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Chapter Text

Kaveh halts so abruptly that he nearly drops his phone on the Walk of Fame star beneath him. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I’m letting you go. You know, allowing you to pursue other opportunities.”

Admittedly, Kaveh already expected today to be as miserable as usual, but getting dropped by his talent agent? “You’re dropping me?”

“Acting is a subjective business. What doesn’t resonate with one agent may very well with another. Keep—!”

A fluorescent orange metro bus squeaks at the Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street intersection, drowning out her fabricated pep talk, and the family of eight passing by and yelling at each other doesn’t help. None of them wear coats despite it being early December and sixty degrees. Holiday tourists.

Pressing the phone to his shoulder, Kaveh zips up his sweatsuit jacket. “But I’m already on the way to the agency to pick up next year’s paperwork. Like, ten minutes.”

Which is why he’s being caught alive on Hollywood Boulevard, even on a weekday morning. It’s the one street he avoids in Los Angeles at all costs, littered with too many vacationers and smelling of rotting hot dogs and chip bags smeared across the sidewalk. And, unfortunately, his agency is painfully old-school, including its non-digital contracts. “Can we please discuss this more in person?”

“Don’t bother showing up because I’ve made up my mind,” Kaveh’s agent says so quickly that he barely processes it. Her raspier tone only makes it worse. With everyone, she speaks like her time is being wasted—like there’s another bigger, better offer around the corner—which Kaveh usually appreciates for his salary negotiations. Not today.

“Can you at least tell me why?” he asks.

“I’ve been trying to—”

Something hard slams into Kaveh’s shin. He trips and crashes onto the sparkly concrete star beneath him, his phone skidding across the sidewalk. Groaning and flipping his longer hair out of his eyes, he rises on his elbows. A girl no older than three is wiped out beside him, her striped sundress fanned out around her legs.

Did she run into him?

The star beneath Kaveh catches his eye next, and it makes his heart lurch.

Alhaitham.

Apparently, getting dropped by his agent isn’t miserable enough. He also has to trip on his idol’s Walk of Fame star.

He reaches for his phone and inspects the screen. Shattered. Two-hundred dollars’ worth of savings to pay off that broken muffler, gone. He crawls back to his feet, speaker to his ear. “Could you repeat that?”

“I said—”

The little girl beneath him wails and tugs on her red bowtie braids.

Kaveh shoves a finger practically into his eardrum. “Come again?!”

Tourists are staring now. Even a group of meaty guys, smoking cigarettes on motorcycles at the curb, glare like he must’ve socked this girl in the face. Kaveh scans the crowded sidewalk in a panic. This screaming creature must have an owner.

“I’ve been trying to shape your career for four years,” Kaveh’s agent continues over the line. “You haven’t gotten a thing.”

“I got that skincare ad last month,” Kaveh says distractedly, raking a tense hand through his tangled post-wipe-out hair. “It was a pyramid scheme. But.”

“Nothing big.”

“Well. Yeah, no.”

“No. I’m going to be blunt: our style has been dead in the market for so long now, and I can’t keep working for you for free forever. You understand.”

Kaveh does understand. When his agent picked him out of the slush four years ago, she claimed it was because he was handsome in a beautiful way, light-blond and red-eyed and slim yet toned, which was trending in the market again. At the time, Kaveh was simply thrilled to be called handsome—a man—without doubt. But what she never mentioned was talent. If he hasn’t struck luck after this long, then maybe the tireless effort he put into his self-teaching was futile. He’ll never have the thousands of dollars for mentors. No connections.

But being broke and stranded isn’t thrilling to Kaveh either, especially when he’s lived this way since the day he was unfortunately born. He’s used to fighting back to keep surviving. “Find one last audition for me.”

“No.”

“I’ll get the part. I promise.”

“Kaveh.”

“Please. I’ll do anything.”

His agent just sighs.

“Look, you didn’t even give me a warning, right?” Balancing his phone against his chin, he shoves his hair back with a wrist tie and tries to pull himself together. “Don’t I deserve one last chance after us working together for so long? If I flop it, let me go.”

“I’ll check if there’s already something on my radar. Otherwise, I’m not wasting more of my time.”

“Thank you. I totally understand—”

 Distorted classical music blares over the speaker, and Kaveh flinches and stretches the speaker away. Guess he’s on hold.

“Sweetie!” Down the sidewalk, a taller man in an I HEART LA tee rushes toward Kaveh—no, the little girl still crying at his feet. He scoops her up without making eye contact with Kaveh at all. “There you are, honey.”

While the two head further through the Walk of Fame, joining another woman who’s pushing a stroller, Kaveh returns to staring emptily at Alhaitham’s sparkly star beneath his battered Converse. Has Alhaitham ever been dropped by his agent? Reached the concrete bottom of his career? Doubtful. He’s been a child star loved by the industry since he could talk and practically the hottest man alive now. Hot people don’t have real problems.

“Kaveh?”

He startles, pressing his shattered phone closer. A sharp pain shoots down the side of his ear. Definitely glass. Cool. “Yes?”

“You’re a lucky man.”

“I am?”

“How do you feel about an antagonist role? It’s the enemy of some lead in an internally developed I.P., so there’s no pilot-failing fear. The only physical requirement is to be under five nine. Since that’s rarer to find in male actors, you might have a real shot.”

Relief courses through him. “Absolutely!”

“You know, because male actors are usually over six.”

Kaveh glances down at the sweatsuit he bought from the thrift store last week, which covers up most of his six-foot frame. Even after four years, his agent still doesn’t know, so he can’t fully blame her. Barely anybody can know. People like him rarely do well in this industry, and when they do, they never branch away from any label other than that transgender actor. Still, the comment stings. “Y-yep.”

“And they’re especially looking for someone who can play pathetic.”

“I get it.”

“But there are some hefty skill requirements. You gotta dance, sing, and act. Well.”

Most actors lie on their skills section about being able to do all three, but not Kaveh. He built himself different. “So, it’s a recurring role. A lead role?”

“Technically. It’s The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show.”

“Is that some game show?”

“A kid’s show. It’s for Kidneeto TV. You know, the streaming service?”

He doesn’t. All of his hope sieves out of him. Not a Big Five studio. “Is a show on some kid’s knock-off streaming service even considered big enough in your eyes?”

“Nope, but better than another MLM ad.”

“I’m not sure if this will pay well, though—”

“Well, you’ve unfortunately flopped every other audition I’ve handed you. If you can’t score even a show for kids, then I honestly don’t know what to tell you, Kaveh.”

At least the adults on this show must be a focal point when everyone else is likely animated or children, so that’s a plus for his resumé. Still, he’s hesitant. “Where’s the studio?”

“Olive Ave. Burbank. Starts in fifteen minutes.”

Kaveh checks the Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street signs crossing at the bustling intersection. From here, that’d take him half an hour on a good day. But if this is his last shot to avoid being stranded and broke again, then he’ll give this audition all he’s got.

“I’ll make it,” Kaveh says.

“I’ll have to call to see if they’ll let you audition with such short notice. They might send you away at the door.”

Then Kaveh will have to kick that door down. As he hangs up and sprints toward the garage he parked at, dodging the tourists crowding the sidewalk, a wail comes from a fire hydrant. That girl again, held by her dad. Still crying.

Kaveh grimaces. Even if this show is his last shot, could he really handle it?

Chapter Text

The moment Kaveh busts into the studio, he bends over himself, heaving to catch his breath. An hour. It took an hour to fight traffic, all thanks to a Tesla that ran into a Road Work Ahead street sign and shut down most of Barham Boulevard. Then there was that double-decker tour bus blocking the parking lot entrance for five extra minutes.

Once Kaveh has enough air back in him, he looks up, only for his brow to furrow. He went through Door 2 like his agent’s email instructed. But instead of an audition room lined with casting directors, he’s standing beside a greenscreen no bigger than his bedroom. The cameras blink on standby, and a single gaffer scurries around a currently filming set, effortlessly proving their limited funding. A sign draped from wall to wall reads Kidneeto Headquarters and Studios.

So, they film in the same place they file taxes.

Kaveh grimaces at the excuse of a studio, then toward the half-flight of steps beyond the green screen, where another sign catches his eye.

Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show Auditions!

Sprinting up the steps, Kaveh spots two doors. One marked with Playroom and another with Scriptwriting. A lanky man with dyed black-and-green shoulder-length hair stands nearby. “You’re the Kaveh I’ve been calling for forever?”

“Yes, I’m sor—”

“Hurry up.” He holds the door for Kaveh for barely a second, and it slams against Kaveh’s shoulder.

Despite the pain, Kaveh waltzes into the audition room with a smile. His agent convinced them to tack him on at the end of the day. Finally, a win.

As Kaveh inspects the small room, another woman with a tan complexion sits at the end of a long round table. A projector screen is hung behind her on the wall. Kaveh has never auditioned for one casting director.

They don’t have limited funding. They have zero.

“Good afternoon,” the woman says. The baby-blue overalls beneath her cardigan give off the illusion that she’s sixteen, but she must be older than that. The butterfly clips decorating her red braids don’t help, either. “I'm Nilou.”

Kaveh's hand trembles as he waves. Could be Kidneeto’s lack of a heating system in winter. More likely the nerves raging in his stomach. A good actor states their introduction half like themselves, half like the character they’re reading for, but the pressure is melting his slate out of his brain, and his agent’s words won’t leave him alone.

You’ve flopped every other audition I’ve handed you. If you can’t score even a show for kids—

“K-Kaveh," he says. "Six foot?”

“Lovely to meet you. I take it you haven’t gone over these lines since you accepted this audition no less than an hour ago?”

So, the casting director already hates him. Now he has two jobs: nail this audition and regain her trust. If he can even remember what role he’s reading for. “Villain? I’m reading for the villain?”

“I’m familiar. That’s the only role we’re casting today.”

“Right!” He laughs weakly.

Nilou whips a packet across the table like an air hockey puck. Kaveh attempts to catch it but fumbles, and it falls to the floor. His face burns as he bends to swipe up the packet. The cover reads THE MERRY MYSTICAL MULTIDIMENSIONAL MUSIC SHOW SEASON 1: EPISODE 3, but his imagination jumbles the letters, morphing into FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE.

Nilou, however, doesn’t kick him out for being a failure within a record-breaking ten seconds. She laughs. For a casting director, she has an uncanny amount of light left in her bright blue eyes. Or maybe that’s just her shiny rainbow earrings reflecting in the fluorescent lights. “We haven’t named this character yet, so you’re reading for Villain Name TBD. I’ll read for the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician.”

Kaveh looks over the first line.

VILLAIN NAME TBD

There’s no way you’ll ever blow me!

He really should’ve asked his agent for more details about this show.

“Just to clarify," Kaveh says slowly, "this series is for kids?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just— Never mind.”

“Whenever you’re ready, then,” Nilou says through a smile.

Kaveh’s agent claimed that Kidneeto is looking for pathetic in this role, but pathetic as in sad? Cocky? Unintelligent? He bends his knees into an overdramatic fighting stance, choosing cocky. “There’s no way you’ll ever blow me!”

“I wouldn’t be certain of that.”

“What are you blabbering about, you whole note?”

Nilou gestures at the floor. “See that pile of flats and sharps beneath your feet? With a press of this button, they’ll vanish. You’ll fall deep into a bass clef of my making.”

Kaveh channels as much horror to his face as he can. “How did you corner me into such a vulnerable position?” His head tilts at the next line. “Honk, honk?”

“Your catchphrase.”

Two roads diverge in the yellow wood that is Kaveh’s mind. One is to speak honk, honk like any normal word. The other is to impersonate a goose. Either way, he won’t know how this catchphrase will leave his mouth without practice. He hands off the decision to his vocal folds and hopes for the best. “Honk, honk!”

Okay, goose. His voice, at least, spiked high and loud.

Nilou nods seemingly in approval. “I’m the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician. Join me and my orchestra. Use your super blowing powers for good.”

“I’ll never accept your orchestra. I’ll keep using my super blowing powers to destroy you!” He reads the next blocking cue.

VILLAIN NAME TBD drops through the pit.

Kaveh’s insides twist. His body can’t take this shit much longer, especially after slamming against Alhaitham’s Walk of Fame star an hour prior. But this is Kaveh’s last shot.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, he jumps as high as he can, then crashes down onto solid concrete. Every muscle in his body bends in ways it shouldn’t, and his brain knocks around his skull until his eyesight fuzzes.

“Jesus Criminy,” Nilou says from across the room.

Maybe that’s not what she was looking for.

At least, Kaveh assumes at first, but then he’s being yanked back up by a hand. Nilou’s. In her other, she holds three tennis balls. Even though she’s standing now, she’s still only half of Kaveh's height.

“Juggle,” she says plainly.

That wasn’t a get out. Kaveh wants to rejoice to the Kidneeto Studios rooftop, but he’s also seeing two of Nilou and can’t rely on what he heard. “Come again?”

“Isn’t juggling on your special skills?”

Usually, but not after eating shit and being on the verge of throwing up. He hesitantly takes the three tennis balls. The juggling starts off even—the Factory pattern instead of a basic Rolling Out to show off—but then his wooziness becomes too much, and he drops one ball. A very uncool yelp shoots out of him as he lunges to catch it in time.

Nilou laughs so hard that she grabs her stomach, her rainbow earrings jostling around her cheeks. “Good! Hit me with a few scales.”

Still not a get out. He tries and fails to set the balls on the tabletop without them rolling away. “What kind?”

“Major, harmonic minor, melodic minor.” She sings a C reference pitch.

The more in-depth this quiz becomes, the more Kaveh can’t stop thinking about his competition of BAs in Theatre and Voice from USC and Julliard and Carnegie Melon and the best mentors in LA. Depending on Nilou’s knowledge, she could realize he’s self-taught. Where he comes from.

What always holds him back.

Heart racing, Kaveh does all three scales.

“Now give me some old choreo,” Nilou says. “Anything you got memorized.”

He does as he’s told.

“Give me your best headshot smile.”

He does as he’s told.

“You got it.”

He does as he’s—

Kaveh pauses. “What?”

“I know it’s sudden to offer on the spot, but we’re behind schedule.” Nilou points toward the door. “Plus, no one else rolled up in character like you, and especially not before being handed a script. That’s the playful energy we want around our kids.”

It takes a few seconds for Kaveh’s brain to catch up. 

Well, he’s not going to tell her the truth. He shakes Nilou’s hand and summons his best headshot grin once more. He scored a part. A real part. “I’m thrilled you enjoyed my approach.”

“Of course. You play pathetic so effortlessly!”

A pang of defensiveness strikes his chest. His grin falters. “T-thank you.”

Nilou opens the door, gesturing at the intimidating green-and-black haired man from earlier. “Before you head out, this is our merry mystical composer and costume designer, Tighnari. Can he take a few photos so we can edit you into some last-minute promo?”

“Costume designer,” Kaveh repeats, trying to wave normally despite the dread curdling in his chest. “Nice to meet you.”

Tighnari silently sucks the straw of a pink Frappuccino.

Costumes might mean measurements. A clothing change. So far in his career, Kaveh has successfully dodged these situations by having his measurements memorized at all times. Most sets always have private changing rooms, too. But he’s positive Kidneeto doesn’t have even an extra square meter to spare for that.

“Are there bathrooms to change in?” he asks.

“You shouldn’t need to. Your costume slides right over your clothes.”

Relief hits Kaveh like a Phantasworks tour bus. This is it. The ultimate, perfect role for him. The universe is listening. “That’s great!”

“Tighnari will have you fill out some paperwork, too,” Nilou says, heading down the steps. “Would love to stay, but we need to wrap our second episode by tonight. Cheers.”

“Wait, what paperwork?” Kaveh calls after her.

“Just an NDA. We’ll send the rest of the contract to your agent for negotiations!”

A non-disclosure agreement for a basic kids’ show isn’t normal to ask for, but Nilou has vanished. By the time he faces Tighnari again, he stands only inches away, glaring through sharp cat-eye liner. Kaveh jolts.

“Hurry up,” Tighnari says, leading the way toward Costumes downstairs.

Soon enough, the two arrive at a room no bigger than a walk-in closet. Vanities line the back wall, one of which is covered in paperwork that clearly hasn’t been organized in months.

Tighnari gestures his lightning-tattooed hand at it. “Over there’s your NDA.”

Kaveh excavates a black pen out of the mess, then tries to find anything marked with NDA. Finally, he spots a stack of blank ones. “Nilou said you’d explain this?”

“You illiterate like our kid actors?”

“What? No?”

Tighnari sips his pink Frappuccino more. “Then just read it.”

Kaveh has to hold the paper closer to make out the fine print, reminding him once again to pay off enough credit card debt to buy glasses. Most of the legal jargon is similar to a few NDAs he’s gotten in the past. Except for one sentence.

Kaveh points toward the bottom of the paper. “‘Such confidential information includes, but is not limited to, any information related to the identities pertaining to Uncredited SAG-AFTRA Actors under contract with the Disclosing Party.’ So, I can share whatever I want about the show. Just nothing about the actors’ identities?”

“Yep,” Tighnari says.

“Isn’t there a rolling credit for the cast at the end?”

“All but for one. He’s decided to act uncredited in his role.”

Kaveh has no clue what could make someone want to give that up. Actors always want more roles on their resume. “That’s really all this NDA is?”

“Do I look like a lawyer, Thift Store Tracksuit?”

Kaveh's mouth hangs open slightly, unsure if he should be more offended or scared that she could tell. Even if he has more questions, Tighnari won’t help, and what choice does he have if he wants this role?

He signs his name.

“Onto the photoshoot,” Tighnari says, his trench coat flapping behind his boots as he heads toward a costume rack.

Kaveh quickly finds a vanity mirror to redo his ponytail. “How should I pose—?"

“Throw this over yourself.”

He turns around to see Tighnari pointing at something on the floor. Not clothes. At least, not fabric. A clunky, gold, rectangular thing made of foam, or maybe plastic. Tubes and bolts jut off the sides. There’s a hole the size of a head on top, and the bottom is left open as if to hang over a pair of legs, almost like a smock.

Unsurely, Kaveh puts it on. The world disappears briefly as he fights to pop his head through the hole on top. “Is this a mascot costume—?”

Something else heavy slaps down over his head, and darkness falls again. This time, the world stays dark.

“Hello?!” he shouts.

“Not yet,” Tighnari’s voice comes from beyond. “The eyeholes aren’t aligned.”

Slowly, the vanity lights come back to his vision, and then he can make himself out in the mirrors again.

Except that’s not him. His face has been transformed into a windy horn that funnels upward toward the ceiling, and more valves stick out every which way. He’s a massive, shimmery tuba.

“Turn around!” Tighnari commands, pulling out a phone behind him.

Kaveh does, holding up a hand. “Wait—”

The phone snaps and flashes.

★

The quick photoshoot takes over an hour.

By the time it’s over, Kaveh is sweaty and gross after being hotboxed in the mascot costume. He leans against the lobby’s craft service station to catch a fucking breath. He should only be thrilled about being edited into ads like he’s worth something, but after that, he’s too starving to think about anything else. As he peruses the crafty for snacks and drinks, he spots unseasoned tofu, soggy bean salad, and a plastic bowl of kale chips festering with germs until he reaches tray of dinosaur nuggets marked with Cool Kid’s Corner! He deserves a goddamn nugget after keeping his agent.

Right. He has to tell his agent the news.

Glancing both ways and stealing a dino nugget, Kaveh whips out his phone with the other hand.

“For I, the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician, shall maintain the multidimensional mansion!” an Australian accent echoes through the studio.

A collection of shrieking cheers follows.

Kaveh lowers his phone, searching for the source until landing on the set he saw earlier. Specifically, Greenscreen Studio A, according to the sign. A man in with short, gray hair, wearing a magician outfit and masquerade mask, standing on the screen. Too many peacock feathers jet off his mask for Kaveh to make out his face, but he’s dancing impressively poorly and waving a wand. Kids dressed as music bottom notes dance, too, their bodies the stems and faces the heads.

“Cut!” Nilou's voice carries across the studio. “That’s a wrap. Kiddos, go get changed!”

The cameras stop rolling, and the one gaffer starts to move. Tighnari herds the single-file line of giggling and complaining collection of kids up the stairs.

Once they’re out of sight, the magician’s smile plummets. With a frilly gloved hand, he removes his masquerade mask. Light-turquoise eyes with scattered, orange flecks. Deep tan skin dotted with sparse moles and freckles, one most visible on his freshly shaven face, right under his left eye. Kaveh would know. When he was younger, he stared at that four-time Oscar nominee’s face on his bedroom walls.

Kaveh’s half-chewed dino chicken nugget falls out of his mouth. He must’ve hit his head against the concrete floor too hard during his audition.

This is a hallucination. The last place Alhaitham should be is faking an Australian accent here. He’s the go-to love interest for blockbuster romcoms and Big 5 dramas and Jane Austen retellings.

Well, or was, before the scandals.

But as Alhaitham leaves Greenscreen Studio A and passes by the crafty, Kaveh smells the woodsy notes of his real fragrance, witnesses every real shimmering sequin and bead of his costume. He stops beside a side exit door, checking his phone.

Tighnari crosses by the crafty next, carrying three rolls of bright-colored fabric.

Kaveh seizes the moment. “Excuse me?”

He stops. “You get lost?”

“No, I’m on my way out, but—that’s Alhaitham, right?”

“And?”

And? “He’s not in rehab anymore? After…” Kaveh recalls what has circulated in the news over the last few years, then considers how to put it all professionally. His parents’ limousine car crash? The month-long bender? Punching a guy on live TV during the Oscars? “The stuff?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s working with kids?”

“Yep.”

Then Tighnari’s off.

Kaveh’s heart races so quickly that it nearly lurches up his throat to join his chewed-up nugget on the floor.

Alhaitham is really here, the sole actor Kaveh swore he’d with work with someday despite his roots. Who he studied through so many screens—his clothes, style, workout regimen, physique, talent—to become the man he wanted to be. For the last year and a half that Alhaitham has been MIA, Kaveh has checked up on the star’s dead social media, impatiently waiting for his return. Although likely with a Notes app apology, considering the not-so-awesome choices he made during that bender.

Allegedly.

This is happening. He’s working with his idol. What will he learn further now that they’re working together? This could open even more doors.

This is what making it is all about. This.

By the time Kaveh focuses back on Alhaitham, he’s moved into the garden beyond the side door. He lights a cigarette, the afternoon sun shining upon his very real gray head of hair.

Kaveh summons his courage and follows him outside. The garden is more impressive than he expects, considering Kidneeto Studios as a whole, its flowerbeds brimming with healthy hydrangeas and pansies. Once he spots a door connecting to the neighboring building labeled Phantasworks, which looks quadruple the size of Kidneeto’s two measly floors, he realizes why. The double-decker tour buses speeding past upon his arrival must be theirs; Big 5 tend to offer behind-the-scenes tickets to tourists. Working so close to that level of money breaches into twisted joke territory for Kaveh.

Alhaitham is halfway done with his cigarette. He stands beside an ashtray, so zoned out on the parking lot that he doesn’t notice the new visitor.

Kaveh wrings his hands. Since the day he started fighting for a career, he’s forced himself to learn how to talk shop with actors and agents and casting directors. How to sponge—to take their personalities and duplicate them. At least, that’s what Layla calls it. You’re sponging, Kaveh. Be yourself. But in an industry where sameness and trust are one, he doesn’t have a choice. It’s why he works so tirelessly to pass. To hide the past. Why, if he were to get a Walk of Fame star someday, it’d be unheard of for someone like him.

Unfortunately, Kaveh doesn’t know Alhaitham’s true personality enough to sponge it. Only what’s been filtered through movies and interviews. Maybe Kaveh doesn’t need to. For now, he can start off slow. Gain a simple hello from Alhaitham, or an autograph, or a pat on the head—no, what? He’s overwhelmed.

He settles on a revolutionary creative intro. “Um.”

Alhaitham’s head turns. Slowly. Between his dark circles and few additional inches of height, he looks older than Kaveh even though he's younger. Specifically, two years and twelve days younger, if he remembers correctly.

Kaveh tries not to throw up. He’s looking at him. Tripping on that Hollywood star wasn’t a bad omen. It was a good one. A life-changing one.

That’s when he realizes his hands are shaking. He drops them to his sides. “Hi—”

“You better have signed the NDA.” His fake accent from before is gone, replaced by the solid baritone with a rumble he’s heard in all of Alhaitham’s movies. There’s a bit more grit than he remembers.

“W-what?” Kaveh says. “Yeah. I signed it.”

Alhaitham stares toward the parking lot again, taking another drag.

Conversation starter. Now. “I’m surprised to see someone like you here.”

Alhaitham’s brow pops. He turns again. Not in a welcoming way.

Blood pulses in Kaveh’s ears as he urgently debates where he’s gone wrong. “You’re just Hollywood’s go-to love interest! You on a kids’ show—around kids at all—is like seeing a polar bear in a desert, you know?”

Alhaitham’s face falls only for a second before being overwritten by a narrowed gaze. He steps forward, careful and calculated, until his larger frame hovers over Kaveh’s. “It’s more surprising to see a blabbermouth child actor in the smoking section. You should go back to the playroom if you don’t want to miss more of today’s dinosaur nuggets.”

With that, he puts out his cigarette and heads into the lobby.

Kaveh’s blood runs cold, the rest of his body locking in a shell-shocked state.

This can’t be. This really can’t be.

Alhaitham is a dick.

Chapter Text

Kaveh scrubs the bar counter with his wet rag as hard as he can, pretending it’s Alhaitham’s face. He feels like killing him. He feels like folding Alhaitham’s body in half so he can smash that big head against those cheese grater abs and grate his skin to a bloody pulp.

He’s not Kaveh’s idol. Not at fucking all.

“Guess who I am, and you get ten doubloons—”

Kaveh startles at Faruzan’s higher-pitched voice behind him. He tosses the rag, which slaps the ceiling and plops back onto the counter.

From the backroom, Faruzan blinks, confused. Today, she wears a fake goatee with a plain orange T-shirt and boxing gloves, and her pale blue hair is smashed into a bun at the peak of her head. “I can’t look that scary.”

Faruzan could never look scary, even when she’s ready for the boxing ring. Her contagious confidence is the only reason why Kaveh, who was too terrified to ask to borrow a pencil in middle school, was roped into becoming her best friend. But Alhaitham being an ultimate douche left him distracted. “Who are you today?”

As Faruzan joins Kaveh by the bar, You’re on Fire’s LED sign above the liquor shelves casts an ominous red glow across her face. “I’m Matt.”

“Who?”

“Wii Sports? The boxing champ?”

He has no clue, but after a day of nonstop sponging, it’s at least nice to get a break with Faruzan. He goes back to cleaning the counter. “Can you help with—?”

“FUCK,” a disembodied voice interrupts.

The two turn. By the retro arcade games lining the back wall, a group of four is getting obliterated in an intergalactic shooting game. After working at Faruzan's barcade for three years, Kaveh has learned that fuck and die are the only words customers know.

“Where’s your uniform?” Faruzan says, ignoring the usual screams. She eyes Kaveh’s bright-yellow T-shirt and deeper yellow sweatpants.

“Uniform,” Kaveh drones. “You mean, making your only other employee play dress-up against his will alongside you?”

“You’re lucky I let you work here. You aren’t a gamer, and you've stopped drinking lately.”

Kaveh knows a little about video games after living briefly at Faruzan’s house when he had no place to stay. And alcohol gives him hangovers, so he wouldn’t be his best at auditions, and he has to be the best. Obviously. “I am dressed in uniform.”

“As what?”

“Pacman.”

“Bro.”

“DIE. FUCK.”

The door opens, triggering the speakers to play an opening treasure chest sound effect. Two women and a man step inside—regulars who exude the typical LA arts district vibe. Business casual, emphasis on casual, like they’ve ended their day at an art museum or health food startup. The man, who’s the most dressed up out of them with his pastel blazer layered over a collared shirt and cuffed skinny jeans, waves at Kaveh. “No Mario today?”

Kaveh keeps scrubbing the counter in his daze, his spiraling thoughts over Alhaitham all he can hear. Faruzan nudges him, and his head shoots up. "Hey, you guys! Sorry, I’m out of it.”

The three exchange a look he can’t read, but at least smiles are involved. They claim stools further down the bar.

Faruzan hurries to ask for their drink orders, then returns with a frown. She starts making a Tingle Rod, which is apparently named after a fairy from The Legend of Zelda and would be the worst-sounding name on their menu if Amongus Sus on the Beach didn’t exist. “Make a Dirt Block," she tells Kaveh. "That beautiful man who wants to smack his lips on yours ordered one.”

Kaveh glances up from the counter again. “Huh?”

“DIE.”

“What’s up with you?” Faruzan asks. “You’re more out of it than normal.”

Kaveh can’t reveal the truth. His NDA didn’t specify Alhaitham, but with the way he questioned Kaveh about whether or not he signed it, the any information related to the identities pertaining to Uncredited SAG-AFTRA Actors clause must relate to him.

He reaches into the mini fridge beneath the counter for vanilla Kahlua and chocolate oat milk. “I landed a part today.”

“Oh? A new multi-level-marketing ad?”

“A lead.”

“Nice—Wait, what? What?” Faruzan tackles him into a hug, and he scrambles to set down the leaking carton of oat milk in time. “Congratulations!”

“Stop.” But it’s said through a grin as his pride takes over. Faruzan has waited for this day almost as much as he has. Finally, he’s proving himself to his agent. To Faruzan. Everyone.

“Who are we working with?” Faruzan asks, grinning so wide that her ceramic braces are noticeable—which are thanks to the overbite she’s complained about since middle school. “Big Five? Universal? Paramount? Columbia?”

“Um. Kidneeto.”

“Kid what?”

 Kaveh winces. He pours three ounces of oat milk into his measuring cup to distract himself from the humiliation rapidly replacing that pride. “A kid’s streaming service. They do original I.P. work. In their headquarters.”

“FUCK.”

“Oh,” Faruzan says, scratching her bun with the back end of a used spoon. “I mean, hey, that’s pretty cool!”

“I wear a tuba mascot costume.”

“C-compelling.”

Kaveh sighs as he adds the vanilla Kahlua and crushed Oreos. “Maybe I should get used to this. If this industry does look into my past enough, these might be the only roles I get. Ones that put metaphorical brown paper bags over my head.” He laughs weakly.

Faruzan slaps his arm. “No. You’re still set on hiding this?”

“There isn’t a single actor like me on the Walk of Fame. How can I not?”

“I get that, but.” She sighs.

“I know working here was only supposed to be temporary,” Kaveh says to get back on track. “But I have no clue if this gig will pay well. Can I stay a bit longer?"

“Kaveh, it’s been years. I would’ve kicked you out by now if this were a problem.”

Faruzan must’ve only been aiming for comfort, but it feels like a jab. Years upon years of failure. Zero steady acting income. Just her steady cash handed under the table so he can keep Medicaid and passing in an industry that he feels would otherwise throw him out.

It’s not like Kaveh expects full stability when even A-listers are tricking the public into believing they own exotic animals in Beverly Hills. Meanwhile, they’re secretly maxing out cards to buy fifty-thousand-dollar tickets for the Met Gala. But at least they’re known. Whenever he’d look at the poster of Alhaitham he bought when he finally rented his own apartment, he’d dream of being known the same way. He always had, growing up. That’s what sent Kaveh down this path despite every school counselor pleading for him to choose a safer route. Finance. Accounting. Anything but that.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Kaveh mumbles, his voice small.

“Of course,” Faruzan says. “You know I’m here for you.”

For now. But he wonders when Faruzan’s favors will run dry when he’s never been able to give in return. She’s given him a job, helped him through surgeries the moment he turned eighteen, and put him under temporary roofs. Must be any day now.

“Even if the pay sucks, being around kids might be good for you,” she adds, rattling the tequila and midori of her Tingle Rod in a shaker.

“I hate kids,” Kaveh says.

“You’re an only child, and you have the most jaded perception of childhood I know. Like, I get it, with what you’ve been through. But do you want your own family someday—?”

“No.”

“Okay! Okay. Just checking.” Faruzan peers at the Dirt Block order-er, who’s obviously eyeing Kaveh across the bar. “What do you think of that regular?”

Kaveh slaps down his stir spoon and grips the counter. “Faruzan. I’ve already told you a hundred times that I don’t want to date anyone right now.”

She pulls her phone out of her mesh shorts pocket. “Six years and twenty days.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not this again.”

“According to my calendar app, it’s been six years since you dated someone. At the end of our senior year. You haven’t gotten laid in SIX YEARS.”

The crowds pause their fucks and dies to stare their way.

“Please delete that,” Kaveh mutters, shaking strands of blond hair into his face to hide his reddening cheeks from their audience.

Faruzan shakes her head so rapidly that some of her own ringlets fall out of her bun. “I need to keep holding this over you. You've never dated anyone for more than a few days. You already got a list of reasons why you should go improve your mental health stats, but this one? Woof, mama.”

Mental health stats. A vocab word Faruzan invented to avoid Kaveh shuddering whenever bringing up the idea of someone with a notepad and glasses and too many questions. “They all asked me out. I just didn’t like them.”

“Wow, RIP.”

“Even if I wanted to have a rotation of dates for any given event like you, I couldn’t,” Kaveh keeps defending himself. “Not when I need to keep certain things from this industry. Everyone knows everyone in L.A.”

“Tell them to zip their mouth.”

Kaveh’s jaw clenches. The risk could never be worth it, and he has no clue how Faruzan doesn’t see that. “Either way, I need to focus on auditions. Dating takes too much time.”

“What auditions are held on a Saturday night? Porn?”

“Faruzan.”

She tosses up her hands. “All right. You won’t be auditioning anymore, though. You got a solid gig now. I’ll check in again in a few weeks.”

Kaveh sincerely wishes she would not. His opinion won’t change, especially when he still needs to prove he isn’t the waste of space the universe tries to convince him of and surpass this kid’s show to claim that Hollywood star. But he’d never admit this part aloud. Faruzan would call him cringe.

“Kaveh!” the regular waves at the end of the bar. “Is my drink done?”

Faruzan elbows Kaveh. “Go on, reset my calendar.”

Kaveh glares. He serves the regular with a smile before disappearing into the back room to bus dishes, avoiding the conversation Faruzan wishes he would.

⛤

Subject: Kidneeto Contract

Thurs, Dec 6, 8:03 AM

Kaveh,

You’re a lucky man. Kidneeto got back with the offer and contract quickly. The NDA you signed onsite has been scanned and included. Next time do NOT sign something randomly handed to you OK? After reviewing it seems fine but odd. Guess whoever plays the lead can’t be made public.

They already want you this Monday. Call time is 8 a.m. You’ll start before I finish negotiations. Your script and sheet music for Ep. 3 are attached.

Sitting crosslegged on the mattress sprawled across his bedroom floor, Kaveh stares emptily at his agent's email. “Monday?”

Creaking footsteps from the apartment above are his only response. The floors and walls of his cheap NoHo studio are no thicker than two inches and likely ninety percent asbestos.

Kaveh scrolls to the payment to see the lowest figure Kidneeto could’ve offered. Relief hits him despite the stringiness. This will keep him afloat, and it’s better than no gigs at all.

Swiping away his inbox, he types Alhaitham’s name into his browser next. Just out of curiosity toward his potential new co-star. Nothing more.

Actor

Net worth: 15 million

Alhaitham has been nominated for various accolades, including nominations for two BAFTA Film Awards, one Golden Globe Award, and four Academy Awards, making him the youngest four-time Oscar nominee at age twenty-two. He is most notably known for playing Edmund Bertram in the Jane Austen adaptation of Mansfield Park.

Early Life

Alhaitham was born February 11  in Los Angeles. He grew up in a federally subsidized artists’ building in the LA Arts District. His mother was a model and former Broadway dancer. His father was an award-winning director and filmmaker. Both were highly notable due to his grandmother and her influence over Hollywood as a first-generation actress. He is an only child.

Kaveh skips through the rest of Early life and Career. He’s memorized these factoids before. He stops at Personal Life.

Following Alhaitham’s mother and father’s deaths, he was spotted at bars and clubs around Los Angeles drinking underage, which ended in a physical dispute during the 96th Oscars with another actor. Alhaitham was checked into a drug rehabilitation center in Los Angeles on behalf of his grandmother and has remained out of the acting spotlight since.

Kaveh opens his inbox again with a huff. Alhaitham has gone through a lot.

Although Kaveh has too, and he’s not a dick.

Opening the attached script, Kaveh gets to memorizing his lines with the Merry Mystical Whatever the God Damn Fuck Magician. He’ll show Alhaitham he’s not a nugget-eating child actor. He’s a real actor. One who deserves a Hollywood star just as much.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham isn’t just perfectly on time for the third episode shooting. He’s early.

Even earlier than Kaveh, who left his apartment two hours before call time. He chats with Nilou in the lobby, wearing his sparkly magician costume and feathery masquerade mask.

Last week, Kaveh was too overwhelmed by Alhaitham’s jackassery to notice the details of his costume. The rhinestones of his top hat give off the illusion of a galaxy, which is admittedly cool, but the rest is a hot mess. Ruffles travel the shoulder seams of his navy suit and curve around his hips in an hourglass, accenting how much larger his shoulders are than his waist. His leather leggings show off every muscle in his legs, too. Wherever Alhaitham was the last few years, he clearly kept up his workout regimen. Tighnari’s past costume design direction is clear: everything must be tight.

Suddenly, Kaveh’s thankful to be a tuba.

“No,” Alhaitham snaps at Nilou, fists shoved on his hips.

“You don’t have a choice,” Nilou says. Her romper has a repeating heart pattern that’s almost as jarring as Alhaitham’s magician costume, and strawberry clips peek out of her braids. Perhaps it’s a director equivalent of kid method acting. The outfit's bright colors blend into the rest of the childlike lobby, which is more obnoxious than Kaveh realized last time. At the center, cube-like couches that mimic building blocks rep the primary colors and encircle a statue of an anthropomorphic fennec fox wearing an ascot. Must be another one of their shows from their streaming service.

Finally, Nilou notices Kaveh standing-man-emoji-ing in the lobby. “Kaveh, dear! Welcome to your first day.”

Alhaitham gives him the same disdainful up-and-down as after his audition, but the overall effect is dampened by his droopy, light-blue bowtie. And, well, everything else he wears. “What did I just tell you? I’m not working with this guy.”

They’re talking about him.

Kaveh attempts to give Alhaitham a similarly judgmental once-over, but the memory of that face plastered across his bedroom walls has intimidation kicking in fast. He wavers. “Is there an issue with me?”

“No,” Nilou says.

“Yes,” Alhaitham says. “We’re firing you.”

All the spit dries from Kaveh’s mouth. His brain short-circuits in the face of losing something he—no matter fucking what—can’t lose.

The fear makes him step forward and stand his ground, even if Alhaitham was plastered on his walls. “Hey, man, I don’t even know you. What’s your problem?”

It’s the biggest lie he’s ever told. He knows Alhaitham intimately well. But there’s no way in hell he’ll ever let Alhaitham discover that.

Nilou waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t mind Alhaitham. He’s full of hot air."

“I’m not. And, again, just call me Alhaitham.” Alhaitham’s masquerade mask slips further down his face, and a peacock feather knocks him in the eye. He ties the mask tighter. “If Tuba’s on set, I’m not.”

“Our first episode already goes up next week. We don’t have time for this.”

That would mean Kaveh’s introductory episode would go up in two weeks. He must’ve heard wrong. A streaming service would never run this far behind without pulling the pause or even cancel trigger.

“How behind are we?” he asks.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Alhaitham says. “Remember? You’re fired, pretty boy.”

It’s a whiplash of words. Pretty has Kaveh faltering, but fired has his fist clenching at his side. “I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t you quit?”

Alhaitham’s gaze narrows.

Then he trudges toward Greenscreen Studio A in his skintight leggings, bells jingling on the curly tips of his jester-like shoes.

Nilou pats Kaveh’s shoulder. “Apologies. He’s going through stuff.”

Kaveh nods in his puzzlement. Maybe Alhaitham can’t quit. But why? A four-time Oscar nominee would never face such a situation. Even if most celebrities secretly live paycheck to paycheck and spend more time fighting against AI in their contracts than time on screen, Alhaitham’s name is a household name.

Before he can inquire more, Nilou points toward Costumes past the fennec fox statue, further down the lobby. “Tighnari’s ready for you. We start rehearsal in thirty, and we need to wrap by the end of the day.”

“That was true, then?” Kaveh asks. “About episode one already going up next week?”

“Alas. Every Monday, 5 a.m. sharp, as demanded by our studio head.” Nilou laughs, but it’s frail. “That’s why we’re so thankful you’re willing to work without your finalized contract. Busy, busy bees!”

The most unprofessional studio ever. “How’d you get so behind?”

“The first episode took a bit longer than expected.” Her gaze drifts toward Alhaitham in the distance before she starts toward the studio. “Hiccups and such. Costumes, go, go!”

So, Kaveh does as he’s told. He goes through the motions of tossing on the mascot body covered in fake pipes and valves, then the triangular horn head with googly eyes. What’s new, though, are the tight brassy-gold leggings Tighnari hands him at the last second.

“The body only falls to your knees,” Tighnari says through the black dyed bangs drooping over his face. “This’ll cover the rest. We bought a men’s small. Fits?”

Kaveh holds the brass-like leggings out in front of him. “Probably.”

Once Tighnari leaves the room, Kaveh checks twice that the coast is clear before pulling on the leggings. They’re so tight, they encase his legs like golden sausages.

Sighing, he tucks his tuba head under an arm and heads into Greenscreen Studio, where two unfamiliar actors in mascot costumes chat toward the back. One is dressed like a marimba. Another like a maraca. At a distance, they look Kaveh’s age.

Of course, Alhaitham stands alone, scrolling through his phone instead of joining their conversation about the best tacos in Burbank. Even though Nilou claimed he’s going through a tough time, any normal human being should want to fix their awful public image. Although the brains of celebrities probably aren’t normal. Once Kaveh reaches Alhaitham’s level, maybe he’ll understand.

“Let’s rehearse,” Nilou says, sitting in a director's chair so cheaply made that it shakes under her weight. “Today, we welcome Kaveh, the newest Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show addition. Mates and pals, please go around and share your roles.”

A piece of Kaveh’s soul breaks off. He thought he escaped middle school icebreakers.

“I’m the new villain," he says. "The tuba.”

Another mascot actor raises his hand. A shorter man with white hair and a dark brown complexion. His lankier body has definitely been turned into a wooden maraca handle. The shaker worn overtop his head has a circular cut for his eyes and nose and mouth. “Merry Mystical Magnipotent Maraca.”

The six-foot-wide marimba mascot beside him, a pretty woman with deep brown skin, lifts one of her mallets. A strip of tone bars crosses her chest and legs, but her head is free, showing off her bleach-blond-and-brown wolf cut as well as hoop earrings. “Merry Mystical Magniloquent Marimba.”

The two standing behind the cameras stay silent. So does Tighnari, picking at his nails on a waiting line marked by tape beside the greenscreen. Barely a crew. A wall lined with framed posters of Kidneeto shows stretches behind them. Kaveh recognizes the fennec fox on one, holding hands with an equally unnerving anthropomorphic Shiba dog. Nearby is another for The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show. Alhaitham is in his masquerade mask, popping out of a multidimensional portal alongside the cast, minus Kaveh.

