's person does not negate this. Every day Al-Haitham wakes up and chooses Kaveh, even when it's hard, even when it's terrible, and that is why it is not Kaveh's fault that Al-Haitham is in love with him.

But what is he supposed to do when the universe hands him golden triumph in the shape and size of a man and implores him to watch over him? How could Al-Haitham even stand a chance in the face of that? When a god tells you to pray, you kneel. When the universe asks for your hands, you give up your tears and ichor and years-long resolve. When Celestia gifts you the weight of a truth so heavy it brings you to your knees, you grit your teeth and stand it. When divinity teaches you how to love, you take it to heart.

Maybe it's fate. Maybe it's destiny. Maybe it's the fault of all the theoretical things Al-Haitham has always cast a skeptical eye on. Perhaps the gods knew what they were doing when they sent Kaveh down to the lowly bowels of Teyvat and taught him what it means to cherish the living, the uncertain, the parts of human nature that can't be recorded on paper and written in explicit detail.

All this to say that it's unclear as to who Al-Haitham can pin the blame on. It would be incorrect to say that he fears the unknown, but it does not sit easily with him. In almost anything, there can be a source traced back, consequences drawn out and a definitive outcome, but most things are not love. The part of Al-Haitham that hungers for knowledge could never be satisfied with this. The rational part of him rejects Kaveh. The sentimental part of Al-Haitham that he had not even known existed wants to learn everything there is to know about love.

But he is not happy with his conclusion—a lack of a conclusion would be more accurate. All conflicting parts of Al-Haitham agree on this.

Lately, it has been making him temperamental. More than usual, as Kaveh would say.

"What is up with you these days," Kaveh says finally, setting his plate down on the table a little aggressively. It lets out a large clatter that he ignores. "You've been acting weird—not that you're not normally weird, don't get me wrong."

"Whatever it is, it's probably your fault," Al-Haitham mutters.

Kaveh scoffs. "Always so childish. I figured you'd come up with new comebacks by now."

"My apologies, senior," Al-Haitham says, bowing his head slightly in a mockery of deferential respect. "You're not to blame for anything, ever, not even racking up an outlandish amount of debt."

Kaveh makes as if to toss his full plate in Al-Haitham's face. "If it's such a burden, Al-Haitham, then you ought to kick me out," he says, though it's clear he doesn't mean anything by his words.

Al-Haitham pretends to consider it—he's so frustrated that he thinks it might actually be better to have some space from Kaveh so he could figure himself out, but he can't say that to Kaveh's face, and he has too little willpower to actually carry the idea out.

Kaveh takes it seriously anyway, kicking his legs underneath the table and frowning furiously. Al-Haitham reaches out to grab Kaveh's leg, intending to make him stop, but curiously enough it makes Kaveh's entire still suddenly, and he immediately breaks eye contact with Al-Haitham.

"I suppose turning you over to Tighnari would be too cruel to him," Al-Haitham says, and Kaveh sighs, though he still won't make eye contact with him.

"No one thinks about me," he says grumpily, and Al-Haitham has to hold his tongue back from saying stupid things like I am, I am thinking about you, I think about you so much I wish I never started in the first place.

"I have better things to do," is what he settles on saying instead.

Kaveh huffs, and Al-Haitham turns back to his book.

"But you're angry about something," Kaveh says eventually. "Aren't you?"

Kaveh's always been a little too perceptive for his own good. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do," Kaveh insists, trying to lower Al-Haitham's book from his eyes. "What is it this time? Work? A coworker? Your research isn't going as you hypothesized? The new book you started is written in that really smarmy language that you usually like but don't because the author tries to use so many words it doesn't actually make sense?"

"None of the above," Al-Haitham says, flicking Kaveh's fingers off of the pages. "It's none of your business. You're not entitled to knowing everything about my life."

Surprisingly, this is the thing that gives Kaveh pause, not any of his digs at his financial situation or the usual cutting remarks they exchange.

"Right," he says quietly, then withdraws back to his side of the table. "I'm forgetting myself again, aren't I, Al-Haitham?"

Al-Haitham surveys Kaveh. "Isn't that normal for you?"

Kaveh glares at him. "You don't need to be so mean all of the time."

"Nothing I said was an insult. You're taking offense over things in your imagination."

"Because I'm so emotional all the time to my detriment, isn't that right," Kaveh spits out. "Always on the defense and easy to rile up? What about you, Al-Haitham? Quick to anger and quick to hurt? I bet you don't even realize all the things you imply with the words that go unsaid between your blunt remarks."

"It's not my fault you read between the lines. If I'm not saying it with my words, then there is nothing to be said."

Kaveh stands abruptly from the table. "I don't know what I keep hoping you'll say," he says. "Or why I even dare to dream. People like me aren't supposed to have expectations for people like you."

And then he leaves, closing the door to his quarters harshly behind him. Now it is quiet, a kind of quiet that is deafening in its emptiness. It's the kind he hasn't experienced since Kaveh moved in, not counting his research trip to the desert.

Al-Haitham tries to return to his book and his plate, not realizing that he's shaking until his hand comes into view. Why is that? Fights with Kaveh do not usually elicit this kind of reaction from him, nor are they momentous—they both usually get over them within a few hours' worth of space, tiptoeing back to their usual banter.

Then again, he hasn't really come into conflict with Kaveh since the realization. This one is not very grand on the scale of their fights, either. They'll likely go back to normal as soon as Al-Haitham offers Kaveh a plate of cut fruit.

Why does Al-Haitham have to deal with this? Why is it Kaveh that his mind has stubbornly latched onto? Why does it seem as if spiritual forces keep pushing them together, in the Akademiya, throughout the many streets of Sumeru City, on their own paths that should be completely separate but guide them back together?

Al-Haitham has never had much faith in the gods, but he considers all of this to be cosmically unfair. If this is some form of divine retribution, then he will gladly repent to whomever he offended that made him fall in love with Kaveh.

Al-Haitham? Kaveh? Love? What kind of fuckwad decided that was due justice? The two of them can barely get through a day without finding some bone to pick. Take today as an example.

Al-Haitham has taken pains to ensure his quiet and comfortable life. He's found a job that allows him to do as he pleases on a generous salary, curated a reputation that deters others from interacting with him, and owns his own house.

His plan, though well-executed and devised, never accounted for things like Kaveh. Like love. Earth-shattering events that turn his mind into tumult and shake up what is otherwise a simple and orderly life.

All of a sudden, Al-Haitham is angry. How dare his heart betray him in this manner? What did he even do to deserve this? He'd rather be stricken down by some higher power than go through this turmoil.

Speaking of higher powers…

Stage Three: Bargaining

If there's anyone who can do anything about Al-Haitham's unfortunate affliction, it is Nahida, the literal god. Surely she will have answers for him, even if he isn't the most faithful subject.

Luckily for Al-Haitham, she's actually at the Akademiya when he goes looking.

"Al-Haitham!" she greets him, perking up when he is let into her office. "What brings you here today? Any new schemes to usurp my divinity and take over the nation?" She giggles.

"Nothing quite as interesting, no," Al-Haitham says, sitting in the chair opposite her when she gestures for him to do so. "I come to you with a request."

Nahida cocks her head to the side. "Is it something else about your job? If it's a salary increase you want, you're going to have to take it up with the sages. I can put in a good word for you, but they don't think very highly of you after you willingly gave up the title of Grand Sage."

Al-Haitham frowns. "No, nothing like that. It is a more… personal matter. It has to do with Kaveh."

That makes Nahida's viridescent eyes go wide. "I never would have thought I would hear those words," she breathes, pushing some of the papers in front of her to the side so she can lean eagerly over the desk. Under the table, Al-Haitham can see her feet kick in excitement. "Tell me more."

"Well," Al-Haitham says, taken aback, "you know quite a bit about dreams, don't you? I figure that my current predicament aligns somewhat with those hopes. I need to know if you can reverse some of these processes."

"A dream, huh?" Nahida says wistfully. "Yes, I am perhaps the most knowledgeable about those… but to take back a desire is a tall order and an irreversible one at that."