Kaveh slaps on his tuba head, determination settling in his bones. Even if his face is covered on screen, his name will be in the credits. His agent won’t drop him. If he manifests hard enough, this could be his big break. This is all good—

The double doors blast open. A herd of children dressed as music notes sprint into the studio, their faces stuffed into top note heads. They aim straight for Alhaitham standing alone in the corner. Instead of ganging up to beat up the asshole magician, they giggle and playfully tug on his tight leggings, snapping loudly against his skin each time.

What’s more shocking? Alhaitham smiles. He even picks two kids off the floor with his annoyingly sculpted muscles.

“My crime-fighting orchestra has returned,” he declares in his Australian accent. “How I have musically missed you!”

Kaveh stares in horror.

These kids’ tiny brains must not be able to differentiate between the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Musical Magician and the miserable, real adult. And Alhaitham must be faking this joy, but how is a mystery. Although Kaveh is a brilliant actor himself, he wouldn’t have the faintest clue. The art of holding rubber child limbs isn’t taught in an acting class, or, at least, in the online ones he watched for free. Maybe this is what separates an A-lister from Kaveh—method acting on steroids.

Something beneath Kaveh’s gaze distracts him. It’s barely viewable through the blurry vision ports of his tuba head. He focuses harder. A kid with a button nose, whose body tilts from the weight of his lopsided music note head, blinking up at him.

Kaveh blanches. Wave? Say hello?

He chooses both. “Hello.”

The kid’s smile twists. Tears launch out of his eyes.

“Uh—” He takes a rigid step backward. “Sorry?”

The kid is already rushing away to go tug Alhaitham’s glimmering suitcoat cuff.

Alhaitham lifts the kid into his arms, squinting at Kaveh. “You kick him?”

“What?” Kaveh says. “No!”

Alhaitham faces Nilou sitting in her director's chair beyond the set. “Have you decided on a name for this douch—dummy tuba yet?”

“Oh, yes,” Nilou says, clasping her hands together. “Kaveh?”

“Yeah?” Kaveh rotates in circles to find the source of the sound. Someone grabs his arms to face him the right way. Tighnari, probably.

“You saw during the audition that your name was still to come, but we’ve finally decided. Ready to hear your super evil villain’s name?”

He actually is. This is his first big part. He’ll reminisce about this name onstage at his Oscars speech someday, just like Alhaitham did during his first win. His name must be Merry Mystical something sick. “I am!”

“Drumroll, please!”

The Merry Mystical Magniloquent Marimba trills her mallets along bottom notes on her stomach. The Merry Mystical Magnipotent Maraca rattles his head. To Kaveh’s surprise, they both make noise, unlike his trumpet head. The music note kids shake with them even though they aren’t instruments.

“And the name is…” Nilou projects through the studio. “Twiggy Tuba!”

The marimba and maraca stop drumming. So do the kids.

Kaveh’s brow furrows. “What happened to all the Ms—?”

That’s all he gets out before kids are swarming his—admittedly, twiggy—tuba body and interrupting him with a Twiggy Tuba! Twiggy Tuba! chant. Through his vision ports, he barely makes out the marimba and maraca actors covering their mouths.

Then there’s Alhaitham, smiling out of character for the first time. No, that’s definitely a smirk.

Dick.

“Action!” Nilou calls.

The marimba, maraca, and kids huddle around Alhaitham, who whips out his magician’s wand from his suitcoat pocket. He conducts the personified music note posse, directing them to skip in a circle. “Do you all know what a triangle is?”

“No!” they shout.

“Today, our friend, Triangle, is visiting our multidimensional musical mansion to teach us how to play him.”

As the marimba plays an upbeat melody in C major, the maraca shakes a waltz-like rhythm so intensely that he could be headbashing at a metal concert. The kid actors break into a sidestepping choreography, and their arm movements are more accurate and pointed than Kaveh expected for their young age.

Alhaitham, however, sidesteps much more stockily. “Oh, a triangle goes bangle, bangle.”

Kaveh’s face twists at the wrong key he’s in. There’s an odd timbre to his voice that makes him sound like he’s yodeling, but quietly. His perfectly toned body wrapped up in the tightest costume imaginable isn’t enough to distract from those messed-up movements, either.

“Cut!” Nilou says, massaging the bridge of her nose. “Alhaitham, sweetheart, were you singing in A minor? This song is in C major. From the top.”

The marimba and maraca reassume their music accompaniment. The kids return to sidestepping.

So does Merry Magician. “Oh, a triangle—” Wrong key again.

Nilou’s words from this morning rush back to Kaveh. We’ve run into hiccups and such. Is their delay Alhaitham’s fault?

“Cut!” Nilou shouts again.

The kids laugh and latch onto Alhaitham’s legs. Despite him holding up the goddamn shoot.

Kaveh walks offset to lean toward Tighnari’s ear. “Is he, like, good?”

“Never,” Tighnari mumbles.

He nods slowly. Definitely Alhaitham’s fault for the hiccups.

“Alhaitham.” Nilou’s maintaining a cheery voice, but her eyes are strained. “Since the vocals aren’t there yet—but close!—how about you try speaking the lyrics instead?”

The accompaniment starts once more. Alhaitham is even worse. Between his robotic voice and jerky sidesteps, he looks like a possessed zombie instead of a magician, but Nilou doesn’t yell cut. They really must be on a time crunch. Once the bizarre spoken-word song is over, a deflated brass sound effect blares over the speakers. Kaveh’s cue to enter, marked with Twiggy’s signature sound in his script.

His sound is…squealier than he expected.

Kaveh jumps onto the green screen, and his body knocks around the inside of his weighty costume like a pinball. He fights to not fall over.

The music notes scream and run from Kaveh, huddling around Alhaitham’s legs.

Alhaitham wags his pointy magician's wand concerningly close to Kaveh’s vision ports. “You, there! You aren’t our friend Triangle!”

“No, I am not,” Kaveh says loudly in his cocky villain tone, dodging the sharp object before placing proud hands on his hips. “I am here to take your orchestra for myself with my super blowing tuba powers! Honk, honk.”

Alhaitham jumps back and forth to commence battle, the gray hair beneath his top hat bopping against his ears. The soles of his curly-toed shoes squeak, and the bells on the ribbons winding up his shins jingle. “Your super blowing powers sound weak. You are no tuba. You are a twiggy tuba!”

“Of course, I am twiggy!”

“You’re too small. Too frail. Look at you. Pathetic.” Alhaitham’s going off script.

“I get it—!” Kaveh clears his throat. No stooping to Alhaitham’s level. “It’s because I belong in an orchestra. Brass instruments like me do. Once I steal your orchestra for myself, my ability to go deeper will return to me!” He follows the next blocking cue to tug Alhaitham’s wrist, who stumbles forward.

A music note kid whimpers in fear. Again.

“Cut!”

Kaveh spins to try to find Nilou but quickly gives up. He yanks off his tuba head. “Was that not the right blocking?”

“It was,” Nilou says while Tighnari walks off with the crying child. “But let’s try not so aggressively. Pick up from ‘of course, I am twiggy.’ Quiet on set!”

Kaveh puts his tuba head back on and returns to a fists-on-hips stance. “It’s because I belong in an orchestra. Brass instruments like me do. Once I snatch your orchestra for myself, my ability to go deep—”

The children start wailing.

“Holy shit,” Tighnari mutters from the waiting line.

Slowly, Kaveh’s hands drop to his sides. “What? But I didn’t do anything—”

“No!” a high-pitched voice interrupts from beyond the cameras. The button-nosed child he scared first. “I’m not stepping anywhere near that gross, ugly, evil tuba.”

The words stab a million sharp wands into Kaveh’s heart. His gaze drifts toward the true evil villain beside him, who’s still swarmed and adored by cowering kids.

“Kids, to the playroom,” Nilou announces, rubbing her temples in her director's chair. “Kaveh, by tomorrow, you need to fix whatever you’re doing to cause this.” She doesn’t say or else you’re fired, but her sharp tone implies it.

Dread rolls through Kaveh. Alhaitham might get what he wants, after all.

Chapter Text

Los Angeles Casting Calls & Auditions: Actors, Models & Dancers

SHORT FILM: DRAG SHOW bar patron

• Background / Extra
• Unpaid

FEATURE FILM: Big Loser on Meta Stock

• Background / Extra
• Unpaid

Student Film: Elementary School Child

• Background / Extra
• Unpaid

Kaveh scowls as he scrolls through his phone. This casting website has hundreds of roles open to unagented actors, so one has to say Paid eventually.

“Break’s over, bucko,” Faruzan announces from You’re on Fire’s break room door. Today, she's a video game character who wears a mint-green aloha shirt, a leaf logo on the chest pocket with a chunk bitten out. Probably a cute character, but the surrounding back-room walls that are painted like erupting flames make the vibe more threatening.

Kaveh, in his knock-off Mario outfit with a K on the hat instead of an M, returns to his phone, pain sparking his temple. A combination of the room’s continuous disinfectant scent and from reading the word Unpaid again. “Can I get a-a extra-a five-a?”

“As long as you stop that Italian accent for the rest of your life. Whatcha looking at?”

“Open casting calls. Trying to find paid ones.”

Faruzan sits across from Kaveh at the back, snatches a few of his In and Out fries off the table, and leans on the legs of her plastic chair to Faruzan herself. Must’ve forgot her treasured fidget spinner. “Did you quit that lead role at Kidneeto?”

“No, but I might get fired. Then I’ll lose my agent. Without her connections, this is the only website I’ll have.”

“Whoa, whoa. Why would you get fired?”

Kaveh slaps his phone down and groans, stretching his lanky arms over the table like the corpse he’s steadily becoming. “The kids. They’re scared of me. All I did today was look at one, and it started crying.”

Faruzan blinks. Then she laughs so hard she teeters too far in her chair and crashes to the floor. She wheezes as she pops back up, flipping away the turquoise ringlets that have escaped her ponytail throughout their shift. “That’s amazing.”

“It’s not.”

“It kinda is.”

He has no clue how it could be. Nilou commanded him to make these kids like him ASAP, but he’s never interacted with any children before. He can’t sponge their personalities when they barely have developed brains, either. “I’m fucked.”

“Just get a new agent if she drops you.”

Kaveh could try to explain how landing another agent as reputable as his would be a miracle, considering how most agents only take on one or two new clients a year, let alone how much random market trends impact selections. It took Kaveh multiple tireless years to find her—to find any who would take a chance on him. Now, his agent claims that Kaveh’s style is freshly out. But he’s already been breaching breakdown territory all day, so explaining how much the odds are stacked against him wouldn’t be the smartest. “Maybe.”

“You can learn how to make kids like you,” Faruzan goes on. “It’s a skill like acting or singing or your billions of other resume points.”

Kaveh sincerely doubts that. Although if someone like Alhaitham actually made kids love him, maybe it is possible.

He picks up his phone again to scroll through more roles. A moment later, Faruzan gets up to lean over Kaveh’s shoulder. After two page clicks, she shoves a thumb against one marked with Paid.

Luxury Shoe Shoot

• Foot Model
• Paid
• Must be able to work with fish.

The ceiling fan whirs. A muffled, “Die,” echoes beyond the back-room door.

Silently, Kaveh taps the save button.

Faruzan slaps his shoulder so hard that he’s nearly knocked backward, and his not-Mario hat smacks against the tile floor. Despite her overall look of disappointment, her blue eyes are bright and full of life. They always are, and Kaveh never stops wondering what witchcraft she uses. “Bro.”

“What?” he whines, massaging away the pain first, then his dark circles underneath his own eyes. “It’s an emergency backup.”

“How is a foot model gig anywhere close to becoming a famous household name?”

“Ow?”

“I know it’s ow,” Faruzan says, crossing her aloha shirt-covered arms above him, “but I also know you. This will eat your ego alive.”

Kaveh tries to shake off the fear that she’s right. “Tons of actors make it without representation. I’ll make a week out of auditioning and see how I do.”

☆

As Kaveh pulls into Kidneeto the next morning, he rechecks his calendar app for the thirteenth time in a half hour.

Ten auditions. Two today, one tomorrow, three on Thursday, and four over the weekend. Somehow, he’ll need to function at a hundred percent after ten-hour hell workdays. Too much is on the line.

He’s used to the pressure. He’s got this.

Maybe.

As Kaveh steps out of his dented 2007 Honda Accord, someone pats his back. The Merry Mystical Magnipotent Maraca actor, standing beside the Merry Mystical Magniloquent Marimba. Instead of the dome worn overtop his head yesterday, he grins in a pair of washed jeans and a hand-me-down, red-striped polo shirt from Waldo. “Hey, man, you morning drinking?”

Calculations start up in Kaveh’s mind. He sponges his coworker’s smile onto himself, replacing the panicked, wriggling worm of a mouth he’s had since he woke up. “Come again?”

The man points at the way Kaveh parked. He’s a foot off the line.

“Oh.” He summons a polite work laugh. “A bit distracted lately.”

“Tell me about it. You never know who’s creeping up behind you, you know?” He glances over his own shoulder, then extends a hand. “I’m Cyno.”

“Dehya,” the marimba actor says at her phone that blasts a sped-up song, a sparkly strawberry charm dangling off the side. No six-foot-long metal contraptions are on her yet—she’s in a crop-top sweater and wearing lip contour, reverse cat-eye liner, and even spidery falsies. At eight in the morning. “We love a Rapunzel joining the team. I can totally see the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician climbing up all over you."

Kaveh blacks out. When he finally comes back, he registers how much his shoulders have constricted and tries to shake it out. “Pardon?”

“I don’t think you can say that,” Cyno mumbles.

“What else do I say?” Dehya says. “His hair is literally giving I’m locked in a tower."

Kaveh considers whipping out a pair of scissors to cut his hair on the spot, then stabbing himself before Dehya to forever change the trajectory of her life. It’s barely past his shoulders. “Yeah, slay,” he mutters instead, trying his best to keep sponging. To stay liked. “I’m Kaveh. You like working on this show so far?”

Dehya’s already glued back to her phone. “What? Oh, hell, no. I’m just collecting enough contacts to score a part at Phantasworks next door. I hit 100K on my main, so I think I can make it happen. They pay big.”

“Facts,” Cyno says.

Kaveh’s eight-hundred follower count flashes before his very eyes. “Right. Cool.”

The three walk into Kidneeto together, and the second day of filming passes as painfully as the first. Alhaitham fails to hit a single choreo move, and he snaps at the whole cast twice. Despite Kaveh’s efforts to make himself liked by the kids by smiling and talking higher pitched, three run away and quit the show altogether. Nilou commands Kaveh to act less evil more times than he can count on his tubular fingers. They don’t wrap the third episode. By the time five o’clock hits, foot modeling with fish sounds like a dream job.

Apparently, the same sentiment is shared by half of Los Angeles. When he arrives at Kiki and Nikki’s Boutique for the open call, a line containing all walks of life runs out the door. Some are dressed in Gucci track suits; others are in Walmart sweats and slippers. Through the window, two women in their early twenties sit at a folding table, judging people’s exposed toes. Kaveh refuses to let the nerves shake him. Technically, he’s still agented. He’s overqualified.

By the time he reaches the front, an hour of scrolling through more open casting calls on his phone has passed, and his forearms are sunburned.

“Look at you!” one woman at the table says through a curious grin, her hot-pink pigtails tilting in sync with her head.

Kaveh glances down at his five-year-old black tank top and baggy sweatpants. All he did was messily shove his hair back into a tie, which must look like a plate ‘a spaghetti ‘a. Maybe his looks aren’t as out of style as his agent claims.

Hope flickers inside of him. “May I ask about the fish involvement?”

“The gara rufa fish? They’ll just be eating dead skin off your feet during the shoot. Ready to take off those sneakers?”

He grimaces but complies.

Once the borderline invasive study of his feet is over, he’s onto the next audition for Bystander 2 in a film club’s short feature at USC’s School of Cinematic Arts, AKA destination zero parking. He swerves into a tow zone, accidentally knocks the NO PARKING sign with his front bumper, and rushes into Classroom 202, where a sea of bodies barely over eighteen scrolls on the latest iPhone models.

A white guy in a beret, who can’t be over nineteen, approaches Kaveh. A nametag on his chest reads casting director. “You a SCA prof?”

Kaveh’s much older soul wilts. “No. Audition.”

The nineteen-year-old shows a surprised look before gesturing at the folding chairs. A paid part is a paid part, so Kaveh sits amongst the youthful masses.

The audition passes in a blur of reading Bystander 2’s meager three lines about rat poison and receiving lukewarm reactions from the student casting directors. Then Kaveh is ripping an offensively overpriced ticket off his cracked windshield, driving back to his apartment in NoHo, and laying supine on the kitchen floor.

He checks his calendar app for tomorrow’s audition. Partygoer 1 in a music video by a local artist named Young Meat Head. He’ll at least get one part. Maybe multiple. Soon he’ll have proof that his career isn’t over even if he gets fired from The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show. Even if he loses his agent.

Yet all Kaveh does is groan after the emotional whiplash of the past week. Since the day he turned eighteen, he would’ve paid a million dollars to have this Twiggy Tuba lead role on his resume. Now that he could be losing it, all he hears are the screams of his younger self locked in his bedroom. How dare you run away from working with our idol? Our dream?

“You don’t get it,” Kaveh whispers toward the ceiling, but the guilt lingers. His younger self could never understand how much this industry—this life—hasn’t made him as known as Alhaitham or proved his worth in the universe. Only that, still, he shouldn’t be in it.

Like hell. Soon, he’ll prove that wrong.

☆

Subject: bystander 2

To: Kaveh

Monday, Dec 6, 7:59 AM

hey, thanks so much for your time but we’re going in another direction. good luck in finding other work

- usc film

Subject: Kiki Nikki Couture: Luxury Shoe Shoot

To: Kaveh

Monday, Dec 6, 8:44 AM

Dear Kaveh,

Thank you for attending our open casting call for Foot Model. Although we found your bone structure compelling—the unique gap between your big toe and second toe left us intrigued!—we just couldn’t connect. We have gone with someone else at this time.

Warm regards,

Kiki & Nikki

Kaveh didn’t even get the foot thing.

His eye twitches at his phone, where the subject lines of eight other rejections have already been opened in his inbox throughout the week.

Partygoer 1—Young Meet Head Music Video: Rejection.

DRAG SHOW bar patron: Rejection.

Big Loser on Meta Stock Decision: Rejection.

Lifestyle Health App for Singles 20+ Lead Model: Rejection.

‘Crying Clown’ a UCLA student film: Rejection.

bird feeder commercial white male lead response: Rejection.

THE BIBLE PLAYOFFS Audition for Adam: Rejection.

His week of auditioning is up.

“On set, please,” Nilou calls through the Kidneeto lobby. “We need to finish this episode today! No matter what!”

Shame and frustration swirl inside of Kaveh as he picks his tuba head off the floor and onto his lap. No matter if he’s shouting as Twiggy Tuba or smiling as himself, kids still cry, and that has delayed the third episode for a week. By the end of this shoot, he has to change that, even if the odds are slim.

But how?

Grabbing his phone off the side table, he searches how to make kids like you.

About 7,560,000,000 results (0.40 seconds) 

Here’s How to Make Kids Love You!

1. Enforce the Golden Rule—treat others the way you wish to be treated.
2. Shower them with compliments.
3. Act like a comedian and tell jokes.
4. Be patient.
5. Ask for their own wants within reason.

The longer Kaveh reads the list, the more his sleep-deprived brain sparks. Be patient? Give those creatures praise?

Picking his mug of lukewarm black coffee off the table, he takes a gulp, only to spray it out and all over the carpet. Crafty coffee should taste like shit, but not spicy. “The hell is this?” he whispers aloud like it slapped him.

A giggle comes from underneath the crafty tablecloth.

Furrowing his brow, Kaveh sets down the mug. He walks over, the foam valves and pipes of his mascot costume clinking awkwardly until he lifts the cloth. A girl with a deep tan complexion and no older than fourteen crouches on the floor. She’s an explosion of green—green t-shirt, green puffy shorts, and green knee high socks with extra-green sneakers. The moment she peeks up at Kaveh, her eyes spread wide.

“What are you doing down here?” Kaveh asks.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she scurries out and through his legs.

“Hey!” Kaveh shouts, bending to catch her.

She’s too fast, winding through the lobby. "Enjoy your coffee, Twiggy!"

This is how Kaveh dies. Poisoned by a child. 

"What did you put in my coffee?!" he shouts after her.

She stops and turns. “Sriracha!"

Not poison.

Kaveh's shoulders relax. Usually, he’d strangle whoever messed with his black coffee at seven in the morning, even if it’s a stuffed animal. But he’s painfully overdue to make these kids like him.

Although this girl's aura is different from the other kids. At least, she’s not crying. “What’s your name again?”

“Collei.”

“Collei, why did you do this? And do you know why the other kids here seem to hate me?"

"You’re mean to Alhaitham. And you're old.”

The blow makes Kaveh nearly choke on his spit. “I’m basically the same age as Alhaitham.”

“Are you married?”

“No?”

“Oh.” Collei lowers her voice. “Old people usually are.”

“Okay. Well.” He thought the kids only viewed Alhaitham as the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician. Not a real person. Maybe they do have more than one brain cell. “My character has to be mean to Alhaitham’s character. We're enemies on the show.”

“You’re mean when you aren’t acting, too. Be nice to him always.”

Over Kaveh’s dead tuba corpse. He cautiously eyes the green explosion beside him. “I’ll consider it. Don’t put Sriracha in my coffee again.”

"You can’t stop me!" Collie shouts.

With that, she runs up the steps and out of sight.

Kaveh sighs. All he gained from that conversation is a new required Starbucks pitstop to dodge the crafty coffee at all costs. As he stares down the anthropomorphic fennec fox statue at the center of the lobby, the idea of applying the Golden Rule to Alhaitham rattles his core. This may kill him, but he can’t think of a better plan to stop the kids from crying.

“Hey,” Alhaitham’s voice calls from the Greenscreen Studio A entrance. His clean-shaven face is ready for the camera, bringing more attention to that admittedly charming mole under his eye, and framed by the gray curls poking out from under his top hat. But he’s not wearing his flashy magician suitcoat yet. Only the translucent black undershirt. Very translucent. “Why were you talking to that kid just now?”

Golden Rule.

Kaveh waves uncomfortably. “Good morning.”

Alhaitham makes a strange face. “What? I just asked you a question.” Before Kaveh can struggle to think up another civil response, he starts to head into the studio. “We’re ready, so hurry up your slow ass.”

This will definitely kill him.

By the time Kaveh lugs his way to the studio in his costume, tuba head tucked under an arm, Alhaitham is surrounded by music note kids. Tighnari is busy wrapping a piece of clothing with several ribbons around his waist. A corset.

Kaveh’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull. The sheer undershirt was enough to catch his attention, showing off every muscular ridge of Alhaitham’s abs and arms, but the corset accentuates his figure’s larger shoulders to narrower hip ratio more than ever. Its black and blue argyle print extends down his leggings—which, now that Kaveh’s thinking about it, are as tight as the ones Alhaitham wore in that motorcycle poster he owned up until too many rejections got to him, and he tossed it in the trash one night. Growing up, he wanted to emulate the seemingly effortless toned physique that Alhaitham acquired back in his late teens. No matter how Kaveh worked out, though, his slim body only became more of a living Flat Stanley.

It’s another confusing reminder of how Alhaitham is this attractive, this prestigious, yet on this kid’s show. Those scandals must’ve screwed his career more than Kaveh already imagined. Maybe he’s desperate for money.

“What are you looking at?” Alhaitham is staring him down.

Kaveh startles at how quickly Alhaitham’s gaze recalculated, his thick lashes sharply narrowed over the light-red tint to his eyes. Finding the blank greenscreen wall, Kaveh scratches his cheek and debates how to Golden Rule this conversation. “Have you worn that thing under your magician suit this whole time?”

“The corset? Yeah, why?”

Kaveh wracks his brain for a compliment. “You look… triangular. A cool…triangle.”

A few kids laugh nearby.

“Coolest triangle ever!” one kid even shouts.

Alhaitham’s irritation morphs into unease. “Thanks.”

The longer the kids cheer, Kaveh’s stomach twists into a treble clef. Collei was right. He will have to keep being nice to Alhaitham.

“Hey, y’all!” Cyno interrupts as he walks into Greenscreen Studio A, the beads in his maraca head shaking with each step.

Dehya is next, lugging her marimba’s tone bars while simultaneously shoving her bleach-blond-and-brown wolf-cut bangs out of her eyesight. Her face screams end me.

Nilou steps off her director's chair, smiling so brightly that it rivals the silver star clips in her auburn hair. “Welcome! As you all know, episode one was released this morning. The online reviews on our app are obsessed. Well, the four of them. But that’s a lot for us!” She winks. “Alhaitham, the single mothers especially love you.”

Everyone grins in relief and high fives one another.

Kaveh stares in shock. Everyone should be cringing at Alhaitham’s inability to hold a note or move a foot instead—even the single moms. Considering his own lowball salary, Kidneeto could never afford to buy reviews. Alhaitham’s fame? No, he’s acting uncredited and covered by a mask.

“Episode three goes up one week from today,” Nilou goes on, clasping her rainbow-manicured hands. “Do we know what this means?”

“We’re fucked,” Tighnari mutters from the waiting line. His trench coat is missing for once, but his negativity and snark still oozes from his pores. Of course, the kids are scared of Kaveh, though.

“No,” Nilou says. “We need to make sure these reviews don’t turn south. Specifically, I’m worried about how Kaveh keeps making kids cry on camera.” She faces him. “Please, Kaveh, do something.”

Kaveh’s heart races at that familiar sharpness to her tone. He’s trying. But he doesn’t understand how this is all his fault, either. He points at Alhaitham across the greenscreen. “Sorry, but that’s the only reason reviews may turn south? Not Broken Mouth n’ Legs?”

A few kids glare through their music note heads.

Golden Rule. Replacing his frown with his headshot smile, Kaveh pats the nearest child on the head. “Our magician is talented in other special ways, though. Like at magic! And conducting! Isn’t that right, little one?”

The kid peers up at him with swollen eyes. “Mommy told me the adult actors should never touch the kids.”

Kaveh whips his hand off like he’s been burned. “What?! That’s not—”

“Tuba,” Alhaitham shouts his way. He’s slipping his suitcoat over his undershirt and corset, his pronounced arms visible through the tight fabric in ways Kaveh’s slender ones could never look. “What does you screwing up our show have to do with me?”

Kaveh attempts to meditate in under two seconds. “With all due respect, you’ve struggled to sing a correct note all week.”

Two children cower behind Alhaitham’s legs. He said all due respect!

“Alhaitham, sweetie, the singing and dancing segments do seem a bit challenging for you,” Nilou says, readjusting the poplin collar of her dress. Shockingly, the kids don’t attack her post haste. If the key is referring to Alhaitham as sweetie, Kaveh will set himself on fire. “I’m sure you’re improving every day.”

Kaveh’s mouth hangs at the blatant lie. He gets wanting to suck up to a household name like Alhaitham, but is he holding her family hostage?

Someone like Tighnari won’t lie.

Kaveh leans toward him, who’s still standing behind the waiting line. “Do you know why our reviews haven’t tanked yet?”

“We bought Melodyne to autotune Alhaitham in post,” Tighnari drones as usual, picking at his nails. “Which took a huge fucking chunk out of our already miserable budget.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“What about the dancing? You can’t autotune that.”

“No, but we can crop his broken feet out of the footage.” Tighnari gives Kaveh a quick glance. “We can’t crop out crying kids.”

Kaveh tries his best not to wince.

He slaps on his tuba head, then positions himself to jump out halfway through the song.

The kid actors encircle Alhaitham, and Cyno and Dehya start playing the marimba and maraca accompaniment that Kaveh has heard the last five days in a row.

Alhaitham sidesteps as jerkily as day one. “Oh, a triangle—” His voice cracks.

“Better!” Nilou chimes from her director's chair.

Kaveh stares at him, floored. It’s not.

“If Tuba over there wouldn’t stop staring me down from the line, I’d do better,” Alhaitham says, glaring back at Kaveh through his masquerade mask.

Kaveh’s brow shoots up high. “I’m literally just existing over here.”

“Unfortunately.”

So much anger surges through Kaveh that he rips his tuba head right off. “Maybe if you didn’t smoke a pack a day, you could hit a note.”

The moment the words blurt out, he regrets it. Two kids by Alhaitham bawl, and one kicks Kaveh in the shin. He yelps and grabs at his leg. Nilou gasps in the distance.

Alhaitham disregards the chaos and walks toward Kaveh. The minimal inches Alhaitham has on him feel like twenty when he’s bent over himself in pain like this. “And you’re still making kids cry. Yet you dare to imply you’re better than me?” His low baritone is irritatingly aloof, like he believes, deep down, Kaveh would never be.

It’s enough to ignite Kaveh all over again, and he steps closer. “They had to buy an autotune program because of you.”

Alhaitham matches him, and now they’re so close that his frustratingly pleasant cologne twinges Kaveh’s nose. What if he punched Alhaitham in the nose and flattened his face into a cymbal? “We’ll have to hire a children’s therapist because of you,” Alhaitham says.

“Shut it, both of you,” Nilou shouts so loudly that everyone’s shoulders tense, and her hands ball into fists that shake. “Round table meeting. Now.”

Kaveh’s heart drops into his toes.

Yeah. He’s getting fired.

Chapter Text

“Mates and pals, there will be some unexpected changes to The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show going forward,” Nilou says at the head of the scriptwriting room table.

Nervous gazes are traded between most of the cast. Which is only four people, but that feels like a lot when the narrow room is only big enough to fit the table. Kaveh, however, is too panicked to look at anything but his thighs. Unexpected changes can only mean one thing.

“Kaveh,” Nilou announces.

His head spikes up. Here it comes. Fired. His dreams. His agent. Gone. “Yes?”

“Your inability to connect with the kids, is, in all honesty, the most ridiculous thing I have witnessed in all my life. We’re getting calls and emails from parents every night. More than a fifth of our children’s cast has quit.”

Kaveh’s heart sinks. He has to apologize. Beg for forgiveness. Something.

Alhaitham speaks up across the table before he can. “So, you’re finally kicking Twiggy Tuba off the show.” His legs are kicked up on the table, showing off his jester-like shoes. The question is meant for Nilou, but he stares directly at Kaveh.

Kaveh glares back. “What’s your deal, man?”

“I know you’re giving it your all out there, Alhaitham”—Nilou’s tone is coated in sugar and up an octave now—“but you are still lacking some skills we’d like to see in our lead.”

Kaveh has to lower his head to hide his smirk. Finally, honesty.

“So, what then?” Alhaitham says, tossing a frustrated hand at the table.

Nilou takes a deep breath and folds her own manicured hands on the table. “You two will practice this episode together until you both get it right. All weekend.”

“Huh?” Alhaitham and Kaveh say in unison, both sitting up straight.

“You’re wasting the rest of the cast’s time. Alhaitham, teach Kaveh how to handle the kids. Kaveh, walk Alhaitham through his vocal sheet music. Also, choreo, please.”

All weekend. With Alhaitham. Alone.

The combination of Kaveh’s hatred and panic makes him stand, and the foam mouthpiece jutting off his shoulder knocks Cyno’s head. “I’m sorry, but why do I have to help him with the dance stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m not spending time with Tuba on my day off,” Alhaitham says.

Hope hits Kaveh then. Maybe someone like Alhaitham will quit on the spot.

“Do you want to remain on Kidneeto’s streaming platform, Alhaitham?” Nilou asks back calmly. “Because if either of you say no, you’re out the door.”

Alhaitham’s face slackens. He stays quiet.

Kaveh blinks, stunned. Alhaitham has a Walk of Fame star. What could still be keeping him in a hellhole like this?

“Kaveh?” Nilou asks, her look and voice stern. “Do you agree?”

“I just don’t know if I can—”

Nilou slaps down a palm so violently that the whole table rattles. “For the love of god, Kaveh, no one wants to fucking be here.”

Kaveh didn’t know Nilou knew how to swear. “W-what?”

“You think it’s my dream to direct for some knock-off streaming service as I near the big three-zero? That I love the shrieks of sobbing children following my every move, Monday through Friday, twelve hours a day, and get paid two dollars?”

Kaveh uncertainly glances around the table. There’s no way everyone else feels the same as he does about this kids’ show. “Yes?”

“No,” Dehya says, shaking her head at her phone.

“No,” Cyno adds.

“No!” Nilou shrieks with so much exasperation that she tosses her hands. “I’m supposed to direct Shakespeare plays at the Globe. Meaningful literary works. Not Oh, a dumb fuck Triangle. Especially not after I put my soul into Fennecio and Shibatte. I refuse for Merry Mystical to tank too. I need something after wasting four years on that fennec fucking fox.”

That fox statue in the lobby must be Fennecio and Shibatte. “If it tanked,” Kaveh asks, “then why make a statue of it?”

Dehya shushes Kaveh. Cyno winces.

But Nilou is already staring emptily into the beyond. “It was my pride. A retelling of Romeo and Juliet. To teach the children Shakespeare out of the womb instead of waiting until one pathetic year in high school…”

As Nilou continues her soliloquy to the table, Cyno leans toward Kaveh’s ear. “It was mid-list, so technically better than the rest of Kidneeto’s shows. But it was the only show they gave substantial funding to, considering Nilou’s qualifications, so she assumed a Kidneeto breakout. Tons of new sign-ups. The next big streaming service. You know.”

“Why do people even sign up for it, then?” Kaveh asks.

“We sort of cheat.”

“Cheat?”

“We scored a limited-time deal package with Hulu since our studio head has a friend there. I mean, our head is a huge name in the acting world. This was just her first time starting a business, and… .” Cyno shrugs. “I think our goal is for just one of our shows to get as successful as Phantasworks’s shows and movies next door. We’d get living wages.”

“I have an MFA in Directing and Performance from Harvard and PhD in Shakespeare Studies from Birmingham,” Nilou says. “This is my reward for going hundreds of thousands of dollars into debt? Two dumbasses shouting cooties at each other?”

Kaveh sinks lower in his chair as guilt overtakes him. He had no clue how much Nilou needs to prove. How much the whole cast needs to. “No.”

“You’re agreeing to make this episode perfect with Alhaitham? I didn’t hear you.”

He has to, if he wants to keep his career alive, but the fear pumping through his veins would have him agreeing regardless. “Yes, I’ll work with Alhaitham.”

“Cheers.” Nilou checks the clock on the wall. “We’re not getting anything done until our magician and tuba get their shit together. The rest of you, go home.”

The cast trades more looks before drifting out the scriptwriting room. Kaveh follows.

“Oh, and you two,” Nilou calls, pointing between Kaveh and Alhaitham. “If you’re not ready to film by Monday morning, you’re off the show.”

⛤

“So, when are we doing this shit?” Alhaitham says, standing in the garden and smoking a murder stick beside the ashtray. He’s back in his dress shirt and slacks, pronounced collarbone exposed to the world.

Kaveh remains in the doorway, his sweatpants painfully sloppy in comparison. He’s not making the same mistake of entering Alhaitham’s domain and getting degraded again. “Why don’t we get things over with now? Practice while everyone else goes home?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m busy.”

“How did you already make plans? Nilou told us two seconds ago that we’re done for the day.” ”

“I just have to deal with something, okay?” He glances toward the window, back into the lobby, where barely anyone remains except a few kids and parents.

Kaveh’s hand clenches, but he tries his best to relax it. For the foreseeable future, he’ll need to get along with this villain to keep this gig. “Then when?”

“Later tonight. Five?”

“Can’t.”

“Got a date?”

“No,” splutters out of Kaveh. “I work the night shift. I don’t date.”

A corner of Alhaitham’s lip curls curiously, like a pile of embarrassing follow-up questions has stacked up that Kaveh likely doesn’t want to answer. He takes another drag from his cigarette. “What studios film after five?”

Humiliation claws at Kaveh’s chest. “I’m a bartender.”

“I see.” There’s less disdain on the A-lister’s tongue than Kaveh expects. That’d probably change if he mentioned the Mario outfit. “Call off.”

“I can’t do that randomly.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve never had a normal job before, have you?”

Alhaitham puts out his cigarette and closes the space between them. He grabs the doorframe, leaning over Kaveh’s frame, a single curl dangling over his tan face. “Spit out when you want to meet back here, then.”

Usually, Kaveh would lift his shoulders and stand his ground to appear taller, bigger, more like Alhaitham. But he instinctively leans back, and his face heats despite the rare eighty-two-degree weather in December. “Tomorrow morning?”

“What time?”

Alhaitham’s glowing face is still way too close. Kaveh’s looks may have gotten him further in his career, but only money can turn someone into a truly personified Golden Ratio like Alhaitham. His jaw is like a boxcutter, contrasting his softer, more rounded nose to balance out his chiseled face perfectly.

A hand snaps in his face. “Pretty boy?”

Kaveh startles, his heart rate shooting up. “What?”

“You got brain damage? I asked what time you’re free tomorrow morning.”

“S-six?” Why the hell did Kaveh say six? He gets home from work at three in the morning. He won’t sleep at all.

But Alhaitham is already lowering his arms off the doorframe and passing by Kaveh as he heads back into the studio. “Six, then. Don’t make me wait.”

Chapter Text

The night shift drags on painfully slowly for Kaveh as his imminent practice with Alhaitham haunts the back of his mind. Once closing time hits, and he drives the 4 a.m. streets of LA back to NoHo, he sacrifices showering off the bar to plop straight onto the mattress on his floor.

One hour later, his alarm blares. Once more, he rushes out the door, his Converse still sticky with blue curaçao from an Amongus Sus on the Beach gone wrong.

By the time Kaveh pulls into Kidneeto, there are zero cars or neighboring Phantasworks tours in the parking lot, slapping him with another cruel reminder of how offensively early he’s awake on a Saturday.

Alhaitham stands outside the revolving door, smoking a cigarette in one hand and gripping a tall iced coffee in his other. His half-buttoned dress shirt exposes too much chest for six a.m., and his lightly gelled hair is tousled in a way that looks like he just stepped out of a pool. The disgusting level of attractiveness sends Kaveh’s jealousy into overdrive, especially when he’s only wearing his short-sleeved exercise compression shirt and sweatpants he’s owned for years.

Although the longer his inspection carries on from the parking lot, the more Alhaitham’s clean image fades due to that cigarette, rotting him from the inside. Stepping out of his car driver’s seat and hiking his backpack further up his shoulder, Kaveh stomps over and swats the poison out of Alhaitham’s hand.

Alhaitham stares at the sizzling cigarette on the sidewalk, then back up. The sunlight has his light-red eyes glistening and freckles popping more than usual, especially the largest one beneath his eye. “Pretty boy’s got a temper in the morning.”

“S-stop calling me that.” Kaveh just wishes he hadn’t stuttered when he said it. “And step one of your singing lessons: No more smoking. It’s ruining your voice.”

“No.”

“No? All week, your voice cracked like you’re twelve.”

Kaveh hoped this would flip the scoreboard to Kaveh - 1, Alhaitham – 0, but Alhaitham coolly shoves a hand in his slacks pocket like the insult ricocheted off his shoulder. “Step one of your kid lessons: Stop yanking people around unprovoked. Did your parents teach you any manners?”

A pang strikes Kaveh’s chest, stifling his next argument. Kaveh – 0, Alhaitham - 1.

The two enter Greenscreen Studio A in silence. While Kaveh pulls his script and sheet music out of his backpack and sets them on a table behind the waiting line, Alhaitham stands uselessly at the center of the greenscreen. Maybe he didn’t bring his sheet music because he expects it to be served to him on a silver platter.

Kaveh irritably turns back around, yanking off a wrist tie and biting it between his teeth, shoveling all his hair back. “Don’t you have your—?” The rest of his sentence stops in his throat as he spots Alhaitham’s gaze roving lower on his body. He glances down. “What?”

Alhaitham’s focus snaps back up. “Nothing. Hurry up.”

Kaveh makes a face and finishes adjusting his hair. “Since you didn’t seem to bring anything with you, what are we focusing on first? The dancing, or the kids, or…?”

“Don’t care.”

“Full offense, you have way more stuff to fix than I do, so you’re going to take up more of our time. Let’s focus on you first.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. To be good enough by Monday, you’ll have to improve both how you sing Oh, a Triangle and the dance number. Which do we start with?”

Alhaitham shrugs on the greenscreen.

Kaveh presses his lips together to keep his frustration at bay. He didn’t know he’d be dealing with yet another child. “You want my honesty? I don’t think you’ll be able to significantly improve either by then. If worse comes to worst, they can autotune you one more time. Dance, not so much. Let’s start there.”

He just nods.

Kaveh walks over to the sound system and pulls up the recording of Oh, a Triangle accompaniment Tighnari sent him last night. As he searches for a wire to plug in his phone, he gestures vaguely at Alhaitham’s half-exposed chest. “Go put on your magician costume.”

Alhaitham plucks at his dress shirt. “Why?”

“If you don’t practice in it now, your movements will feel different later. You’ll get confused. Then you’ll still suck. I’m not letting Nilou blame me for that.”

“You’re volunteering to help me put it on then?”

“Put what on?”

“My costume,” he says, totally casually.

Kaveh is suddenly struggling to plug this cord into his phone. He misses three times before succeeding. “What?” Even his voice shoots out a few notes higher. “What are you talking about? Can’t you do anything by yourself?”

“It physically requires a second person. Tighnari puts the corset on me every time.”

Unfortunately, Kaveh vividly remembers Tighnari tugging Alhaitham’s waist into an hourglass during yesterday’s rehearsal. The sheer shirt beneath it. The idea alone of getting that close to Alhaitham makes his cheeks prickle with nerves.

But if it’s the only way they can practice. “Fine,” Kaveh says. “Grab your mask, too. Make sure you can also perform with most of your eyesight blocked.”

“A little too thorough, don’t you think, instructor?”

“I don’t care. Our jobs are on the line.”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes and walks out to fetch his costume.

Kaveh watches with a scowl. Whenever he saw Alhaitham play those smooth-talking love interests in movies growing up, the A-lister was clearly never channeling his own personality. Unless he changed after he lost his parents and went to rehab. Or his miserable attitude solely stems from needing to work on this show, uncredited with a mask on, for reasons unknown.

After a few minutes, Kaveh is alerted by Alhaitham’s returned presence from the bells jingling on the tips of his jester-like shoes. The feathery masquerade mask and galaxy top hat are already on, but the rest is bundled in his arms. Setting the pile on the waiting line table, he picks out the sheer undershirt and unbuttons his dress shirt.

Kaveh finds his phone again, focusing exceptionally hard on finding the Oh, a Triangle music file in his email instead. A desperate curiosity inside of him wants to steal a glance—to know how Alhaitham’s body looks naturally exposed, no Photoshop or magazine cover airbrushing involved, especially when he tried to mimic that fit form back in his diehard stan days. Alhaitham can’t possibly be as perfect as the mental images he conjures up and debates while on the clock. “Where did Tighnari find costumes like these?”

“He made the mascot costumes,” Alhaitham says. “But he bought mine from hi side job.”

“Where’s that?”

“Some tourist sex shop on Hollywood Boulevard.”

Kaveh looks up from his phone in shock, only to get blasted with Alhaitham mid-pulling the sheer shirt over his head—his shifting arm muscles, his hip bones protruding out of his waistband in a V. His six-pack isn’t too overbearing or too slight. It’s a perfect medium.

Kaveh isn’t speaking. He’s staring.

“Lingerie?” he forces himself to croak out, wishing their current conversation could be about literally anything else. “On a kid’s show?”

Instead of answering, Alhaitham smoothens the sleeves of his sheer shirt and then beckons over Kaveh. In his other hand, he holds the navy corset with lace ribbons.