"I tried to undo it through willpower, but it seems as if it is stubborn," Al-Haitham says, frowning. "I am not very familiar with this feeling. Most things I want are achievable. Impossible hopes, however, are a waste of my time. I would like to get my state of mind back."

"I've never seen you give up on something so quickly," Nahida says, blinking. "Forgive me for that, but I've never believed you the type to believe that things can be unattainable. Also, you're going to have to tell me about this desire of yours."

"I have no delusion that it will produce any results," Al-Haitham says firmly. Somehow, somewhere, the words feel like a kick to the stomach. "And… ah. It's not something I want to say lightly."

Nahida laughs. "Are you embarrassed? I never thought I'd see the day. You would pretend to go mad in front of the sages and the traveler but divulging a secret that will never leave this room if that is what you wish holds your tongue?"

Al-Haitham closes his hand into a fist. "That performance was a means to an end. And it was not—it was not in front of people that mattered much to me. This affair concerns someone who does."

Nahida nods knowingly. "Kaveh."

"Yes." It feels like a confession even though he hasn't yet put it into words. He looks to the side. "Recently, I have come to the rather unfortunate realization that I am in love with him, and have probably been in love with him for some time. It was easier before I was aware, however. It has been consuming a considerable amount of my attention as of late. I am also aware that it is foolish."

Nahida smiles gently and takes Al-Haitham's hand onto the desk. "It is not foolish to love. I know it seems as if it is because you are young and this is probably a new experience for you, given how buried you are in your books, but it is an experience to be known and cherished. I don't think I could take that away from you and be able to be at ease with myself."

Nahida splays open Al-Haitham's hand and traces the outline of his fingers and the bone underneath. "Humans have evolved spectacularly to be able to build structures and wield weapons, but also to hold one another. This is something that must be appreciated. Us archons do not always have the chance to do so—I am sure you know of Morax's dragon form, of Barbatos originating as a wind spirit, of how Raiden Ei was sealed away by her own hand for the promise of eternity—and I, who was forcibly separated from my people and the land."

Nahida curls Al-Haitham's fingers up as if he is holding something. "Humans were made to love. And you and Kaveh; I admit that I was skeptical when I first learned that you are living together. But if you two with your clashing ideologies and constant disagreements have managed to stick it out this long, then that is surely a testament to your relationship. I cannot, in good conscience, remove such a primitive and essential desire."

"It is not as easy as you believe it to be," Al-Haitham manages to say. "He does not feel the same way, and thus my efforts are rendered obsolete. It would be unkinder to expect something Kaveh cannot return than to remove the possibility entirely."

Nahida rolls her eyes. "You men are so stupid. Have you ever heard of honest communication?"

Al-Haitham is not a person easily scared. For anything he attempts that has a considerable amount of danger, he first calculates the risk. He is so confident in himself that most times the threat is negligible, and thereby he has nothing to fear.

But Kaveh is incalculable. Kaveh is impossible to measure by any of the standards set by mathematics or science or words. Kaveh, as vast and expansive of a character as he is, cannot be encapsulated by any singular word or descriptive number. Enter too many variables into the equation and then the risk outweighs the positives.

He cannot say that he is afraid to discuss the matter with Kaveh for fear of rejection because that would be uncharacteristic of him.

Instead, Al-Haitham says, "Please consider it. I will do—not anything, because I am smarter than that—but if you want, I will pray. I will prostrate. I will offer gifts for your good service."

Unexpectedly, Nahida laughs at him. "To think that if you were to kneel for a god for the first time in your life it would be for Kaveh's sake, and not for the reasons expected of a person. But… no. I don't think I would ever want to see the circumstances that bring you to beg. People like you were not made to bend at the knee."

"Fine." Al-Haitham had anticipated this to some degree. Nahida has always been romantic and has a great love for humankind; it makes sense that she would wish for Al-Haitham to take the leap. He sighs, and Nahida retracts her hold, but not without giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Whatever happens, I'll be thinking of you two!" Nahida says brightly. "I'll have the faith that you lack. You're a smart man, Al-Haitham, I'm sure you will figure it out without having to trade away an essential part of yourself."

"Thank you, Nahida," Al-Haitham replies. "Whether or not I act on your words, you will certainly find out, one way or the other."

"That's right," she says, "so don't disappoint me. Whoops! Is that a lot to put on your shoulders? Just be kind to yourself, and to Kaveh."

"Of course," says Al-Haitham, and then he leaves.

Back at home, Kaveh is locked in his room, the light seeping out from under the door the only indication that he is even there. Al-Haitham pays this no mind and gets ready for an early night in.

Sitting in bed, he tries to draw his attention to the book in his hands but finds that the task is almost impossible with how much his mind is remunerating on the events of the past couple of weeks. He's only been aware of his feelings for Kaveh for that short time but it feels like it's already been a lifetime. Maybe it has been. If Al-Haitham really, truly thinks about it, he's felt this way about Kaveh for years—he'd just been blissfully ignorant of the fact.

That's the Al-Haitham he would like to return to. That Al-Haitham's most pressing concern was getting his thesis approved and making it to graduation, which was no easy task, but not as arduous and taxing as falling in love seems to be. That responsibility had a deadline and a clear path to success. Loving Kaveh feels as if it has no endpoint.

Even the Al-Haitham that had just overthrown the government had it easier than he does now. He'd just been appointed as acting Grand Sage, and Kaveh had just returned from the desert. When Kaveh had shown up at the Akademiya, pestering him for details about Sumeru's upheaval, that was the first time Al-Haitham felt as if things were returning to their natural order.

Maybe that was the point when his feelings started to make themselves known. If he could turn back time and play back the order of events, could he undo what is now irreversible? Could he have stopped Kaveh from leaving a permanent mark on his very being?

Maybe he should go farther back, to the very first page. To entering the Akademiya as a new student and running headfirst into Kaveh's arms, unable to see his path over the textbooks in his arms. He could have left one book out of the stack, the really large one on the introduction to semiotics that he always hated, and then he could have avoided interacting with Kaveh altogether. They would not even know each other. There would be no reason for Kaveh to seek him out later and demand recompense for spilling ink on his sketches.

But gravity is law, and it is eternal, and not even Al-Haitham can reverse the flow of time. Sand pours from Celestia's hourglass in a merciless stream, and even if he were to dare to interrupt the cascade, it would slip through his fingers anyway. Like a promise. Like a secret.

Dredging up the past isn't doing Al-Haitham any favors, but neither is any point in this entire unfortunate situation. What Nahida had spoken about earlier echoes in his head as if it had been recorded, but she had carried with her a certain kind of hope that Al-Haitham lost years back. He has none of that same faith going forward.

He knows when he is facing a dead end. And Kaveh, who has never before given a hint of romantic inclination for him, is a dead end. Al-Haitham's own refusal to own up to his feelings is a dead end. The vast gorge between them that looks to be about a finger's width in length but is actually several arms spans worth of space is insurmountable.

Stage Four: Depression

"Depression" is a bit of an overstatement when it comes to how Al-Haitham feels about this whole ordeal. He would not be Al-Haitham if he let something like unrequited love distract him from his goals: he picks himself back up, dusts off his clothes, and carries on, but this time with the distinct feeling of loss, like with his realization something vital has been carved out of his body. Kaveh has taken something that cannot be returned.

Of course, Kaveh, as incredibly annoyingly observant as he is, notices the very moment Al-Haitham acts a little more strangely than normal.

"You've gone weird again," he says one weekend morning when they're both sitting at the table, waiting for their tea.

"Is this another one of your roundabout insults?" Al-Haitham asks.

Kaveh splutters. "What, no! I'm—I'm worried, is all. Look, it's not always easy to tell with you, but you're despondent, in the most Al-Haitham way possible. As in it doesn't show in your face or actions or words."

"And how would you know if you say it's impossible to tell?"

Kaveh raises a finger triumphantly. "From my sixth sense!"

"That's not a thing."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not."

"Yes it—stop trying to distract me! The point is, I can tell something's wrong, and I'm a little afraid that if you bottle it up then it'll manifest in some unfortunate way like you selling all your books to buy a boat and then sailing off to Inazuma."