Huffing to cover up his inner panic, Kaveh walks back onto the greenscreen. Alhaitham hands him the corset, which is still interlaced correctly from the previous day but too loosely. He clears his throat as he reaches around Alhaitham’s body and presses the front side to his abs, which may not be intense but are still boulder hard. Of course.

Kaveh’s cheeks flush hotter. They’re standing way too close. “Hold this here, please.”

“Please,” Alhaitham repeats, keeping the corset in place. Kaveh can practically hear the smirk on his flawless Hollywood lips through that sarcastic tone.

“What?”

“I could get used to hearing that,” Alhaitham says, a subdued gravel to his tone that Kaveh’s never heard before.

“Do not.” But it comes out on a quaver. Alhaitham’s only messing with him. Like always.

Kaveh picks up the interlaced ribbons dangling over Alhaitham’s unfortunately perfect ass, then tries to erase the memory of being anywhere near there even as his mouth goes dry. If he could tell his younger self that he’d be stuffing Alhaitham’s waist into an hourglass figure on a Saturday morning someday, he’d assume the future him would be detonating from joy. And yet.

The second reminder of his diehard stan past in one day makes his grip tense on the ribbons. Alhaitham can never, ever, know. His heart races at the possibility alone. “Do I just pull?”

“I guess,” Alhaitham says unsurely.

But the woodsy notes of Alhaitham’s cologne are swirling around Kaveh now, and even the faintest hint of mint gum on his breath. His heart skips a beat, and he flicks the ribbons and tugs too hard. Alhaitham’s body snaps backward.

“Bro, I’m not a horse,” Alhaitham barks over his shoulder.

“M-my bad.” What is wrong with him?

Kaveh tries to think of another tying method, but he can barely concentrate. Standing this intimately next to Alhaitham is more than he has with anyone in six years. Working his way from top to bottom, Kaveh pulls the sides together with gentle tugs. A quietness falls as he works, only the hum of the air vents and their breaths between them. Eventually, Kaveh runs out of ribbon and steps away. His work is seemingly enough to appease Alhaitham, who tests the hold by spinning once before putting on the rest of his suitcoat.

Kaveh commands Alhaitham to face him at the center of the greenscreen to officially start, which still keeps them at a distance too close for comfort.

“Can I ask about those side steps you keep doing?” Kaveh says awkwardly, doing a few stiff ones himself to imitate Alhaitham. “Was this your idea or Nilou’s?”

“Nilou told me to dance, so I did.”

So, no real choreography.

Kaveh holds himself back from pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right. I don’t have time to make up a whole routine for you by Monday, so we’ll work with this. The easiest way to look more professional is to keep your body loose. Especially your hips.”

“Okay,” Alhaitham says.

Kaveh glances around the worst possible room to hold a dance practice in. Zero mirrors. He bends his knees. “Mimic what I’m doing.”

Alhaitham drops too far, reaching eye height with Kaveh. “This?”

“No. Are you even looking at what I’m doing?”

He readjusts slightly higher.

“Better,” Kaveh says, but it’s barely better. “Alternate between bending and straightening your knees as you step. Keep your pelvis loose. You should feel a rotation there.”

Alhaitham’s hip moves no more than twenty degrees.

“More,” Kaveh says, tilting his own at least eighty.

Forty degrees for Alhaitham. Then, somehow, down to fifteen.

Kaveh inhales and exhales in frustration, and he steps close enough to grab Alhaitham’s hips and rotate them in a figure eight. “Feel that?”

Alhaitham blinks down at Kaveh’s hands.

That’s when Kaveh registers how warm Alhaitham’s waist feels against his palm, even with the fabric of his pants dividing them. His heart rate spikes for the millionth time in ten minutes, which must be causing long-term health problems. Still, there’s no way Alhaitham would care about a simple touch during practice.

“What?” Kaveh asks as nonchalantly as possible.

“Nothing.” But Alhaitham’s posture is rigid again, wiping away all the progress they made. Kaveh can’t possibly be this bad of an instructor. Even if his agent has never once confirmed Kaveh’s own talent, this is basic stuff.

Does Alhaitham care?

Not possibly. As Kaveh debates where he’s going wrong, his gaze drifts to their nearly conjoined hips, passing by the cheese grater abs lurking beyond Alhaitham’s corset. His collarbone and upper chest are just as perfectly defined. So much jealousy creeps up Kaveh’s flatter chest that he’s compelled to rip open that corset and prove Alhaitham’s body has flaws somewhere. He’s a smoker and alleged alcoholic. Come on.

“You like my body that much?” comes from above Kaveh. There’s a hint of playfulness to Alhaitham’s tone, riding on a low and captivating hum.

Kaveh’s head flicks back up. “Huh?”

Alhaitham’s brow is raised through the minimal gaps in his feathery masquerade mask. “You were in the middle of teaching me something.” He leans closer to Kaveh’s height, a corner of his mouth hitching. “Unless you forgot?”

“I was inspecting your hips to make sure you weren’t born without them.” But Kaveh’s face is still hot, especially when their eyes are inches apart, and he prays that isn’t visible. “How do you keep in shape like this? Can you lift a weight without dry heaving charcoal?”

“I got the figure eight shit down,” Alhaitham says irritably. “Can we move on?”

“No, I’m the instructor,” Kaveh says firmly. He comes back to his senses and steps away from the cheese grater abs. “We move on when I say we move on.”

Alhaitham doesn’t argue, leaving Kaveh with the last word.

Kaveh - 1, Alhaitham - 1.

Over the next two hours, Kaveh introduces more techniques to help Alhaitham appear more trained. Pointed feet, extended arms, head lifted high. Even after all that time, Alhaitham’s limbs look as flabby as a baby, and his torso is barely losing rigidity.

Kaveh restarts Oh, a Triangle on his phone for the hundredth time. Rubbing his eyes to stay awake and sighing, he rejoins Alhaitham on the greenscreen. “From the top. Do exactly what I do. Graceful swan.” As the maraca and marimba play, he steps to the left and extends an arm, pointing like those internet videos taught him so many years ago.

Alhaitham steps to the left, then slaps Kaveh directly in the jaw.

The impact is so strong that Kaveh stumbles backward several feet. “Dude,” he shouts, rubbing away the pain. “Why?”

“Why were you in the way?” Alhaitham responds, shaking out his own hand.

Kaveh stares back wildly. There’s no way anyone could be this immeasurably bad at moving their own body. It’s like something is broken in Alhaitham’s brain.

No, like he’s doing this on purpose.

The reasons all click into place so suddenly, so forcefully, that Kaveh snatches up Alhaitham’s suitcoat collar on a burst of fury and adrenaline. Alhaitham’s confusion allows him enough leverage to slam the left-footed magician against the back greenscreen wall. “You’re trying to sabotage me, aren’t you?”

Alhaitham’s brow furrows in the gaps of his mask. “The hell are you talking about?”

“You’re dragging this out so we run out of time. While I keep looking bad with the kids, you’ll reap all the rewards of what I teach you today.”

“Reap?”

“Take,” Kaveh snaps. “Take, dumbass. Since day one, you’ve wanted me gone. I know that’s what you want. You’ve come up with some plot.”

“Full offense, pretty boy: I don’t care enough about you to put in that much effort.” A smirk plays at his lips. “Caving into some wishful thinking?”

Kaveh’s grip on Alhaitham’s collar tightens so much that his knuckles go white. “Interesting response when you won’t stop telling Nilou to fire me. Maybe I should do the same to you. I may not know why you need this show, but I know you need it as badly as I do.”

As if a one-eighty, Alhaitham’s eyes darken as he rises off the wall. He hovers over Kaveh. “Stop digging into my business. I mean it.”

A choked scoff leaves Kaveh. “I didn’t—”

A tug comes from Kaveh’s sweatpants. Three children stare up at them.

“Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician?” one mutters in a frilly unicorn sundress. “Is Twiggy Tuba trying to hurt you again?”

“What are these things doing here?” Kaveh whispers, gently trying to shake the kids off.

Alhaitham lowers his head, his bangs falling over his masquerade mask. “Some come in for fittings on Saturdays,” he says, switching to his Australian accent. “Stop swearing.”

Murmurs come from the greenscreen studio entrance. The two whip their gaze toward a herd of adults and kids, watching them. At least four phones are raised.

Kaveh whips his hand off Alhaitham’s collar, his body locking with fear. How long were they being watched? How much was heard? “And you didn’t tell me this?”

The unicorn kid starts to cry, and Alhaitham bends down to cover her ears. “Blimy, this is why you’ll always be impossible with kids!”

“Stop yelling!”

“You’re yelling!”

A chorus of camera snaps goes off.

Chapter Text

Nilou tosses a stack of paperwork toward where Kaveh and Alhaitham sit side-by-side at the screenwriting table. Her rainbow bucket hat with the word FUN! on it casts a shadow over her early Monday morning glare. Behind her, lightning flashes across the window streaked with raindrops. “Right, what’s all this, then?”

Kaveh grips harder onto his large black coffee sans Sriracha as he fans out the paperwork. The first few pages are printed emails from parents. Unprofessional and quitting jump out first. The next few pages are news articles.

Kidneeto’s Reputation Tanks After Fight Between Immature Leads

Drama Backstage for Greenlit Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show

Kidneeto Actors Choke Each Other Out

Kaveh sinks back in his chair, his heart following suit. His younger self often daydreamed about his name hitting headlines for the first time. Turning into an audience favorite on a show overnight was his guess since, obviously, droves would race to make fan art and fancams the moment he’d air. How wrong his younger self always was.

“We didn’t choke each other out,” Kaveh mutters.

Nilou lifts a printed email with attached grayscale photos. The first is of Alhaitham and Kaveh about to wring each other’s necks in Greenscreen Studio A. Next is Kaveh shaking a crying girl off his leg. The angle makes it look like he’s kicking her. Even though his face is totally visible, unlike Alhaitham, his debut episode and credits have yet to go up. There’s a chance his first and last name haven’t been hunted down and reported.

Either way, his agent will know, and that has panic brewing in Kaveh’s chest. Maybe she’s drafting a separation email. Maybe she’s told every producer and director and scriptwriter to avoid casting him henceforth at all costs. His headshot is being mounted on every studio wall with a bloody X over his face to exile him from the industry.

Alhaitham tosses a nonchalant hand at the grayscale photos. “For once, Tuba is right. It only looks like we’re fighting. We were just talking.”

Kaveh furrows a brow at the blatant lie. No way is Alhaitham as calm about this as he appears, either. A rare five o’clock shadow hides most of the freckles on his tan face, and he has deep eye bags, too, proving he didn’t sleep. Always the actor.

Nilou sighs, dropping into a seat across from them with so much force that her bob cut bounces around her ears. “Alhaitham, even if that’s true—which I doubt—you know better than anyone that the news doesn’t care about reporting the truth. Who started it?”

Alhaitham and Kaveh race to point at one another.

“Stop being children and tell me what happened!”

“Does it even matter if you’re just going to fire us?” Alhaitham mutters.

Kaveh, at least, is definitely fired. In these photos, he looks like the villain. If his name is ever found out, he might never land another show.

Which means he has to fight back more than ever. Negotiate. Anything.

“Nilou," Kaveh pleads, "tell me what I can do. I’ll—”

“We’re not firing you two,” Nilou says.

It takes a second to sink in, and for Kaveh’s panic to stop vibrating inside of him. He leans toward Nilou across the table in a burst of relief, and so rapidly that the remaining black coffee in his cup spills. He scrambles to pick the cup back up. “Thank you so much. Truly, this is so kind of you—”

“I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart! I have to.”

His relief subsides as quickly as it came. His grip on the cup freezes. “Why?”

“Because you’ve both tanked our image!”

Lightning cracks beyond the window again.

Kaveh jumps, knocking Alhaitham’s cup of milkier iced coffee this time, and it dribbles onto Alhaitham’s slacks. Kaveh instinctively reaches a hand in that direction, then pulls back, heat rising to his face. “Sorry.”

Alhaitham stares at his splotched crotch in silence. Since he’s not in his magician costume yet, it feels like they’re casually hanging outside of work hours again, flooding Kaveh with unspoken discomfort. Although the discomfort toward Alhaitham would exist regardless.

By the time Kaveh focuses away from Alhaitham’s crotch and back on Nilou, she’s crossing her arms. “Especially you, Kaveh.”

“Me?” Kaveh repeats.

“Alhaitham was only fighting with you, but you looked like you were fighting the kids. News involving kids is the worst possible news.”

A gazillion magician wands stab Kaveh’s heart. “Why aren’t you firing me then?”

“Firing you would only send the message that we knowingly did something wrong,” Nilou says. “We can’t afford that right now. So many wild allegations are already floating around that our first episode ratings are plummeting.”

“They’re what?” Alhaitham asks, whipping out his phone and loading a Kidneeto app he didn’t know existed—a bolded KID beside a standard NEETO with a background so bright-yellow that it physically pains Kaveh’s eyes.

Kaveh leans over his shoulder. The two briefly share a tense look before reading the review section together.

Sucks

xoxoRkja69 One hour ago

The actors are mean and weird and just...NO. my brother cried when he saw photos of the magician getting beat up. I saw one of their next eps airs on dec 25 of all days? GREAT WAY TO SPEND CHRISMAS.

Age 18+ Apparently.

HappygoLuckyee Two hours ago

I am a proud mother to 3 kids. I am horrified as a parent hearing about the illegal scandals when kids are involved

Kidneeto? KidneetNO

Minions4Lyfe Less than one hour ago

Kidneeto should be ashamed to be airing this mystery magical whatever the crap knowing their adult actors are so VIOLENT around kid actors!!

Kaveh pulls himself away from the phone. Even if social media relies on unnuanced takes to fan impression counts, that’s hard to remember when hate brings a dedication to digging into someone’s private life that Kaveh, of all people, needs to avoid. It’s a problem he assumed he’d face someday—one that would force him to go back and verify no legal documents or past pictures slipped through the cracks.

But now, here, at the start of his first real role?

His palms start to sweat. He wipes them on his pants. “These people are stretching everything,” he says to keep calm. Most likely, the minimal watchers of Kidneeto don’t have the drive to uncover Kaveh’s past. If anybody, it’d be out-of-control Alhaitham stans, and they still have no clue Alhaitham is involved. “Those kids barely saw anything. Right, Alhaitham?”

Alhaitham is too focused on the reviews to respond. His grip is so tense on his phone that the veins in his hand are popped.

“Alhaitham?” Kaveh repeats.

“Is there a way to get rid of this?” Alhaitham says so quickly that Kaveh barely processes it.

“The reviews?”

“No, global warming. Yes, the reviews.”

“They don’t understand the real situation, though,” Kaveh says slowly. “It’s lies.”

That loosens Alhaitham’s shoulders. He even sets his phone down, but not without funneling his remaining anxiety into instinctively patting where he keeps his Marlboros, inhis slacks pocket. In the end, he settles on clutching his kneecap. “Right. I don’t care.”

Nilou picks up a few printed emails and slaps Alhaitham over the head with them. “You should care! Do you know how impossible it is to bounce back from this many one-stars after a single episode? Similar reviews are popping up on all types of review sites. Our head is furious. We already met to brainstorm how to save our reputation this morning. Five. I’ve been here since five because of this.”

“What did she say?” Alhaitham grumbles toward the tabletop, tensing all over again.

“New scripts. More importantly, new plot.”

“How will that help?”

“You two need to get along. Stat. Especially to the public eye. We’re changing the dynamic between you two on the show to really sell it.”

Kaveh’s heart drops into his Converse. Granted, if he isn’t getting fired, and his name will be released the moment episode three airs, then his image would need major fixes by then. This, however, doesn’t sound thrilling. “In what way?”

“I rewrote Twiggy Tuba’s character. Kaveh, you’re no longer the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician’s nemesis. Now, you grow to admire him, apologize for your past evil deeds, and ask to become his trusty sidekick. Really, you beg.”

Another thunderstrike flashes across the window.

“What?” The word falls out from under Kaveh.

“I’m not being buddy-buddy with Tuba,” Alhaitham says, his mouth twisted in disgust.

“You don’t have a choice,” Nilou says. “I already finished the rewrite. We aren’t allowed to screw up today. Our head wants this to air by Christmas, and there are only ten days until then. You two have one hour to memorize your new lines, got that?”

⛤

A twiggy, brassy sound cue plays through Greenscreen Studio A.

Kaveh jumps in front of the cameras to capture every pathetic inch of his skinny tuba body.

“You, there!” Alhaitham shouts in an Australian accent, lifting his magical conducting wand. “You aren’t our friend Triangle!”

“No,” Kaveh shouts back. “I am here to take away your orchestra for myself with my super blowing powers! Honk, honk.”

Like the past week, Alhaitham goes into battle position. “Your super blowing powers sound weak. You are no tuba. You are a twiggy tuba.”

“Of course, I am twiggy!”

“You’re too small. Too frail. Look at you!”

“It’s because I belong in an orchestra,” Kaveh recites. “Brass instruments like me do. Once I snatch your orchestra for myself, my ability to go deeper will return to me.”

Something new plays from the speakers. The frailest tuba squeal Kaveh has heard so far, cueing him to follow his new blocking as of this morning.

Kaveh sincerely does not want to. But more so, he doesn’t want to get fired. So, he races to tackle Alhaitham, purposely misses him by a foot, and rams into the wall. His head knocks around the inside of his mascot head like a pinball, and he only sees white for a second.

Nilou cheers over by the cameras. “Excellent! In post, we’ll add Alhaitham’s teleportation ability. Now, Alhaitham, stand on the opposite side of the greenscreen. Action!”

By the waiting line, Tighnari flips on a backstage high-velocity fan.

Alhaitham’s suitcoat flutters behind him as he puffs his chest and shoves fists on his corset-wrapped hips. “Ha, ha, ha! You thought you could attack me? I’m the Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Magician.”

Kaveh can barely see straight, but he’s unfortunately conscious enough to remember his next blocking direction. His costume tubes knock against one another as he gets down on all fours, and he crawls toward Alhaitham until he can make out his curly-tipped shoes. “I’m sorry, Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician,” Kaveh recites through clenched teeth. “I don’t hate you. I’m jealous of you.”

“Why are you jealous of me?” Alhaitham asks. Even though Kaveh’s gaze is glued to Alhaitham’s feet, he can sense the newly written dialogue spoken with a smirk.

“You have a totally tubular orchestra. Something I could never have!”

“You could’ve joined my orchestra in my mystical, magical mansion.”

“Can I still?”

“After trying to fight me?” Alhaitham laughs deeply again. “No.”

Kaveh needs to take another deep breath before reciting the next line. He looks up at Alhaitham through his blurry vision ports. “Please, I’ll do anything. I admire you so much.” Another deep breath. “Honk, honk.”

The exact smirk Kaveh imagined earlier radiates off Alhaitham. “I’ll need an apology.”

As their eyes remain locked in front of the cameras, Kaveh decides he would rather get shredded by a merry magical meat grinder. But, as always, he has to. He intertwines his hands together. “I’m sorry, Magician. I want you to blow me.”

Alhaitham takes a purposeful, dramatic pause, forcing Kaveh to kneel in that silence and let the words hang in the air. Motherfucking asshole. “You truly wish to leave behind a life of evil, after all. Fine, I’ll let you join my orchestra.”

“Thank you, Merry Mystical Multidimensional Musi—!"

“On one condition. Twiggy Tuba, you come from the underworld of evil instruments. You must know of many others.”

“I do.”

“From now on, you’ll be my sidekick, Twiggy Tuba. Once we bring them into my orchestra, I’ll turn you into a Tumultuous Tuba in my mansion, where my mystical magic power resides. And I shall do that by blowing you!”

The music note kids cheer and sing.

“Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Magician, a forte star! Twiggy Tuba, a pianissimo sidekick! They do good things!”

“That’s a wryah—uap,” Nilou announces. Her voice warbles as a tear streaks her cheek. “Brilliant. This relationship between you two evokes the same as Macbeth and his lady.”

The weight of Kaveh’s costume makes him struggle to rise from his begging position. Alhaitham watches him through his feathery peacock mask, not offering even a pinky.

Like Kaveh would hold that hand regardless. He’s not thinking about holding Alhaitham’s hand. “You think that’ll fix the ratings?” he asks once he’s up.

“Hopefully,” Nilou says, wiping her eye with her sleeve. “But we won’t know until this episode airs. Everyone, pray we still have a show by next week.”

Chapter Text

Subject: Social Media Etiquette

To: Kaveh

Wed, December 22, 8:03 AM

I followed up with Nilou at Kidneeto, who assured me the well-documented fight with your coworker didn’t break the morality clause of your contract. Usually, it would. Don’t take this luck for granted.

Nilou claims you’re already working to fix the show’s image and your own. That being said, as your agent, I’d like to first see results of that before submitting you to new roles. If her plan doesn’t work, we’ll need to wait for the fire to die. I’d guess one year minimum. Your socials aren’t active as is, but my suggestion is to keep it that way for just as long.

Once again, a reminder that if Kidneeto changes their mind about keeping you around, then I may not be the right agent for you going forward.

⛤

“Look,” Tighnari barks at the head of the screenwriting table. He minimizes the Ableton music file on his laptop to pull up a slideshow of latest Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show reviews.

The rest of the cast leans in closer to decipher the fourteen-point font. Kaveh’s shoulder accidentally knocks against Alhaitham beside him, who sends a glare back.

the dude in the corset freaks me out but my baby likes him

jennifershubby 1 hour ago

at 1st I thought get that aussie off my tv. but my son liked the guy and started dancing … not sure that guy can actually dance though

God show :)

MMMMFanFromChile 2 hours ago

I’m 14 and I watch this with my 2 yr old brothers and they want to learn triangle now. Mom said no

4 Star

gojo.is.drowning 2 hours ago

My Meemaw thinks the merry magician moves weird and I agree so I am docking one star. But she says it’s also nice to see older men caring for children.

“These are reviews from our third episode,” Tighnari explains beside the laptop. “Our overall season score has shot up to three-stars.”

Nilou bursts into tears, hiding her face in her palms. Her bow falls somewhere into her fluorescent pink coat that looks made out of slime. Her hypothesized kid method acting is spot on.

Cyno panics one chair to the left, who rivals Nilou’s method acting with three brightly colored sweatshirts worn on top of each other. He unhelpfully hovers his hands around her until Dehya fetches a tissue from her hobo bag one chair to the right.

Kaveh, however, is still squinting at the last review.

So is Alhaitham, the gray curl dangled over his forehead matching his squiggly grimace. “Does that say older men?”

For once, the two are on the same page.

Kaveh tries to think up a more professional reaction. “I’m thrilled that rewriting me as a sidekick saved the show.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Tighnari snaps.

Nilou claps again. “That’s right, Tighnari. We can’t get comfortable. Viewers loved this sidekick switch, but we’re still at an overall three-star. Our head wants a close-five by the end of the season.”

Kaveh has rarely seen a show hit a five. Everyone is a critic, and in ways that make online reviewing systems look like a joke. A viewer could adore every aspect of The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show but find Alhaitham’s galaxy corset a little tacky. Suddenly, their rating has dropped from a five to a two. Plus, they’re at a huge disadvantage after getting review bombed for Alhaitham and Kaveh’s thirty-second fight.

Still, Kaveh wants to do whatever this takes. This show is doing better than he imagined it would when he auditioned. People are watching. “How are we gonna make that happen?”

Nilou grins. “We have a few plans. First, we want you and Alhaitham out in public. Live events. You two need to act friendly together off screen. With kids.”

“Public?” Alhaitham repeats loudly, pulling Kaveh’s full attention his way. He’s not thrilled at the idea of a public event either, but unlike Alhaitham, his forehead isn’t creasing with so much worry that he looks like a hairless cat.

“You’ll be fine,” Nilou says. “Wear your mask. Use your accent.”

“This wasn’t in the agreement.”

Kaveh trades suspicious looks between the two. Nilou must hold answers to the questions he’d had about Alhaitham since he started at Kidneeto—why Alhaitham hasn’t been seen in public for close to two years, and why he’s playing this magician despite wanting to be anywhere other than here. Kaveh starts to raise his hand until Alhaitham’s words rush back.

Stop digging into my business. I mean it.

Kaveh lowers his hand.

“We’ve already come up with an idea for next month,” Nilou keeps explaining, gesturing toward Tighnari. “All thanks to a particular review our lovely Merry Mystical Composer and Costume Designer showed me this morning.”

Tighnari hits the forward arrow on the laptop.

PLS CUM TO BRAZIL

JohnCena06 2 days ago

MY 2 YR OLD SISTR AND I WANT TO SEE MERRY MYSTICAL MULTIDIMENSIONAL MUSIC MAGICIAN AND TWIGGY TUBA IN PERSON SO BAD!!!!!!! LET ME TOUCH THEM

Nilou shoots a finger gun at Cyno. “Drumroll, please, Mr. Merry Mystical Magnipotent Maraca.”

Cyno shakes his whole body, only to remember he’s not wearing his maraca costume yet. He taps the tabletop with his pointer fingers instead. Tighnari clicks to the final slide covered in pixelated clipart of top hats and tubas. A stretched image of an outdoor mall makes up the background.

            The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show presents: The Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician and Sidekick Twiggy Tuba Merry Mystical Meet & Greet!

The Ovation Hollywood Mall

Saturday, January 3rd

The scriptwriting room goes dead quiet, only the buzzing of the space heater to be heard.

Kaveh, at least, is too confused to form a single word. Meet-and-greet implies that they have fans—that he does. That should thrill him. But do they realistically have enough?

“Title’s a bit long,” Dehya mumbles, breaking the silence. Kaveh nearly forgot she was here with her face shoved into her phone this whole time.

“Is this like Santa?” Cyno asks.

Nilou jumps out of her seat on a burst of enthusiasm. “Yes, like Santa! Kaveh and Alhaitham will pose with tons of kiddos. Ten dollars a pop per photo. Both parents and the media will see you two acting super nice with one another. And the kids.”

“Like a two-for-one Santa combo meal,” Cyno says.

“Like a two-for-one Santa combo meal!”

Dehya raises a hand drowning in mood rings. “Minus the sitting on the lap part, please. We have enough something’s not right reviews.”

Alhaitham’s brow is still furrowed. Even if Kaveh agrees, Alhaitham won’t. This might even be enough to push him to quit the show despite whatever is mysteriously keeping him here.

“Fine,” Alhaitham says, almost a growl.

Kaveh’s own brow spikes. Or not.

“Tubular!” Nilou says. “Kaveh, Alhaitham, keep your schedules free two weekends from now. We’ll book a spot at the mall.”

Weekend rattles through Kaveh. “We’re getting paid, right—?”

Nilou claps twice. “Mates and pals, let’s all venture downstairs to shoot a brilliant episode four!”

⛤

Episode four passes by in a blur of Oh, a recorders and squeak, squeaks. Then Kaveh is clawing his way out of his tuba costume in a private bathroom stall and perusing the crafty for anything edible. Between the unfortunate food selection and spiraling question marks that have swarmed his mind since the morning, making him miss his cues three times, he stands like a child lost in Costco. Why is Alhaitham agreeing to a public meet-and-greet when that’s the last thing he wants? Why is that the last thing he wants?

Who is Alhaitham?

Kaveh shouldn’t care. But back when Alhaitham was an ideal to pursue on his bedroom wall, to become the man he wanted to be, he thought he knew. Yet the two need to get along. Maybe understanding him more would help.

He needs to start asking questions. But to who? When?

Kaveh has no clue, so he lets his gaze travel toward the dinosaur nuggets in the Cool Kids Corner! His dignity can barely manage it, but his hunger makes him pick one up.

A piercing scream shoots through the lobby, and the nugget flings out of Kaveh’s hand and lands on the floor.

Cyno, who stands by the crafty coffee dispenser now. He’s back to wearing multiple layers of eye-piercingly bright sweatshirts. His maraca costume is long gone, and he's clutching a mug in a trembling hand. “A ghost poisoned my coffee.”

“Huh?” Kaveh says, covertly kicking the nugget under the table.

Cyno rushes to Kaveh’s side to show him the mug, which looks filled to the brim with pale pink milk. “It’s turned to blood! It burned my tongue."

Usually, sponging strangers is easy. But copying this cast’s actions and tones proves more impossible by the day.

Instead of matching Cyno’s screams, Kaveh whips out his back-up plan: when at a loss, offer help. “Hold on.” He bends to check underneath the crafty tablecloth. Nope. Empty. He glances around the primary color lobby furniture. “It’s that girl again.”

“T-the ghost is a little girl?”

“Living. Her name’s Collei. She put Sriracha in my coffee once, too. She’s less a ghost and more like Lucifer.”

Cyno sighs in relief. “So, it’s just her.”

“You’re actually scared of ghosts?” Kaveh asks, wandering toward the “adult” food to appear like he was navigating there all along. He picks up a paper plate but can’t bear to shovel mushy kale onto it. He sets the plate back down. “You think they’re real?”

“Of course, they’re real. That’s why I work here.”

“Aren’t you here for a hopeful Phantasworks hookup?”

“No way, bro. That’s Dehya.” Cyno steps close enough to pull Kaveh in by the shoulders and glances both ways. “Don’t tell the kids, or they’ll freak. But I’m haunted.”

Kaveh’s brow pops. “Really?”

“Low-key, about six months ago, I noticed weird changes to my body. My knees cracked whenever I’d move, and my back hurt like tons of weights were on it. My primary care claimed everything about me checked out, so I resorted to alternative medicinal practices. A psychic in Silver Lake. She told me there’s a ghost clawing at my back. Her name is Gloria. She’s a witch.”

"She’s a ghost and a witch?”

“Was. Burned in the trials. The psychic also said kids can ward off ghosts because of their innocent auras. When my agent sent this gig, it was a sign.” Cyno unzips his top sweatshirt to reveal a Celtic cross printed beneath. “Religious symbols are a turn off, too, but this is all I could find on Santa Monica Pier. Thank Saints this blood coffee is only Collei’s doing.” Cyno’s mouth twists, and his grip on Kaveh’s shoulder tenses again. “Never mind. Collei is worse.”

“Collei? Why? Who is she?”

“Well, I can’t just tell her to stop goofing around, you know?”

“No?” Kaveh asks, glancing around the lobby as if she’ll pop out from behind a door any moment. “I've told her to before."

Cyno’s face pales. “You have the gall?”

“Okay, but think about how he’s treated O’ Royal Alhaitham so far,” a deep yet feminine voice comes from the other side of the crafty. Dehya, in an oversized cyber-lime top and Nikes instead of two hundred pounds of marimba tone bars. The grown-out dark roots of her wolf cut makes her look even cooler lately. Kaveh understands her 100K followers now more than ever. “Kaveh has zero fear.”

The way Kaveh’s heartbeat accelerates whenever he stands in line at the grocery store, calls to make an apartment maintenance request, or even thinks about getting honked at on the 405 instantly proves that statement wrong. But he decides not to overshare with his coworkers yet. Still, the siren blaring in his ears to sponge fades slightly. That was a compliment. He really is starting to be liked around here.

Kaveh finally shifts out of Cyno’s grip. “Only because Alhaitham’s a dick. And Collei is a brat.”

“You for real don’t know who Collei is?” Dehya asks.

“Should I?”

“She’s Alhaitham’s younger sister.”

After so many deep dives into Alhaitham’s life, whether through interviews or Wikipedia or his social media accounts, Kaveh has no clue how he missed this. The only explanation is that she’s been hidden from the public as much as Alhaitham. “I didn’t know he had a sister.”

“Apparently, she was born only two years before their parents died in that crash. She probably can’t remember them. Wouldn’t that suck to lose your parents that young?”

Kaveh considers how best to sponge and agree. After all, he never got to know his father before he passed away, and he hasn't seen his mother since he moved to LA alone. In a way, he relates. But his limbs are starting to tingle and lock into place, disconnecting him from his brain. Words fail to come.

He tries to never think about this.

“In a mall,” Cyno wails like he’s in excruciating pain, bringing Kaveh back. “Not a venue. Not even a school.”

“I know, it’s so rude,” Dehya agrees.

Kaveh has no clue how much time has passed. They’ve moved onto the meetup, most likely, but these two must have more secret Alhaitham info that he needs, especially when he should be asking more questions to get along with the guy.

He concocts a super smooth segue. “Speaking of Alhaitham…”

They both blink at him.

“Uh,” he says. “I’m shocked he agreed to do this meetup with it being so public.”

“Same,” Cyno says. “Our NDAs won’t even matter soon. He can’t keep relying on that mask and horrific Australian accent to fight off his fans forever. My bet? He’s got two months max before someone figures it out.”

“I bet a week,” Dehya says. “Otherwise, he needs a Christmas miracle.”

“You think?”

Dehya turns toward Cyno under the very wrong assumption that Kaveh wants no part in Alhaitham talk. “Didn’t you hear about the stan who broke into his hotel room in Seoul and installed microphones and a camera? Or when he did an interview at Vogue’s headquarters in Manhattan?”

“No,” Cyno says, wide-eyed.

“Two thousand girls straight-up broke through the lobby on the way up the stairs. You know, to try to get to him.”

“The National Guard was called,” Kaveh mutters.

Only when Cyno and Dehya stare back does he realize what he just did.

Embarrassment twists Kaveh's stomach. “Er, heard it in passing.”

Dehya tosses a thumb at Kaveh. “See? Even people who couldn’t give a shit about Alhaitham know about the diehard stans. I doubt they’ll ever learn to touch grass.”

“Do either of you know why he’s insistent on not being credited for this role?” Kaveh asks.

“Nope,” Cyno says.

“All I know is he hasn’t been spotted since his parents”—Dehya cuts her neck with a finger— “and he intends to keep it that way. Not sure what’s driving him. Whatever it is, it must be important. It’s obviously exhausting him.”

Kaveh glances toward the door leading toward the garden, where Alhaitham smokes a cigarette beyond the window. The longer he watches from a distance, the harder he has to convince himself that what he feels isn’t sympathy.

Chapter Text

Kaveh spends Christmas Day the same as always. Working.

This year, specifically, it’s sitting cross-legged on his mattress and updating his following lists. Between the show’s damage control and lack of streaming service prominence, he dodged hate comments that led to any deep dives into his past. But the fear of that happening someday wasn’t forgotten. The only person who should know everything is Faruzan. He changed his first and last name at eighteen, filed the paperwork, and even changed his birth certificate. But some of Faruzan’s friends from the bar are on his following list. What if she says too much after too many drinks some time? A hater could search through this list and pay them off for intel. Then Kaveh would have a paper bag shoved over his head in Hollywood forever as a forever-typecasted transgender actor.

Not a very merry Christmas.

As Kaveh scrolls through his following list, he tries to ignore the part of him that wonders how Faruzan, the other residents in his apartment complex, and even the rest of the Kidneeto cast are celebrating the day off in comparison. Eventually, he reaches a name and grayscale headshot profile picture that makes his thumb freeze.

Alhaitham ✓

Following

He turns that Following button to Follow with so much force that the phone jostles in his hand. His thumb accidentally taps the screen twice.

Following

Kaveh’s heart rate shoots to the ceiling.

“No.” He jumps to his feet and paces around his bedroom, holding up the phone as if searching for signal. “No, no, no. God, fuck. Why.”

Two roads diverge once more. Even if Kaveh unfollows a second time, the damage has been done.

Or not. Alhaitham has eleven million followers. No way he checks notifications.

A bubble pops up on the right corner of the screen.

Alhaitham followed you.

Another in the message bar.

Alhaitham: On Christmas?

Two roads get blown up by a nuclear bomb. Kaveh grips his temple as his thoughts race over how to respond. Seemingly, he never noticed Kaveh followed him before. Otherwise, Alhaitham would’ve targeted that in insult form instead.

Kaveh: coworkers should follow each other right?? esp if we want everyone to think we get along

Alhaitham emphasized “On Christmas?”

Kaveh should’ve seen that coming.

Kaveh: yes otherwise i never have time for social media

No response.

Kaveh’s face flashes hot as frustration stews in him. Of course, Alhaitham asks a question and doesn’t care enough to read the answer. He should’ve never responded. Besides, Alhaitham must be busy in some mansion in Hawaii with his family. What a hard life he leads.

But then Kaveh remembers.

Slowly, he pulls up the chat again.

Kaveh: i’m working today instead of doing family stuff like everyone else which is why i followed

Alhaitham: Same

An unexpected heartache pulls through Kaveh at the lonely response. The lonely conversation. At least they’re talking about it together.

Kaveh: do you want to

He backspaces.

Kaveh: anyway see you for the meetup next week

Alhaitham: Yep

⛤

On the day of the Ovation Hollywood outdoor mall meetup, the sky is gray, and the drones of soulless tourists make the fifty-degree weather feel colder. Kaveh, however, couldn’t care less. Not when the stanchions leading toward The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show’s pop-up stage beside the center fountain aren’t empty like he expected. At least fifteen pairs of kids and parents wait to meet him.

Well, and Alhaitham. But whatever.

Nilou pops her head out from the concealed backstage cubicle. Once she spots Kaveh, she waves, balancing a tray of steaming drinks in her other. “Over here!”

Kaveh can’t stop grinning as he passes by the crowds. Like usual, he spent New Year’s Eve working at You’re on Fire with Faruzan and her regulars. Unlike usual, though, he made a resolution for the first time: finally gain some fans like Alhaitham has. He assumed he would need all year. Not three days. None of these people may know he’s Twiggy Tuba in this human form, wearing a flimsy thrift store windbreaker from the 90s, but this is still the most he’s been known in his life.

He whips out his phone to email a photo to his agent with a passive-aggressive smiley face emoji, then finally reaches Nilou behind the stage. Behind her, Alhaitham scrolls through his phone in his magician outfit, squinting through his peacock mask to make out the screen.

“Hey,” Kaveh says to Nilou. “I thought this started at ten?”

“It does,” Nilou says. Her puffy parka collar covers most of her mouth. “People came to wait hours early.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

Kaveh counts on his hand. “Only five episodes are up.”

At least, Kaveh thinks. He hasn’t had much time to check out Kidneeto’s streaming service, even though he found a free employee username and password among his contract paperwork over the holiday break. His meager Twiggy Tuba paycheck has left him busy fixing his shattered phone, replacing his left Honda headlight, and searching for glasses online, thanks to his worsening eyesight the older he gets.

“We’ve only blown up more since reviews came in for episode three,” Nilou explains, an excited trill in her every word. She pulls back a curtain just enough for Kaveh to see through. “Look, we even got a temporary ad poster in the mall.”

Not just any ad. One of Kaveh and Alhaitham in costume and edited so their elbows link, stretching the length of the waiting line. Above their heads reads KIDNEETO’S HOTTEST WINTER SHOW!

Just when Kaveh thought his heart couldn’t burst with any more excitement. His face may be covered by a plastic tuba head, and his name is nowhere, but that’s still a real advertisement poster. Of him.

A gust of wind blows through the open mall, rustling the curtains and spraying fountain water onto the real Alhaitham’s tight corset and tighter leggings. He shivers, crossing his arms.

For once, Kaveh is thankful to soon be covered by a boiling mascot suit. “Hi.”

“Shut up,” Alhaitham says.

“The fuck? What did I do?”

“Show up.”

“Hey, none of this,” Nilou says, swatting at Alhaitham’s frilly gloved hands until they fall flat against his sides. “Don’t you remember the point of this event?”

Alhaitham continues to glare in the cold.

“What is wrong with you?” Nilou says. “Speak cheerily with him.”

“There’s nothing cheery to talk about,” Alhaitham argues back.

“Find something to talk about! This isn’t only for you to meet kids. It’s for the public eye to see you two getting along.” Nilou pulls back another curtain. “I’m opening up the line. Go out when you’re dressed. With locked elbows. Like the poster!”

“What—?” Kaveh and Alhaitham say in unison.

That’s all they get out before she’s off.

Kaveh sighs as he reminds himself of the pros of today. Getting along with Alhaitham will bring his first-ever show into a favorable light. He can swallow his pride. Only problem is, he has no clue what to talk about with the guy to make that happen.

Following orders, he steps behind a flimsy curtain to change into his brassy-colored leggings. Or, rather, tries. Alhaitham stands too close by, like Kaveh isn’t about to strip a majority of his clothes. At least he’s watching the waiting line between the gaps of backstage instead. Something has his shoulders tensing, too, like he’s spotted Gloria the ghost in the distance. Maybe a kid is throwing up.

“Can you, like, move?” Kaveh asks, nervousness creeping up his chest.

Still not looking Kaveh’s way, Alhaitham gestures vaguely at the cramped four-by-four space. “And go where?”

“Cover your eyes with your hand.”

He huffs but complies, lifting a palm to the side of his face.

Kaveh slaps on the rest of his valves and blowholes. By the time he steps back out of the curtain, he can barely manage a smile after the endured stress. “Ready to go out?”

“Whatever,” Alhaitham mutters. Still not looking at him.

“Link your elbow with mine then.”

Slowly, a smirk plays at the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. “You think you can boss me around just because you’re a few years older than me?”

“I’m not trying to—” Kaveh’s head tilts. “How do you know that?”

Alhaitham goes abnormally still. Like he’s embarrassed?

Not possible. What’s for him to be embarrassed about? That he was working on Christmas instead of spending time with family, the same as Kaveh? That he dared to message someone so beneath him in notoriety?

“I noticed your birthday on your profile," Alhaitham says quietly. "When you, you know, totally casually followed me on Christmas. Take my elbow. You’re the sidekick.”

The embarrassment turns contagious, making Kaveh go red. Worst accident ever, to infinity and beyond. “They won’t be able to tell who linked arms with who first, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham shoves his navy suitcoat-covered elbow closer.

Swallow the pride. Kaveh forces another frail smile before slapping on his tuba head and linking their elbows.

The moment they step out of the curtain, cheers and claps erupt from the waiting line. Once more, Kaveh drinks in the feeling of being marginally known, wishing he could excavate his phone from his tuba parts to capture this moment forever again.

Alhaitham waves at the crowd without a care, having done this a million times before. His smile, though, looks wider than his masquerade mask that pops off the sides of his face. Must be a fake one. “G’day, my magical orchestra!”

More cheers, louder and wilder.

While Nilou explains the rules and pricing over a measly microphone and amp, Kaveh once again brainstorms ways to keep up their friendly façade. The news has them on such thin ice that one mistake or insult could mean they’re done. What conversation topic works no matter how douchey the person?

“Pretty miserable weather,” Kaveh finally decides to say.

“Pretty miserable day,” Alhaitham says in his Australian accent. Just speaking to Kaveh has his fake smile faltering, threatening to break into a frown.

“Because of me? Or the event?”

“Both.”

Cheery conversation failed.

At least from this far away, and with Nilou still talking, the waiting line can’t hear a thing. “We’re on the same page for once.”

“Rack off,” Alhaitham says.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Australian for go fuck yourself.”

Kaveh scoffs. “Asshole.”

“Twiggy Tuba?”

A kid stares up at them with wide, frightened eyes. Her tiny body is mostly drowning in a sparkly parka. Kaveh isn’t good at assessing kid ages, but maybe three.

He has no clue if she heard. “H-hey there!”

The girl remains silent. Horrified.

She heard.

“Klee,” a woman in a sundress and cardigan combo cheers from the line. The girl's mom. “Don’t be shy!”

Kaveh sweats under his mascot head as a domino effect of disasters fall in his mind: Little Klee tells Mom how Twiggy Tuba called the Magical Magician an asshole, Dad complains online, a sensationist clickbait site picks up the news, a mob comes for Kaveh and unearths his past in the crossfire, and boom, six years of effort, over. 