"Why would I ever do that."

"Listen, existential crises materialize in strange ways—and I'm not as easily sidetracked as you believe me to be. Just tell me what's wrong. I'm trying to be helpful here, Al-Haitham, if you would actually appreciate my efforts." Kaveh drops to the back of his chair, folding his arms and sighing.

"I do not require your help." Al-Haitham turns the page in his book.

"You'd be better off if you did," Kaveh mutters, shooting him a look under his eyelashes. "My ungrateful little junior."

So he's pulling that card today. Al-Haitham can play that game too. "Fine, then." He sets down his book and looks Kaveh straight in the eyes, who leans forward eagerly. "The reason I have been out of sorts recently is that I have realized that I am in love with you, and the weight of my unreturned affections is almost too much to bear, even for someone like me."

Unfortunately for Kaveh, that is the exact moment the kettle boils over, emitting a sharp whistling sound that covers Al-Haitham's already lowered voice. Kaveh gasps and jumps up to remove it from the stove, hovering over the pot until the noise dies down. Once it does, he turns to Al-Haitham frantically. "Say that again?"

"Don't worry, I relieved my burdens." He picks his novel back up. "I have no plans to go to Inazuma. You can continue funding your alcoholism off of my salary."

"What—" Kaveh splutters. "I didn't hear! Tell me again."

"Always so demanding," Al-Haitham hums. "First my home and food and now my secrets."

Kaveh sniffs and turns his face into the air. "Fine, then. It's not as if I wanted to know, anyway."

Even the amusement Al-Haitham gets from teasing Kaveh does nothing to suppress the sharp burst of pain he feels from the words. If Kaveh were to know his feelings, he probably wouldn't want to know. Even if he had been dying to get some insight into Al-Haitham's feelings beforehand, he'd certainly be unsettled by the knowledge afterward.

Everybody wants to be loved until they find out who it is that loves them.

Kaveh sets Al-Haitham's mug in front of him—the one he always uses, plain ceramic—and takes his, which is significantly tackier and one he bought at the street market. When he goes, he trails a finger along the bare expanse of Al-Haitham's arm, which is probably supposed to make him less restless but only serves the hike up the buzz underneath his skin.

"Speaking of my alcoholism—" he throws up air quotes around the word, "—let's go to the tavern tonight. When's the last time you left the house for reasons other than to work?"

"The last time you saw me at the tavern," Al-Haitham responds dryly. "Which was a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah, but you weren't getting up to any fun," Kaveh frowns. "You sat there in the corner with a book and a glass of wine. You could've done that at home. I mean, I guess you had company…" He trails off, looking upset for some reason or the other. "But it doesn't matter, because I'm better company."

Al-Haitham looks at him critically over the top of his mug. "Right."

"I will never understand how you manage to pack so much judgment into a single word."

True to his word, Kaveh drags Al-Haitham out to Lambad's in the evening.

"Let's go upstairs," he says after they've collected their drinks. "It's less crowded up there. Fewer people who will try to talk to you."

"Me?" Al-Haitham says, confused, but Kaveh doesn't reply, only taking him by the wrist to keep track of him through the throng of people and pull him to a table, exclaiming victoriously when he manages to snag one.

"There," he says, satisfied, and drops into a seat. Al-Haitham does the same, tentatively setting his glass down on the sticky tabletop beside a large stain. "It's been a while since we've been to Lambad's together, hasn't it? Not since we were both still students, and even then we went with Cyno and Tighnari most of the time."

"You go alone a lot," Al-Haitham says. "I'm the one who has to drag you back home."

Kaveh waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, but not with you. It's different."

Al-Haitham wants to ask what it is that makes it different, what it is about Al-Haitham specifically, but he's not sure if he wants to know the answer, even if he aches with it.

"Why are we here, anyway?" Al-Haitham asks instead. "I could be catching up on my research."

"It's not like you have any official deadlines, so it's fine. And I wanted to cheer you up. Get you out of the house. People are going to start thinking you're a recluse, though there's already truth to that observation."

Better a recluse than a fool. Al-Haitham's beginning to live up to both of those names.

Kaveh tips his glass against Al-Haitham's and smiles brightly at him. "Don't be so sad. We might have spent most of our youth rotting in front of a pile of books, but now we can finally relax."

"You probably relax a little too much," Al-Haitham mutters, but he lets Kaveh sweep him into mindless conversation anyway, easing into the clamor of the bar and the sticky sweet scent of mixed drinks. They spend a while talking about nothing, which is a welcome change from the way Al-Haitham has been thinking a little too much recently.

Kaveh is a lightweight. Al-Haitham knows this. There are only so many times they can go out for drinks together only for Kaveh to pass out on the tables before it becomes a pattern and less of a sleep-deprivation thing.

Still, it catches Al-Haitham off guard when Kaveh gets tipsy off of a minuscule amount of alcohol, a flush on his face and a lazy tilt to his head. He's cradling his head in both of his hands now; he's always been a bit of a sleepy drunk.

He's laughing at everything Al-Haitham says, even when his comments aren't supposed to be funny, and he keeps smiling at him. Full teeth. Al-Haitham wants to kiss him until his lips ache, and that sparks some deep pain inside of him.

Kaveh's hair is slightly mussed now, even though he has no idea how that happened. Strands of blond hair fall out of his pins and frame his face. He's been getting stares, which doesn't surprise Al-Haitham at all—a drunk Kaveh is a sight to see, whether it's because of his flamboyance or the tired kind of beauty only a person like Kaveh could assume.

So it shouldn't surprise Al-Haitham when someone finally approaches the two. It is rude, considering Al-Haitham is sitting right there, but he's discovered that impertinence isn't enough to stop some people.

"Hello," a man Al-Haitham has never seen before says, walking up short to their table. He grins, which could be charming but only comes off as smarmy in this light. He doesn't say anything else, looking upon the two expectantly. Al-Haitham gives him an up-and-down and turns away.

"Hi!" Kaveh says, turning the full force of his smile onto the man, who stumbles back a little. "Sorry, did you want to talk to Al-Haitham? 'Cause you can't do that. He's unavailable. Off the market. Closed for business."

That last remark of Kaveh's doesn't even make sense. Either way, Al-Haitham is not in fact taken. At least not by the person he wants to belong to the most.

"Actually," the man says, "I was wondering about you. A man as beautiful as you must certainly be too busy for someone like me, but I wanted to try on the off chance you would spare your time for me."

"Oh," Kaveh says, blinking. "Um."

"Listen," Al-Haitham says, "he's not available."

The man turns his searching gaze onto him. "Is that so? Is that what he would say, or is it what you want me to hear? Because until he tells me himself, I'm going to assume you're speaking over him. Unless, of course, you're his boyfriend. Or maybe you're just jealous."

Al-Haitham narrows his eyebrows at the man. This exchange is only so infuriating because he is right. Al-Haitham has no claim over Kaveh, nor can he make decisions for him.

Kaveh darts his gaze between the two, a questioning look on his face. "I can speak for myself. And for him. Sorry, he's right! I am taken. By him. But he doesn't know it yet."

What.

The man looks regretful that he even approached them now. Al-Haitham knows the feeling. He backs away, throwing them a scornful gaze. "Whatever. A shame you're stuck with such a buzzkill."

Kaveh is saying something. "Sevens, he's the spoilsport," he mutters disdainfully. "Doesn't he know not to approach two people who are clearly enjoying each other's company?"

Al-Haitham is still stuck on Kaveh's previous words. "Wait, what did you mean by that?" he asks faintly.

"That he's a spoilsport? Ah, it doesn't matter. He ruined my plans to cheer you up. You're probably even grumpier now. Let's just go home."

"No, no, your previous words about being taken," Al-Haitham says, following Kaveh as he rushes through the crowd and into the open night, taking the path back to their home.

"Oh, that?" Kaveh scoffs. "You're a little dense. Obviously, I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn't want to be kept by anybody but you."

"But we are—" Al-Haitham trips over his words, trailing behind Kaveh as he walks purposefully through the city. "We aren't. Together. Neither of us has confirmed anything of the sort."