Before Kaveh can choose how to act, Alhaitham whips his knife-sharp wand out of his suitcoat pocket and bops the girl on the head. “Who do we have here?” he asks, his overcooked Australian accent bellowing through the mall. “A music note has arrived to aid my quest of turning the bad instruments good!”

She nods stiffly.

“Thank you for lending me your power. What’s your name?”

“Klee.”

“Klee! I can feel your power trilling with mine.” Alhaitham presses his wand to his temple, then winces, pulling back the sharp edge. He shuts his eyes like he’s channeling power. “Bloody oath, you’re defo one of the mightiest notes I’ve come across. You’ll be the key to saving the day, I reckon!”

Klee laughs. “Really?”

“Really! Good on ya! Now, let’s take a pic!”

As Klee sandwiches herself between both of their legs, Kaveh short-circuits. Ten seconds ago, he couldn’t pull a word out of Alhaitham about the weather. Plus, Alhaitham knew exactly how to distract her. Because of his acting skills? His kid skills? Both?

Klee’s mom takes a photo on her phone and asks Alhaitham for an autograph. Without hesitation, Alhaitham scribbles onto a food court napkin, which Kaveh can’t make out through his vision ports. Did Alhaitham sign his name as the Merry Mystical Magical Musician? Draw a smiley face or heart along with it? What if Kaveh is asked for an autograph? He hasn’t thought about this yet. Was he supposed to?

Once Klee has her autograph, the two are gone.

“I really don’t know what to think of you,” Kaveh mutters as a family of six takes their time stepping up next, dropping coats and arguing over who gets to stand closest to Alhaitham.

“Thinking about me, huh?” Alhaitham asks.

“No?”

“You just said you were.”

Kaveh stutters out a choked noise, buying time to concoct a rebuttal. “I just don’t get how you can be such an ass yet so good at this. At kids.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“Collei?”

Alhaitham’s brow shoots up so high, it’s visible over his mask. “What’d you say?”

“She’s your younger sister, right?”

“How did you find that out?”

Kaveh almost feels like he should apologize in the face of such strange hostility. Maybe it’s protectiveness. He’s witnessed that in sibling relationships on TV. “She’s on set all the time. Everyone else in the cast knows. It happened to come up.”

“Well, stay away from her. Any kid you touch dies.”

Kaveh’s fist instinctively flies up to punch Alhaitham into the clouds, but then he remembers he’s in front of a crowd. He backs down. “Why didn’t you ever bring her up yourself?”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes so intensely that only white shows for a second. “Sorry, sweetheart, I won’t hide anything from you again.”

That was sarcasm. Kaveh knows that was sarcasm. But his heartbeat still thrums in his neck.

He readjusts his tuba head and focuses on the family finally approaching. He’s nervous about the kids. And looking bad next to Alhaitham. Obviously.

A myriad of children visit over the next hour. Some small. Some large. None Kaveh enjoys, especially when they demand his back be used for piggy-rides and thighs for thrones in photoshoots. Thankfully, Alhaitham handles the talking, so Kaveh tries his best to silently link their elbows and initiate high fives to please Nilou, who drill her swirling black irises at them from the entrance. Once the sky is a shade darker, and the temperature is a notch lower, Nilou announces a half-hour intermission.

The two are quick to dodge into the backstage area. While Kaveh removes his head and jangly tuba parts, Alhaitham scrolls through his phone. He keeps on his mask despite being backstage, in total privacy.

Kaveh watches him curiously from afar. Is he really so desperate to keep out of the spotlight that he won’t trust the curtains?

When Nilou returns, she holds three more fresh hot chocolates in a to-go tray.

Alhaitham snatches one with a gloved hand and chugs half in a single pull, then brings it down so aggressively the peacock feathers on his mask flutter. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

Nilou frowns, taking her own. “Language. It’s only fifty-eight degrees.”

“You got any vodka to put in this?”

“No?”

Alhaitham twists his mouth at her. “Why not?”

“This is a public, family-friendly space. There are children?” Nilou turns toward Kaveh. “Are you listening to this guy?”

Kaveh shrugs, grabbing the final hot chocolate for himself. “It’d warm him up.”

She groans in exasperation. “For two guys who swear to hate each other, you share an awful lot of similar qualities. Ones I particularly do not enjoy.”

Alhaitham and Kaveh share a brief tense look.

“You’ve done a great job with the event, Nilou,” Kaveh says, mostly since the director in charge of his career can’t be annoyed with him, but also to move on. “It’s impressive how you can make stuff like this out of nothing so quickly. Kidneeto’s lucky to have you. So are we.”

At first, Nilou stays silent, too shocked to form a word. “Cheers,” she manages on a wavering smile. A single tear falls.

Kaveh’s eyes widen. “Oh. Uh.” He looks toward Alhaitham for backup.

Too bad Alhaitham’s ignoring the conversation. He’s peeking through the curtains to scan the shops beyond the fountain, pressing his mask closer to his face. “I need a coat. Is there anything other than an Urban Outfitters in this mall?”

Kaveh points upward. “Third floor has a Dave & Busters.”

“The arcade chain?”

“Might have a windbreaker for a prize. Go win a Skee-Ball.”

Alhaitham gives the middle finger as he whips open a side curtain with his other hand, then stomps out of backstage in his curled jester shoes.

“Hey, you can’t!” Nilou shouts, lifting a hand to her mouth for maximum projection. “The Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician would never wear—”

He heads through the Urban Outfitters automatic doors.

“—fast fashion,” Nilou mumbles. She sulks backward on a pop-up stage rod, her short-cut bob and parka shaking around her from the impact. “He has no fear of me.”

“He has no fear of anyone,” Kaveh corrects on a weak laugh.

“No one but his grandmother. If only I were her…”

“His grandmother?"

Nilou blinks once. Twice. “Kaveh. The founder and president of Kidneeto? Established fifty years ago? Owns three other studios?”

Admittedly, Kaveh didn’t do much research on Kidneeto before accepting this gig. He was more focused on the getting-a-real-job-offer-after-four-years part. But Nilou can’t know that. And now, Kaveh realizes just how little he’s been sponging around his director since she's shown up. He summons the same winning headshot smile he used on her at his very first audition. “Right! Right. Is she around here often, too?"

"Not really. She lives out of the county and has mostly other people running the company at this point. And her relationship with Alhaitham lately is...tense."

"Alhaitham has, uh, lots of family stuff going on, it seems."

She nods. “Especially with the adoption, you know?”

Kaveh doesn’t know. That irritates him. Everyone else somehow has secret Alhaitham intel despite once being his biggest fan. “Collei?” he guesses. “Why he’s trying to adopt her? Since their parents’ crash?”

“Mhm. His grandmother doesn’t trust him to take care of her. Whole custody battle.”

He nods a few times as more realizations click into place. “If Alhaitham’s grandmother runs Kidneeto, then does that mean she had a say in hiring for this role?”

“Maybe. But I have no proof.”

“Why would she, though, if they’re fighting?”

Nilou takes a sip from her hot chocolate in an obvious attempt to buy her time to think about how to phrase whatever’s coming next. “I know you don’t like the guy, but I’m sure you heard Alhaitham sort of vanished after his parents died. It was all over the news. How he lost all his gigs and nearly drank himself away?”

That Kaveh does know about. “Yeah.”

“My theory is he’s trying to prove to his grandmother that he can hold down a job again so that he gets custody of Collei, and she doesn’t live away from him, too."

It’s a lot to process. Kaveh adopts Nilou’s hot chocolate-drinking strategy so that he can try to. Even if Kaveh is the last person to understand family, he’s still human. He gets the helplessness of feeling forced to prove your worth to those who expect you to fail. Maybe Alhaitham isn’t intentionally meaning to treat others poorly on set. Not even Kaveh. He’s just that miserable.

“Isn’t he—” Kaveh hesitates. “An alcoholic, though?”

“Alhaitham?” Nilou huffs a laugh. “No.”

“But the rehab?”

“He didn’t stay in rehab for even a day. His grandmother threw him in there after that dumbass bender. Or as the media put it for clicks, addict episode.” She presses a finger to her bottom lip. “I guess he did sock that one actor, Childe, in the face along the way, though.”

“On live TV,” Kaveh mutters.

“I don’t blame him much for that either. He was young, and his parents had died. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Kaveh isn't sure. He opts for a safe shrug.

“The media doesn’t see celebrities as real people,” Nilou says. “They’re not allowed to screw up like everyone else would.” She pulls out her phone to check the time and makes a surprised face. Intermission must be almost over.

Which is bad timing when Kaveh’s world feels rocked. If Nilou’s theories are right, then the only question that remains is why Alhaitham has been dodging the public. Maybe he never wanted to. His agent may have commanded him to stay low like his agent recently told Kaveh, and that led to the NDA with Kidneeto. If parents found out that the lead of their kids’ favorite show had a terrifying addict episode, they likely wouldn’t be thrilled. Or maybe there’s more Kaveh still doesn’t understand.

Nilou pulls back the curtain, searching for signs of Alhaitham. Kaveh spots him beyond the fountain, stepping out of the Urban Outfitters with a tote bag. He presses his mask closer against his face to help stay undercover, but people stop him for free Merry Magician autographs to avoid the line, pulling the attention of even normie mallgoers. At this point, he would’ve stayed hidden better if he’d gone without the mask as Alhaitham.

For two years, Alhaitham has hidden. That must’ve been lonely.

Must be lonely.

Alhaitham ducks back through the curtains and into the safety zone. Taking up a corner of the backstage, he digs through his bag, pulls out a fake leather jacket, and sticks his arms through the sleeves. Kaveh barely takes any of that in, though, because he’s focused on the back that spells out I LOVE TROUBLE in rhinestones.

Kaveh belts out a laugh so loud that it echoes through the mall, and Nilou startles so terribly that she drops her hot chocolate. Once she spots Alhaitham’s backside, too, she cackles a second later. The two grip each other so they don’t collapse.

Alhaitham whips around, his mask’s peacock feathers thrashing around his face. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Kaveh says quickly.

“You’re looking at me,” he says.

“No, we’re not,” Nilou says, also quickly.

“Stop talking about me. Are we finishing this meet-and-greet or not?”

“Of course, I’ll make an announcement on the troub—double.”

Alhaitham’s gaze narrows so intimidatingly that the brown tint drops several shades darker. He heads back out, revealing himself to the waiting line and gaining another round of cheers.

Kaveh frowns at the curtain flapping in the aftermath, then slaps back on his tuba head. Even if Alhaitham allegedly has a right to be pissed at the world, being forced to play nice isn’t thrilling when he has enough problems of his own. In fact, it’s annoying.

Yet no matter how hard he tries to forget that idealized version of Alhaitham that was once on his bedroom wall—the idol who led him to this tuba mascot costume, and who he would’ve desired approval from—he can’t. For as long as this show exists, he’ll endure this.

At least, with that, nothing can get worse.

Chapter Text

“We’re going on tour!” Nilou cheers at the head of the scriptwriting table.

Kaveh drops his script. “What?”

Similar blank looks are shared by the rest of the cast. When they were called in for a "final talk" about the eight episodes they rushed to film this month, Kaveh expected to discuss their upcoming hiatus: a deserved one-week break before filming the remaining season. They’d get sidetracked and reminisce about the times Alhaitham sicced musical notes on evil instruments played by extras who had no clue what they were getting into upon signing their contracts. Or how Kaveh and Alhaitham have, surprisingly, kept civility on set by avoiding each other whenever cameras are off. Or how, despite Alhaitham sucking at singing and dancing and Kaveh sucking at kids, they’ve been pulling off this show.

Not a tour announcement.

Usually, Kaveh would be thrilled. A tour implies the show is successful enough to warrant a tour. That he’s successful enough. But during their only vacation?

“A tour,” Cyno finally repeats. His shirt has the word CROSS written across the chest in silver permanent marker.

Kaveh leans over. “No Celtic cross?”

“Forgot to do laundry,” he whispers back. “Drew this on my shirt in the parking lot.”

“A national concert tour,” Nilou interrupts, then squeals in appropriate fashion with her pig-themed overalls. “Five stops. One week. We leave for the Big Apple of New York City tomorrow morning.”

“T-tomorrow?” stutters out of Cyno.

“It’s Big Apple or New York City,” Dehya says through a hair tie wedged between her glossy lips, clearly caring more about braiding her hair. But then her hands freeze. “Wait, a week? Does that include Valentine’s Day next Thursday?”

Nilou stares back at them hard. “Raise your hand if that would affect you.”

Not a single hand moves.

“That’s what I thought,” she says in finality.

In the aftermath of their communal lack of game, Kaveh flashes a look at Alhaitham across the table. He didn’t exactly expect the guy to have a Valentine’s date while being in hiding, but it’s still shocking, knowing how many women were reportedly glued to him years back.

From a unicorn backpack beside her, Nilou whips out her laptop and pulls up some new ratings. “Mates and pals, please read these.”

A good time feeling!!

yogamom 8 hours ago

They are gonna become the #1 children's band in the world!!!! I swear the lead’s eyes look familiar though? Does anyone know what he’s done? I looked, but the role is uncredited!!!!!

OMG OMG OMG OGM G

numberonemerrymysticalfan 2 days ago

YOU GUYS I MET TWIGGY TUBA AND THE MERRY MYSTICAL MAGICIAN YESTERDAY IN REAL LIFEEEEE THEY TOUCHEDDDD MEEEEEE

Even Babies Who Don’t know what Instruments Are Love It!

EllasDad 2 days ago

My 4-month-old squeals every time that magician waves his wand! I’m confused about these other 1-star reviews?? Is there a way to buy live tickets?? I heard of the event in LA

Nilou rapidly points at the last review, her silver-smiley charm bracelet knocking against the screen. “See? The people want more live entertainment! And guess what? Our ratings have soared so high that our head exec is coming to our final LA show with his kids. If he likes what he sees, and we sell enough seats, he’ll consider giving us a second season. We’d still need final approval from our exec, but it’s promising.”

Oos and ahs pop up from the table, the atmosphere switching up in an instant.

Even Kaveh catches his heart fluttering at the rare sign of stability. At least, until he pieces together the unspoken downside. If this guy isn’t impressed—who must be Alhaitham's grandmother's fill-in exec—Kaveh will be back to zero prospects. The fluttering turns to nerves, but he tries to hide it, to sponge with the rest.

Then there’s Alhaitham, who’s rising out of his chair and heading directly for the door.

“Alhaitham, return to your seat,” Nilou snaps.

“Bite me,” he responds.

“This tour includes a complimentary welcome banquet party tomorrow night. We’ve rented the nicest place in Manhattan that we could.”

“Don’t care.”

“Open bar!”

Alhaitham’s hand freezes on the doorknob. He turns around and returns to his seat, but not without crossing his arms.

Kaveh coughs under his breath to dispel the tense silence. “Our payment contracts are getting extended, then? We’ll be getting paid for this?”

“Your food and travel and housing will be compensated, yes!”

So, no.

A piece of Kaveh dies inside.

“Yeah, hi,” Dehya says, lifting a hand. “I have a sponsored video due next week. Couldn’t we have known this sooner? How did we schedule all the venues this fast?”

“Admittedly, we’re booking locations as we speak,” Nilou says, apprehension in her tone now. “But we’ll figure things out. We’re magical! Mystical!”

“Meh,” Dehya mutters, returning to her phone.

Nilou outstretches her arms with so much overcompensating excitement that the cast members flinch. “We got our first stop locked in! Bryant Park in The Big Apple City.”

“A park?” Alhaitham repeats, grimacing.

“This show is full-length?” Cyno asks. “An hour long?”

“Give or take,” Nilou answers.

“When are we running a dress rehearsal?”

Alhaitham’s elbows smack the table hard as he rubs his temples, a single gray curl dangling over his gaze. “Is there even a script?”

“Don’t need one!” Nilou says. “We’ll focus on Twiggy Tuba turning from the magician’s enemy to apologizing and becoming his sidekick along with the musical numbers from episode three. You remember your lines, right? Oh, and our theme song? The one Tighnari wrote and sang for our opening credits? You and Alhaitham should sing it at the start.”

“We have opening credits?” Kaveh asks.

“You haven’t watched an episode yet?” Cyno whispers back.

Kaveh hasn’t even downloaded the Kidneeto Streaming app on his outdated phone, and it’s not like he has the luxury of a TV. As Kaveh shakes his head, Nilou lifts borderline aggressive jazz hands.

“It’ll be engaging,” she says, “enthralling, and it’ll keep hammering down Twiggy Tuba and Merry Magician’s tubular truce. In between the tracks, you’ll invite kids to play instruments with you. Interactive. Okeydokey?”

A few nods of approval are shared around the room.

Kaveh wants to join, but he’s gripped by a horrific realization. Every night, he’ll have to beg Alhaitham for forgiveness on his hands and knees in a tuba costume. Before an audience. The biggest executive from their studio will judge that to determine his worth. Everyone’s worth. That, and Alhaitham’s two left feet. “How will our star magician handle a live show if we have to keep doing retakes of his singing and dancing?” Kaveh asks.

Cyno winces, and Dehya’s mouth drops like she can’t believe anyone could insult Alhaitham without facing deathly consequences.

Alhaitham, however, only raises an intrigued brow at Kaveh. “The real question is, how can Twiggy Tuba be trusted with a show that involves normal kids?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaveh asks, frowning.

“Exactly what I said. The children on our set are gripped by invisible leashes. Sure, you’ve made them cry, but notice how they’ve rarely fought back? Kids out in the wild will. They’ll call you ugly. What will you do then?”

“I’ll just call it ugly back.” Shit. Alhaitham taught him not to call them its. “I mean.”

Alhaitham stares Nilou down, his case supported.

Nilou trades unsure looks between them. “You two are welcome to keep helping each other out while on tour, just like what you did for episode three—”

“No,” they say in unison.

“Then at the very least, I want to see getting along,” Nilou says more forcefully. “That’s what will make or break our success. For the whole tour.”

Kaveh and Alhaitham trade another irritated look.

“Good,” Nilou says. “Then the live shows should go fine. It’s only an hour long. What could go wrong?”

⛤

“Good evening, folks,” the voice of a higher-pitched pilot comes over the plane, sparking the headache Kaveh already had. “We’ve started our descent into LaGuardia Airport. The weather in New York City is twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, or if you’re traveling from outside the U.S., negative two.”

“Jesus fuck,” Alhaitham mutters behind Kaveh’s seat. Then a slap of skin against skin. Nilou must’ve hit his arm for not speaking in an Australian accent in public.

Beside Kaveh’s economy window seat, Cyno and Dehya glower.

As the plane lands after an agonizing six hours, Kaveh groans in the aftermath of working a busy Friday night shift at You're on Fire and then promptly taking off that same morning. Despite the positives, this six-stop concert already had enough proportional negatives—the truce he’ll need to keep with Alhaitham, the kids he’ll have to make appreciate him no matter how slimy or sticky or lacking in a moral compass they are. The additional below-freezing weather is sincerely not needed.

The airplane pulls into the gate, and the seatbelt sign vanishes.

Alhaitham, in his knit scarf, branded sunglasses, and a Mets ballcap, helps Dehya and Cyno get down their maximum-sized carry-ons from the luggage shelf. Nilou leads the way off and toward public transportation signs for the bus lot.

“We rented the hotel’s banquet room for eight,” Nilou says to Kaveh through a chatter once they reach the curb, checking a map on her phone. She’s only wearing a tie-dye shirt and jean shorts, which Kaveh has only otherwise seen on a playground. “It’s ten minutes to eight, but we still have transfer to the F after this, and that’ll be another half hour—”

Kaveh rubs his arms, too, even though he’s in a much thicker thrift store sweater. “We’ll make the banquet.” He glances over his shoulder to check on the crew straggling behind them. Cyno and Dehya take their time as they exit through Pickup Door Two, then Tighnari, who’s fighting to drag his two luggage labeled costumes and live sound.

And, well, Alhaitham. But he’s tucked back by the doors in a corner, phone to his ear. Instead of wearing his scarf to obscure himself, it’s in his grasp now like he’s strangling the damn thing. From a distance, Kaveh inspects his unfairly sharp jawline and broad shoulders, debating how he remains this attractive even after spending six hours in a musty plane and wearing such a ridiculous undercover wardrobe.

A couple walks out the door. They look over until a honking bus distracts them.

Stress creeps up Kaveh’s chest. No call could be important enough to Alhaitham to risk getting caught in public. He steps closer to try to make out what’s going on—no Australian accent either—and hears a word that makes him freeze.

“—Collei.”

A digital camera sound flashes over where another group steps halfway through the door. A mid-twenties woman in a parka, scrambling to bend over and cover her phone, and two other women, holding back laughter. Lanyards dangle from their necks.

Kaveh’s heart plummets into his toes. Okay. They took a photo of Alhaitham.

One of the women glances directly at him again. This time, she tugs on another’s coat sleeve. A phone gets pulled out of a purse. Alhaitham remains oblivious and Australian accent-less in the corner.

Kaveh’s hand clenches at his side, and then his feet are moving without him even fully realizing. He sandwiches himself between Alhaitham and the three women, tossing out his arms ring-leader style, and reads their lanyards. Sustainable Apparel and Design Conference USA. He summons a headshot smile. “Hey, hey! You’re attending the fashion conference, right?”

One lowers her phone. “Yes?”

He checks his phone. 9:58 p.m. “I heard they’re offering free rideshares to the hotel hosting the conference to anyone with lanyard pass. But the deal ends at ten.” He glances over his shoulder. Alhaitham blinks back blankly, slowly wrapping his scarf up his face.

The women waste no time in exchanging frantic looks and rushing toward the pickup area further down the street.

Kaveh pivots around, ready to yell—but then he recalls Nilou’s get along orders. His hand drops. “What happened to you staying out of the spotlight?”

Alhaitham’s gaze roves around Kaveh face, down to the hem of his sweater that hugs his waist, and back up again. “Why’d you do that?”

“You were holding us up.” Too rude. Kaveh clears his throat. “Which is…fine.”

“I mean, why you just helped me out. Big time.”

“We need to fake getting along more than ever. Nilou’s orders. Remember?”

He hums. “You must be a better actor than I thought.”

As the two lock into a prolonged stare, Kaveh’s tongue twists into useless knots. Only then does he realize how close he was to chucking that woman’s phone on the concrete save Alhaitham’s ass.

Why?

“Kaveh! Alhaitham!” Nilou calls from the curb. A bus with the LaGuardia Airport logo is pulled up behind her and the crew.

“Forget it,” Kaveh says calmly as he walks away, even though his racing heart and burning face beg him to scream it. Get along.

He can do this.

It’s just one week stuck with Alhaitham.

Chapter Text

“We’re here!” Nilou chimes as she walks out of 42nd St-Bryant Park Station.

Kaveh and the rest of the cast follow her lead onto the sidewalk littered with gum splotches and crumpled, damp cigarettes.

Squinting through the light snowfall glowing in the city lights, Kaveh spots a West 38th Street sign hanging before a crosswalk and a Marriott hotel to his left. On his right, the most sparkly Hilton he’s ever seen stretches an entire block.

“Which one are we at?” Kaveh asks, buzzing with anticipation at either answer. Suddenly, he couldn’t care less about the lack of pay for this tour. He’s reached the point in his acting career where he stays at the most exclusive and wallet-emptying hotels despite his roots. Despite who he is.

“Neither!” Nilou says. “We’re at the Midtownacana.”

Kaveh’s brow furrows. He scans the street one more time. Only when he looks straight ahead does he spot a Midtownacana Inn sign on an apartment complex above a bodega. Rather, the Mid, since most of the LED letters are burned out. The stone walls look stained with dirt and blood.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Alhaitham’s voice is muffled through his scarf dusted with snow. Same for his gray hair, which is a jumbled and staticky nightmare after hours in the air. Even though his mouth is hidden, it’s obvious it’s twisted like he ate an uncooked dino nugget.

Kaveh shockingly agrees with Alhaitham. “You’re sure this is the right place?”

“You think a six-stop tour is a cheap walk in the park?” Nilou says, chattering again after only seconds outside on the East Coast. “Be thankful we’re in the heart of the Midtown. Bryant Park! Six minutes to Times Square.”

Kaveh would rather die than step one inch into Times Square and get bombarded by six Elmos and six hundred advertisements. Cyno and Dehya, however, squeal and rush into the inn as if this place really is the Hilton. 

As Kaveh kicks his feet into gear last, all he can do is sigh. His acting is being reviewed by hundreds online. He’s even having meet-and-greets. Yet he stays at The Mid. He knew other actors were lying about their wealth and receiving cents-worth of residuals from shows earning millions for the CEOs. But seriously?

“Pick it up, Kaveh,” Nilou calls over her shoulder. She's already halfway through the bodega doors. The only way to reach the hotel, apparently. “We’re late for the banquet here.”

“Banquet where?” Kaveh mutters, fighting pavement cracks and holes with his rolling luggage as he steps into the bodega.

Then his eyes are blasted with every color of the rainbow. Plastic rainbow table covers protect two folding tables beyond the register’s narrow walkway. Rainbow balloons are tied to every folding chair. There are even rainbow plates and a literal rainbow-shaped piñata.

“We really had to go with a gay explosion?” Tighnari asks, standing by the two tables and picking up a rainbow plastic spoon.

“The hotel only had one day notice, so they went to Party City around the block on our behalf,” Nilou says, raising her nose high. “Be thankful. They temporarily closed for us.”

“Hotel or bodega?” Tighnari asks.

“Inn’s upstairs,” an older woman shouts behind the register, a calico cat with a missing foot somehow sleeping on her left shoulder. Then she vanishes through a door with a stairwell sign on the wall.

“At least this place is authentic New York,” Cyno says in support.

“True,” Dehya says.

Kaveh should agree if he wants to get along. “Agreed. Very, uh, Midtown.” He glances toward Alhaitham, who he expects to be punching the nearest balloon while standing beside Tighnari. Instead, he pours a turquoise concoction from a punch bowl into rainbow cups. Shockingly, Mr. A-lister doesn’t show a hint of a grimace, even though he must’ve stayed strictly at Hiltons mere years ago. Perhaps he’s too dead inside to care.

“Shove your luggage in the corner,” Nilou says, passing out room key cards to the cast first, then her own rainbow cup toward Alhaitham. She leans closer toward his ear. “Brim.” Then she’s back to everyone else. “Who’s doing the speech?”

Unnerved looks are traded for so long that Alhaitham finishes pouring and passing out the cups, and all the seats get claimed at the table.

“Please, mates and pals,” Nilou says, smacking her head on the empty plate in front of her. “I’m so tired, I could cry.”

“Everyone’s favorite magician should do the speech,” Cyno suggests.

“Eat shit,” Alhaitham says, holding his cup right beneath his lips. Clearly, impatiently waiting for this speech to be done so he can drink.

Kaveh is so pissed just looking at those lips that he sends them a brief glare across the table. They’re too perfect.

“Kaveh?” Nilou says through a sigh.

Kaveh’s eyes pop. “Me?”

“You’re more dedicated to this show than anyone else here.”

“Besides Nilou, at least,” Cyno says in agreement.

Confidence courses through Kaveh. His dedication is noticeable to the cast. Maybe even his talent, then, despite what his agent thinks.

“Okay. Um.” He grabs the cup of mystery alcohol he definitely won’t be drinking, along with a spoon, and rises out of his folding chair. His head knocks against the rainbow pinata, and he winces.

A playful huff comes from his left. Alhaitham. Smiling, and a brow hitched incredulously.

Kaveh’s face flashes hot as he knocks his spoon against his cup. “Attention?”

Silent stares are the only response.

Kaveh’s heart races as he debates how to praise this show when he’s standing in the back of a bodega. All the casts’ eyes are on him, ready to dissect every word of his speech. He’s a pro at sponging. He can think of what they want to hear.

Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, all lovers of fine television. We are here to celebrate the hard work and pouring of our hearts into our characters, bringing them to life in a way that felt merry-magical. Let us remember this is not the end, but rather, a beginning. Time to raise our glasses. Cheers!

The silence drags on longer.

“I’m not really sure how I got here,” blurts out of Kaveh.

More stares.

Eventually, Tighnari says, “Plane.”

“No,” Kaveh says quickly. That was not ladies and gentlemen. "Um."

“What did you mean?” Nilou asks. Painfully genuinely.

Kaveh activates a breath control technique from a vocal projection tutorial he watched once to help stay calm. To stay liked. “Well. For the last four years, I’ve been trying to land any gig that wasn’t a multi-level marketing scheme or skincare ad. To be honest, my agent was threatening to fire me if I didn’t get this role. It was my last chance. That must be why Nilou thought I was pathetic enough to play this tuba.” He laughs.

No one joins. All he gets are various faces of distress and horror.

Apparently, Kaveh is the only one who can take a joke.

He clears his throat. “I’ve never gotten the chance to do this, either. Toast. Don’t have many friends.” He gets briefly distracted by Dehya wiping food off her lip. Or maybe she’s covering up a gasp. “Even though we’re in a bodega, and the Hilton is right there—”

“Right there,” Tighnari mumbles.

“—I am thankful for this opportunity. Nilou and Tighnari, your dedication to this show is so distinct, so powerful, even, that it beats out everyone else I’ve ever worked for. Probably all of Hollywood.”

Nilou chokes out a sobbing noise and covers her face. Dehya pats her back.

Kaveh hesitates before continuing. “Dehya and Cyno, you bring such a fun light to the stage that Alhaitham and I never could. Without your rhythm to back us up, we’d be even more hated.”

“Buddy,” Cyno says, so moved that he clasps his cross shirt.

“With your help, I truly believe this could be my big break,” Kaveh says. “All our big breaks. We may come from different levels of success here, but each of us needs a win right now. So, let’s kill our first live show tomorrow?”

Cups are clinked as Kaveh rejoins the table. Meaningful eye contact is traded for cheers. By the time Kaveh lifts his drink toward Alhaitham, Alhaitham is already staring back, but not with any of the iciness or aloofness he’s shown since the day they met. Something so strangely softer that it makes Kaveh still. But then Alhaitham’s shoulders stiffen, and he flicks his gaze away.

Kaveh slowly sets his drink back on the table. What, did he black out during that speech and ramble about his old shirtless poster of Alhaitham?

“Where’s my cheers, best friend forever?” Cyno says, leaning across the table to clink cups with Kaveh and spilling punch onto Kaveh's sweater.

Kaveh lurches out of his chair and hits his head on the piñata. Again. Amongst Cyno’s wailing apologies and Nilou’s scolding, Kaveh swears he spots another fleeting smile from Alhaitham.

The next hour passes by in selfies, drink refills, and gossip about others Kaveh’s never heard of. Layla only messages you if she wants intel, Sethos acts like he’s best friends with Alhaitham even though they only messaged once, and Dori created thirty fake accounts to rate all four of Dehya's shows on IMDb one-star after they beefed online. Even though Kaveh couldn’t care less, he catches himself smiling at what he thought these cast banquets would be like, even if it’s in a bodega. When he glances toward Alhaitham’s seat again, though, he isn’t there. Only his shades and baseball cap are on the table.

Annoyance prickles inside of Kaveh’s chest. After months of filming, he still wants nothing to do with the camaraderie?

While the cast continues to discuss the Dori and Dehya controversy, he checks the empty restrooms for Alhaitham, then asks the woman behind the register, who proves just as useless. With no leads, he wanders through an emergency side door and into a dimly lit alley. A blast of car exhaust and cigarette smoke hits his face on a frigid breeze.

Quickly, he spots the backside of Alhaitham’s figure beside a pile of plowed snow. No coat. Just his dress shirt and slacks. Alone. Like always these last two years. Hiding.

On top of that, left behind by his parents. Even his grandmother.

Kaveh’s anger cools. He sighs, but it’s cut short by a shiver. H wishes he had Alhaitham’s scarf right about now. Of course, the scarf uselessly dangles in Alhaitham’s hand again while his other holds a cigarette. His smooth, chiseled face is lit by the streetlights as he watches the road. If anyone passed this alley, he’d be done for.

Kaveh lets down his hair to give his exposed ears and neck some extra warmth, then walks around the snow pile and whips Alhaitham’s cigarette out of his hand. “What did I tell you about these? Don’t you care about your singing voice?”

Alhaitham’s cheeks are flushed, and his freckles are more prominent against the redder backdrop. Whether that’s from the cold air or from however many rainbow cups of mystery punch he had before vanishing, though, is unknown. He inspects Kaveh up and down from his extra inch of height, lingering a moment longer on his let-down hair. That strange hint of foreign softness is back. “Hi.”

Kaveh’s brow spikes high at the lack of a comeback. “Hi? What makes you think you can leave the banquet? It isn’t even half over.”

“I’m not getting paid.”

“It’s rude to leave.”

“How come you’re out here with me then? If it’s oh-so rude.”

Logically, Kaveh shouldn’t care, but he’s just glad that he found Alhaitham. Deep down, he can’t deny the curiosity inside of him that wants to know Alhaitham better, either. The real Alhaitham.

“Your NDA affects us, too, you know," Kaveh says. "You shouldn’t throw away the work we put into keeping you hidden just because you’re drunk.”

“Drunk?” Alhaitham digs through his slacks pocket for his lighter and pack of cigarettes to light a new one. “On only five drinks?”

Five drinks would knock out Kaveh’s own body. Alhaitham’s much larger body could do better, but not by much. “Yes?”

“It’s midnight. We’re in an abandoned alley.”

“But the longer you’re MIA, the more valuable a sighting or photo of you becomes. It’s probably up to, what, over fifty grand by now?”

“That’s all you think I’m worth?”

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “Between the news and your stans, someone will find you.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Alhaitham says. No hesitation.

The sturdy conviction in his tone takes Kaveh aback. It only makes him nosier about the conflicting information he’s gotten about the NDA these last few months. “Do you want to hide your involvement in this show? Or is Kidneeto forcing this NDA?”

Alhaitham freezes mid-pull on his cigarette. He doesn’t respond.

Another icy breeze blows between them. Once more, Kaveh is struck by how different the A-lister is from what he imagined whenever he stared at that poster on his wall. Harsh instead of charismatic. Practically unteachable instead of effortlessly talented at everything.

Alhaitham is never what he expects. He has no clue who he is.

He has too many secrets.

“Tell me why you’re hiding, and I’ll tell you one of my secrets,” Kaveh says suddenly. Embarrassment churns through him in the aftermath, but he may not have another opportunity to pry this easily again, where they’re so isolated.

“A secret for a secret?” Alhaitham repeats. “Are we as old as the kids on our show?”

“No!” Kaveh clears his throat. “No. I just think that we should know more about each other. Especially if we’re supposed to act buddy-buddy in front of the whole world.”

“You go first.”

Kaveh nearly flinches. He didn’t think Alhaitham would agree this easily. “Okay. Um.”

Alhaitham’s shirt collar flutters in the light breeze as he waits. His arms are lined with goosebumps, yet he doesn’t show any hint of being cold.

Panic clenches Kaveh’s chest the longer the silence stretches between them. No matter how much he brainstorms, he draws a blank on an interesting enough secret. No info about himself could possibly interest someone like Alhaitham.

Alhaitham sighs and stomps out his cigarette. Tossing his scarf loosely over his shoulders, he heads toward the side door.

“Wait.” Kaveh can’t let this opportunity escape him. “Wait! One more minute.”

“You’re not giving me any—”

“I had a poster of you in my bedroom!”

Alhaitham freezes. Slowly, he turns around.

Kaveh stares back. All of his vocabulary drains out of him.

A horn honk comes from the intersection, breaking through the monotony of whishing cars.

“Excuse me?” Alhaitham finally says, returning exactly to where he stood.

“I don’t have those posters anymore. Just when I was younger.” His heart hammers as he fidgets with the hem of his sweater. Even if he does gain more knowledge about Alhaitham out of this game, this mortification could never be worth it.

“I was your only poster?”

“It was the only thing I could afford. So, the only thing I owned. I guess. Technically.”

“Which?”

“Huh?”

Alhaitham’s light-red eyes reflect the passing car lights, glistening as they stand so close together. “Which poster did you have of me?”

It feels like a test, and Kaveh can barely breathe. He forces himself to inhale deeply to avoid passing out and cracking open his head on the curb. “Red leather jacket. On a motorcycle. I think.”

Kaveh knows. He could never forget. Alhaitham’s curls were loose instead of slicked back and probably being blown back by a fan—the perfect reminder to keep up his own style. The jacket collar flopped around his neck while the rest was left unzipped to reveal his abs better—the perfect reminder to keep up his own workout regimen.

All in all, it was the perfect poster to keep Kaveh’s goals in check. Becoming known. Becoming the man he wanted to be. Only.

“Why did you have that kind of poster?” Alhaitham asks.

“I, um, can’t exactly remember why.”

“Yet it’s the only thing you ever bought?” The question may be playful, yet his rapidly growing curiosity feels borderline investigative.

Kaveh swallows thickly. He has to be honest. For Alhaitham’s secret. “I mean, your job has been my dream job since forever.”

“And?” Alhaitham glances toward the door. Like he may leave again.

“Okay, okay,” Kaveh rushes to say. “And seeing you every day was a reminder to make my own dreams come true, and I guess you were sort of my idol, and I might’ve even been a little obsessed with you, but—”

The words taste like regret the moment they leave his mouth, and he immediately has no clue what he just did. How something so catastrophically humiliating could ever be worth a million of Alhaitham’s secrets.

He fucked up.

Alhaitham inspects Kaveh like a crafted marble statue in the Getty Art Museum. His brow isn’t pinched with any shock or horror at the reveal. Only intrigue, like he’s waiting for his opponent to roll more dice to see which sides face up. “That’s still it?”

Not technically. But Kaveh could never share the part about who he used to be. Especially to Alhaitham, who’s Hollywood on legs, having worked with everyone in it. How could Kaveh trust him of all people?

“That’s it,” Kaveh mutters.

A figure passes by the alley, then glances their way.

Alhaitham swears and pulls Kaveh into his chest, rotating them away from the block and onto the brick wall. Their legs trip through the snow pile, their hips knocking and pressing closer as iciness seeps into socks. They both go still in the shadows, Alhaitham’s arm pinned over Kaveh’s shoulder, their out-of-sync breaths mixing with the sounds of the street.

Eventually, Alhaitham cautiously pulls back to check if it’s clear. “Isn’t the city that never sleeps fucking hyperbole?”

Kaveh blinks in a daze at Alhaitham’s exposed collarbone, overcome by the whiplash of this whole conversation, let alone almost getting caught. He can barely even sense his snow-covered feet on the verge of hypothermia. He’s not obsessed with Alhaitham anymore. So why is he sweating so much now? Why can he only focus on their hips still locked together? And Alhaitham’s arm raised over him? And how much he doesn’t want this to end?

He tries to blow it all off with a smirk. “Told you, you’d get caught.”

Alhaitham’s eyes race around Kaveh’s face in a way that makes his pulse thrum wildly within him—then down his collarbone, up to his ears barely viewable through his let-down hair. His lips. “You just admitted that I’ve been your idol all your life.”

Wildly, unfathomably, thrumming. “I— What does that have to do with anything?”

“You were obsessed with me. Maybe you still are.”

Another weak laugh leaves Kaveh. “You won’t let this go, huh? It almost sounds like you want me to be obsessed with you.”

“What if I do?”

Kaveh prepares his next argument until he registers what Alhaitham said. The way his voice has fallen dangerously low, making Kaveh’s face flush with heat, even though it’s twenty degrees and dropping. The way they’re standing so close now that Alhaitham’s cologne and cigarette smoke twinges his nose. “Why the hell would you want that?”

Sighing, Alhaitham hangs his head, just enough for his bangs to drape over his eyes. “You really make up for your lack of brains with all your talent.”

“Seriously, what are—?”

Alhaitham pulls on Kaveh’s collar and brings their lips together.

Kaveh freezes as the alleyway fades to a blur around them, the realization of what’s happening simultaneously shaking him and making him feel like he’s hurtling through the midnight sky. The hand he perceives trailing up his neck and threading through his longer hair, the stubble grazing his own chin, the smoky breath infiltrating his lips. He can’t think how to move his mouth, much less come up with another insult. All he knows is how badly he wants Alhaitham’s lips to stay on his, even though he’s been the bane of his Hollywood existence. Even though he hasn’t done this in six years. For good reason. For necessity.

His body sinks forward as if on its own, allowing Alhaitham’s other hand to travel lower, hooking around Kaveh’s belt, pressing them closer.

Until Alhaitham rips their bodies apart, gripping Kaveh’s shoulders. He’s flushed more than before, his chest is rising and falling as he shoots a panicked look toward the block. “Fuck. Did you hear that?”

“Uh,” Kaveh says, exceptionally prolifically. “Hear what?”

“That noise.”

“There’s no one around.” Although Kaveh is admittedly trying to shake himself out of a stupor, so maybe there is. “Are you drunk?”

Alhaitham finally wraps his scarf back up his neck and mouth, then rakes a stressed hand through his hair. “I’m not. That’s the problem.”

Kaveh has no clue what that means. What any of this means. But Alhaitham must be lying about being drunk. He’d never risk standing out in public this obviously. Or do that to Kaveh.

Anxiety and regret roll through Kaveh. “I’m taking you back to the banquet,” he says, and it comes out sharper than he intends.

“I’m not going back into that hell,” Alhaitham says back. Like a goddamn child.

“Your room, then," Kaveh decides. "Or our feet will freeze.”

With that, Kaveh drags Alahitham back through the side door and up a stairwell leading up to the inn, AKA a one-floor apartment complex that hasn’t been renovated since the early 1900s. The furniture upholstery patterns clash, and the paisley wallpaper is stained from years of cigarette smoke.

Each step passes painfully slowly as Kaveh’s logic starts to connect in ways it hasn’t until this moment. The day he bought the motorcycle poster. Their nonstop arguments since the day they met. The question marks surrounding why he’s felt an unexplainable pull toward Alhaitham his whole life, which are now turning to bright-red exclamation points. But these are also sprouting a much larger, new question.

Isn’t Alhaitham straight?

Kaveh can’t face this right now. He just needs to get Alhaitham to his room.

Once Kaveh helps Alhaitham unlock the correct door, the two drift inside, revealing a room no bigger than a closet. Only the vague outline of a twin mattress and a loveseat are visible in the moonlight cascading from a gap in the blinds.

 “O-oka—h.” Kaveh’s voice lodges in his dry throat. He pounds his chest. “Okay. Goodnight.” He turns to leave for his own room.

“Wait,” Alhaitham says, gently tugging Kaveh back by the hem of his sweater. The moonlight carves shadows across his jawbone and freckles as he stands there, still. His gaze, however, wanders all around Kaveh again. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find it since no more words leave him.

Kaveh’s not sure what to say, either. As he debates what could garner such vulnerability out of a man like Alhaitham, he can only think of one possibility: He could be trying to convince Kaveh to stay.

But that’s impossible. Back when Alhaitham was deep in his cancellation era, and the news was infatuated with dissecting every night Alhaitham had an arm slung over someone new at a club, those someones were never men.

“One second,” Alhaitham finally says, shaking one of his wet pant legs. He walks toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna get out of this.”

“Wait—”

The bathroom door shuts.

Kaveh’s legs tremble as he drifts toward the twin bed, sinking down like an anchor. His blood is pumping so loudly in his ears that he can barely focus on anything other than the realization shaking through him. If Alhaitham had asked him to stay, he would’ve. In a heartbeat.

Alhaitham could still ask. He’s right in the other room.