Kaveh gives him a derisory look. "And what, we don't act like it? Some things don't have to be put into words to be understood. Ah, I forgot. Haravatat. You probably wouldn't accept anything else any other way."

"It is not logical to make assumptions without empirical evidence."

"You scholarly types," Kaveh mutters. "Always so particular." As if he is not made of the same academic material that Al-Haitham is.

"What does this mean," Al-Haitham says, desperately trying to make sense of it all. "Why do you always have to make things so confusing?" Why withhold the answers when it is clear Kaveh has already come to a conclusion?

Kaveh finally stops and turns. He hesitates, visibly thinking through his words. "That's a deduction you'll have to come to on your own," he says finally. "I don't think you'd like it any other way. Since when have you ever asked for the answers without taking the chance to solve the problem yourself?"

Since Al-Haitham met Kaveh. Since his entire world got turned on its head. Since he lifted the stencil, his own logical interpretation of existence, to discover an entirely different drawing underneath, incongruous with everything he had already reasoned.

"Since you," he says, the words trying to twist into other things, since I discovered love, since I tripped and uncovered a whole new side of Teyvat. Of living.

"You're well on your way, then," Kaveh says dismissively, starting his stride again. "You'll get there. If anybody can do it, it's you."

Such faith. When was the last time anybody had believed so wholeheartedly in him?

Stage Five: Acceptance

You'll get there, Kaveh had said. Al-Haitham had not understood it at first; wouldn't the quickest and therefore best route be to confront the problem at the source? Wouldn't the most efficient use of both of their time be to have Kaveh explain whatever it is he's playing at?

After some time, he thinks he's starting to understand it. He would never have been satisfied if Kaveh had told him right then and there. The beauty of research and investigation comes from the search, from sifting through ideas and explanations and through the dirt and grime until he finds the piece of the puzzle.

Now that he's taken a step back from his earlier, more… naive approaches to his newfound realization, he can see that the situation at hand is not as terrible as it seemed.

Kaveh was right. Their relationship is not characterized so much by their words—their fights, their debates, weapons made verbal—as it is by their actions. Even as a linguistics scholar, Al-Haitham has little to do with what use he can make out of his language, and Kaveh has always been inclined to calculations and ideas made visual. So it makes sense that they are defined not by what they say but by the things their hands make out, drifting and pulling and threading together mist.

With reflection and time, Al-Haitham can see what steps he is supposed to take next. And even if he didn't, he knows where he is supposed to end up. Towards Kaveh.

Kaveh hasn't so much as mentioned their night out to the tavern, but Al-Haitham can tell it's preoccupying him as much as it is him. He's been more daring, lately, inching closer to him when they cross paths in the house, brushing past his shoulder when he reaches for a mug in the cupboard, once even haphazardly throwing Al-Haitham a crafted pen that had been imported from Fontaine without a word.

It's about time he puts him out of his misery.

It ends where things began. Years ago, Al-Haitham first met Kaveh in the House of Daena, colliding because neither of them had been watching where they were going. The details aren't important. What's important is that Al-Haitham met Kaveh, and Kaveh him, and their lives became intrinsically intertwined irreversibly. He'd be unable to pry Kaveh out of him without self-injury.

Tonight, there is an alumni reunion being held at the Akademiya. Al-Haitham would have tossed the invitation away immediately if Kaveh hadn't seen him reading it in passing, pausing behind him and scanning the words over his shoulder so close that he could feel him breathe.

"Let's go," Kaveh had said. Al-Haitham could barely move because he was so near. "I'm interested in seeing if anyone actually remembers that you were in their graduating class."

And so they are here, once again. Al-Haitham is no stranger to the Akademiya, but in recent years he has stayed confined to his office and the small area of the quarters he must travel through to do his work.

Kaveh, as soon as they arrive, pulls him away from the crowd despite his words of catching up with their respective peers. They end up at the House of Daena once again.

It's dark. Very minimal lighting has been turned on, probably because the staff had not anticipated anyone visiting the library when the event was being held in the main hall, but Kaveh flicks on a desktop lamp with familiarity.