A confusing wave of butterflies rolls through Kaveh. Ripping off his soaked shoes and socks, he falls back until his head slams the cardboard-hard pillow. He shuts his eyes to ground himself, to make everything just stop.

That’s when it hits Kaveh.

The asshole didn’t even share his secret for a secret.

Chapter Text

“AL-FUCKING-HAITHAM, WHY CAN’T YOU CONTROL YOUR DICK FOR TWO SECONDS?”

Kaveh sits up straight and grips hard onto his surroundings, his knuckles flashing white. Bedsheets. A bed. But his name isn’t Al-fucking-haitham. Fervent knocks come from the hotel room door. Not his door.

“UNLOCK THIS THING.” High-pitched voice. Nilou.

Kaveh eyes find the digital clock on a bedside table. 5:00 a.m. Then where an unconscious Alhaitham lays on his side. One of his toned arms takes up most of the twin mattress, his hand draped along Kaveh’s waist. No shirt. No pants. Only boxers.

Kaveh’s breath catches as he looks down at himself. Sweater. Jeans. Just no socks.

Safe.

While Alhaitham took a shower, Kaveh must’ve passed out. The warmth of Alhaitham’s hand is the last thing he wants to let go of, but the knocks on the door are growing increasingly loud. He wavers before shaking Alhaitham’s bare, freckly shoulder. “Wake up. Hey.”

Alhaitham’s head barely lifts off the pillow. “Huhpm?”

“YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS BEFORE I KICK THIS DOOR DOWN.”

That doesn’t sound like a joke.

Kaveh needs to hide. Now. He rips the sheets off his legs—since when did he pull sheets over himself?—and scrambles to stand. Just as a clicking noise comes from the door, and a light above the knob flicks from red to green, Kaveh rips open a coat closet. He shoves his body inside, bending around empty hangers and shelves. Through the few slits in the panel door, Kaveh makes out Nilou stomping into the room.

“ALHAITHAM, GET OUT OF BED.” She flicks her keycard toward the bed like a Frisbee. Presumably, at Alhaitham’s head.

A mixture of grunts and rustling sheets comes next, and then Alhaitham is by the door in his boxers, trying to shove her back into the hallway. She’s too persistent, wedging her foot in between the crack, and lifts her phone high. “What did you do last night?”

“Drink?” Alhaitham mutters, his voice like gravel.

Kaveh starts to sweat for more reasons than one. Primarily, because Alhaitham’s voice first thing in the morning makes his chest flip in ways he wishes it would not. Secondly, because this conversation is happening directly in front of him. If Nilou glances through the gap in these closet doors, he’s done. Hiding under the bed would have even been a better choice.

“Look at the screen,” Nilou goes on, shoving her phone practically into Alhaitham’s nose. She must’ve just launched herself out of bed since her long red hair looks more like a mane, and she has on galaxy-print pajamas. Kaveh dreams of blowing up like the supernovas all over her arms and legs so he no longer has to be here. “Who were you smacking lips with last night?”

Maybe it’s the dim lighting with the partly closed blinds, but Alhaitham looks a shade paler now. “Who took those?”

Kaveh’s world slows to a stop, fear after fear barreling through him. Someone saw them. An inn employee? The cat lady behind the cash register? Maybe they were followed from the airport. And then what about the show? Kaveh's own career?

“That’s the first thing you ask?” Nilou shrieks so loudly that Kaveh jumps. He knocks into a plastic hanger against the wall.

Nilou's brow furrows. “What was that noise?”

“Rats,” Alhaitham says, but he glances directly at Kaveh in the closet instead of the floor. “They run the city.”

“What?”

“Listen, we were in the alley. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think. Even if no one knows you’re on Kidneeto from these photos, you haven’t been spotted in almost two years, and you’re in people’s heads again. Who knows how much longer our disguise for you will last now that you’ve made out with someone in public? Some man? Since when are you into men?”

Someone puts a pause on Kaveh’s spiral, replacing it with a mix of shock and relief. Not Kaveh. That must mean Nilou truly has no clue who Alhaitham kissed. Same for the news. Whatever angle those photos were taken at must not have caught his face in the dark.

“How bad is it?” Alhaitham mutters, running a hand through his bedhead, but his expression is too distorted by the closet doors for Kaveh to make it out.

Nilou swipes through what must be her camera roll. “Alhaitham Out of Rehab—and the Closet? Alhaitham Caught Vulgarly ‘Getting Some’ with NYC Mystery Man. Newest Anon Hookup for Alhaitham: Speculations & Predictions. Alhaitham, Spiritually Lost after Parents’ Death, Turns to Homosexuality. Shall I go on?”

A pause. “No.”

“Who were you swapping spit with? Someone on the show? They’re fired.”

“Don’t.” Alhaitham’s voice comes out so deep, borderline threatening, that a chill races through Kaveh. “This was my fault.”

Even Nilou seems taken aback by her brief hesitation. “Who is it, Alhaitham?”

Kaveh winces. Don’t say it.

“Ka—”

“AahhAHHH—” flings out of Kaveh’s mouth as he whips open the closet door on a burst of adrenaline and desperation. He tosses out his hands. “Dark!”

Nilou shrieks, dropping into a fetal position.

“It was too dark for Alhaitham to see who he was making out with,” Kaveh shouts over her curled body. He has no clue what he’s doing, but he can’t get fired. He can’t.

“—veh,” Alhaitham says. "It was Kaveh."

Kaveh socks Alhaitham’s forearm. “Seriously?”

Alhaitham winces as he rubs away the pain. “Popping out of my closet wasn’t going to make all of this obvious?”

“I could’ve been talking you down all night as a friend.”

“Like a fucking sleepover?”

“Stop acting like children,” Nilou snaps and pops back up from the floor. She whips a pointer finger between the two, her gaze narrow and fierce. “Okay. Okay! When I told you both to get along during the tour, this is not what I meant. Command one: Stop fooling around with each other. Now. Or you’re off the show.”

Kaveh’s heart drops in the face of another life-altering threat. “We didn’t do anything—”

“Command two: Go back to your rooms and practice for tonight’s show so you don’t bomb. There’s also a back room in the bodega. Call is four-thirty at the park. Command three: After the show, return here and sleep in your own rooms. Now, say, yes, Merry Mystical Director Nilou, or so help me, you’ll be singing as part of his heavenly choir.”

Alhaitham stares at the stained carpet like he’s witnessed the whole world crumble, hollow and drained. “Yes.”

More than anything, Kaveh wants to reach forward and ask Alhaitham if he's all right, but he knows the answer. Alhaitham is so unmistakably crushed, proving his NDA that hides his name from the public must’ve been fueled by his own desires. Not Kidneeto’s. Kaveh has no clue what could motivate someone to no longer want to exist to the universe this much.

Although Kaveh doesn’t even understand his own motivations lately. He kissed a guy last night—one he supposedly hates—and liked it.

“Kaveh?” Nilou says, waiting.

The realization that this week will be a bigger nightmare hits Kaveh hard, even if he follows all of Nilou’s commands. Because he doesn’t hate Alhaitham. It’s very much, in fact, the opposite. He can’t deny that any longer.

But Kaveh has become a master at swallowing feelings his whole life to survive. Nothing should be different this time around. “Yes, Merry Mystical Director Nilou.”

“Cheers.” She thrusts a finger at the door. “Kaveh, return to your room.”

⛤

Kaveh slaps himself with the force of a jet engine, knocking his head so off-kilter that his cheek flashes red in the bathroom mirror reflection. He wants to convince himself that this isn’t his fault, that Alhaitham was the one to make the move, but Kaveh didn’t pull back. He wanted more, even though that could mean losing everything he’s worked for, and all for Alhaitham.

What the hell. Alhaitham.

Kaveh’s confusion overloads. He whips out his phone—thank God that’s still in his pocket after last night—and video calls the only person he can. After three rings, the screen loads with Faruzan’s face.

“Yellow,” she says, holding a cocktail shaker while standing behind the bar at You’re on Fire. A long, pointed green cap belonging to some video game character covers most of her ringlets. Customers might be sitting around to eavesdrop.

Kaveh’s too panicked to care. “I kissed Alhaitham. The celebrity.”

The cocktail shaker falls out of Faruzan’s hand. Clanging metallic noises distort the phone speaker. “What.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Did you, or didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Shut up.” Faruzan waves at someone offscreen, seemingly an apologetic gesture for everything Faruzan just did, and then disappears into the back room. “Go on.”

Kaveh groans as he paces out of the bathroom and over to the made bed he has yet to touch. “He kissed me, okay? We work together. But you can’t tell anyone. Or I'll get sued.”

“You’re getting sued?”

“Never mind. Just—he has an NDA. You didn’t see the news?”

“What news?”

“We got caught.”

“Kissing?” Faruzan’s screen goes blank while she pulls up the internet. Thirty seconds later, she’s back, grinning. “Alhaitham, spiritually lost after parents’ death, turns to homosexuality?”

“It’s gotten slightly out of hand.”

“Clearly. Well, I'm happy for you.”

“Happy for me?” Kaveh repeats. “That’s it? No more shock value here?”

Faruzan stares back as if Kaveh is the most brainless man in the universe. Lately, he’s starting to wonder if that’s true. “Your whole life, you’ve obsessed over the guy.”

“Not obsessed. Admired. Then hated. Because he hated me.”

“Hate and obsession are a fine line.”

“Look, one minute, I was talking about how I had a poster of him on my wall when I was younger,” Kaveh says, returning to his erratic pacing, “and for some reason, he wouldn’t stop bothering me about which one I had and why I owned it. Like, why did he care that he was sitting on a motorcycle in my bedroom?”

Faruzan continues to stare.

Kaveh is getting sick of that look. “What now?”

“People who own shirtless posters of guys usually aren’t not attracted to that. He was trying to verify your”—Faruzan gestures vaguely at the screen—“interests.”

“I didn’t buy the poster because his shirt was off.”

“You sure about that, bud?”

Yes, sizzles on the tip of Kaveh's tongue. Yes, Alhaitham was just my idol who was only two years younger than me and everything I wanted to be, and I respected him because of that, and I really liked staring at that poster to remind me of my goals.

“Yes?” finally exits Kaveh’s lips, but it’s close to a squeak.

“I’m guessing Alhaitham took your poster news as a green light to act on what he’d been wanting to,” Faruzan says. “I bet he’s been flirting with you way before this, too.”

“I would’ve noticed that.”

“Humans are less than fifty percent accurate in determining if they’re being flirted with. Knowing you, you gotta be a four. Go eat him up.”

Kaveh grips his hair that he hasn't combed in a day. He’s never playing secret for a secret with Alhaitham again. He didn’t even get a secret. Or maybe he did. Maybe that kiss was the secret. Has he been flirting with Kaveh?

“I can’t," Kaveh says. "He doesn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“You know.”

“Oh,” Faruzan says. “You technically don’t know what he is, either.”

“I guess, but this is— He knows all of Hollywood. He’s the last person who can know.”

“Are you positive that keeping this on the down-low is worth your trouble? I get why you’re scared, but it seems like it’s really stressing you out lately.”

“We’ve been over this,” Kaveh says without a hint of hesitation. “Name a single transgender actor is on the Walk of Fame.”

Faruzan tries and fails to hide a wince. “Didn’t you say Alhaitham has an NDA right now? That he can’t talk to anyone lately? Maybe it wouldn’t spread as much as you think.”

It’s a good point. But the last time the two played secret for a secret, Kaveh was the only one left exposed in the end. To possibly do that a second time would be pathetic, and the thought alone knocks sense back into him. “Either way, I don’t have the time for something like this. I need to focus on work. Getting known. Supporting myself without anyone else's help anymore. You know?”

Faruzan doesn’t respond right away. “Have you reconsidered my idea to improve your mental health stats?"

Kaveh’s brow lifts all the way to his hairline. He knows what that means. Therapy. “Wow, way to flip this conversation.”

“I’m not.”

Kaveh knows she’s coming from a good place. He knows. But he never wants to relive any of this, and now parts of his body are shutting down as he remains silent on the screen.

The tension grows too thick for someone as bubbly as Faruzan, and she eventually clears her throat. “What if you get home early from a live show or something? You’d just be lying on your bed, bored during that downtime. No way to work. All alone, totally secluded. You’ll probably have a lot of chances over the next few weeks to have fun.”

Those are admittedly more good points. A million different emotions roll through Kaveh as the memory of them in the alley replays in his imagination. How he sank into Alhaitham’s arms so strangely willingly, and how he didn’t know a kiss could feel like that, so distinctly needed by his body despite his mind screaming it was dangerous and wrong. He didn’t even mind Alhaitham’s cigarette breath with how soft his lips felt. But that’s screwed up. He’ll get Alhaitham to quit.

No, why would he care if he quits? This is just fun, like Faruzan said.

An undeniable excitement trills inside of Kaveh at the idea, even though it's wrong. As long as the two can get caught and face severe repercussions, they can't have fun.

But what if Alhaitham approaches him instead? Would Kaveh truly have the willpower to turn Alhaitham down?

Chapter Text

@Alhaithamscanonwifereborn

HE’S OUT OF REHAB I’M VIBRATING RISE UP ALHAITHAM NATION WE WON

3hr ♡ 5236

@theepcotball.ishot

I would pay a billion dollars to listen to Alhaitham go on a podcast to talk about his crashout at the Oscars two years later. And, I guess, that he’s gay now.

56m ♡ 281

@deezfnafnuts20031410

not alhaitham popping out from the pits of hell i’m writing satan to return the package asap

2h ♡ 463

@arash1_3481

Finally Alhaitham is back . His shitshows were so entertaining . Looks like that is still the case since he is making out with man

9m ♡ 28

⛤

Taking up Nilou’s advice to use the bodega’s back room may have been a mistake on Kaveh’s part, considering the towering cardboard boxes inside barely leave any usable floor space. Walking through the room, he trips over two boxes and knocks over three. How he’s expected to practice here for a live show that could make or break their careers floors him, but staying in his room one thin wall away from Alhaitham sounds much worse.

While Kaveh loads the show's theme song on his phone, the door squeaks open again.

Alhaitham, finally wearing sweatpants over his boxers alongside some eagle-branded white tee. He pushes his shades into his gray hair, which is still messy from the morning.

The two stare at each other from opposite sides of the room. A cardboard box falls and lands between them.

“Hi,” Kaveh says.

“Hello,” Alhaitham says so quietly, it’s barely heard over the clanging radiator. The bags under his eyes are deep enough to be bruises. Whether that’s the consequences of a hangover, his name trending all over the internet, or a package deal, Kaveh isn’t sure.

Kaveh’s heart hammers as the conversation he had with Faruzan about having fun infiltrates his mind. He sets his backpack on a box to fetch his previous scripts. It’s obvious they haven’t talked about last night from the awkwardness clinging to the stale bodega air. Mostly, though, he just wants to ask if Alhaitham is hanging in there.

“You decided to follow Nilou’s idea, too?” Kaveh asks instead. He isn’t going to be the first to bring up emotions, especially when they have five hours to figure out a live show.

“I was hoping to find you here, actually,” Alhaitham says, scrubbing his face to wake himself up more. His palm scratches against his stubble that he’s let grow out more than usual.

Something stirs inside of Kaveh over the rare, gruff look to him. “Oh?” 

“I saw that Nilou sent over the song orders. You memorize the theme song yet?”

Not what Kaveh was expecting nor hoping for. He tries to ignore the sinking in his chest. He attempted to memorize the theme song on the plane, but his night-shift exhaustion turned the lyrics in his Notes app to hieroglyphics. “Sort of. We need to add some movement while we sing it. I can improvise that. You?”

“I tried to in my room,” Alhaitham mutters. “I’m not doing so hot. That’s why I was looking for you.”

“You’re asking for my help?”

“If that’s allowed.”

Kaveh looks at his backpack again and files through his scripts to find episode three, his heart beating harder. Nilou said they’re supposed to keep their distance, but she also said they need to get along in terms of the show. “This is work. It’s allowed.”

“Really? Thanks.” He pauses. “Do you want kid tip stuff in exchange?”

Kaveh shakes his head at his backpack. “Maybe tomorrow. We’ve been through enough today. Let’s just focus on making sure it doesn’t get any worse.”

Footsteps come up behind Kaveh, and then Alhaitham is leaning over his shoulder and inspecting the scripts, too. His cologne swirls around Kaveh the same way as last night. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“It’s for us both,” Kaveh tries to say as calm as possible, but Alhaitham’s mouth hovers too close to his own ear for comfort. “If you look bad, I look bad.”

A pause. “Well, I am doing fine.”

“Good.” But out of the corner of Kaveh’s eye, he catches Alhaitham’s eyes glazing over at a part of Kaveh’s neck left exposed by his pulled-up hair. “Are you? Good?”

Kaveh’s cheeks go up in flames. He’s just in his usual rehearsal clothes—sweatpants and a compression shirt—which he’s worn plenty of times before. There’s no way Alhaitham just did that. But Kaveh’s anxiety still skyrockets, making him spin around too suddenly. His stubby ponytail thwacks Alhaitham’s cheek.

“Sorry,” Kaveh splutters.

Alhaitham blinks a few times. “I’m taking it that you’re not fine.”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Why wouldn’t I be?”

They fall into another silence. An answer in itself.

It’s enough to make Kaveh break. “Fine. I’m not good. We’re seriously going to do our lesson and ignore what happened last night?”

Alhaitham’s frame stiffens. He meanders toward the minimal space at the center of the room, dodging cardboard boxes in the process. “We don’t have a choice.”

“I know, but—”

“I should have never kissed you.”

The words sting Kaveh to his core.

“Oh.” It’s all he can think to say in the face of that cold reaction, especially after he was treated so warmly in that alley. There’s no way only five drinks could’ve made Alhaitham’s heart melt that much.

“It’ll never happen again,” Alhaitham says. “I mean, we’re just attracted to each other. Nothing more. Right?”

Less than a day ago, Kaveh didn’t view Alhaitham as anything other than the ultimate douche of Los Angeles. Obviously, he should agree. Yet a weight so heavy pulls through him that his legs may crumble beneath it. “Yeah. No feelings.”

Alhaitham eyes him oddly. “You look sick.”

Does he?

Well, kissing Alhaitham is a lot to digest. He definitely doesn’t have real feelings. He could never—for anyone. But. “Were you really just drunk?”

Alhaitham takes a step closer again, and his toe rams against a cardboard box. “Shit.” He frowns at it. “I told you; I wasn’t.”

“Then why the hell did you do that?”

“Because—” Alhaitham grips the roots of his curls. Does a whole spin. “Look at you."

Kaveh does, glancing downward. He’s a little under six feet and too skinny. “Yes?”

“I’ve developed an ulcer trying to hold back during all of our practices. Fuck.” He gestures at where Kaveh’s compression shirt meets his waistband. “Come on.”

Alhaitham knew he was kissing Kaveh. Even in the face of proof, he still can’t believe it, let alone the strained desperation coating his once idol’s words. He needs to be a hundred percent sure. “You like guys?”

“Is that not obvious?”

“T-tubular.” Kaveh debates slamming his head against a box and knocking himself unconscious so he doesn’t have to bear the rest of this uncomfortable conversation. “Same.”

“I know. You owned a shirtless poster of me.”

Kaveh tries to frown, but his embarrassment makes his mouth warble instead. Alhaitham plays the love interest to practically every female lead in top-grossing romantic comedies and dramas. Right now, speculations over their alleyway encounter are blowing up the internet. If the news had confirmation of Alhaitham’s interests, the whole world might go up in flames, especially after the slew of women he got caught with at so many clubs. Every night.

“What’s wrong?” Alhaitham asks, pulling Kaveh out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re biting your lip.”

Does he do that? “There used to be talk about how you’d hang out with women. A lot. At night. That’s all.”

Alhaitham’s gaze sharpens in a way that makes Kaveh wish he could stuff those words back into his mouth. “You believe what the media says?”

“Er, no,” Kaveh says carefully. “But there were photos of you at clubs.”

Alhaitham walks over to a box and sits, sighing out what sounds like a lifetime of exhaustion. As he rubs the bags under his eyes, he looks like it, too. “I was trying to figure myself out.”

Kaveh drifts toward him, claiming a box nearby, too. “Figure yourself out?”

“Fix myself, I guess, is more accurate. I was banking on getting with tons of different women to make a switch eventually flip. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.”

“Oh.” An uneasiness rises to Kaveh’s chest. “You felt the need to do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Half of LA is gay."

“Tell that to my grandmother.” 

“Oh.” Kaveh’s shoulders shrink. “She owns Kidneeto technically, right?”

“Yeah. She didn’t know until recently. I sort of broke down and told her after I got out of that weird day in that rehab place. I mean, she’s fine with it. I think. We didn’t really talk about it. But.” He rolls back his shoulders. “Not many other people still know. Only a small few.”

 “You told others?”

“Well, I’d imagine the guys I’ve fucked since then know.”

“Right. Right!” Kaveh chuckles awkwardly, but jealousy and intrigue fight for attention within him.

“The night I punched that one actor on TV—Childe—was the first time I really talked to a guy in a way I wanted to,” Alhaitham goes on, but his gaze is far now. “Probably because I’d been drunk for weeks, and it had corroded my filter. He was, unfortunately, Childe's plus one without me knowing. His friend. Childe overheard.”

“What happened?”

“He was reciting some names the news had been calling me.” Alhaitham sneers. “We were up for the same award. Maybe that weasel wanted to get in my head.”

Kaveh barely knows Childe. Mostly since he only started popping up a few years ago. He's younger than Alhaitham, has an uncomfortably Facetune-ish look, and plays similar roles to Alhaitham, too, charming audiences into falling in love alongside the protagonist. Maybe Childe has been patching up the gaping hole Alhaitham left in the industry. “So, you want to hide that you’re gay.”

Alhaitham shrugs. “Why come out to the world for a few nobodies? None of them have been worth it so far.”

A pang strikes Kaveh’s chest.

Alhaitham’s own face shifts, too, so it must’ve been obvious. “That’s not how I see you. It’s that the news— And this job, I need it—” He pauses. “Just know that if I could kiss you again, right now, I would.”

Just like that, the pang inside of Kaveh vanishes, replaced by heat that blossoms up to his cheeks. He understands, in a sense, when getting caught could mean a lost job for them. But something confuses him—and has for a long time. “You need this job?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I can’t say. Legally.”

Nilou’s theory about Alhaitham trying to prove himself to his grandmother and gain custody of Collei feels more like a fact now. Lawyers must be involved. Either way, it’s serious. Kaveh gained more answers, but he’s only more at a loss. Knowing they find each other attractive while being unable to act on that will hang over them like a heavy cloud until the tour is over. When they return to LA, too. When they stand side-by-side at more rehearsals. More meet-and-greets.

Alhaitham said nothing would ever happen again. “Let’s practice,” Kaveh says, rising off his box. “We only have to be absolutely perfect until the final show in LA, right? When that exec comes to evaluate. We have time.”

“Yeah.” Alhaitham’s shoulders lose tension.

“And we can social distance from each other. Keep six feet. So we don’t touch.”

Alhaitham stands too. His white T-shirt shifts around his toned chest nearly too much for Kaveh’s stability to handle. “Sure. Yeah. No touching.”

The two get into place, but with the limited floorspace, social distancing is a logistical nightmare. Alhaitham tries to kick away a few cardboard boxes, only to nearly break his toe against the hundreds of pounds of bodega junk inside them. Their distance turns from six to three.

Kaveh smiles weakly. “Three feet is fine?”

“Better than two,” Alhaitham says, just as weakly.

On his phone, Kaveh hits play on his live show playlist, then wedges it between his waistband and hip as he starts the choreography lesson. Attempts, more like, since being barred from touching makes everything ten times more difficult. It’s impossible to dodge Alhaitham’s accidental heated touches and ignore the hands grazing his hips and arms brushing against his own, his breath hitching each time. He briefly debates the easiest way to throw himself off the Brooklyn Bridge without causing too much fuss so that he no longer has to endure the unbearable tension.

But he can’t. Because tonight, they can’t pause the cameras. Kaveh will prove to New York City that his name deserves to be as known as Alhaitham. Who he definitely will not touch.

Chapter Text

“Good evening, mates and pals of Bryant Park,” Nilou’s lighthearted voice booms over the pop-up stage speakers. “The Merry Musical Multidimensional Music Show: Live! will begin soon. Please prepare to silence all phones.”

Kaveh peeks through the backstage curtain, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering inside of him. Past the collection of string and brass instruments set on stage, the rows of folding chairs are full of bodies. Despite the forty-degree temperature and minimal heat lamps lining the aisles, this audience doubles their mall meet-and-greet. If the turnout is similar for the rest of the tour, they really might get a second season.

At least, if they don’t screw up.

Someone yanks Kaveh back by his tuba costume collar so hard that he chokes. Alhaitham, in a headset mic taped against his cheek and a battery pack clipped to his hip. At some point since their impromptu practice, he shaved his stubble and styled his hair neatly back, the way the single moms prefer. He’s already trapped in his feathery masquerade mask, top hat, leggings, and sheer sleeves, but his suitcoat is still folded and dangled over an arm. “If you can see the audience, then the audience can see you.”

Kaveh’s body prickles with warmth as their no-touching rule shines bright in his mind. Technically, they’re alone. Dehya and Cyno have to enter on the opposite side of the stage. But he still wishes Alhaitham would put on that coat. “I know. Just wanted to check on how many people came.”

“Nervous?”

“A little.” Not only because Alhaitham’s movements barely improved during their practice, nor because they didn’t have enough time to work on his raspy, yodel-y singing. Because the instruments on stage are like ominous tombstones, reminding Kaveh of what’s to come. Wild, untamed kids, being invited in droves to play and dance alongside them.

“At the very least, you know I have things worse than you,” Alhaitham says.

Kaveh scoffs. He anxiously fiddles with the headset mic taped to his own cheek. He hasn’t had to wear one of these since his high school theatre days. “You think so?”

Alhaitham lifts his galaxy top hat. A stout bird with a small head, short neck, and gray and white plumage has its talons dug deep into his hair.

Kaveh blinks at the bird. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Alhaitham says.

“Why?”

“Nilou believes a magician should have a real bird to wow the audience. So, she made Tighnari grab this pigeon that she spotted in front of a Bank of America.”

“It’s just going to politely stand in there?”

Alhaitham puts his top hat back on, and the pigeon’s wings flutter as it vanishes into darkness. “According to her, all pigeons are domesticated. She googled that they could last under a hat for forty minutes. There’s a cage on stage if we go over that. Guess I’ll reveal it when the mood feels right.”

Kaveh sighs over how barely functioning their cast is for the hundredth time. “The improvisational parts are what I’m most nervous about, too.”

“Why? You’re the actual good singer and dancer here.”

A smile rises to Kaveh’s face, but it fades quickly. When those kids invade the stage in a matter of minutes, one could call him a name, and he might accidentally wish death upon its whole family back. Career over. Maybe even arrested. “The, um, kids, mostly.”

Alhaitham nods a few times. “I know I haven’t given you many kid tips yet like Nilou wants. But honestly, I don’t think you need many.”

“Funny joke.”

“I’m not joking.”

"They cry at me. Run from me.”

“The kid brats on our set do. Because they’re used to being babied. I think the average kid appreciates when an adult treats them as an equal. Well, you don’t like them, so not equal. At least like a fellow adult. You’ll be okay.” Alhaitham reaches toward Kaveh’s shoulder, but then his arm jerks upward to readjust the brim of his top hat instead.

It’s an obvious cover-up, and both of them know, a charged awkwardness settling between them.

Kaveh fixes his mic again to keep his nervous energy busy, to distract himself from how badly he aches for that touch despite the rules they’ve established. He faces his attention toward the stage and curtains.

“Collei likes you a lot,” Alhaitham eventually mutters, breaking the silence. “She brings you up sometimes.”

That grabs Kaveh’s attention. He turns Alhaitham’s way again. “You guys talk about me?”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond, but the way his eyes quickly wander around the curtain like he’s said too much feels like one.

Feedback distorts over the speakers. Nilou shouts, “And now, the Merry Musical Multidimensional Music Show: Live! will begin.”

Alhaitham puts on his suitcoat, then his masquerade mask, and enters stage left.

Through the curtains, Dehya and Cyno do the same from stage right.

Kaveh tries to put on his tuba head correctly and follow suit, but the aftermath of facing such sincerity from Alhaitham has him tripping up. Once he finally gets onstage, an unexpected bump of confidence over the Collei news flows through him, adding bounce to his typically lugged steps. Although he’s clueless about how she could ever like him, considering the relentless Sriracha coffee attacks. Once he stands beside Alhaitham, applause erupts from the folding chairs. The speakers blare the Merry Musical Multidimensional Music Show theme song: a mess of marimba, maraca, synthesized electric guitar, and drums.

“Grab your guitar, your drums, and your flute,” Kaveh sings on pitch, his mic carrying his voice throughout the park.

“With practice, we'll make music that's cute,” Alhaitham chants, already off-key. Also, unfortunately, throughout the park.

Kaveh winces under his tuba head. He follows the blocking they came up with in the bodega back room, side-stepping to the right while barely dodging the countless instruments. “The Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician and Twiggy Tuba, a crime-fighting team. With your help, they’ll stop the bad instruments’ schemes.”

Alhaitham ventures left toward the bird cage, much more clumsily this time. He rattles his magician’s wand in the air. “Let's learn to pluck and blow and sing. In the merry musical mansion, music saves everything.”

Kaveh and Alhaitham come together and finish the last line in unison.

“Thanks for joining our show; we hope you have fun. We’ll play until the music's done!”

The audience goes wild with whistles and claps and cheers.

“Now,” Kaveh says, grabbing whatever instrument rests on the stand beside him. Squinting through his vision ports, he barely makes out a viola and accompanying bow on the floor. He grabs both to show the audience. “Who would like to help the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician and me play the viola?”

Tiny hands fly up. Names are shouted. Parents lift their kids on their goddamn shoulders.

Kaveh blanches, unsure how to pick one without every other parent shooting him dead. They never had a dress rehearsal or talked about logistics.

“You,” Alhaitham calls, taking over. He points his wand toward a boy no older than ten, sitting six rows in the distance. “In the red and blue!”

The boy lights up. As his mom pats him on the back in approval, he rushes up the stage steps and stands worryingly close to Kaveh’s legs. His hair sticks up like a porcupine, and his jacket replicates Spiderman with eye sockets cut out of the hood.

Dehya and Cyno play background music as they surround Alhaitham, preparing to duel Twiggy Tuba similarly to the third episode.

“Uh, kid,” Kaveh says, lifting the viola bow. “Have you held one of these before?”

“Nu-uh,” Spiderkid says.

“Well, this is worth a whole year of your future college tuition.” He points along the side. “These are called hairs because they’re delicate enough to be hairs. Be careful—”

A familiar, pathetic, brass sound effect interrupts him. The signal to start the duel with Alhaitham and company.

The kid snatches the bow out of Kaveh’s hand with no less grace than a cow, then does the same to the poor viola.

Kaveh is cloudy on how Nilou acquired and afforded these instruments, but he highly suspects that any damage means more cuts out of their pay. “You can’t—”

“You, there!” Alhaitham shouts across the stage. Through his masquerade mask, his glare screams at Kaveh to mentally clock into the scene. “You aren’t our friend Triangle!”

“No,” Kaveh says, reluctantly turning away from the kid. “I am here to take away your orchestra for myself with my super blowing tuba powers!”

Alhaitham flicks his wand, but he doesn’t jump back and forth like he did during this episode. Despite their dance lessons, his shoulder pads are scrunched as his body tenses. “Your, um… super blowing powers…are weak.”

A high-pitched, blood-curdling squeal echoes through the park. Spiderkid, scratching the bow against the viola with the force of a hydraulic press. Even with zero mics on him and the instrument, the audience flinches.

Alhaitham clears his throat. “You are no tuba. You are a twiggy tuba! You’re too small.”

Another high-pitched squeal comes from Spiderkid, and a chirp comes from Alhaitham’s head, his top hat rustling. The pigeon, fluttering in a panic over the noise.

Thankfully, the kid can’t see Kaveh sending dagger eyes through his tuba head. “I’m sorry, Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Magician,” he says, trying to ignore him. “I don’t hate you. I’m jealous of you.”

“Why are you jealous of me?” Alhaitham asks.

Kaveh hesitates on his line. It’s a script. Fake. But the question coming from Alhaitham, of all people, makes it feel real. As early as twelve, Kaveh thought he was supposed to be jealous, but that was before he’d uncovered how much Alhaitham has had to hide about himself, too. From millions. A squealy horn sound effect blares over the speakers, yanking Kaveh back in. “You have a totally tubular orchestra. Something I could never have!”

“You could’ve joined my orchestra in my mystical, magical mansion.”

“Can I still?”

Alhaitham laughs as deeply and pompously as usual. “After trying to fight me? No.”

“Please, I’ll…” Kaveh’s quickly approaching lines invade his mind. Echoes through his bones. I want you to blow me. I’m sorry, Magician. I want you— “I-I’ll do anything. I admire you so much. Honk, honk!”

“Then I’ll need an apology.”

That’s Kaveh’s cue. Time to finally get on his hands and grovel.

An odd plunk noise distracts him. Kaveh's focus drifts toward the source.

Spiderkid, who’s no longer playing the viola. He’s ripping the hairs right off the bow. “Fear my webs!” he shouts toward the audience, shooting the hairs out of his ten-year-old palms.

Kaveh gasps and lunges toward the kid, but the clunking of his costume’s tubes and mouthpieces slows him down. “I just said that’s expensive!”

Spiderkid shrieks as if Kaveh has transformed into the Green Goblin, and he holds the bow like a baseball bat and swings. His grip slips, and the bow goes flying.

Kaveh’s eyes split open. He ducks just in time, and a clunk comes from somewhere behind him. Stumbling back around, a crunch comes from beneath his feet. Alhaitham’s top hat. On the stage floor. Crumpled.

Unmoving.

Alhaitham stands behind him, hatless, his gaze locked on the concerningly still hat.

“Was…” Kaveh whispers, heart pounding, “the bird in there?”

“I don’t know,” Alhaitham whispers back.

A springy, goofy sound effect plays over the speakers, leading into the next number. Recorded kid voices chant Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician, a forte star! Twiggy Tuba, a pianissimo sidekick! They do good things!”

Cyno and Dehya gather around to instigate their first evil instrument fight with the saxophone despite there being no hired extra to play the character this time. Tighnari rushes from backstage to escort a still-shrieking Spiderkid back to his mom.

“Oh, a saxophone goes fweeeuuh! fweeeuuh!” Alhaitham says, his deeper voice cracking as he attempts to imitate a saxophone sound. He’s still watching his too-motionless top hat out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, how they slowly moan.”

Time for Kaveh to sing the next verse, but he’s also distracted by the hat. He side-steps through the pain. “Together, with my help, I’ll lead you to the sax den.”

“Oh, the sax den, sax den, where the bad saxophones moan,” they sing in unison, pointedly avoiding eye contact at all costs.

The show passes in a blur of continual almost-disasters. During Oh, a Trumpet, Alhaitham screws up his blocking so dreadfully that he trips Kaveh, and Kaveh has to sing the duet from the floor to fake that it was on purpose. Two more children nearly break every instrument on stage when they try to dance along. Once they finish their last scene about the bad instruments living happily in the magician mansion, they bow before lukewarm applause, and the curtains close. While Dehya and Cyno rush off to change out of their costumes, Kaveh stays frozen, mentally recounting the nightmare in flashes. Spiderkid’s parents might complain online. Everyone in those folding chairs might.

They have to pull off five more of these shows.

“My first live show ever, directed by me!” Nilou announces from stage left. "Are you watching me, William?"

“Who?” Alhaitham asks beside her, taking off his suitcoat.

“William Shakespeare. Where’s your pigeon?”

“Uh.”

“It’s bonded to you now, so find it. We’re bringing it along with us for the rest of the tour.” She gently taps Alhaitham’s arm. “What was that horrible dancing out there, by the way? Why did Kaveh fall? Why did no one stop the kid with the bow? This won’t fly with the execs.”

Kaveh’s heart sinks the longer he overhears more ways he’s once again failed. It won’t fly with their execs. He knows that, but he’s trying. He looks away, focusing on the crinkled top hat they dodged throughout the show instead. Taking off his tuba head, he walks over and kneels before the remains. No blood. No bones. No bird.

He sighs in relief.

A burst of laughter comes nearby, and Kaveh turns again.

Alhaitham. Laughing. Deep and resonant and real. At least, compared to the bitter smirks Kaveh has only ever received. He speaks to an unfamiliar, fit Black man around the same age as him now instead of Nilou. From the Rolex to the chiseled face, the man looks perfect beside a world-renowned actor like Alhaitham, who’s still using his Australian accent. Maybe a kid’s father. A fan. Or Alhaitham is simply being careful in the park, and they do know each other. Tons of actors live New York City. It could be one of the men he’d once gotten to know well.

The man touches Alhaitham’s arm. Alhaitham smiles more.

Something inside of Kaveh shatters. The sensation throws him, shakes his last six years in a way he refuses to acknowledge.

Keeping his head low, Kaveh walks past them on the way into a backstage changing room to get out of costume, then endures the two blocks back to the inn alone, the laughter drifting further away.

Chapter Text

The next tour stop is in Detroit. Then Houston. Alhaitham’s voice and legs make more mistakes onstage. Cyno’s and Dehya’s bags get lost on a connecting flight. The pigeon, which Nilou names Bank of America due to its acquisition location, adds significant travel fees to the Kidneeto company card. Thankfully, they keep selling out every venue.

Then there’s Kaveh, who, so far, has made a child cry every other night. Not every. It’s better, and Alhaitham’s big shoulders block the audience’s view until his magical Australian charm stops the kids from dry heaving otherwise. No more online cancellations have been spotted by Tighnari either, who keeps vigilant watch between operating their tech and sound.

There are more laughs, too. With Dehya, who’s started calling Kaveh, K, as a nickname. With Cyno, who updates him on Gloria’s gloomy side effects every morning over breakfast. Even with Tighnari, who bought him a bright-pink Frappuccino after the Detroit show.

Unfortunately, despite the city changing every other day, the uncomfortably close placement of Kaveh and Alhaitham’s rooms doesn’t. Neither does Alhaitham’s large amount of handsy admirers post-Rolex-watch-guy. With only cheap motel walls splitting the two, Kaveh can barely stop his mind from racing long enough to sleep. So by the time they reach San Diego for their second-to-last show, and Nilou passes out keycards in the lobby with Alhaitham in Room 28 and Kaveh in Room 29, Kaveh finally cracks.

He taps Nilou’s shoulder. “Hey, is there a reason why you’ve been putting Alhaitham and me next to each other?”

“Hm?” Nilou says, passing Tighnari the last one. In her other hand, she holds Bank of America in a bird cage, who coos.

“Our rooms,” Kaveh says. “We’re always next to each other.”

“I’ve just been doing in order of our character list. Something wrong?”

Being on the verge of a breakdown means Kaveh didn’t think through a sound excuse as to why he’d care. “Alhaitham snores? Like a hog. I can hear him through the wall. I want to make sure I’m awake enough for our shows.”

“Bummer.” Nilou points to the elevators, where the cast has already ventured to the second floor. “Someone might be willing to swap rooms. Not me, though. I hear pins drop.”

Hope sparks inside of him. He forgot what that felt like.

“Check out your room first, though,” Nilou adds. “Don’t tell a soul, but I splurged on yours and Alhaitham’s. Well, they cost extra, so I’d hope that they’re better. I want my leads to be in tip-top form for our execs by the time we reach LA!”

Between smacking lips with Alhaitham and almost killing children and birds every night, Kaveh nearly forgot about the top execs evaluating their performance for their second season prospects soon. Kaveh should care about this only, but the promise of a special room wins over his thought priority. Maybe he’ll have a king bed. A suite.

But then he takes in the boring brown loveseats and vacant information counter that is the San Diego Hotel Inn Express, where the scent of musty leather and stale air freshener hangs in the air. Maybe that’s wishful thinking. Following Nilou’s orders, he heads to the second floor. When he opens Room 29, he sees not only that he’s beside Alhaitham, but that the rooms are connected by an adjoining door.

He goes still.

That was the extra cost.

Immediately, Kaveh steps back out, rushes down the hall, and latches onto the first cast member he finds. “Cyno,” he hisses, digging his fingers into the man’s arm.

Cyno screams and spins around in his recognizable Celtic cross shirt. “Oh, just you.”

“I need us to switch rooms.”

Fear flashes across Cyno’s face. He checks over Kaveh’s shoulder, further down the hall toward their rooms. “Why? You saw her?”

“Who?”

“Gloria.”

“What? No, not—” Kaveh shakes his head. “You a heavy sleeper?”

“When she’s not around.”

So much optimism shoots through Kaveh that he claps three times. “Great news. Alhaitham snores. He’s right next to me. I’m the lightest sleeper ever.”

Cyno pulls out his phone to check the time. “We’re running late for call, though. I already pulled out all my stuff. Don’t think we have time.”

Kaveh bites his lip as he ponders bribes. “I’ll pay you. Fifty? Hundred?”

“What?” Cyno says. “Can’t you buy headphones and play white noise? Wait, you wore earbuds on the plane.”

Kaveh’s shoulders tense. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did! Use those.” Cyno shows a cheesy grin, clapping him on the back. “You can spend all night next to Alhaitham.”

“Yeah,” Kaveh mutters, his pulse racing.

☆

In the second-to-last show, Bank of America dodges several killer kids. Alhaitham trips on a flute and eats shit. Kaveh’s trumpet sound effect glitches so badly that it sounds like Satan rose from the depths. Another average night.

Then Kaveh is back in the hotel lobby, in dire need of sleep, but with no bedroom away from Alhaitham. Pulling out his phone, he looks up Cyno online. He has over five thousand followers.

Kaveh has gained four hundred more since the live show began, bumping him up to a thousand. He was proud of that, considering their primary audience is mostly made up of five-year-olds. Apparently, he shouldn’t be. He types into the message bar.

Kaveh: Hey, you sure you can’t swap rooms?

While Kaveh waits for a response, he checks the story Cyno posted ten minutes ago. Tighnari and Dehya are slouched over Cyno and holding drinks, red club lights highlighting their blurry faces in the dark. The text reads: valentine’s day can get fucked xo. An animated sticker wiggles Singles’ night.

Kaveh checks the date and time on his screen. 10:12 p.m., Friday, February fourteenth. Valentine’s Day. No one brought this up all day. He doubts they could’ve unanimously forgotten until he recalls how painfully single everyone in the cast is.

Why wasn’t he invited to singles' night?

Kaveh shoves his phone back into his jeans pocket, doing his best to pretend he doesn’t care, and gives up on the room switch. Instead, he stomps up to the information counter. Empty, just like this morning. No one in the back room. He rings the service bell.

“Hello?” he shouts into the great beyond.

No response.

Out of sheer will, he waits until his lack of sleep has his eyes involuntarily fluttering shut. Beaten, he returns to the second floor and passes by Alhaitham’s room on the way to his own. Stepping inside, his gaze locks on where they adjoin. Substantial gaps frame the door.

Alhaitham could be out somewhere in San Diego, risking his Kidneeto NDA. Maybe at the club with the others. Or he could be in that other room right now.

The uncertainty shoots nerves through Kaveh. He rushes into the bathroom as if Alhaitham can see through the walls. As he gets ready for bed, he doesn’t hear a thing from the adjoining room, nor while he turns off the lamp, ties up his hair in a blob, or climbs into bed.

Maybe Kaveh can sleep.

Yet he doesn’t. He stares at the ceiling, feeling like he’s sinking through the floor. Images of Alhaitham flash through his mind, claiming he couldn’t risk anything with Kaveh, that they’d never kiss again. Beautiful strangers, touching Alhaitham after shows. Touching him tonight, too. Is he wearing that peacock mask out at the club? Thanking people in his horrific Australian accent when they buy him drinks in hopes of going back to the room beside Kaveh’s? Maybe Kaveh would’ve been worth the risk if he were more like the Rolex guy. If only Kaveh were more conventionally attractive like Mr. Rolex, or were a better conversationalist, or held a longer record of supreme success. 

A thump comes behind Kaveh's headboard.

Kaveh sits up straight so quickly that his tied-up hair collapses.

Another thump.

He checks his phone on the mattress. Eleven thirty. His heart pounds. This can’t be what it sounds like.

But the thumps remain uncomfortably timed.

Kaveh scrambles out of bed and rummages through his luggage shoved in the corner. Earbuds. Earbuds. He finds the ones he wore on the plane to learn their theme song, rapidly loads Faruzan’s Netflix account on his phone, and lays back down, clicking the first thing she’s been watching lately to fill his ears with. Some reality dating show.

A white woman with hair as light blond as his own summarizes the previous episode, which definitely doesn’t remind him of  how Alhaitham had the gall to hook up with someone else despite the excuses he gave. Despite the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day, which sets a hell of a tone for a hookup.

The wall rattles again, and Kaveh’s earbuds pop out.

More thumps.

It's enough for Kaveh to shoot off the pillow and slam his fist against the wall three times. “SHUT UP!”

The heater by the window hums. A car horn honks outside.

“Finally,” Kaveh whispers.

Another thump.

Kaveh tosses his phone, lunging out of bed again. He stomps toward the adjoining door and swings it open so hard that it slams against the wall. “I said—!"

Alhaitham jumps and yells and topples over. The room’s furniture has been shoved against the walls, leaving a patch of open floor space. Only the bedside lamp illuminates him. He’s shirtless, the sculpted ridges of his six pack and muscular upper arms fully exposed, and the V of his hips peeks out of the elastic sweatpants waistband. Strangely, he wears his curly-tipped magician shoes. Wireless headphones wrap over his ears.

Kaveh blinks at Alhaitham in a heap on the matted hotel carpet. Not in bed with someone else.

Humiliation consumes Kaveh over how much his imagination went off the charts. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Alhaitham says, struggling to sit up and pull off his headphones. “It’s almost midnight.”

“There was thumping.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“Not exactly.” Kaveh knows, from the jester shoes and faint sounds of marimba and maraca coming from his headphones, what Alhaitham is doing. He just can’t believe it. “Are you practicing the moves I’ve been helping you with?”

Alhaitham flicks his gaze away, finding a framed photograph of the San Diego Zoo on the wall. The bedside lamp makes the golden flecks of his red eyes gleam in the dim room. Same for the sheen of sweat coating his face and bare chest. “You said once that if I look bad, you look bad. I don’t want you to look bad.”

The confession renders Kaveh speechless. The frowns he’s strictly gotten from Alhaitham during practices made Kaveh assume very much otherwise. Although he’s more stuck on the conclusion he’s currently drawn—he likes Alhaitham with his shirt on, but even more so, when it’s off. His imagination has drifted at work several times before, the sheerness of the Merry Magician costume leaving little to speculate, but what escaped him were the details. The smoothness of Alhaitham’s tan skin, dotted with freckles. The way his stomach folds slightly as he sits, endearingly softening his abs.

Alhaitham grips at his head of messy, gray hair. “I need to look good, too, but— I’m not getting good enough with the limited time we get. If those execs come to our last show tomorrow, they’ll tell my— my grandmother how I’m doing. Even if they don't, she’ll find out somehow.”

Kaveh can’t stand here and watch him fail, especially when he sounds so much like he truly cares. He gestures at the open room. “We can work.”

“Now?”

“I’m awake. So are you.”

Alhaitham’s chest rises and falls quicker than normal. Maybe that’s Kaveh’s off-the-charts imagination again. “Okay.”

“Okay.” But the fact that Kaveh is wearing a ripped tank top and flimsy pajama pants has an unease settling in his chest, and the wet hair draping around his cheeks like clumps of spaghetti doesn’t help. He’s never looked worse. Morally, he shouldn’t care. No fun. No anything between them. “From the top. Theme song?”

Alhaitham rises off the floor, then disconnects his headphones to play the theme song at a low volume. As he gets into the proper position, Kaveh’s gaze drifts back to the muscles shifting in Alhaitham’s arms, then the freckles dotting his chest and shoulders like constellations. There must be hundreds. Thousands. The only thing Kaveh can suddenly focus on is counting them.

“Is this right?” Alhaitham asks.

Kaveh snaps back to Earth. Alhaitham’s limbs look as posed as flimsy noodles. “Extend,” he rushes to say, stepping closer, but not too close. No touching. “Fluid movements. Remember what I said about graceful swan?”

Alhaitham shifts, but his elbows and knees remain too bent.

If only Kaveh could shape him like clay, this would go faster.

Kaveh glances toward the locked door, then the closed blinds. No one would see them. As he summons enough courage to step nearer and run a hand along Alhaitham’s arm, his brain overloads. Alhaitham's physique is too firm, and his touch is too warm, and the hint of his familiar woodsy cologne is too inviting. It’s agonizing, and now Kaveh is mentally transported back to Alhaitham holding his waist so securely, pulling him close, locking their hips.

“What are you doing?” Alhaitham mutters.

Kaveh flinches. He remembers to keep his hand moving, fighting to stay as cool and calm as Alhaitham always does. “Helping you with your posture.”

“Oh.” Alhaitham rakes his other hand through his hair. “Go ahead.”

Kaveh’s heart hammers harder as they stand this close in a goddamn bedroom. Alhaitham made it clear that he’s desperate for nothing to happen between them. He must respect that, no matter how much this pull for more inside of him whines for attention. He stills his palm on Alhaitham’s bicep. “No need to freak out. No one can see anything. We’re alone. Right?”

“Right. Alone.” Alhaitham's shoulders don’t relax.

“Come on. Blinds are closed. Door’s closed.”

“I know.”

Then what’s the deal?

Kaveh runs a second hand along Alhaitham’s shoulders to try to loosen them himself. “Seriously, you need to—”

“Are you trying to fucking break me, Kaveh?”

That’s when Kaveh realizes how breathless Alhaitham sounds, and how his lips are being studied like he’s about to be eaten alive.

Kaveh's brain fuzzes. So, he’s not the only one trying to control himself. “Want me to stop?” he asks frailly, his will weakening by the second.

“I shouldn’t answer that.” Alhaitham’s is no better, his voice rumbling low in his throat.

“Door’s shut.”

“Blinds are closed.” Alhaitham’s gaze is still glued to his lips, but he’d never be the one to shatter the rules they’ve built. Not when he claims so much is on the line for him. But he wants this. It’s so undeniably clear.

Kaveh’s own body feels so deprived that he can barely see straight, barely think about anything besides the man standing before him and the charged intimacy between them. His palm meanders from Alhaitham’s arm to his lean chest, feels Alhaitham’s heartbeat pounding just as hard. Alhaitham inhales sharply, eyes glazed as he watches his own heated skin beneath Kaveh’s fingertips. Only a touch.

Kaveh hasn’t done this in six years for good reason. He shouldn’t. But his wants are overpowering his fears, and that just a feeling Alhaitham spoke about once before—putting faith in others to keep the important secrets—sounds so enticing despite the danger. Despite this very well ruining his chance at ever being known.

He takes a deep, long breath. “I’m transgender.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widen. He stays silent, unmoving, like his whole body is rebooting. Then, unsurely, he takes a step back.

Kaveh lowers his hand. He should’ve considered this outcome. He should’ve. But the pain that pulls through him is like nothing he’s felt before. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you soon—”

“I use she?”

“What?”

“My bad. Does the rest of the cast know you’re going through with this, or am I just out of the loop?”

Now Kaveh’s brow is furrowing. “Going through with what?” That’s when he realizes. “No, wait, Alhaitham, it’s the other way around.”

“Oh! Oh. You’re…” He takes a good look at Kaveh, smiling so feebly that he must’ve lost half of his life force. “Got it.”

A rocky way of being validated, but Kaveh’s heart does flutter.

“Please, don’t tell anyone," Kaveh says. "This industry wouldn’t be friendly to someone like me.”

“Of course,” Alhaitham says. The compassion in his softened tone almost makes Kaveh believe that even if he didn’t have an NDA separating him from a majority of the world, he wouldn’t tell anyone.

Kaveh can’t get carried away. “Do you still want”—he points between them—“this?”

“Yes,” Alhaitham says without missing a beat. He reaches forward, and, after weeks, places a hand on Kaveh’s arm. He’s as warm as before, his fingertips a bit calloused from his gym workouts, and a chill races through Kaveh’s spine. Alhaitham takes a deep breath too, like the mere touch is nearly sending him overboard again. “So help me, God, if you don’t make a move in the next ten seconds, I’m going to fucking die.”

Kaveh’s heart bursts so terribly that he fears it’ll explode out of his chest. This rare desperation in Alhaitham’s tone is coiling his abdomen in ways he’s never knew existed. A very interesting discovery. He leans forward, closer, never wanting anyone more in his life.

Until he remembers the cold, hard truth: He hasn't kissed somebody in six years. He doesn't remember how.

Kaveh freezes only briefly, his wants still overpowering his limited experience. Mustering whatever bravery he can, he slaps two palms against Alhaitham’s cheeks and pulls him close until their teeth clink, hard and loud.

Alhaitham yelps, jerking backward. “The fuck was that?”

“A kiss?”

Alhaitham taps a finger against where drip of red falls from his bottom lip. There was definitely no blood on The Bachelorette.

“Oh, God.” Kaveh wants to die. He really just might. He scrambles to search for something that could help—a cloth, a piece of fabric—and until his eyes land on the bleached-white bedsheets across the room. “I’m so sorry. I’ll go get you—”

“I’m fine,” Alhaitham says, waving a hand.

That doesn’t stop Kaveh from ripping off the sheet like a magic trick and rushing back. “Here—” The sheet tangles between his legs, and he trips and plummets on top of Alhaitham.

They land in a pile on the floor.

Groaning, Kaveh lifts his head off Alhaitham’s still very bare, very sweaty chest. His heart rate shoots to the stratosphere as he tries to readjust himself upright. “S-sorry.”

Alhaitham, however, shows him a playful, quirked brow. “Can I help you?”

Kaveh glances down at himself. He’s not just on top of Alhaitham now. He’s straddling him.

“Oh my god.” Kaveh barrel-rolls off until his back hits the floor. “I’m so fucking sorry. I haven't done this in a long time."

A laugh leaves Alhaitham’s lips.

Kaveh whips to look at him so quickly that his wet hair slaps against his own eyes. It’s a deep laugh. Real. But sweeter from the only other time he’s heard before—a charming, honeyed sound, like Alhaitham’s typical morning coffees splashed with milk, liquid and smooth.

Kaveh wants to be thrilled. Finally, Alhaitham is laughing with him. But when it’s because he’s a fuckup hookup, he’s only mortified. He starts to clamber off the floor. “I’ll go to my room.”

Alhaitham gently tugs his wrist to stop him. A curl drapes over his forehead, distracting from the sharpness of his jaw and brows. Kaveh thinks of a word he never thought he would. Adorable. “What do you mean, you haven't done this in a while? Just a kiss? Or sex?"

Kaveh sighs, rolling back onto his side to face Alhaitham better, and props his cheek with a fist. “Yes."

“I see.” It’s obvious Alhaitham’s trying to hold back another laugh. “How long is a while?”

“Six.”

“Months?”

Kaveh’s lips press tightly together.

As Alhaitham puts the pieces together, his eyes open wider, vivid in the bedside table lamp lighting. “Years?”

Kaveh considers lying. After how many times he’s been embarrassed by Alhaitham the last few months, he’s not sure if he can survive many more blows. But the idea of lying to him doesn’t feel right anymore. “Not since high school.”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond.

“I know that this is only fun,” Kaveh rushes to spit out, panic rising in his chest. “So don’t take that as me thinking this is serious.”

“You’re sure?” The creases in his forehead prove his uneasiness.

“If I did, then I’d never willingly do this in a Holiday Inn Express.”

Alhaitham laughs. Again. Kaveh has never been more thankful to hear it. “Why haven’t you been with anyone?”

“Lots of complicated reasons." A sudden need to glance around the room instead of the man before him takes over Kaveh. “And I have a lot of auditions to go to. Shows to film.”

“I’m surprised about the last one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most sets are incestuous,” Alhaitham says matter-of-factly.

Kaveh grimaces. He’s barely been on long-term sets since high school and wrongfully assumed that trend would teeter off once casts stopped being comprised of teenagers. “I don’t want to be Twiggy Tuba for the rest of my life. This has to be my first rung to reaching where you are. Like, back when I was in school, your name on a poster alone would bring millions to a box office—” He snaps his mouth shut. There he goes again, admitting to how much he admires Alhaitham. Cringe.

Yet the corner of Alhaitham’s lip hitches more. He hooks a finger around Kaveh’s waistband, pulling them close enough on the floor for Kaveh to be engulfed by his cologne, to feel his bare chest pressed against his own. “Let me take the lead?”

His voice is back to a low gravel in his throat. 

Kaveh’s heart pounds as he nods, the coil deep within him tightening even more.

Then Alhaitham’s lips are on Kaveh’s again, softly, gradually. Alhaitham is very much here. Very much sober. Kaveh tries to keep up, but his head sparks as he tries to predict when the next kiss will come, to focus on the pleasant lack of cigarette smoke on Alhaitham’s breath and only remnants of mint toothpaste, to distract himself from the insecurities floating into his brain. At first, Alhaitham being known to have the perfect body for the dreamiest of on-screen love interests was a turn on, but now all Kaveh can think about is his own in comparison—all the qualities that his agent admired years ago but that casting calls have criticized. Too underweight, too narrow, too soft. Too different.

He’s thinking too much.

“Sh,” Alhaitham says, like he knows, rubbing gentle circles on Kaveh’s hip bone.

Kaveh tries to tune out the rest of the world, to listen to Alhaitham, and lets his wants guide his senses. His mouth barely opens, allowing Alhaitham’s tongue to brush against his. It feels as amazing as it did in New York City.

A snap happens inside of Kaveh, his mind fuzzing enough for his tongue to venture in ways beyond his control, to run his fingers through Alhaitham’s soft, gray curls, to let him have more of what he needs.

Alhaitham is quick to notice. He guides them both back onto their feet. Soon, they’re tugging at each other’s clothes and stumbling backward until Kaveh hits a wall. The framed picture of San Diego Zoo falls and clunks against the floor.

Kaveh gasps as he pulls away. “We can’t be loud.”

“We’re just practicing for tomorrow’s show,” Alhaitham whispers near Kaveh’s ear.

“As if that excuse would work.”

“It will if you keep your voice down. You can do that for me, right?” Alhaitham lowers to bite at Kaveh’s neck.

Kaveh presses a hand to his mouth to stop whatever the hell noise was about to leave him.

Alhaitham rises again, smirking.

“Low blow,” Kaveh hisses, but he’s already embarrassingly flushed, proving no real fire behind those words.

“You like that?”

“I don’t remember what I like.”

Alhaitham hums and kisses Kaveh again so deeply that heat sparks in his core. He grinds his thigh against the growing tightness in Alhaitham’s pants, and a groan comes from Alhaitham as his fingers dig into Kaveh’s hips to lift him in one swift motion. They lock together, Kaveh’s legs wrapping around Alhaitham’s waist, closing the space left between them.

“God, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, his chest heaving.

Kaveh’s stomach tightens more at how much he loves hearing his name on Alhaitham’s tongue. Apparently, he needs to turn off his brain more often. For once, Faruzan was right. Fun is fun. He tries to suck on Alhaitham’s bottom lip, to remember how hard to without causing pain.

Another groan comes from the back of Alhaitham’s throat, proving he did it right.

Pride courses through Kaveh. “Better?”

“Mu-much,” Alhaitham says.

Kaveh would usually be in awe that he’s rendering the confident, composed Alhaitham to a stuttering mess. But this only reminds Kaveh of what supposedly comes next. A part of him longs to take this all the way, to keep reminding himself that the more real this gets, he can have faith in himself to not succumb to his insecurities. To let Alhaitham see him.

But what if he can’t?

He abruptly pulls back. “Can we keep it at this tonight? I—” It’s on a burst of fear, choppy and frantic.

“Of course,” Alhaitham says. No hesitation. No disappointment.

It stuns Kaveh.

A glow spreads through his chest, one he’s never experienced. The feeling convinces him to let his arms drape over Alhaitham’s broad shoulders as their lips meet again, to tumble toward the bed together and tangle within the sheets—and to even reconsider keeping things at this. But in the split seconds of clarity he finds while the hours tick, and the two discover new ways to hold each other close, he swears that he’ll forget that glow once it’s February fifteenth.

Chapter Text

At least, this time, Kaveh isn’t woken up to Nilou's shouting and relentless pounding against a door.

Kaveh pats the pillow beside him to feel the cold divot of a body no longer there. Dread slithers through him as he sits up straight. Maybe when Alhaitham saw that his bed wasn’t empty, he sprinted back to Los Angeles or jumped out the window. Maybe he’s dead on the curb.

But then more sobering thoughts hit. This is only fun, even if yesterday was Valentine’s Day. The most romantic night of the year.

Groaning, Kaveh rubs his face, then scans the room of wooden furniture still shoved against the walls from last night’s practice.

Clamoring comes from the door, and Alhaitham steps through, wearing his sherpa jean jacket and sunglasses like he’s been around the block. In his grasp is a bag that screams a repeated THANK YOU, and his phone is pressed between his ear and shoulder. “Of course, you won. Your form is the best on the whole team.” The combination of his captivating smile and prominent cheekbones pulls laugh lines at the corners of his thick lashes, bright and alive.

Kaveh stares at the rare sight. At how stunning that smile always looks.

Alhaitham glances toward the bed. “Hey, gotta go. I’ll be at your next tournament next Saturday, all right? Miss you. Love you.” He hangs up, continuing his smile for Kaveh. “Sleeping beauty’s finally awake.”

“Collei?” Kaveh asks, trying to keep a very calm, very cool smile of his own.

“She had a taekwondo award ceremony. Wish I’d been there.”

“That’s nice you still called her.”

Alhaitham glances down at the takeout bag. “Got a gift for you.”

Kaveh’s insides flip. Fun. “What for?”

Kicking off his dress shoes by the door, Alhaitham nudges his chin toward the bedside table shoved against a far wall. On top, a digital clock reads 11:39 a.m.

“What?” Kaveh rushes over and snatches up the clock so quickly that the wire snaps. The clock goes black. He smacks it. “No. Turn back on.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Alhaitham places a palm along the curve of Kaveh’s back, shoving his shades up into his hairline with his other. “Have another date after me?”

“No!” Kaveh could’ve denied that a little less rapidly. “No. I just haven’t woken up this late since— I can’t remember when.”

“We don’t head back to LA until two.”

“Sure, but it’s late. What if we’re needed to help pack the minivan? Or take Bank of America to the vet?”

“What?” Alhaitham says like he’s being ridiculous.

Kaveh isn’t being ridiculous. One night of fun with Alhaitham, and he nearly put the show second instead of first on his list. That can’t be. This was a fluke.

Kaveh takes a deep breath. He focuses back on the bag—that lunch could be for Valentine’s Day. “You didn’t have to.”

Alhaitham sits on the bed and takes five plastic containers out of the bag. “I can’t cook us lunch in here, so I figured I should.” He shakes off his jacket, revealing a dark-brown turtleneck sweater underneath that complements his tan complexion.

Compared to Alhaitham’s unbuttoned dress shirts and sheer costume sleeves, his body is much more hidden, yet Kaveh finds himself staring harder. He looks domestic this way, like someone Kaveh could truly find cooking in his kitchen. For his gaze only.

Kaveh clears his throat. “Nobody found this amount of food suspicious?”

“Everyone is still in their room,” Alhaitham says. “Probably hungover from the club. Don’t know where Nilou is. Taking care of Bank of America?”

What if Nilou had been around? Kaveh feels obligated to respond. What if she’d seen the bag, and we’d gotten caught on Valentine’s Day of all days and kicked off the show while clearly needing to prove to your grandmother that you’re responsible?

Instead, Kaveh tries his best to casually join Alhaitham on the bed. “You also weren’t invited out to the club?”

“Nope,” Alhaitham says.

“You think they don’t like us?”

“Me? Who knows. You? Definitely not.”

Kaveh isn’t sure what that means, but he has a mission to focus on. “Did you see their stories? It was an event. A special one. Yesterday. Specifically.”

Alhaitham just hums.

Kaveh holds himself back from shouting Valentine's Day three times in a row into Alhaitham’s face Bloody Mary-style. Although if this is for Valentine’s Day, will that send a crisis alert to Alhaitham’s stans? They might come knocking down the door, stuff Kaveh in a knapsack, and send him down the San Diego River.

Forcing himself to push aside the mental horror movie, he opens the top takeout container to reveal a dozen chicken nuggets. A humored huff leaves him.

“I thought you liked those,” Alhaitham says. “You eat them on set.”

"I didn’t think you’d have noticed that.”

The afternoon sun must be why a pinkish haze has suddenly scattered across Alhaitham’s cheeks. There’s no way he was interested since back then.

But Kaveh’s cheeks still burn. “I do like them.”

“You do?”

“I do. Thanks.”

A grin breaks on Alhaitham’s face. He starts to draw shapes on Kaveh’s thigh, slowly and gently.

A chill races down Kaveh’s spine at his touch, at how warm and wanted it is after so many setbacks, until confusion breaks through the surface. Only so long ago, the two were at each other’s necks, fighting in a garden. Weeks ago, Alhaitham swore he’d never kiss Kaveh again. Last night, things were never supposed to be serious. Now he’s drawing fucking parallelograms?

Kaveh is an adult. He should ask. But that means shattering the very calm and cool aura he’s sponged from Alhaitham to make sure this stays fun.

His stomach churns as he mentally prepares question one. “Didn’t you hate me?”

Alhaitham looks over. “What? You?”

“Yeah. When we met at work.”

“Oh. I sort of did,” he says, squeezing Kaveh’s thigh harder as if in apology. “I mean, I noticed you earlier, auditioning. Trust me.”

“Noticed me?”

“Noticed that you looked hot.”

“G—” Spit lodges in Kaveh’s throat. He lodges it out. “Gotcha.”

“But I overheard you talking to Tighnari about letting me around kids, and then in the garden, you basically said I didn’t belong here. But the reason I have to be on this show involves me needing to look good with kids.” He sighs. “I get now that you couldn’t have known.”

“Nilou mentioned this a bit,” Kaveh mutters, feeling somewhat guilty now, even though he doesn’t remember saying this. He blacked out halfway through their trainwreck of a first encounter. “Or she hypothesized. Because of Collei.”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t know the whole story. No one does.”

Kaveh glances at the clock again. 11:42 a.m. “I have time. But I know you can’t say much. Legally.”

Alhaitham rakes a hand through his hair. Kaveh is learning that it’s Alhaitham’s equivalent of biting his own lip, and he’s even starting to predict when it’ll come next. It’s familiar. Alhaitham is familiar, and Kaveh isn’t sure how to feel about that. “The public still loves to hate how I acted after my parents died. How I was irresponsible.”

“I know.”

“My grandmother doesn’t think I’m responsible enough to take care of Collei, either. I need proof that I won’t be unemployed for the rest of my life in the aftermath of that. That I’m good with kids, especially to lawyers. Acting uncredited for Kidneeto does that all at once. I can’t have the public in my business until this is over. Who I was might’ve died, but to everyone else, that version of me lives on forever. They could ruin…” He trails off, finding his feet on the floor.

Kaveh nods as more puzzle pieces in his theories align. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Alhaitham’s gaze narrows. “It’s not, but I had a bad feeling I’d get caught no matter how hard I tried. My Australian accent is shit.”

“Well. Yeah.”

“So, don’t be sorry. These news outlets are like knives. They’ve dangled over my head since I was born. I’m an expert in being stabbed by them, so at least I was prepared. If we hadn’t gotten caught in New York, I would’ve gotten caught somewhere else. If I’d been drinking coffee, minding my damn business, it would’ve somehow been framed as a scandal.” Alhaitham pauses, hangs his head even lower. “Maybe I should give up. Let my grandmother have her.” It leaves his lips too quietly. Too seriously.

Like he means it.

Kaveh furrows his brow. “Whoa, what? No way.”

“The news called me selfish for how I acted after my parents died. Maybe they’re right. My grandmother had to look after Collei while I was out fucking around. She was only two.”

“And you were freshly an adult.

“Still an adult,” Alhaitham says toward the floor. “I don’t want to lose Collei. I love her more than anything. But what if I become that person again? What if I abandon her?”

Kaveh places a hesitant palm on his arm. “Hey. There’s a difference between abandoning a kid and what you did.”

“How do you know?”

It hits Kaveh then why Alhaitham must be speaking this way. He doesn’t only want to prove he’s a good person to the lawyers, or his grandmother, or even the public. He wants to prove that to himself as desperately.

A defensiveness charges through Kaveh on Alhaitham’s behalf. It’s enough for him to even reveal what he usually never would. “My dad died when I was young, and I haven't seen my mom in years."

Alhaitham finally looks up at him. Slowly. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Kaveh lets go of Alhaitham’s arm to shake out his shoulders. “So, I've somewhat been there, too. Regardless, I know what you did won’t happen again. She’s your world. You were just on the phone with her. You love her. Trust me.”

Finally, a hint of life returns to his gaze. “Thank you.”

Kaveh’s chest warms at a rare thank you coming from Alhaitham. But there's still one thought nagging at him. “Your lawyer must’ve told you to not tell anyone this. Don’t tell your friends? Your family? They become witnesses. You said you couldn’t.”

Alhaitham nods unsurely.

Kaveh’s next question is marked by the way his brow pinches. Why?

He clearly receives it in the way he sighs deeply. “I want you to know why I treated you that way. I need to look good on this show, but you’re better than me.”

“Me?” Kaveh repeats, leaning backward.

“At dancing. Singing. Fucking juggling.” Alhaitham huffs. “You look like you’re working harder than me. Like you care more. It made me paranoid.”

Kaveh’s younger self wants to squeal after hearing this praise from his idol. Today, though, he only falls silent at what this verifies. Alhaitham trusts Kaveh with information that could make or break his future.

“Well, I can’t stop looking good, either,” Kaveh says, keeping his smile totally, definitely normal despite the conflicting warmth and fear blossoming inside of him. “So, I’ll just have to make sure you keep up with me. How about right now, before we leave for LA? That way you’ll be in your best shape for these execs."

“You think an extra hour will make me any better?” Alhaitham asks, grimacing.

Kaveh ponders for a moment. “No. Never mind. Screw the singing and dancing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Because your ultimate skill lies with the kids. Isn't the top exec bringing his? Invite that kid up to the stage,” Kaveh says, reverting to teacher mode with bossy hands on his hips. “Then that exec will love you. Then your grandmother. We can still practice, but focus on that.”

“What if his kids approach you?”

That is the risk. “I’ll do my best to be nice.”

The words aren’t convincing, but Alhaitham still nods. A corner of his lip curls. “Are we practicing like last night, or actually practicing?”

“Actually practicing,” Kaveh says. He hates how close he comes to nervously stuttering it. “I’ll get changed.”

“I’m joking.” Alhaitham stretches an arm over his head, his forearm muscles flexing. “Well, it was nice to do this once, at least.”

It’s the answer Kaveh had been desperately searching for, whirring like an arrow into his heart. Either Alhaitham doesn’t care that it was Valentine’s Day, or he’s conveniently forgotten.

Kaveh should be relieved. This is fun. But all he feels is a hollowness in his gut.

“Totally. Love a one time.” It’s short, sharp, but Kaveh can’t control it. He heads for the door.

“Wait,” Alhaitham calls.

Kaveh’s hand freezes on the knob. “What is it?”

“If something’s wrong, you can talk to me. I just talked. A lot.” Alhaitham laughs as sweetly as last night; it’s as intoxicating as the first time Kaveh ever heard it.

Fun. “Nope.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.” As Kaveh shuts the door behind him, he wipes Valentine’s Day from his thoughts before his heart dares to ache in a way it’s not allowed.

 ☆

Kaveh takes deep breaths backstage, the murmurs of spectating kids and parents a backdrop to his subpar mental pep talks. Their final audience is small since the venue is, creatively, the Kidneeto parking lot. But it doesn’t feel that way when an executive deciding their fate sits within that crowd. Without The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show, Kaveh, at least, is at square one. He can’t screw up tonight.

“And now, the Merry Musical Multidimensional Music Show: Live—A Belated Valentine’s Day Special! will begin.”

Kaveh’s blood runs cold.

A Valentine’s what?

He heard wrong. He’s thinking about Alhaitham again. Readjusting his face mic and pulling on his tuba head, he boards those memories and whips back the curtain.

Only for his legs to freeze the moment he takes in the pop-up stage. Red streamers dangle from the curtain posts. Red heart-shaped balloons float above every instrument. The folding chairs in the parking lot have bright-red cushions. A backdrop curtain reads HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, MUSIC NOTES!

Past the sea of instruments, Alhaitham steps before the crowd. His bedhead and workout clothes from their last practice, which he wore on their drive back to LA in Nilou’s minivan rental, are long gone. Now, his corset and leggings are tight enough to make any single mom faint, and the hair escaping his galaxy top hat neatly cascades around his cheekbones. He stops in front of Valentine’s Day! text on the backdrop.

“Twiggy,” Dehya hisses.

She and Cyno are at Alhaitham’s side, accompanying the theme song with the mallets and shakers they wear. Their faces have an irregular lack of color, and their mouths are warped. Hungover from the club.

Dehya’s wakeup call is barely enough to stop memories of last night flashing in Kaveh’s mind nor the nausea settling in his own stomach. Of course, Nilou added a Valentine’s theme last minute. Of course, she didn’t inform Kaveh.

Kaveh races to join them seconds before his entrance. “Grab your guitar, your drums, and your flute.”

“With practice, we'll make music that's cute,” Alhaitham says, squinting at the heart-shaped balloons surrounding him. Apparently, he, too, was not informed.

As they trade more verses, Kaveh searches for the mysterious all-powerful executive and his kids, even though he has no clue what to look for in the audience. A glimmering suit and moneybags for eyes? A nametag with I am a Kidneeto Executive on his chest? The combination of his blurry eyesight and blurrier vision ports makes him give up quickly.

The theme song ends, and the improvisational segment begins.

“G’day, my magical music notes!” Alhaitham announces, his average Australian accent echoing through the speakers. “Who’d like to come onstage and help us?”

Hands fly up.

Alhaitham’s gloved hand points at twins wearing all-denim in the front row. Between them is a white man in his mid-forties, wearing a basic striped Polo. His chunky gold chain necklace, however, is less basic.

“You two!” Alhaitham shouts.

The girls rush up to the stage and immediately latch onto Alhaitham’s legs, hugging him tightly. Meanwhile, the Polo man huffs in amusement, crossing his arms like he rules the world. Definitely the Kidneeto exec. Step one, complete.

Nerves spiderweb through Kaveh as he maintains a safe distance in case he accidentally ignites them with gasoline.

Alhaitham glances around the instrument selection next, which varies from the last five shows. Mostly saxophones and a harp the size of Alhaitham’s six-foot-one self. Alhaitham decides on two soprano saxophones—the smallest type—and hands them to the twins. “Press these valves and have fun!”

Fun. Have fun. “Yes,” Kaveh squeaks out.

The twins’ eyes sparkle. Step two complete.

The next song’s introductory interlude plays, looping until Alhaitham and Kaveh begin their dialogue like normal. What’s not normal is the accompaniment. Instead of the spunky arrangement Tighnari wrote months ago, it’s a slow mix of sax and bass to a ballad-like beat.

One of the twins’ mouths twists. “This doesn’t sound like your magical orchestra.”

“It’s weird,” the other says, also frowning.

Kaveh leans into Cyno’s ear, muting his mic clipped to his backside. “What is this?”

Cyno just stares at the floor in his oversized maraca head. His hangover is apparent in the way his whole face squirms like a worm.

“I reckon we have a Valentine’s Day season remix on our plate, Twiggy Tuba,” Alhaitham answers instead, staring down the speakers through his masquerade mask. His whole body is rigid. That doesn’t seem to be the work of the corset.

“T-tubular,” Kaveh says, the light in his voice fading.

The introductory music loops longer than it should as the cast falls silent, whether too horrified or confused or hungover. Cyno makes a choked noise, and he rushes backstage, the sound of maraca shakes accompanying each step.

In the audience, the exec makes a face.

The look strikes fear in Kaveh’s heart, overwriting any and all thoughts with a new form of adrenalized panic. “We have to celebrate, Merry Magician!” He elbows the muscles that are frustratingly visible through Alhaitham’s sheer sleeves, a few tuba valves gracelessly clunking in between them. “Love makes the merry mystical mansion go round. Where would your orchestra be without your love?”

That forces Alhaitham to regain his fabricated magical pep. “Defo. From all of us in the merry mystical mansion, we hope your families had fun celebrating love yesterday!” He pats the twins on the head, who are still holding their saxophones. “My magical notes, play!”

One twin lifts the saxophone to her lips, but upside down.

The other doesn’t. She tugs on Kaveh’s brassy leggings. “How did you and the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician celebrate Valentine’s Day in the mansion yesterday?”

Her question carries through the stage mics, booming across the parking lot to flood every pair of ears in the audience.

Recollections of last night shatter the dam Kaveh has tried to mentally build. The framed San Diego photo knocking to the floor, the bed they tangled themselves in all night, the way Alhaitham’s body felt pressed against his— “Uh.”

The girl turns to Alhaitham, waiting for him to answer the question.

Alhaitham is no better, his lips opening and shutting. A breeze blows, and a peacock feather from his mask flutters into his open mouth. He coughs briefly. “I. We had fun.”

“Fun doing what?”

“P-play…ing.”

Kaveh still can’t recall any grammar. He offers a thumbs up.

The answer is enough to satisfy the girl. “My teacher gave our class valentines with gummy bears yesterday. That was fun. He wrote that he’ll remember us when we go to third grade soon. Did you give anyone a valentine?”

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham says so quietly that his face mic barely catches it. “Maybe I should’ve been like your teacher.” Even through Kaveh’s blurry vision ports, he can make out the delicate smile Alhaitham shows her, how it nearly falters into a wince.

Something hopeful rises to Kaveh’s chest. Even though it shouldn’t. It can’t.

“Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician and Twiggy Tuba,” Nilou’s sharp voice comes over the speakers, “it’s time to start singing. Now!”

The show carries on for forty more minutes, fueled solely by the cast’s interweaving cycles of hope and despair, and Kaveh fights hard to block out the love-dovey decorations engulfing them. Whenever glimpses of the exec is caught, he’s grinning brighter than his gold necklace—like he’d be thrilled to give them a second season. When Alhaitham reveals Bank of America under his top hat, the twins and their audience squeal instead of cry. When the cast takes a final bow, they’re gifted with a standing ovation, including from the exec. Hopefully, step three complete. But they can’t be sure.

As the curtains close, Nilou thanks everyone who attended over the speakers, and the cast drifts toward their belongings on the backstage table.

Cyno trudges up beside Kaveh zombie style. The shaking noises of his maraca head are weaker than normal. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s cool,” Kaveh says, offering a laugh despite his own knotted stomach. “I think the show went well, even if you puked.”

“Not that. Last night. I thought Dehya invited you, but then she said she never did.”

“What?” Not like Kaveh would’ve gone to a club. But. “Does she not like me?”

“You kidding? She loves how you don’t fear Alhaitham. At least, compared to us. But she was hoping you’d get extra time with him if you stuck behind. If you know what I mean.”

Kaveh’s heart pounds. A sudden need to dig through his backpack compels him. He starts with the front pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think we don’t know?”

“How would you even know—?” He jerkily lifts his head. “I mean.”

Cyno shows a goofy grin. He scratches the sticky tape of his face mic. “Buddy, Alhaitham happens to make out with a random guy in New York City during tour when he’s under an NDA and can’t go anywhere? Then the next day, you two can’t stop ogling each other like you’re starring in Pride and Prejudice?”

Kaveh has never wanted Gloria to jump out of Cyno’s back and suck him into the afterlife more. His growing mortification has his gaze locking firmly on his backpack again.

“And then we heard about those special rooms Nilou got you,” Cyno goes on, “and we were like, oh, even she wants this.”

“What?”

“What, what?”

“That type of room must’ve been a mistake. She told us to stop, or we’re off the show.”

“Did that come from her or the studio?” Cyno asks. “Because everybody here is rooting for you two, even if it’s not allowed. Since this started, Alhaitham’s been treating all of us way nicer, too. Nilou must want more of where that came from.”

Kaveh’s brain sparks in sheer confusion.

Until Nilou blasts through backstage on such a whirlwind that her shoulder knocks against Bank of America’s cage. The pigeon screams.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says to the cage. For once, she’s not in an outfit only a kid would respect. Instead, a crisp navy suit that must be for the exec’s benefit, her auburn hair styled without colorful clips. “He loved it! The execs said he’ll try to get final approval for season two tomorrow. We’d finish the rest of season one in March, then keep going in October. He even thinks this show is what could make us a real streaming service.”

The cast trades shocked looks.

Tighnari jumps and cheers so loudly that it shakes the pop-up stage. Cyno sheds tears despite his hangover, and Dehya snaps a picture of his nose full of snot. Even Kaveh gives into the celebration, accepting hugs and high-fives from the rest of the cast as a relief he’s been chasing for years shoots through him. By the time he looks at Alhaitham, he’s patting Cyno on the back with a smile that wholly reaches his eyes, washing away the dark circles and weary wrinkles of his exhaustion. This must prove himself to his grandmother.

The longer Kaveh takes in that sight, though, a heavy weight pulls through him. Another season means more Alhaitham.

Will his heart be able to handle that?

Nilou clasps her hands together. “Okay, I know you’re all eager to head back home after a week of hard work.”

Everyone nods in excited agreement.

“But!”

The excitement drops dead.

Nilou pulls back a curtain, gesturing at the revolving door leading toward Kidneeto Studios in the distance. “Don’t change out of your costumes yet. We have another surprise. One more fully catered banquet, courtesy of our executives, to celebrate our massive success! They even invited some cast and crew from other Kidneeto shows to—”

“No,” Alhaitham says, who’s already heading in the opposite direction, the bells on his pointed-tip shoes jingling. Likely toward wherever he parked his car a week ago.

“Everyone attending signed the NDA, Alhaitham,” Nilou calls at him through a frown. “You’re protected even if your mask totally slips off.”

“I don’t care.”

“None of us has a choice!”

Alhaitham spins back around. “Why the hell not?”

“Because he also invited your grandmother.”

Chapter Text

By the time the cast lugs themselves into the lobby in their clunky mascot costumes, at least fifty guests from various Kidneeto shows have invaded their tiny studio. At least, tiny compared to the neighboring Phantasworks tower laughing in their faces twenty-four-seven. Most guests stand in the garden where Alhaitham takes his smoke breaks, huddling in cliquey groups, but champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres are set around the lobby side tables. 

Talking off his tuba head, Kaveh’s mouth falls open.

This is all for their show.

By the door leading toward the garden, Nilou waves toward Alhaitham in her navy suit. Which, in better lighting, eerily matches Alhaitham’s magician suit like cosplay. “Alhaitham, you’re being asked to go give a speech outside.”

Even with the peacock feathers on Alhaitham’s masquerade mask casting dark shadows across his face, it’s obvious his gaze is uneasy. “Why me?”

“You’re the lead. Talk about how thankful you are. On behalf of the cast.”

“With zero warning?”

“I think you know better than anyone that this is how your grandmother operates.”

Alhaitham doesn’t move. He looks confused, panicked, and above all else, small. His galaxy top hat is gone, leaving behind a mess of matted hair, but he’s kept on everything else. Witnessing the Merry Mystical Multifaceted Music Magician with all the confidence sucked out of him is a jarring sight.

It’s enough to make Kaveh place a firm hand on Alhaitham’s forearm, even when they’re in public. “Hey, you good?”

Alhaitham glances at Kaveh’s touch. A bit of life returns to him as he nods. Slowly, he follows Nilou, his shoes chiming with each step.

Kaveh has to help. Even if he has no clue how.

He follows.

Someone taps Kaveh’s shoulder. A curvier white woman in a blazer and pencil skirt. Between the dyed pink hair and the shocking amount of light remaining in her eyes, she must be young. Beside her stands a seemingly older man with a dark brown complexion, equally put-together in a white button-up and skinny jeans.

“Kaveh,” the man says, even though Kaveh has never seen him in his life. “Congrats on your tour. Your addition to The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show really turned it into something special, didn’t it?”

“Me?” Kaveh repeats, stunned. “It’s definitely a group effort, but thank you.”

“You’re an honest guy. Must be why you’re so good with kids.” The man extends his arm for a shake. 

The woman also offers a hand. “Would you mind grabbing a seat with us to quick chat?”

Kaveh attempts to shake both hands, but the tuba head tucked under his arm poses as an obstacle, making him bend in freakish ways. He glances toward the garden through the window again. Alhaitham is already getting cheers and back pats. “I think I need to attend—”

A shoulder knocks into his own. Cyno, double fisting two champagne flutes.

“Kaveh, stick back,” Cyno says. Over his shoulder, Dehya ogles the two strangers. Their introductions were forward, like their names should hold weight. Maybe he should.

Kaveh can still make Alhaitham’s speech. They said quick chat. In the face of two people with such probable importance, his instincts tell him to sponge their lighthearted smile onto his own face ASAP. But he tries to stay himself, tries to remember how he’s spent the last few weeks being applauded on a tour. “Let’s talk.”

The three claim a couch by the garden door, where faint laughter filters through the window. While Kaveh sets down his tuba head, the others do the same. The designer emblem implies it costs more than Kaveh’s ever owned, and so does the overdone, bougie cologne flooding his nostrils.

“From your blank look,” the man says, “I’m guessing you don’t know who we are.”

“I do,” Kaveh lies.

“I’m mostly known for being a children's producer of Whoa Dodoco at Phantasworks.”

“I’m an executive producer,” the woman says.

“We were about to contact your agent directly,” the man says, “but we heard about this banquet happening next door. We thought we’d drop by ourselves."

Producers never have enough time nor energy to casually drop by. “Sure. Yeah.”

“The level of emotion you manage to convey despite your head being totally hidden blows me away. Your tone, your movements, your dedication—it’s impactful.”

A smile breaks along Kaveh’s face. “Wow. Thank you.”

“I mean, you should be an absolute nobody in that costume!” the man says, playfully punching Kaveh’s upper arm, but still hard enough to make him tilt.

Kaveh’s smile cracks a hair. “T-thanks.”

“We’re developing something new right now. I know this is unconventional of us, but we’d love to have your name on this.”

Kaveh’s name. As if that means something. Maybe it should.

“What project?” Kaveh asks.

“All we can say for now is that it’s called Project Rat. But envision yourself as the rat. Our main guy.”

“Main?” Kaveh repeats in surprise. “Not, like, a mouse sidekick?”

The woman laughs as if he told a joke. From her blazer pocket, she passes him a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s the cast list of actors who are on board so far.”