Neither of them says a word, weaving through the tables. More than once, Al-Haitham catches a hip on the back of a chair and hisses, and Kaveh looks back at him with an apologetic look but does not stop until they are in the far corner from the entrance.

It's a table they often shared with Cyno and Tighnari in joint studying sessions. However, neither of their friends is here now, citing distance and work and plain disinterest.

"Why are we back here, Kaveh?" Al-Haitham asks.

Kaveh ignores him, looking up at the large, reaching bookshelves, inhaling with a sweet smile on his face. "It smells like old books in here. Isn't it nostalgic? There were so few students in here that it was like we were alone all the time."

"We are actually alone now," Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh, staring up at the ceiling tiles, merely hums in response.

"Kaveh."

"Yes?"

"I learned a lot here, at the Akademiya," Al-Haitham says, stepping closer to him so that they're both backed up against the bookshelves. "A lot that I did not think I would consider valuable, as it did not always pertain to my studies. And things that I could not put into practice until now."

"Al-Haitham," Kaveh says softly. "What are you saying?"

Al-Haitham swallows, and for all his education, words fail him. Instead, he reaches out with one hand until Kaveh nods in permission, then cups it to the back of his head and brings him down, pressing his ear against his upper torso.

"Listen."

His heart is thundering as if it is trying to beat out of his chest and make itself known to Kaveh. It pulses in an irregular rhythm, a language Al-Haitham has never even touched before.

If there were anyone who could interpret it, it would be Kaveh.

Kaveh brings one arm up over his shoulders and pulls Al-Haitham closer and the other curls against his chest as if he is trying to listen deeper into his very soul.

"Al-Haitham," says Kaveh. "You are…" He trails off, laughing lightly. The sound reverberates through Al-Haitham's chest and echoes in his mind. A song the likes of which his earpieces could never reproduce.

He pulls away, smiling up at him as if he has never seen anything that has pleased him more in his life. "You can't just cut corners, either," Kaveh teases, trailing one hand down until he can intertwine his fingers with Al-Haitham's. "You have to say it with your words."

Al-Haitham rolls his eyes but he pulls Kaveh flush against his chest, relishing the few inches of height he has on the other. "Pushy. You've always been greedy."

"Hey," Kaveh protests. "I'm just a romantic. You've seen my work. You should know what to expect."

"Fine," Al-Haitham says. "If it makes you happy. Kaveh, did you know I fell in love with you the first time I saw you eat shit by tripping over a book in our living room?"

Kaveh, taken by surprise, laughs loud and clear, the sound ringing through the empty room like bells. "Are you serious? That's your grand idea of romance?"

"You should know what to expect," Al-Haitham mimics in a bad impersonation of Kaveh's voice.

"You're right," Kaveh sighs. "Okay, well, I fell in love with you sitting right at this table. I'd just gotten a bad grade on a blueprint I was really proud of, something about theoretical Khaenri'ah architecture, and all you said was that birds in cages fly the farthest when they escape their constraints. That was all you said, but I had never felt so seen before."

Al-Haitham remembers this, actually. It hadn't been much—it'd been the truth, is what it is, because honesty is most convenient, and he'd never go out of his way to lie to soothe someone's feelings. But Kaveh was upset, and he had thought, with clarity, this isn't right.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Al-Haitham says into Kaveh's hair. "No one had ever mapped the great expanse of the sky before you."

Kaveh sniffs. "I take back what I said about romanticism. You're really good at this."

Al-Haitham laughs and situates one hand on Kaveh's waist. "We should probably go soon. People are going to notice your absence, if not mine."

"No," Kaveh whines. "They don't even pay attention."

Despite his words, voices are drawing closer, probably their former classmates who are also curious and want to explore the lecture halls and classrooms of their youth. Kaveh detaches himself from Al-Haitham, grumbling all the while, but makes sure to link his arm with Al-Haitham's as they move on, a small but distinct indicator of what has changed.

"Come on," Al-Haitham says. "We'll have other chances to kiss covertly in dark rooms, but not tonight."

"Fine," Kaveh says in return, "I'll hold you to it."