As Kaveh reads the list, his heart hammers faster. These are names he’s known since he was a teenager. Nothing compared to Alhaitham, but close seconds and thirds. Oscar winners.

Pride bursts in his chest. “When would this start?”

“A month or so, ideally. March. I know it’s soon.”

“No worries.” But then Kaveh remembers. “Oh, we start filming The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show then, too. How demanding is the workload?”

The man scratches his ear as he considers. “Would you be willing to fully swap over to us?”

“I’d have to quit?”

“It’ll be pretty intensive days. With how big we’d want to launch this, I think we’d be able to compensate you enough for the trouble.”

“Have your agent reach out if you’re interested,” the woman adds, rising from the couch and handing him a business card. “Unless you have an answer now?”

Kaveh takes in the lobby, then the garden, where Alhaitham is addressing the crowd in his magical mask and with a fabricated grin. Dehya and Cyno take selfies at the back, barely paying attention. Nilou is on the verge of happy tears, and Tighnari pats her thigh.

“I’ll think about it,” Kaveh finally says. Right now, he’s too focused on missing Alhaitham’s speech, especially knowing his grandmother is in that crowd.

Once the two producers leave through the revolving door, Kaveh stares at the lobby wall, trying to process that this just happened.

They want his name. It’s known.

Clapping comes from outside, signaling an end to Alhaitham’s speech.

Kaveh snaps out of his thoughts, but a prideful grin remains on his face as he rushes into the garden. Beyond the sea of heads at the center stands Alhaitham, speaking to a woman in her early sixties. From far away, he can only make out her back, but she wears a pale peach sundress and a sheer cardigan over it. Her hair is gray like Alhaitham’s but much longer, and she’s tall, too. Maybe as tall as Kaveh.

That must be his grandmother.

Kaveh should introduce himself. Now is the perfect time, especially when talking to her could help him decide on leaving for Phantasworks. Pushing aside his intimidation, he weaves through crowds that are too engrossed in their conversations to pay him any mind. Gradually, he picks up on his grandmother’s words.

“That’s entirely selfish.”

Kaveh stops in his tracks. A harshness coats her tone, yet it’s spoken so languidly that it also makes him doubt she’s truly angered.

Alhaitham willingly takes the hit as he stands still before her, not a hint of emotion readable on his face. It’s blank. Too blank. “I’m trying my best,” he says. No Australian accent. It’s barely audible but still a risk with so many guests.

“You’ve put our name in the news all over,” his grandmother says. “That’s trying your best?”

Kaveh’s heart pounds through him. That’s too obvious. An NDA can protect slippages leaked to a few. Not everyone. That’d be impossible to trace back.

“That’s not what I intend to do,” Alhaitham says, louder now.

His grandmother’s head lifts, turning toward Kaveh as if she sensed his eavesdropping. Her eyes are similar to Alhaitham’s, too—a sharp and captivating light red. “About time your co-star showed up. We were just speaking about you.”

Kaveh had no clue that his grandmother knew of his existence. He forces himself to keep his head high, taking a spot by Alhaitham, and brainstorms what someone of her caliber would like in an introduction. “Hello, it’s an honor to meet you—”

“I wish I could say the same. I hope you know how lucky you are to still be on this show. You have a director who cares enough to fight for you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Please,” Alhaitham says, his jaw tensing just enough for Kaveh to notice. Months ago, he would’ve never been able to. “Don’t involve him in this.”

His grandmother doesn’t listen. “Are you continuing to engage with him?”

Kaveh tenses. There’s no way she knows he was the so-called New York City alley man. Barely anyone does. Regardless, there’s no way they could have this conversation here. “Engaging in what way?”

That’s enough of an answer for his grandmother, who scoffs through a bitter smile. “I’m honestly shocked, Alhaitham, that you’d be willing to sacrifice Collei for a nobody who—”

Champagne goes flying, streaking and glimmering in the sunset and crossing before Kaveh’s very eyes, and lands in Alhaitham’s grandmother's face. She stumbles backward as droplets fall from her curled bangs, drizzling down her dress and sandals.

Gasps pop up from the crowd as Kaveh faces Alhaitham. The champagne in Alhaitham’s glass is gone, and his expression is no longer blank. A tenseness between his brow quivers, like he may very well be terrified, but his gaze looks nothing but pained. “I asked you politely to stop involving him. Please, leave.”

As guests stare the three down from every angle, a domino effect of repercussions falls in Kaveh’s mind of what happens if this hits the news. There are too many people. Too many.

Panic surges through him, and he barrels toward a tray of champagne set on the closest table to snatch up a folded napkin. He rushes back. “I’m so sorry. Alhaitham didn’t mean that, I swear, he only holds the highest respect for you.”

Alhaitham's grandmother slaps his hand away. “You’ve done enough. You two are the ones who will be leaving my studio.”

“But we—”

That’s all Kaveh can say before Alhaitham snatches up his wrist and walks them out.

Chapter Text

Kaveh barely remembers the drive to Alhaitham’s house. He doesn’t remember what Alhaitham’s car looked like or where it was parked. He’s not even sure at what point he ditched his own mascot costume, leaving behind only the flimsy undershirt and brass leggings. Most of all, he doesn’t know how he’s sitting on a couch printed with rainbow toucans now.

There are some parts of the night he does recall. Bank of America’s bird cage being forced upon Alhaitham on the way out of the studio doors by a clueless Nilou, yelling once again about the two being bonded. A street sign for Benedict Canyon with a high median yearly income. What Alhaitham's grandmother spoke. You’ve done enough. A nobody.

Kaveh can’t move. He stares at the floor.

“My grandmother doesn’t dislike you. It’s about me.” Alhaitham is one cushion over, still in his magician suit, minus the mask. The lights were never turned on, but there’s a pool beyond the sliding glass door that they face. The moonlight reflecting across the surface is enough to illuminate the freckles cascading along the worried creases of his expression.

Even in his shaken state, a curiosity hums in the back of Kaveh’s mind over what this room looks like, let alone the rest of the house. The floor looks made of shimmery tile. Maybe. Not much else can be made out in the dark. He wants to know how Alhaitham lives his private life away from the world that tells him who he should and shouldn’t be.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says again.

A pause.

“It’s okay.”

A pause.

“You won’t lose your job.”

Kaveh shakes his head. That’s not what this is about, itches on his tongue. But then he’d have to divulge what it is about. Couldn’t he have shut down over his family abandonment issues around Cyno instead, who’d assume Kaveh was being possessed? Then he’d at least have some fun with this. Maybe he’d even have a laugh.

That’s what Kaveh should be doing. Laughing to ensure he’s super calm and cool to Alhaitham. He’s been forgetting to do that, but as he regresses into flashes of his past now, he feels the need to more than ever. He forces one out, but the laugh is as pathetic as his Twiggy Tuba sound effects. “If you keep talking, you’ll make the toucan’s ears bleed. Where’s Bank of America, by the way?”

“I put her in another room. Why are you laughing?”

“Because I’m fine. That was just a lot.”

“Talk to me, then.” His eyes are intense in the dark.

Kaveh shakes his head. “Forget this happened.”

“Forget?” The usual baritone of Alhaitham’s voice cracks higher, like it’s breaking. A part of Kaveh wants to be moved, knowing Alhaitham seems genuinely worried about a nobody like himself. Another part of him wants to run far, far away. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Act like your feelings don’t matter.”

An ache pulls through Kaveh. He forces out another laugh to ignore it and falls back on the couch. Tucking an arm behind his head, he stares at the ceiling fan drawstring. He had one of these in his bedroom before his father died, and he still lived with his mother. Usually, he can’t remember what that room looked like, his mind’s eye a puddle of mud. “I already said I’m fine.”

“You won’t lose your job.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kaveh finally mutters.

“Then what is it?” Alhaitham pauses. “You can trust me.”

It’s not like Kaveh doesn’t trust Alhaitham back. If anything, he holds more secrets about Kaveh than nearly anyone else.

Which is the problem. The moment this fun is over, the one person he’s revealed himself to fully will walk away with them all, leaving him feeling more disassembled than he already did. “I told you, my parents aren't really in the picture for me anymore—” A prickling discomfort crawls through his body, making him stop.

“I remember,” Alhaitham says.

“I’ll make it quick.”

But he doesn’t. He starts from the beginning. How he encouraged his father to take part in an archeological dig for his work, which ultimately led to his death in the desert. How he blamed himself, especially as his mother's depression worsened, and she could no longer afford to take care of them both. How he then started living at Faruzan’s, half to help his mother and half to run from his guilt. How the guilt of relying on anyone led him to eventually lease an apartment alone despite his empty bank account, yet he still bought Alhaitham’s motorcycle poster to mark the place as his own.

“Even before buying a bed,” Kaveh says, tossing a hand at the ceiling.

A light laugh leaves Alhaitham’s lips. “Are you for real?”

“Of course. I’d wanted merch of you since I was thirteen!” He sighs. “I was just running for a long time. Sometimes, I feel like I still am. So, family situations like this—fights, disagreements, anything bad—do this to me. They tell me to run again.”

Whether Alhaitham is nodding in understanding or shaking his head over him being a tall child, Kaveh has no clue. He’s not sure he wants to know, so his gaze stays glued to the fan. Crickets chirp beyond the pool doors, the living room falling into another lull.

Eventually, the silence grows too unbearable for Kaveh after bulldozing down so many of his walls. “How did she find out? That I’m from the pictures in New York City.”

“Nilou,” Alhaitham says. “Wasn’t her fault. After the photos leaked, my grandmother said she’d be sent to the execs for a talk if she didn’t reveal who it was.”

So, fired. “Sorry I interfered. Maybe you could’ve kept talking to your grandma and fixed things peacefully—”

“No.”

Alhaitham’s voice comes off so stern that Kaveh lifts his head off the cushion. He pushes himself up on a palm to sit up again. “No?”

“If anything, I’m sorry,” Alhaitham says, his posture inward. Sunken.

When Kaveh says sorry, it’s a reflex. But this is the first time Alhaitham has even uttered the word. Tthe way he sounds so serious and sincere has Kaveh’s heartrate spiking. “You?”

“For not doing more," Alhaitham says. "My grandmother—I love her.”

“I know you do.”

“And deep down, I know she thinks she’s doing what’s best for Collei. Same as me. I can’t blame her. I’ve caused so many fucking problems. But I want to think I’m worthy now. You’ve helped me see that. Kaveh, you—” He presses his lips together. “I shouldn’t have let her say that about you.”

“Alhaitham, no.”

“No, I refuse to keep losing people I care about.” It’s firm, but still soft. Sympathetic. “First, my parents. Now, Collei. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Kaveh swallows hard. “Are you still only talking about your sister?”

Alhaitham, in his exhaustion, hesitates.

That recognizable glow collects deep in Kaveh’s stomach, and as tingling and warm and overwhelming as on Valentine’s Day. Alhaitham has no right to make him feel this way.

He leans forward, cups Alhaitham’s jaw, and kisses him.

Alhaitham sinks so willingly into the kiss that the glow within Kaveh blooms, spreading through the rest of his body and buzzing in his head. The fresh scent of hair gel, the hints of a smoke break on his Golden ratio lips—it’s all so familiar, making it all so needed. They fall back together on the couch, Alhaitham draping his body over Kaveh with a strong arm.

It’s not enough. Not at all.

Kaveh grabs the lightly gelled hair at Alhaitham’s nape, tugs his belt loop to bring their bodies closer, closer. A groan comes from the back of Alhaitham’s throat as he rolls his hips, pressing against the inside of Kaveh’s thighs, and Kaveh’s core aches at the friction. Alhaitham is enjoying this too. Enjoying him. He starts to tug off Alhaitham’s suit jacket.

Alhaitham doesn’t help. He’s breathing fast as he’s washed in moonlight, studying Kaveh like no one else in the world exists. The muscles around his shoulder blades are strained, like he’s fighting to hold himself back. To stay obedient. “You’re feeling okay enough?”

I want a distraction, Kaveh considers saying, but Alhaitham isn’t the distraction. He’s the one thing Kaveh wants to focus on amongst the real distractions that won’t stop trailing them, the nonstop hiding and worrying of being found out. Even just weeks ago, Alhaitham’s touch against his own bare skin would’ve made him second-guess himself. But now, tonight, it’s all he needs.

“I’m fine,” Kaveh says instead. “I may not remember how to do this.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this."

The words feel bigger than Kaveh can manage right now, especially when Alhaitham is finally shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it onto the floor, better revealing the way his tight corset hugs his figure. “How do we get that fucking thing off of you?” Kaveh says.

Alhaitham glances over his shoulder, down where the ribbons form a perfectly symmetrical, oversized bow at the tailbone. “Tighnari.”

“How does Tighnari do it?”

“Uh.”

Kaveh huffs and sits up far enough to reach behind, concentrating hard as he threads his fingers through the loops. The moment the corset sags off, Kaveh hurries to take off the rest of Alhaitham’s clothes. Alhaitham, however, takes his time, marking Kaveh’s skin with his lips while sliding off his undershirt and costume leggings, the cool living room prickling goosebumps against his bare skin. As Alhaitham leans back over him, drinking in Kaveh's body littered with bruises from live show blocking gone wrong and the faint remnants of scars, the dim lighting casts shadows across his cheekbones and chiseled jaw and soft, rounded nose. All Kaveh can think is: Perfect.

Alhaitham is perfect. The most beautiful, perfect man in the world. He's somebody.

And Kaveh isn't. 

Immediately, Kaveh wishes he could shove the thoughts back in, but it’s too late. Alhaitham’s brow is already pinching with concern.  He leans forward and kisses Kaveh’s forehead.

"What is it?" he asks.

“What if I’m not somebody like you?”

“Of course, you’re somebody."

“Am I?”

Alhaitham threads their hands together from above. “You’re somebody who’s inspiring beyond belief. Especially compared to me.”

Kaveh is tempted to tell him to stop lying. But whenever he tries to lie to himself that he’ll succeed at being somebody, or that he never dwells on the past, the façade only holds up until he’s alone, laying on that mattress on his floor and too crushed under the weight of his doubts. If there is anyone who can finally convince Kaveh of these lies, maybe it’s Alhaitham, one of the most talented actors in the world.

“You’re special,” Alhaitham says. “Yes, that includes your talent, and your looks, and everything else you’ve worked so hard for. But that’s the last I think about.” His warm lips brush against Kaveh’s neck, trail to his collarbone.

Kaveh’s breath hitches. “What?”

“You never give up on what you want, and you encourage others to do the same. Me, with my family. The rest of the cast, with our show. We turned that mess from nothing into something. You’re somebody.”

“Your assessment of me is still probably flawed,” Kaveh says, face flushing. “I’ve been trying to act cooler and calmer around you than I actually am.”

A chuckle comes from deep within Alhaitham, sweet and rich like honey as always. “Kaveh, if you’ve been trying to trick me into thinking you’re calm these last few months, then you’ve done a supremely bad job.”

“Shut up.” But Kaveh doesn’t mean it. Not at all.

Alhaitham knows. He brings their lips together again, whispers that Kaveh is somebody to his sternum and his hips. And once Alhaitham lowers around his thighs, asks if it’s okay, and takes him in, he sees too many stars to recall any more doubts. Alhaitham’s too good at this, and the heat in his stomach grows too hot and too fast.

“No—” Kaveh can barely breathe again, but he wants Alhaitham to stop doing all the work. He reaches to undo Alhaitham’s belt.

Alhaitham snatches his hand too quickly, pinning it up on the armrest with his own slightly calloused one. “Not yet,” he says, a warm hum in his voice.

Kaveh summons the willpower to yank Alhaitham up. “Off. Now.”

Maybe it was the rare authority of Kaveh’s tone or simply that he had the gall to boss someone like Alhaitham around, but from the glassy look he gets in response, it’s obvious that was enjoyed. Kaveh makes a mental note for next time.

Because there very well will be a next time, even though he has no clue what they’ll be after tonight.

Kaveh knows what he wants them to be.

Alhaitham sits up to lean against the couch back, pulling Kaveh onto his lap. They face each other, flushed and breathless.

The moment Alhaitham’s hand ventures downward, Kaveh sucks in a sharp breath, and he scrambles to find him, too. After so many filming shoots and equivalent exchange spats and thin motel walls, how long they’ve yearned for this, they can only go slow for so long. Kaveh scrambles to claw at the firmness of Alhaitham’s chest and ground himself, to rest his head in the crook of Alhaitham’s neck from how good his touch feels. At how giving away this trust to be taken is so easy.

Alhaitham’s breath grazes Kaveh’s ear. “I’ve been keeping something else from you.”

The low timbre of his voice rumbles through Kaveh, turning his body to jelly. His legs tremble on Alhaitham’s lap, and he slumps fully forward against his chest. “Alhaitham.”

“I need to keep being honest, Kaveh. When I say you’re special, I mean it.”

“Alhaitham.”

“Kaveh. I can’t lose you.” The grip he has on Kaveh’s hip tightens as if in a desperate effort to hold him forever.

The warmth collecting in Kaveh’s stomach is too intoxicating, and the validation he never thought he’d receive in a lifetime is too overwhelming, making whatever control he had over his brain vanish within their hazy cloud of pleasure. With Alhaitham, it’s always too much, because Kaveh wants him, needs him, he’s all Kaveh’s ever wanted— “I don’t want to lose you, either. Alhaitham, I only want you.”

Alhaitham tilts Kaveh’s chin up and kisses him deeply, fueled by every truth they’ve been forced to suppress for too long—and it pushes Kaveh right over the edge. He comes apart with a shudder as heat engulfs him in pulses, and Alhaitham follows seconds later, groaning Kaveh’s name in reverence one last time. They collapse onto the couch together as a calmness settles in their bones, and they lie in the comforting warmth of skin against skin, the synced rise and fall of catching their breaths. And as Kaveh holds onto Alhaitham through the night, wanting every inch of him for himself, Alhaitham’s arms tighten around him all the same.

Chapter Text

A horse stares at Kaveh from across the living room.

Alhaitham’s arm slips off of Kaveh’s hip as he jerks awake and upright on the couch, squinting hard. The horse’s skin is dotted with red-and-white polka dots, and the bright-green mane shimmers in the morning sunlight streaming through the sliding pool door.

Okay, not a real horse. A statue of one, its beady eyes carved too realistically for Kaveh’s waning mental stability to handle. He didn’t notice last night with the lights off.

As Kaveh scans the rest of the living room, his eyeballs only get blasted with more. Between the tropical toucan couch, the modern art paintings on the pastel-green walls, and the orange-and-red poppies surrounding the pool beyond, the home looks more like an experimental exhibit in the arts district. Not the vibe he associated with Alhaitham, but at least it’s not the typical celebrity go-to pure-white jail cell.

“Morning,” a groggy voice comes behind Kaveh.

Alhaitham, still on the couch and very much shirtless. He rubs his face, which looks puffier first thing in the morning, softening the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones. He almost looks cute.

Alhaitham’s bewildering natural attractiveness melts every word in the dictionary out of Kaveh’s brain. “H-hnn.”

“Was that a hello?” Alhaitham asks.

“S-sure.” Champion. “How are you?”

“My crush told me that they like me back last night, so very good.” Alhaitham sits up, lightly pulling Kaveh closer toward him by the wrists. “And yourself?”

Kaveh smiles back, but then he glances at the staring horse statue. “Admittedly, a bit distracted by this room.”

“This used to be my grandmother's house before she moved out of the country. I haven’t had time to do a remodel.”

“Oh, thank God” bullets out of Kaveh. “I was so worried you actually liked this.”

Alhaitham chuckles, his morning grogginess turning its usual honeyed sound into something deeper, and Kaveh’s stomach tightens. “Do you even know me?”

At this point, Kaveh would like to think he knows Alhaitham. But lately, he’s been hit with curveball after curveball. Maybe he really is starting to get to know him.

Kaveh shrugs through his warming cheeks, a backdrop of birds chirping beyond the sliding door filling the silence. It feels like they really are alone, safe in this home, away from the world that hunts them down.

“I hate to kick you out so quickly,” Alhaitham says, massaging circles along Kaveh’s palm, “but I need to take Collei to a taekwondo tournament at twelve.”

“Your grandma is letting you?”

“I assume so. She’s busy attending some fashion show in Lincoln Heights. These are the only times she allows me to pick up Collei—when she’s too swamped to take her places by herself. That, or she leaves Collei to run around Kidneeto.”

“Got it,” Kaveh mutters, even though he doesn’t get it at all. Not when her biggest argument is that Alhaitham doesn’t have enough responsibility. She clearly doesn’t have the time herself. “I’ll head out.”

“Unless you’d like to come? Collei likes you. They let parents or whoever in all the time.”

Anxiety curdles in the pit of Kaveh’s stomach, but he can’t place why. Maybe he made forgotten plans for today that his subconscious is remembering.

Alhaitham’s face falls, so he must look as tense as he feels. “You don’t have to join.”

“No, no,” Kaveh says, pitch spiking. “You’re good.”

“It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”

“I’m not scared. Are you scared? Who’s scared?” He discards Alhaitham’s hands and acts on his urge to go pick his shirt off the concernedly pristine tile floor. When he rises, the horse statue ogles back at him, and he startles. “What is that thing?”

“A Ronaldo Horse.”

Kaveh makes an exasperated noise. “Did this thing stare at us having sex all night?”

“Well, it’s not a real horse,” Alhaitham says, tilting his head.

“I know. But.” He puts his shirt back on, then cracks his neck. Couldn’t they have moved to Alhaitham’s bed? Is this what life in his real magical mansion would be like? Aching necks and sleepless nights and late starts to the day in a void of beady horse eyes? He seriously needs to check his email. He whips his phone off the coffee table.

Missed calls. Messages. Emails.

Kaveh’s heart plummets as he opens Faruzan’s messages full of article links first.

A Family in Shambles: Alhaitham Throws Drink in His Grandmother’s Face

2 hr ago

Recently-Out Alhaitham Plummets Reputation More after Second Dispute, Secretly Working for Kids’ Studio

11m ago

Alhaitham’s NYC Alley Man Caught as Castmates on Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show

3 hr ago

“Fuck.” It’s all Kaveh can say. All he can think.

“What’s wrong?” Alhaitham asks, rising off the couch. He carefully tucks back strands of Kaveh’s frizzy hair, courtesy of the night before.

Kaveh shows the phone, but his hand trembles too much to hold it still.

Alhaitham stabilizes the screen himself, his eyes moving quicker the longer he reads. A crease arises in his brow. “Hey. Hey. Look, everything’s going to be all right.”

Why did Kaveh think he could block out the world? Live in a little bubble to escape? They’re public figures now. Known. The worst part is, Kaveh knew. He knew everyone at the banquet would figure this out when they spoke so loudly—when Alhaitham threw fucking champagne. That someone would leak it to the news, and they’d never be able to keep tabs when too many guests were outside.

He grips his forehead. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Alhaitham says again.

“How is this possibly going to be all right?”

“Because I meant what I said last night. We can get through this together.” Alhaitham’s voice is still level and calm. He gently rubs Kaveh’s arm. 

Kaveh barely perceives his touch because Faruzan has sent him another article. Meet Up-And-Coming Actor Kaveh: Alhaitham’s Newest Target. Full name.

People are digging into his life. Maybe his past.

Dread stews in Kaveh’s gut. He’s feared of this situation. But what he never factored into the equation were Alhaitham stans. People who’ve gotten the National Guard called, who forced Alhaitham to coat his body head-to-toe in masks and accents, and who must be putting Kaveh under a microscope now. Even if he were to relentlessly seal every part of his life, people like that could hunt down cracks no matter how hard he tries.

No more Walk of Fame. Not even a chance.

“If I weren’t serious about you, then I’d never risk this with Collei in the mix,” Alhaitham says, barely pulling Kaveh’s focus back. “I knew the risks.”

Kaveh’s laugh comes out shaky. “Well, maybe I didn’t. People are looking, Alhaitham.”

“Where?”

“Here. Everywhere.”

Alhaitham glances around the room. The horse.

“Metaphorically, Alhaitham!” Kaveh balls a fist into the peak of his messy hair, which may need to be dyed from blond to black in order to start a new life. To wipe his name, his past, everything he’s built. He paces around the couch, the coffee table, the freak of a horse. “They’re looking at me. Into me. If they discover what I made you promise to keep secret, I could be done for in this industry. Forever. I’ll never reach where I want to go.”

Alhaitham’s jaw tenses as he processes the weight of the words. “Again, can’t we get through this together?”

As if things are that easy. As if everything Kaveh has ever dreamed of potentially being thrown out the window means nothing when Alhaitham’s had that all since the womb.

Kaveh's legs feel too weak, and he drops onto the couch again. He stares at the floor, pointedly avoiding Alhaitham’s gaze. “None of this is something you just get through like a cold.”

“I know. I know that.”

“Do you? What about Collei, like you said? The news is already calling you names after the banquet.” Kaveh stops pacing and tosses out his arms. “The last thing I want is to be the reason you didn’t get her.”

Alhaitham crosses his own. “No, I threw that drink at my grandmother. Not you.”

“Because of me. Between this and those pictures of us in New York City, the news is only going to turn you back into the selfish, irresponsible, out-of-control man they called you before. What will be your chances of getting Collei then?”

“That’s not true.” But Alhaitham hesitates, and his sudden quietness proves he’s lying.

“It is, Alhaitham.” Kaveh hates how his voice warbles, falls apart before someone who’s only been helping to patch himself back up. “You know that better than anyone.”

Alhaitham takes a deep, long breath. “Then if you’re right, this adoption will be over within a few months. I’ll wait for you. We can wait until then?”

Kaveh knows his answer. It resonates deep within the dread and remorse churning inside of him. No matter what, even after months, Alhaitham’s family will remain. Kaveh won’t stop being who he is. Someone who’s done enough.

He stays silent.

Alhaitham’s face flickers with shock as he stands there, gaze flared and forehead lines deepened. All at once, it smoothens into something emptier. A disappointment. A regret.

“You’re ending this," Alhaitham concludes.

“I just think that maybe I shouldn’t touch this,” Kaveh says quickly. His hands start to fidget like he’s six again, picking Play-Doh out of his nails. “It’s what I told you last night. When it comes to this stuff, I have a history of everything I touch rotting and dying. Look what’s happening now. You and Collei—you’re a family. And what about me?” He’s repeating himself. He feels like he’s grasping at straws as too many fall apart around him.

“Right… Guess I thought we were on the same page.”

“You know that’s now what this is. You know I care about you—” Kaveh’s voice cracks, and he stops himself. Because if this were anyone else, this wouldn’t mean much, but from a locked door like Kaveh, this means he’s definitely, positively, falling in love.

The worst part is, Alhaitham knows. The way every inch of his face softens means he’s not the only one. They both know better than to say those words now.

“Not all families are like yours,” Alhaitham mumbles.

It’s a bucket of cold water over Kaveh’s head. Too much. He needs space. He needs air.

So, he says what he has to. “I think I should go.”

Chapter Text

Standing behind the You’re on Fire bar counter in his Mario costume, Kaveh stares at his new email notification. A soundscape of gamers’ dies and fucks from the arcade machines engulf him, which matches his inner monologue.

Subject: Morality Clause Check-in

            To: Kaveh

Sunday, Feb 17, 7:58 AM

I’ll be blunt: I’m not sure if you’ll be as lucky this time. I checked in with Nilou since it seems you were only indirectly involved with the current news. My main concern is that the CEO has the power to request writing you off. Will keep you updated.

Kaveh swipes away the email. He shouldn’t be shocked that those guests pieced together that he’s the NYC alley man. Alhaitham's grandmother accused him of engaging with Alhaitham loudly. But nothing could’ve prepared him for the conflicting sensation of being known, yet for a reason that has the world readying pitchforks at his shitty NoHo apartment door. Every instinct tells him not to search his name again.

But he does.

men will do literally anything else except go to therapy. “the gym is my therapy” bitch are you deadlifting your thoughts and feelings?

3hr ♡ 3,533

not Alhaitham throwing wine in his grandma’s FACE over some guy he fucked in an alley once does he think he’s in a k-drama

1hr ♡ 9,776

disgusting pig get ALL children away from that man. INCLUDING at his JOB!!

31m ♡ 210

Someone snatches the comments away.

Faruzan. She slaps the phone down on the counter so hard that Kaveh swears wind blows up into her light-blue ringlets. “No checking.”

“I know,” Kaveh says.

“You know none of it will be true.”

“I know.” He picks up his rag and returns to wiping the counter. At least his Mario hat keeps his face shrouded from any potential Alhaitham stans. Although getting beaten up by them for mashing mouths with Alhaitham is the last of his worries.

“You’re better than all of those losers,” Faruzan goes on. “You just got back from a U.S. tour. None of them will ever do something as cool as you.”

Kaveh wants to consider Faruzan’s words as wisdom, but that’s difficult when she’s in one of her many video game costumes. Today, it’s a goofy, not-so-wise smiley face carved into a banana leaf pressed against her chest. “Thanks.”

“You quitting the bar yet, by the way?”

“Why would I?”

“You’re becoming the most popular kids’ band in America, for one.”

“Yet I might not make rent again.”

“Seriously?” Faruzan says loudly enough to drown out the bar.

Kaveh nods sluggishly in his exhaustion. He flicks the rag over his shoulder, leaning his elbows on the damp bar. “Who knows if I’ll even have my Kidneeto job by tomorrow. No one wants a name trending around flames. Even an offer I got from this other big studio called Phantasworks might be gone now. ”

“But this blowup isn’t your fault. It’s Alhaitham’s and his family."

Most comments are mostly about Alhaitham, even under Kaveh’s trending name. That should relieve him. But it doesn’t fully, knowing how much Alhaitham is losing because of that. He wonders what Alhaitham is doing right now. “Their fight was still about me.”

“DIE.”

Faruzan winces, proving she lost the duel. “I’m glad you’re staying. I’d miss you.”

Kaveh doubts that. She was probably hoping he’d get out of her way. “Yeah. Sorry I have to stick around.”

“I already told you it’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Aren’t we basically family?” She smiles wide, showing off her braces.

Kaveh stiffens. He’s never considered Faruzan as family. Really, he’d prefer to keep that word far from her when it only brings bad news. Although no matter the label, he supposes her favors will dry up soon regardless, even as a low, raspier voice floats through his memory. You’re special.

He wants to believe what Alhaitham tried to convince him of mere days ago. That Faruzan views Kaveh similarly enough to not get left behind.

“Hello?” Faruzan shakes Kaveh’s shoulder so rapidly that his knockoff Mario hat falls off.

Kaveh swipes the hat back onto his head before a bright-red sniper target lands on his forehead. He answers her question with a shrug.

“Ex-cuse me?” Faruzan says, the sass in her tone soaring from a two to a ten. “Are you implying I wouldn’t miss you?” She picks the damp rag off Kaveh’s shoulder and whacks him over and over.

“What? What? Ow. Come on, I know you’re sick of me by now.” It flings out of him.

Faruzan’s hand stills. “Why would you think that?”

A customer further down the counter flags Kaveh to order a Pikapunch. He has a mole by his eye similar to Alhaitham’s.

Trying to shake off the weakness that briefly clawed out of him, Kaveh washes his hands and shovels ice into a glass. “You’ve given me too much. I’ve only given you more problems. Like always. To everyone lately. So you can just let me deal with—”

“You’ve helped me keep my bar running,” Faruzan snaps, snatching the glass and slamming it down on the countertop. “You did my Geometry homework freshman year, and you’ve made me laugh every day since with your Mario hat and inability to notice how every customer in here flirts with you. You’ve given me friendship. Don’t you dare say I wouldn’t miss you.” That’s when Kaveh realizes she’s not just scowling. There’s a sheen to her eyes.

“I— Oh.” The master of comfort. Kaveh doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t. He pulls her close for a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I am.”

“Good,” she snaps, but it gets muffled by Kaveh’s shoulder.

The guilt pulsing through Kaveh tells him to laugh like usual, to prove he’s fine, but he doesn’t. “I think this Alhaitham situation has me really screwed up, Faruzan. He’s going to lose his sister. It’s my fault.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help.”

Faruzan pulls herself out of Kaveh’s grasp, and she picks at a hangnail like a makeshift fidget toy while she considers. “Scaramouche might be able to.”

“Who?” 

“My friend from college. He was a therapist who specialized in families with cases similar to Alhaitham’s. At least, before he got fired."

Kaveh weighs the idea briefly, but sticking his nose anywhere in Alhaitham’s business again might make everything worse. “I’ll think about it. I’m sorry again.”

“I know. I’m not sick of you."

“Thank you.” 

"You’re welcome.”

⛤ 

REQUIRED: Costume Fitting + Small Discussion

To: Kaveh, Dehya, Cyno, Alhaitham, Tighnari 

Sunday, Feb 17, 8:12 PM

Hello Adult Cast!

I hope you’ve rested since tour! Although shooting the rest of Season 1 doesn’t start up until 2/24, we have table reads and a costume fitting this week! Our fitting is TOMORROW 2/18! As for Season 2, we need renewed contracts signed and sent to Tighnari by next week!

Below is the table reads schedule!

Wednesday, 2/20 – ALL CAST

Thursday, 2/21 – Alhaitham, Dehya, Cyno

Friday 2/22 — Alhaitham, Kaveh

I will also be holding small discussions with those involved in the current news.

Warmest regards,

Nilou

⛤ 

Kaveh steps into the Kidneeto Studios lobby with one hour of sleep to his name and a black coffee in his grip for four reasons. One, with so many unsolicited messages invading his social media all weekend, he spent the night deactivating his accounts. Two, he kept searching his name online, waiting for an accusation about him that could make his career significantly more difficult, but there wasn’t. Yet. Three, he panicked over Nilou’s email about a small discussion, which is now in mere minutes.

Four, the worst one. He’s about to see Alhaitham.

Clanging comes from upstairs, and Kaveh cautiously follows the noise until he stands before the door to Costumes left wide open.

Alhaitham is at the center of the room, his abs encased in his magical translucent undershirt. Tighnari measures his wingspan with tape as best he can with his trench coat repeatedly fluttering in his way. Then there’s Collei by the vanities lining the wall, spinning in a rolling chair so rapidly that Kaveh barely makes out her flower-print graphic tee and that her hair is tied into pigtails.

Kaveh clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Twiggy!” Collei yells. The moment her sneakers hit the floor, she wobbles and holds out her arms. Once she’s balanced enough, she rushes over and slams herself into Kaveh for a hug. “It’s been a year.”

“A month,” Kaveh says, then debates if he should correct kids over meaningless stuff. Something tells him not to, but he didn’t read that anywhere. “It has felt like a year, though, hasn’t it?"

“Kaveh,” Tighnari calls his way. “I’m going to be another fifteen minutes with Alhaitham. You can wait or take food from the crafty or whatever.”

“Right,” Kaveh says, trying to hold eye contact with Tighnari and nobody else, but that willpower only lasts so long. His gaze drifts toward Alhaitham again, who is indifferently checking his phone. Not looking back. As if Kaveh doesn’t exist, just like the first day he worked here.

It conveys more than words could. They really are done.

Kaveh’s heart fractures. He chose this. Yet it fucking hurts.

As composed as he can, he heads out the door and toward the crafty back in the lobby. Halfway down the steps, footsteps follow. He turns.

Collei, showing a wide set of teeth. “Let’s go."

“You should stick by your brother,” Kaveh says, gesturing back upstairs.

“He's fine."

"Do you need something from the crafty?”

“A cookie?"

Kaveh can’t argue with that, so they walk to the crafty side by side. The adult section is still packed with healthy greens he’d never touch, but the kids’ section has more dino nuggets, a cheese platter, and double chocolate crunch cookies. He wanders that way.

“Kaveh?” comes over his shoulder.

Nilou, who’s noticeably exhausted. Her eyelids hang heavy despite the butterfly hair clips and complicated overalls she managed to put on. “How are you doing?”

“I’m…” Kaveh’s fine. He is. But. “Trying to be fine. I’m sure everybody is. You?”

“Yeah. I talked to Alhaitham's grandmother.”

Kaveh’s heart sinks through him. There’s no reason for Nilou to speak another word. He knows. Somehow, he’s gone. Written off season two. Maybe even before the first season is over. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry.”

“About?”

“I know what you’re thinking. But our execs reviewed the feedback from tour and decided that most compliments stem from you and Alhaitham as a pair. The show would flip upside down if that dynamic were lost. Since we have record numbers compared to any other Kidneeto show, capitalism has won. Really, you two may be needed here forever.” Nilou laughs.

Needed here forever.

The statement radiates through Kaveh. Forever, a constant for the first time after so many years of variables.

But that also means forever with Alhaitham.

And then Phantasworks. Kaveh hasn’t followed up on that since his name became a trending topic. Who knows if that’s on the table anymore, but what if it is?

Too many complicated feelings squeeze Kaveh's chest all at once to process. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll head back upstairs,” Nilou says, waving as she leaves.

Kaveh waves back. By the time he’s focused on the crafty again, Collie is woofing down a cookie like a starved raccoon.

“Hey, eat it that fast, and you’ll choke,” Kaveh says.

“Then I’ll die happy,” Collei says. 

“Think about your older brother. He’d be sad.”

“That’s true.” She glances back up the steps, where Alhaitham and Tighnari continue to work. “Are you and my brother still best friends?”

Kaveh chokes on his cookie instead of the prophesized other way around. He pounds his chest to lodge it out. “Where’d that come from?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“He said that?”

“He told me that he likes you the most out of everyone, and that’s being best friends, right? But today you didn’t talk to each other.”

Guilt seeps through every one of Kaveh’s bones. He told Collei about them.

Squatting low enough to match Collei’s shorter height, he pokes her shoulder. “How are things? You’re hanging in there?”

Collei hums as she thinks. “I’m okay. But I’m a little scared.”

“Why scared?” Kaveh asks, worry pinching his brow.

“I don’t want to live with my grandma. I love her, but I love Alhaitham too, and I’d have to say goodbye to Alhaitham. Even if Alhaitham wanted to visit us, I don’t think he would be allowed because she and Alhaitham don’t like each other anymore.”

The guilt digs deeper, painful as a wound. Kaveh can’t let that happen.

A name dawns on him, and he grabs his phone from his back pocket to send Faruzan a quick message. Then he pats Collei’s head, smiling as best as he can manage. “Alhaitham loves you too much to let that happen. Besides, I think things will get better from here on out.”

Chapter Text

The last place Kaveh expects Scaramouche, LCSW, to suggest meeting for discussions of family law is the Let’s Go! Disco & Cocktail Club. Finding parking at six o’clock on a Tuesday was a nightmare, and now the electronic funk music and disco ball spinning beside their stools are, simply, not the vibe.

At least Kaveh’s sunglasses fight off some of the shine. He looks like a fuckass wearing them indoors, but he’d rather not be spotted while his name remains in news outlets. At least his correct name is still being used.

He stiffly stirs his gin and tonic. “Nice office.”

Scaramouche sighs with so much exasperation that it breaches into growl territory. His skin is concerningly pale for Los Angeles, rivaling the shimmering disco ball, and the combination of his pastel-yellow aloha shirt and Life is Good rhinestone cap doesn’t help. “This is the best place I got since I was fired, okay?”

Kaveh’s shoulders tense. Life definitely does not seem good for him, and he doesn’t want to make that worse. “I don’t care, really. Just didn’t expect it.”

“I know the owner. They’ll give us a few free drinks before they start charging. I have a feeling we both need that, so drink up.”

“Wait, what?”

Scamouche’s head tilts at Kaveh. A few strands of black hair tucked into his Life is Good hat fall over his puffy, dark circles. “Unless you’re hungover?”

No, but this isn’t what Kaveh expects a therapist to encourage. Despite his shorter height, it’s obvious that Scaramouche is older than him by a couple of years. Mostly from the tired, budding wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but also because he recalls Faruzan meeting him at the Museum of Death on Hollywood Boulevard when she first opened You’re on Fire, and he was a grad student at UCLA. “No.”

“The indoor shades made me wonder.”

“Just don’t want to be spotted.”

“Getting hunted for sport?”

Scaramouche doesn’t seem like the type to keep up on celebrity gossip. “Sort of. I’m in the news right now,” Kaveh says.

“For?”

He doesn’t know where to start. “Lots.”

Scaramouche sips his potentially toxic green drink, then inspects the liquor shelves beyond the counter. Kaveh has heard of therapists purposely leaving awkward silences after responses to pressure clients into filling them. He thought he’d be prepared for this tactic, but he didn’t expect to be this intimidated.

If this were any other time, Kaveh would ignore his gin and tonic. Today, though, he takes a sip. It hits nice on his tongue instead of godawful. Not the best sign. “This is why I wanted to meet up. I need to write a testimony for Alhaitham.”

Scaramouche squints like he’s trying to jog his memory bank. “Isn’t that an actor?”

Kaveh isn’t thrilled at the idea of giving an I fucked four-time Oscar nominee Alhaitham speech. But if he wants information out of Scaramouche, he’ll have to. He summarizes as quickly as he can—his grandmother, his sister, and how Kaveh has made it all fall apart.

“Huh” is all Scaramouche says.

“Yeah,” Kaveh says, appreciating the surprisingly simple response. “Faruzan said you might know how the family courts operate? I have a bad feeling Alhaitham is going to lose his sister because of me. I want to fix this.”

“When is this happening?”

Kaveh should know. He should’ve cared enough about Alhaitham to ask despite his messed-up feelings toward family. “Not sure,” he mutters. “Soon, I assume.”

“As a general rule, you can’t send a witness statement directly to a court. The court has to come to you first, or you gotta get permission from a judge to file one.”

“How do I get permission?”

Scaramouche takes a pause. “Even if you write one, Alhaitham will need to submit it along with his paperwork. Not you. You’d have to see him.”

Nerves crawl in Kaveh’s chest. “Can’t I send it to him through the mail?”

“I guess, if you really don’t want to see the guy. It’s an online form. Print it out and sign it. What I’m getting at is, Alhaitham would make the call on whether it’s submitted. On top of that, you might need to attend the hearing to provide evidence if he does.”

Then this could be a waste of time. Someone like Alhaitham would likely decline a favor even when wanted, especially when he’s ignoring Kaveh with purpose now.

Still, Kaveh has to try. “Okay. Thanks.”

Scaramouche studies Kaveh in the disco lights. “I’m surprised you’re fine with that, considering how resistant you are to family matters.”

His brow spikes. “What’d you just say to me?”

“That’s what Faruzan tells me.”

Kaveh wonders if this breaks a privacy law, only to once again remember that Scaramouche is not officially a therapist anymore. This is very legal gossip. “This feels different,” he says irritably. “I’m a huge reason why Alhaitham is struggling, and I need to make up for it. Nothing more.”

“You’re really only interested in discussing Alhaitham’s hearing with me today?”

Kaveh can feel the corner he’s in narrowing, and he isn’t thrilled about it. He drinks the rest of his gin and tonic on one long pull. “How long would it take to talk about other things?”

“That’s not how therapy works.”

“But you’re not a therapist anymore. Why’d you get fired?”

Scaramouche leans back in his barstool and crosses his arms, making Kaveh wonder if he’d be jotting on a notepad if they were in a real office. “I was”—he summons air quotes “—a bit too real with my clients and was told to leave.”

That strangely has Kaveh respecting Scaramouche more. “Sorry to hear.”

“I prefer this. I can finally be honest in the way I want to.”

Maybe it’s how fast Kaveh finished his drink, or maybe it's how much Scaramouche judges his past profession, but it makes Kaveh say, “Fine, be honest with me.”

Scaramouche leans his cheek on a propped fist. “I think you need this. But no amount of me spewing why will change you. You gotta act on what you learn from me. Put yourself out there. Then we can talk through what either went well or poorly.”

“Not reassuring,” Kaveh says, grimacing.

“I think it is. Consider me a trampoline. When you do put yourself out there, you never crack your head open. You just fall a little. Because you got me to strategize next steps.”

“I guess…”

Scaramouche tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “Are you going to give me a rundown of your life or walk out those doors like a chicken?”

Kaveh sighs at his empty drink. “You’re getting it like a grocery list.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Scaramouche waves for another round of drinks.

So, Kaveh recites what he divulged to Alhaitham on a toucan-printed couch only weeks ago with a few additions. Mostly, how he feels like he's constantly running to ensure his career never crumbles, how he has a hundred dollars in the bank despite his name trending nonstop on social media, and how he still has to link arms with Alhaitham in a thirty-pound tuba mascot costume despite it all.

“Woof,” Scaramouche says.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, but it may take a few months for you to believe that. Meet here once a week?”

Kaveh considers for a moment. “I do appreciate the honesty so far.”

Scaramouche smiles. “Glad someone finally does.”

 ☆

FORM MC-030

SUPERIOR COURT OF CALIFORNIA, COUNTY OF LOS ANGELES

DECLARATION

1. I am Kaveh (82 Erwin St Apt 303 North Hollywood LA 91606). The respondent, Alhaitham, is my friend

Kaveh squints at his phone screen and repeatedly taps backspace.

Dubstep blares from the apartment above his own, and feral cats fight in the dumpsters outside. He barely perceives the NoHo chaos as he sits on his mattress, too focused on crafting the perfect witness statement to care.

The respondent, Alhaitham, is my acquaintance

Backspace.

my peer

Backspace.

my bud

Kaveh deletes the whole paragraph with a thumb swipe. Considering photos of them sucking the life out of each other are all over the internet, the court will know all of these terms are lies. That could invalidate every word of this statement.

1. I am Kaveh (82 Erwin St Apt 303 North Hollywood LA 91606). The respondent, Alhaitham, is my coworker. I have known him for 5 months. I know the applicant through work as well and have met her once alongside Alhaitham. I also know Collei through work as she is often on set most days.
2. Alhaitham has successfully held his acting role at Kidneeto Studios for nearly a year, and his financial status is strong. His most recent public argument with family was not about Collei and instead his love life, which has since been resolved. Furthermore, his actions after his mother and father’s death were temporary and amplified by news outlets. Collei has told me in private: “I don’t want to live with my grandma. I love her, but I love Alhaitham too. Alhaitham is the nicest.” I can attend the hearing and provide further evidence.
3. The outcome I want, and what Collei wants, is for Collei to be adopted by Alhaitham. In the months I have known Alhaitham, he has shown the utmost care to Collei and other children on our set. Our director has asked him to coach me on how to deal with kids due to his superior parenting skills. He is kind, honest, and hardworking despite growing up in a public spotlight and inspires me. Furthermore, his grandmother does not have much time in her schedule to take Collei to sports tournaments and places that responsibility on Alhaitham to regularly watch her. This outcome is best for both Alhaitham and Collei.

I declare under penalty of perjury under the laws of the State of California that the foregoing is true and correct.

Kaveh

As Kaveh rereads the positive qualities he misses so dearly about Alhaitham, a bittersweet pang strikes his chest. All that’s left is to print out this digital form, file it into an envelope, and send it to Alhaitham. Then he’s done. They’re done.

Well, almost.

His gaze drifts toward the Phantasworks business card thrown on his floor. Swiping away the form on his phone, he opens his email app to contact his agent about the Phantasworks opportunity he's been sitting on for weeks.

Only a few minutes later, he receives a response.

RE: Phantasworks Interest

To: Kaveh

Tues, Feb 19, 4:43 PM

What is wrong with you??? I’m thrilled producers reached out but why are you only telling me this now? I called, and they thankfully a greed to meet you at 9 a.m. tomorrow at Phantasworks. Do not be late.

Chapter Text

When Kaveh enters Kidneeto Studios at a ripe eight o’clock the next morning, Cyno, Dehya, Tighnari, and Nilou are all using the coffee machine. Which, of course, is directly beside the printer.

Slowly, Kaveh slips his phone back into his sweatpants pocket, where his witness statement awaits to be printed. He doesn’t own a laptop let alone a goddamn printer, so showing up an hour early meant he should’ve dodged the cast. Then he’d visit Phantasworks next door, return to Kidneeto before table reads, and hopefully deliver the tough news that he’s leaving the show for good.

This, however, throws a sharp magic wand into that plan.

When Kaveh looks to his left, the plan to leave Kidneeto in the dust only cracks more. The Fennecio and Shibatte statue in the lobby is gone. Instead, there’s a new statue of a tall man in a top hat and masquerade mask, peacock feathers fanned around his hair and cheekbones. An anthropomorphic tuba stands beside him, tubes and values jutting out of his sides. Below is a plaque inscribed in the base. The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show Starring Mr. Alhaitham and Mr. Kaveh.

This isn’t Kaveh’s name inscribed in a Hollywood Star. Not even close. But this is his name inscribed beside Alhaitham’s. All he can hear are the overjoyed sobs of his younger self within him. Maybe Kaveh’s adult self should be sobbing, too. He’s being memorialized as a real statue. In a real studio. As a real actor.

“He saw it!” Nilou calls, spotting Kaveh from the coffee maker. She clasps her hands drowning in colorful chunky rings. “What do you think, Kaveh, dear?”

If Kaveh is a real actor, then he should be able to hide the existential crises consuming him whole over ditching this studio. He summons a smile. “It definitely makes me want to keep living.”

They all blink at him.

Maybe he can’t hide it.

Cyno raises his hand, who’s in a plaid button-up for once instead of ghost-warding attire. “I’ve felt the same since we got a second season. More alive. Like, I haven’t sensed Gloria’s presence at all.” He inhales sharply. “I think I finally understand what’s been going on.”

Kaveh nods deeply, trying to show sympathy. “I’m glad you—”

“Gloria returned to the afterlife,” Cyno says.

Kaveh's mouth opens. Closes. “Wait, what’s up?”

Cyno shoots up triumphant fists. “She got too scared that I was sticking around all these kids. The plan worked. Goodbye, crosses.”

Tighnari knocks his shoulder against Cyno, his oversized trench coat swaying around his narrow frame. “You quitting now that you don’t need to ward her off anymore?”

“Nah.” He shows everyone a smile. “No other studio has you guys.”

An ache takes root in Kaveh’s chest. Because he agrees. He does.

But Alhaitham. His heart won’t make it out alive. Not when being exposed and left behind by all of Hollywood is the risk. And after how much damage he’s caused. Would Alhaitham even want him back?

Dehya eyes the clock on the wall. “It’s five past eight already. We should get going.”

“Wait, it starts at eight?” Kaveh asks.

“Yep.”

He swore it was nine. He’ll miss the Phantasworks meeting if he gets sucked into this table read.

Finally approaching the coffee machine, Kaveh rushes to pull his witness statement up on his phone and send the document to the printer. Before he reconstructs his plan, he needs to take care of this statement first. “Glad I showed up early then! Alhaitham’s late?”

The three trade unsure looks.

“What’s wrong?” Kaveh asks.

“His hearing for Collei is today,” Nilou says.

“He probably didn’t want you to worry,” Dehya adds.

“He didn’t tell you—?” Cyno starts, but Tighnari elbows him in the gut.

No wonder none of them wanted to speak up. The fact that Alhaitham informed everyone in the cast but Kaveh punctures him, and they knew it would. As the statement finishes printing out, he files it into his backpack despite the truth crashing through him. This letter won’t reach Alhaitham in time. At least, not through the mail. “Where’s the hearing?”

“Around Van Nuys, I think?” Nilou says.

At this time of day, that’d take an hour by car. After how long he waited to email back Phantasworks, he’s doubtful they would reschedule their meeting. But should that matter now?

He stands there, suddenly feeling like a useless child.

“Go,” Nilou says.

Kaveh looks at her. “What?”

“Be there for Alhaitham.” She smiles, the creases of her eyes crinkling. “Take today off.”

Her words are just enough to kick the paralysis out of him, to stop wasting any more time. With a quick head nod, he rushes out the studio doors. As he whips his phone out of his pocket, his open backpack slips off his shoulders and hits the pavement. His season one scripts, blocking notes, and the witness statement all slip out.

Groaning in frustration, he calls his agent, then presses his phone to his ear and scrambles to pick up the paperwork.

She answers in under two seconds. “Are you lost?”

“No. Hey, hi,” Kaveh says, slinging his backpack back on his shoulder. He weaves around a tour bus to his parked car. “I can’t make it to the Phantasworks meeting. Can you tell them?”

“What?” she whispers under her breath, half-sharp and half-confused. “Why?”

“It’s an emergency.” Although Kaveh still doesn’t have a solid plan for when he arrives at this emergency. Can he be a witness if he shows unprompted?

“Kaveh.” The barely remaining formality has vanished from his agent’s raspy voice. “I’m sorry, but I can’t keep representing someone who keeps half-assing their career. First, your irresponsible behavior on tour with a coworker, then the public argument with a studio CEO. Now you’re skipping this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for your career?”

Kaveh’s hand freezes on the driver’s door handle of his Honda. Despite how much he's pushed his body to the limit since the day his agent signed him, sacrificing whatever he could to rise higher, he should’ve seen this response coming from her. Still, nothing could’ve prepared him for the mixture of desperation and defeat, knowing he’s tripping back down to where he started six years ago. Maybe even more.

“I’m sorry. This is more important.” Kaveh hangs up.

 ☆

The clientele that the Van Nuys courthouse caters to is obvious as Kaveh walks toward the coliseum-structured building, passing by modern art installations and round topiary. As he steps through the double doors in a pair of sweats and a backpack on his shoulder, he only feels more out of place. Plastic people in pantsuits and tight dresses zigzag across the chrome lobby, entering and exiting lines of elevators like rats in a maze.

Kaveh glances down at himself. His appearance alone may get him barred from reading his witness statement, but he still checks a directory sign by the elevators. The map lists twenty room numbers on the ground floor alone, and there are six other floors.

Locating Alhaitham might take a miracle.

“Sir, we need to see ID if you’re going up,” a voice calls from the reception desk.

Kaveh nods and reaches into his backpack to grab his wallet, but he finds nothing. As he checks every other pocket, the memory of dropping his backpack in the parking lot flashes back to him. Did he not pick everything up?

Fuck.

A clicking noise comes from his left. A hand, pressing an elevator button. The intricate beadwork of the dress sleeve cuff distracts Kaveh momentarily before he checks the face. Alhaitham's grandmother. Beside her stands a bald white man in a navy business suit.

Her smile looks practiced as she turns toward the perceived attention, her fashionable browline glasses reflecting in the overhead fluorescent lights. Once she spots Kaveh, though, the brightness in her gaze drains. “Mr. Kaveh. You’re attending our hearing?”

“I-I am.” If he even can anymore.

“May I ask why?”

Kaveh digs into his backpack again, wishing more than ever that he could afford a briefcase like a real adult, and pulls out his witness statement. “I wrote this for Alhaitham.”

“You were asked to?”

He considers what she wants to hear, how to be liked by someone so distant from his understanding, and draws a blank. He chooses honesty. “No, but I wanted to write one—”

The elevator doors split open.

More suits and dresses filter out, and Alhaitham's grandmother and the lawyer walk forward to replace them.

Adrenaline surges through Kaveh as his last chance slips away. He propels himself forward to block the door, thrusting the statement out toward her. Alhaitham's grandmother jumps. “Alhaitham’s changed. If you could do me the honor, I would appreciate it if you read this.”

“Keep speaking with others to a minimum,” the lawyer coldly advises her.

“Mr. Kaveh, I’d prefer if we didn’t cause a second scene,” she says through a frown. Lifting a hand, she flags down the security over by reception.

Kaveh stands there, speechless and out of options. A voice inside of him whispers that he should stay silent and palatable, to do as she’s asked and leave, but his brain races for a way to make her listen. To save this. He has to.

“I’m in love with Alhaitham!” The words sizzle on Kaveh’s tongue, spark in the air between them, and blood pumps so loudly in his ears that the lobby noise evaporates. That wasn’t silent. That was loud and inconvenient and the last words Alhaitham's grandmother wanted to hear. But it’s all he has left. He barely registers her face shifting as security pulls Kaveh back by the arm and out of the elevator.

The door starts to close again.

Until Alhaitham's grandmother’s manicured hand jerks the door back open. “Repeat that.”

“We need to leave,” the lawyer says to her, stricter this time.

She lifts a hand to shut him up, her other shoving her glasses up into her curls. Even security loosens his grip on Kaveh.

Kaveh tries to shove down the nausea pulsing through his body and reorient himself, but too much is on the line. “I think you understand a lot already. Why Alhaitham wanted to keep us two a secret—so that exactly this wouldn’t happen. Why he took our job to work with kids, and why he tried so tirelessly to prove to you that he isn’t a kid himself anymore. But there’s one thing you still don’t understand.” He takes a collected breath. “He doesn’t want to lose anyone else. Not Collei. Not you.”

Alhaitham's grandmother stares back wildly.

Mutters pop up around the lobby. A few raise their phone to take photos, but Kaveh is too unfazed toward that by now to care.

With slow and calculated steps, she steps out of the elevator. She doesn’t stop until she stands directly before Kaveh, gaze sharply narrowed. “You’ll take care of Collei, too, then? If you’re as serious as you claim.”

“I…know Collei well. I like her. And I know she likes me.”

It’s a weak response, Kaveh knows, and now Alhaitham's grandmother is scrutinizing him hard in the aftermath. But when Alhaitham may never view him as deserving of that future again, no matter how many visits to the Let’s Go! Disco & Cocktail Club or trampolines he gets, he can’t risk a lie.

Alhaitham's grandmother takes the witness statement from Kaveh’s hand. She spins back around and rejoins her lawyer’s side.

The elevator doors shut.

As security proceeds to politely escort Kaveh outside, he doesn’t fight back when he already has too many marks against his public record, but he can’t leave the courthouse until he knows. Spotting a bench along the path, he sinks down.

The minutes tick as the afternoon sunlight beams down upon Kaveh's face, and suited figures pass by on a loop. He doesn’t check his email. He doesn’t think about his agent, or Phantasworks, or the rest he’s failed. He’s too worried. Too drained.

His posture falls, and his head dips low.

“Kaveh?”

Kaveh startles awake, the world coming back to him.

Alhaitham stands before him in a crisp black suit, not a sparkle or bead or peacock feather to be spotted, and his gray hair is neatly slicked back. The sun sets over his shoulders, his broad figure glowing with pinks and oranges. His forehead wrinkles in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Just how long was Kaveh out? “Nothing. Just. Hanging!”

“In Van Nuys?”

“Y-yep. How was the trial?”

A smile crawls up Alhaitham’s face.

One so undeniably full of joy.

Kaveh’s body floods with so much relief that his legs spring up, shooting him right off the bench. He pulls Alhaitham into a tight hug. “Congratulations."

A hesitant arm wraps around Kaveh’s waist in return.

“Thanks,” Alhaitham mutters in his ear, low and soft. The woodsy cologne, the hair gel that lingers on his pillowcase in the mornings—it’s all here. It's right.

And it hurts.

Kaveh lets go, taking a step backward. Keeping space. “I won’t keep you.”

Apparently, that was a bit too obvious since concern is setting in Alhaitham’s gaze now. “You never answered me. Why are you here? Table reads were today.”

“I wasn’t going to be there anyway. I had a meeting to go to at another studio—”

“Another studio?” Alhaitham repeats.

“Phantasworks.”

“Are you leaving our show?”

Kaveh bites his lip. “I don’t know yet.”

Alhaitham nods abnormally stiffly. He doesn’t allow Kaveh enough time to question the reason. “Did you talk to my grandmother today?”

“What?” A nervous laugh leaves his lips. “Why do you say that?”

“The hearing went suspiciously well. She was much less, I guess, stubborn. The other major hint is that you’ve driven halfway across LA to be here.”

Kaveh stares into Alhaitham’s deep red eyes that glimmer in the sunset around them, debating. Wanting to be honest.

“Kaveh?”

“I told her how much I care about you.”

Alhaitham’s mouth hangs open slightly. “Why would you lie?”

The genuine confusion in his tone twists a sharp pain in Kaveh’s chest.

His throat feels too thick to respond, but he tries his best to swallow away the lump. “I didn’t lie.”

From the growing conflict in Alhaitham’s tense expression, he isn’t convinced. Of course, he isn’t. These last few weeks, while he watched his own name spiral out of control in the news and fought to stop his family from dwindling more, the person he liked the most ran from him.

Kaveh ran. Yet his identity has remained in the clear since. Alhaitham stans, at least, have yet to air his past. Maybe because he managed to run quickly enough, or maybe because the cracks are sealed. Either way, as he wonders how he’d face a moment where that changes, all he hears are Alhaitham’s old words. Can’t we get through this together?

Today worked out because they got through it together.

Someone in a suit calls Alhaitham’s name by the courthouse doors.

Alhaitham waves back toward them in acknowledgement. “If you don’t stay on The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show with us, then I hope you stay well, Kaveh.”

With that, he walks away.

As Kaveh emptily watches Alhaitham’s trip toward the courthouse, a vibration comes from his back pocket. An LA area code, but not a contact in his phone. He picks up. “Hello?”

“Kaveh!" a woman's voice says. "I'm calling on behalf of Phantasworks. We were expected to meet today.”

Nerves bolt down his spine. He scrubs his face to try to knock his aching heart out of him. “Hi. Hello. I apologize that I couldn’t make it today.”

“Your agent said a family emergency came up. I’m so sorry. How about we just send the official offer your way?”

His agent covered for him.

No, more than that. “An offer? Wait, are you sure?”

“We just wanted you to check out the studio and the script to make sure you were on board. But we don’t want to miss out on working with one of the biggest rising stars in the children’s acting space, and we really would need an accepted offer by tomorrow.”

As Kaveh glances back at the courthouse doors, where Alhaitham is gone now, an unease settles in his chest. By tomorrow’s deadline, it may still be there.

“Sure," Kaveh says quietly. "Please send it along.”

Chapter Text

When Kaveh searches every inch of the Kidneeto Studios parking lot for his taped-together wallet, he finds zero evidence of its remains, hammering down his certainty that the universe is nothing but a ruling evil king and he its pathetic jester. Never has he been more thankful for his weekly trampoline meeting with Scaramouche tomorrow. This will be a key conversation point.

Granted, he did wait an extra day to start this hunt. A missing wallet was the last issue he wanted to deal with after bleeding his heart out on the courthouse steps. A vacationing Phantasworks bus tourist must be emptying his bank account by now.

“Enjoy the two dollars!” Kaveh shouts to the clouds in his anger. But then he presses his lips together, recalling how the rest of the cast is currently doing table reads for episodes Kaveh isn’t involved with, according to Nilou’s emailed schedule. The last person he needs to run into is the Merry Musical Multifaceted Magician.

“Hey,” a stern voice calls his way.

Tighnari stands by the revolving door. He waves something flimsy in the air. A taped-together wallet.

There are benefits to a blown cover.

Kaveh jogs across the parking lot and toward her on a wave of relief. “Thanks. I was sure a tourist had drained me.”

“You mean, your two dollars?” he asks, handing the excuse of a wallet back.

Kaveh winces as he accepts it. A vibration in his back pocket distracts him, and he grabs his phone. A new email.

Subject: Phantasworks Offer

To: Kaveh

Thursday, March 5, 1:03 PM

Attached is the Phantasworks’s first offer. I’m going to try to quickly negotiate but I’ll admit it’s higher than I expected. Good work!

No apology from his agent. Not even an inquiry about whether he’s all right after an alleged family emergency.

Trying to swallow his irritation, Kaveh scrolls to Phantasworks’ offer amount. After so many sleepless nights, his eyesight turns wonky and splits, and he sees double. He brings the screen closer, but the number of zeros stays.

Not wonky eyesight. That’s the offer.

“Holy fuck,” launches out of Kaveh’s mouth. That’s enough to cover his rent for months and then some. He can buy a new wallet that's not made of tape. He can get glasses. More importantly, his agent doesn’t deserve the goddamn credit. The thought of her taking a cut out of this paycheck has the frustration inside of him reaching a boil.

Or he could find a new agent. With this type of deal, probably easily.

“What’s up with you?” Tighnari asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

He flicks his head back up. “Uh. Nothing. Just an email."

“Oh,” Tighnari says suddenly, as if that reminds him of something. “Contracts for season two are due today. Nilou keeps hounding me about yours. Email that my way?”

Kaveh looks beyond Tighnari’s shoulder toward the empty studio lobby, then takes a deep breath before the inevitable news has to leave his mouth. “About that. I got another offer from Phantasworks. Their schedule interferes with filming from here on out.”

Tighnari’s gaze flashes razor sharp. “What?”

“My agent should be getting in touch about it today.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Come.” Tighnari heads through the revolving doors.

Kaveh blinks, baffled, before trailing Tighnari through the lobby as commanded, then past the new statue of him and Alhaitham and up to the screenwriting room. He kicks the door open with his combat boots.

The cast around the table shrieks.

“Phan-fuck-works is poaching Twiggy Tuba,” Tighnari barks.

A collection of whats blast through the room.

Kaveh goes still in the doorway, taking in the cast’s belongings on the table like they’re already packing up for the day. That, and how a certain person is missing. Alhaitham. A small piece of Kaveh is relieved to dodge him, but a much larger piece is curious about where he is.

Nilou rises out of her chair. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Then Cyno. “On my birthday?”

“It’s your birthday?” Dehya asks beside him.

“No, but it might make him stay,” Cyno says as if Kaveh can’t hear from mere feet away.

“I have a leash in my bag,” Tighnari says, who’s already pulling out a studded one.

Guilt sinks through Kaveh. This would change up the scripts, wasting all of their hard work so far. “I’m sorry. I understand this is an inconvenience. If the execs are mad, please blame me.”

“You think execs are who I care about right now?” Nilou shapes her script into a tube and stomps toward Kaveh, smacking his forehead with it.

He rubs the sting away. “Ow. Yes?”

“No! Why can’t you do both jobs?”

“They start at the same time.”

“Then we’ll temporarily allow our leash to come off of you until you’re done!”

“I don’t know if we can just do that,” Tighnari mumbles, but at least he’s putting the studded leash back into his bag.

“I’ll make it happen somehow,” Nilou shouts back, but the target of her second tube attack is still Kaveh’s head.

“Ow,” Kaveh says again. “Listen—”

“No, you listen. You may make me rip out my hair every day, and Alhaitham, too, who apparently believes it’s totally appropriate to end our day early because he wants a smoke. But I love you both dearly, and there’s no way that I’ll let Phantasworks’s money tear us apart.” She drops her paper tube missile to pull Kaveh into a hug, trapping his arms down at his sides.

“No one else would be able to keep Alhaitham in check if you ditch either,” Cyno adds from the table. “We need your lack of fear.”

“So true,” Dehya says to her phone, unfazed by Nilou’s breakdown.

The longer the cast keeps talking, the more an unfamiliar openness blossoms in his chest. A warmth, even, that makes the whirring in Kaveh’s brain pause. 

He wants to stay.

But Alhaitham isn’t here. Maybe the cast’s vote to work around Kaveh’s Phantasworks schedule wouldn’t be as unanimous. “Thanks, guys.”

Nilou finally freezes Kaveh’s limbs on a huff. “With that out of the way, you’re all free to go home. The next episodes we film are going to be big, and our names will shine brighter than ever. So, rest while you can. Cheers.”

As the cast finishes packing their belongings, Kaveh stands there, struck by a single thought: He trusts this cast. So much so that they feel like family, no matter how much that may simultaneously shake him.

He can't deny that any longer.

The thought convinces Kaveh to lean toward Nilou and finally ask a question he never thought he would. “Can I get your opinion on something I’ve been keeping to myself?”

Nilou hums curiously.

“You really think our names are going to get bigger?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I want to tell you about something before that happens. Just in case it comes up.”

“Sure,” she says, worried wrinkles forming in her forehead and brow.

“I, um, used to not always look like this.”

A humored smile instantly replaces that worry. “Like a glow-up?”

“Sort of.” Nilou wants him to stay—they all do—but only more nerves shoot through Kaveh. “I’ve gone on hormones, and gotten surgeries, and tons of other stuff, and nobody really knows. I don’t want my roles or people I work with—you guys—to change. I want to go far with you all. So, right now, I only want you all to know, so that if that somehow gets aired out, maybe you can help me? I don’t know.” He awkwardly plays with the hem of his shirt.

Nilou stops him, taking the hand into her own instead. “Kaveh, of course. No one here would ever care. I hope you know that.”

“I do." It leaves Kaveh's mouth so quickly that it nearly stuns him.

“You’re going to go far regardless. Even if it’s aired out.”

"How can you be sure?”

Nilou smiles like it should be obvious. “Because you already are. And with how hard you work, that could never be taken from you. None of us here will allow that, either.”

The longer Kaveh reveals everything he never thought he could, a weight lifts off his shoulders that he didn’t even know was there. Maybe he was pushing down more than he thought. “Thanks.”

While the rest of the cast heads out of the screenwriting room, Nilou and Kaveh rush to join them. As they split off to their cars with goodbyes and waves, Kaveh is left alone once more. He starts typing up a reply message to his agent.

Thank you for getting back to me on Phantasworks and for offering to go through with negotiations. I’ve come to the recent conclusion that, with the way my career is going, this partnership may not suit both of us going forward. Please feel free to send along termination papers with the agency at your earliest convenience.

Thanks so much :)

Kaveh

Kaveh hits send. As the mail sound effect shoots off, he expects the fear of potentially being alone again to infiltrate his mind. But it doesn’t.

“Twiggy?” comes from down the sidewalk.

Before Kaveh can even turn around, something is slamming into his torso, and he fights to keep his balance. He glances down to see a burst of green. Collei, her hair done in braids. “Guess what?” she says.

He smiles down at her, patting her head. “What are you doing here?”

“I live with Alhaitham now.”

“Oh?! That’s great news.”

“He’s using his weird tube-y thingy in his mouth right now, but then he’s taking me to my friend’s house for a sleepover.”

Kaveh’s focus drifts toward the garden. “Have fun. Tell him hi.”

Her mouth twists. She steps backward, crossing her tiny arms. “Do it yourself, Twiggy. I won’t do your dirty work. You’re a sidekick.”

“Right. Never mind, then.”

“You really are twiggy.” Collei snatches up Kaveh’s hand with her own. Despite the size difference, her grip is steel as he gets dragged toward where Alhaitham stands beside the ashtray. He's back to his regularly scheduled half-buttoned dress shirts. His gelled hair has fallen apart after a full day of work, and his usually clean-shaven face for work has a five o’clock shadow, yet he still looks unbelievably good.

“Uh, wait, Collei, I can’t,” Kaveh whispers, his heart rate lurching up his throat.

“Alhaitham,” Collei shouts.

“Yep, I’m ready to go,” Alhaitham says as he turns around. His eyes widen.

Kaveh’s mortification rises tenfold. He tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “Dropped my wallet. In the parking lot yesterday. This isn’t a National Guard situation.”

“A what?”

“You know, the time your stans broke into Vogue headquarters when they heard you were there for an interview, and the National Guard got called?”

His brows meet. “How do you know about that?”

“I—” Fuck. “I swear, I’m not a stan. Collei brought me over.”

“Twiggy told me to tell you hi,” Collei says. “We were talking about you.”

Kaveh’s face flashes hot. “Nu-uh.”

“It’s fine that you’re friends with Collei,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh swears a hint of a smile plays at his mouth before it turns back into something more poised. “You’re allowed to talk.”

“I don’t have to.”

“She enjoys having you around.”

“But you d—” Kaveh cuts himself off, the words too sharp to say.

But Alhaitham already figured it out, and that’s clear from the way his frame goes taut. He sighs and finds the fence dividing them from Phantasworks, taking another hit of his cigarette. No, not a cigarette. A blue plastic tube. “Kaveh—”

“Are you vaping?” Kaveh blurts out.

Alhaitham peers down at the vape in his hand. “E-cig.”

“So, you’ve gone from sucking on coal to batteries?”

“Have I? Here I thought it was packed full of antioxidants.”

Kaveh walks up to Alhaitham and whips the e-cig out of his mouth. “It’s rotting you. What will happen to your singing when you’re coughing up battery acid?”

“I’m using it to quit smoking, all right?” Alhaitham half-yells, half-groans, snatching the e-cig back. “I don’t want to use this shit anymore.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

He just huffs in response, but as Collei tugs on his other hand, his frown flips into a smile. “What’s up, punk?”

“Can I go get one more cookie before we leave?”

He opens the door to the lobby, and then she’s off to the crafty, leaving the two alone in silence.

A Phantasworks tour bus chugs beyond the fence. Finches chirp in the oaks.

Kaveh clears his throat. “The cast wants me to stay. On the show. They want to work around my new schedule.”

Alhaitham looks over again. “Oh?”

It’s a delayed oh. A weak one.

The guilt hangs heavy in Kaveh’s chest. “Is that okay with you? I don’t have to. But I know we’re marketable as a pair…”

“I have a question,” Alhaitham says instead, stepping closer.

It’s not what Kaveh expects. His mind whirs over what it could be. “Yes?”

“What did you tell my grandmother yesterday?”

“I already told you,” Kaveh says, but it comes out like a question.

“Even if you told my grandmother that you care, I don’t think that she would’ve. Not when her focus is so much on Collei.” Alhaitham's eyes linger on Kaveh—up and down and up again—like he’s trying to read Kaveh’s mind. “I think you’re conveniently leaving things out.”

Kaveh’s palms sweat. Because Alhaitham does have a track record of successfully reading his mind. At least, when he’s let down his guard. But Kaveh has a trampoline now. He has Faruzan. The rest of the cast. And despite never having had a true home in years, when it’s late at night and he stares up at his bedroom ceiling, he almost catches himself wondering if that glowing in his chest whenever he’s with Alhaitham is how it feels to find one.

This may be his last chance to figure out if he’s right, and to stop being twiggy. To let his guard down for good.

Kaveh sucks in a shaky breath. “She asked me if I’d help you with Collei.”

“She did?” Alhaitham’s pitch rises slightly in surprise.

“But I didn’t tell her what I wanted to. I should’ve said that I want to become worthy of you and her. That I’ve been working hard, actually, to get my head better about this. About why I ran.” He takes another breath. He needs it. “I told the Kidneeto cast today. Well, just Nilou, but I trust the rest, too. You’re right that they can be trusted. And I’m seeing someone to work on this, and it might be at a disco club and weird, but it’s a start. It’s where I need to start—” His voice wavers. He can’t cry. He never cries.

Alhaitham stares back, stunned. Silent.

“I don’t expect you to accept this,” Kaveh adds, pulling at the corners of his eyes to stop anything unwanted from coming out. “I just want you to know that I know I messed up.”

“Hey.” Alhaitham cautiously closes the space between them. He lifts a hand to Kaveh’s cheek, wipes a tear Kaveh swore wasn’t there. “It’s okay.”

Kaveh caves into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. It's as warm and gentle as he remembers. “I’m so sorry, Alhaitham.”

Then Alhaitham’s lips are on his, and Kaveh melts, sinks, into what he assumed he would never get to have again. Alhaitham’s arms wrap low around Kaveh’s waist, and Kaveh runs his hands up Alhaitham’s chest, threads his fingers into his hair. The garden, the studio, the whole world melts around them—until a short green figure steps back through the door.

Kaveh rips his lips off. “Uh. Kid.”

“Youhr beust fweuns agaihn,” Collei cheers out through a mouthful of cookie.

Alhaitham glances back at Collei before continuing to take in every inch of Kaveh’s face. Like he still believes, despite all the mess-ups, that Kaveh is as special as he once promised. “Thank you.”

“How are you thanking me?” Kaveh asks softly. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“You’ve made fucking awful mistakes—”

“You said we're not allowed to say that word!” Collei shouts.

Alhaitham winces. “Bad mistakes. But, as you can see, I’m still making them, too. You made mistakes because my life kept running nonstop into mistakes.”

“I guess,” Kaveh says. He even laughs a bit.

“Let’s try again. Now that there aren't any anymore.”

Kaveh’s chest warms. Glows. That familiar feeling. “I’d like that.”

"Hey," Collei calls, “while I have my sleepover, you two can have one too!”

Heart lurching, Kaveh glances over at Alhaitham.

Alhaitham is already staring back. His gaze stirs with something so heated, it nearly knocks the breath out of Kaveh’s lungs.

Chapter Text

“Good god,” Kaveh mutters the moment he steps into Alhaitham’s living room for a second time. He vividly remembered his home being a clash of patterned furniture and modern artwork he could never comprehend, but it’s still a piercing blow to the eyes.

There are other things Kaveh didn’t notice last time: the biggest one is the lack of a staircase. Despite the fancy Benedict Canyon location, the house is only one floor. Knowing that Alhaitham accepted this from his grandmother instead of renting out a mansion like most other celebrities, desperately attempting to match everyone else’s illusioned wealth, attracts Kaveh to Alhaitham even more.

Although Alhaitham seriously does need to redecorate.

“Still don’t like the place?” Alhaitham says, heading deeper into the living room.

“I just think you could make it more you,” Kaveh says, following closely behind. “Calmer. You like blue. I’m seeing blues and blacks.”

“Since when did I tell you that blue is my favorite color?”

Kaveh files through his memory bank. Maybe Alhaitham mentioned it during an interview when he was fourteen, or maybe in a social media post when he was sixteen. “On set?”

Alhaitham hums. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” But then Kaveh spots the familiar horse statue that stares down the toucan-patterned couches with beady eyes. “Never mind. Only if the horse goes.”

“That statue is worth a hundred thousand dollars, you know.”

“What the fuck? It’s a horse.”

“It’s a Ronaldo horse.”

Kaveh stares in disgust. “Ronaldo’s ugly.”

“No, that’s the—” Alhaitham laughs too hard to finish, rich and full and echoing to the high ceiling. He rubs a tender hand along Kaveh’s arm. “Always have to disagree with me.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I missed it.”

Kaveh’s cheeks warm. He flicks his attention toward the pool, his heart hammering over how terrifying all of this is. That this is really happening. “I like that, at least.”

“The pool?”

“I’ve never been in one before.”

“Really? Not even for a high school swim unit?”

“I think I missed it somehow with all my jumping around.”

The next thing Kaveh knows, Alhaitham is taking his hand and leading them through the sliding door, then stepping onto the porcelain tiles and passing by orange poppy flowerbeds. A sandbox and a pair of swings are in the expanse of his backyard, all squared in by a towering fence. Entirely secluded, severed from the rest of the world.

Grinning, Kaveh bends down to pick a poppy from the flowerbed. “I revise my earlier statement. I like your home. The pool.”

A corner of Alhaitham’s mouth curls, too, but much more coyly. Kaveh used to find that look insufferable. Now it’s nothing but unbearably attractive, and his rare, well-groomed stubble only makes that worse. “Wanna go in?”

“In our clothes?”

“Who said anything about clothes?” 

The mental visual lurches nerves through Kaveh, and he wonders briefly if he’s twelve again. “Don’t you have swimsuits?”

“Nah, I’ve never used the pool.”

“You’ve never swam out here?”

“It sort of just came with the house.”

Kaveh groans as he stands again, tossing the plucked poppy at Alhaitham’s chest. “That’s embarrassing. We’re going in.”

With that, Kaveh grabs Alhaitham’s dress shirt cuff, dragging them both toward the front steps of the shallow end. Alhaitham takes off everything but his boxers, showing off his defined arm and shoulder muscles dotted with freckles. Kaveh tries not to stare as he does the same.

Alhaitham, however, isn’t as respectful. The moment Kaveh is finished, arms are wrapping around his waist, and he’s being pulled into a kiss.

“I don’t mean to rush this,” Alhaitham mutters as he pulls back, bare chest pressed to his own. “I just missed you.”

Kaveh’s stomach flips. He doesn’t know what to say, too consumed by how much he missed Alhaitham, too. He wants Alhaitham here, now, and to make up for the time they’ve lost.

So, Kaveh kisses him back. Gently. Patiently. Alhaitham’s stubble just barely grazes his own clean-shaven face, yet fire lances through Kaveh's veins. His hands sifting through Kaveh's hair, his lips featherlight on Kaveh's shoulder—with Alhaitham, even the smallest maneuvers feel electric.

Kaveh lightly presses a hand against Alhaitham’s chest, leading him onto the highest pool step until Kaveh’s on Alhaitham’s lap. Their lips lock again as Kaveh chases the friction against the already hard length of Alhaitham, desperately wishing fabric weren’t between them. He moves to Alhaitham’s jawbone hurriedly, desperately, like he’ll drown in this pool if he can’t kiss every inch of the man before him. He lowers to Alhaitham’s neck, his collarbone.

“Remember,” Kaveh mumbles, “I haven't done this in forever."

"I don't care."

"Just tell me if I’m killing you.”

“Okay, love.”

A chill races through Kaveh’s spine at the first term of endearment from Alhaitham. From anyone.

He lowers to Alhaitham’s boxers and pulls at the waistband. He’s rewarded with a moan, proving how much Alhaitham has been yearning for this moment. Kaveh's core aches with arousal, and it gives him just enough confidence to use his mouth.

Alhaitham arches his hips, gripping his hair. “Kaveh.”

Kaveh can’t believe what he’s hearing. As he sinks deeper, he's rewarded with more goods and keep goings. It feels like a dream that he can have Alhaitham and give him everything he deserves—everything he’s been too scared to. Alhaitham reaches his breaking point fast, and a slew of curses leave his mouth as Kaveh is hauled back onto his lap and kissed hard.

Kaveh smirks against Alhaitham’s lips. “Better than last time?”

“You’ve always been incredible,” Alhaitham says on a whisper, his hand slowly dropping.

Kaveh sighs at the touch that he missed so much. He leans backward, gripping Alhaitham’s thighs for balance.

“You’re gorgeous,” Alhaitham says softly.

Kaveh flusters so much that even his chest must be turning splotchy red. He flicks his face away, trying to obscure his expression more with his hair. “Sure.”

Alhaitham instantly tucks the hair back. “You’re going to turn this into an argument, too?”

“You’re Alhaitham. Your job is to be gorgeous.”

“Let me compliment you.”

Kaveh huffs, but on the inside, his stomach bursts with so many butterflies that he might throw up in the pool. Maybe he should accept it. “Cheers.”

“Try again.”

“T-thank you.”

“Good,” Alhaitham says, voice low.

Kaveh’s mind fuzzes. When baby and sweetheart and every other intimate name he stopped himself from saying these last few months leave his mouth, they all feel so addictive on his tongue. He knows he wants to call Alhaitham these names forever. It isn’t long before a burst of color pops behind his eyes, and he collapses forward, digging his nails into Alhaitham’s back. The pool and palm trees come back to him in a blur, and he kisses Alhaitham along his sternum, his neck, and the most prominent mole beneath his eye.

“I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.” It leaves Kaveh without a second thought, and as he holds Alhaitham’s face between his palms, his heartbeat pounds everywhere through him. But he doesn’t take it back. He couldn’t possibly.

Alhaitham grins. It’s goofy, almost childish. Nothing like Kaveh’s seen before. “I love you.”

“You’re positive?”

“Kaveh. More than anything, I wish the world had been kinder to you. But I promise, the one thing I want to do now is make your future something to look forward to.”

Kaveh’s heart swells. He strokes a thumb along Alhaitham’s cheek. “I want to do the same for you. Even though this is still a bit scary. Everything is about to be, I think.”

Alhaitham nods a few times, but then he tensely rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this will make things easier or harder for you. But.”

“What is it?”

“Do you want a key?”

Kaveh blinks. Leans backward. “To your house?”

“Yeah.”

“Now? Or. Like. When?”

“Anytime, I guess. Today. Friday.” Alhaitham groans. “Did I screw this up?”

“No! No.” Too many emotions are shooting through Kaveh to process. His instincts are kicking in, making his heartbeat quicken, and that may stay for a while longer. But his logic has enough of a voice to turn out the rest, allowing the joy coursing through him to win. “I’d love a key.”

“You don’t have to use it. I know you hate the horse.”

“I like the horse.”

“You don’t like the horse.”

“I don’t. But I like you.”

Alhaitham tucks another lock of Kaveh’s hair behind an ear and glances toward the house. “One problem. I think the only food in my refrigerator is Collei’s frozen dinosaur nuggets. We might need to go out tonight.”

Kaveh laughs. “People might see us.”

“I want them to. Besides, we technically haven’t had a first date yet.”

The realization hits Kaveh on a wave of horror, but also one of hilarity over how much of a wonderful mess they are. “Okay.”

“As long as you’re okay with that.”

“I’m sure. Are you?”

“Always,” Alhaitham says. “As long as it’s us. As long as it’s you.”

Chapter Text

A staccato alarm blares into Kaveh’s eardrum. Slapping the snooze button on his phone, he squints judgmentally at the home screen. 07:00. Monday, October 31.

A whimper leaves Kaveh’s depths as he goes to smash his forehead into Alhaitham’s chest, only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. Must be showering. Instead, he snatches a pillow to fill the void and enjoy five more precious minutes. He’s thrilled to be working with his cast of friends at Kidneeto now that his Phantasworks role is over, but returning to nine-a.m. shoots with screaming children still has him wrapping up the five stages of grief.

“I am Kaveh (82 Erwin St, North Hollywood LA 91606).”

Kaveh’s head lifts off the pillow.

Alhaitham’s voice. He’s projecting loudly. From the kitchen.

“The respondent, Alhaitham, is my coworker. I have known him for 5 months.”

His witness statement. The one packed with compliments about Alhaitham.

Slapping on his brand-new glasses and bulleting out of bed in his boxers, Kaveh rounds the corner like a zooming racecar, his shoulder crashing into the wall. He uses the force to propel himself even faster to the kitchen.

Alhaitham stands behind the island counter, holding a sheet of paper. He’s already ready for another day on The Merry Mystical Multidimensional Music Show, freshly showered after a workout, his gray hair loosely styled. If Kaveh weren’t too busy being mortified, he’d be demanding to get shoved against the refrigerator and made out with.

“In the five months I have known Alhaitham,” he keeps going, “he has shown the utmost care to Collei and other children on our set.”

Kaveh runs to the island and slaps his hands down. “Give me that.”

They lock into a charged stare.

Alhaitham steps to the left. Kaveh does, too. Alhaitham steps to the right. So does Kaveh. Alhaitham takes off toward the living room.

“Our director has asked him to coach me on how to be good with kids due to his superior parenting skills,” Alhaitham keeps shouting, looping around the Ronaldo horse, and Kaveh chases after him in a desperate attempt to snatch the letter. Alhaitham hops onto the toucan couch, holding it high in the air. “He is a kind, honest, and hardworking man, despite growing up in the spotlight, and inspires me!”

“Alhaitham, I swear to god—”

“I declare under penalty of perjury under the laws of the State of California that the foregoing is true and correct. Kaveh.”

“Look!” Kaveh shrieks so loudly that it echoes to the high ceiling. Out of the corners of his vision, he catches his bedhead poking out around him, which is even frizzier after the chase. He takes a moment to pat it down. “I wanted to help you. I tried to get involved and be a witness, but when that didn’t work, I gave it to your grandmother, so I don’t know why this is being sent back—”

Alhaitham steps off the couch and drags Kaveh closer to him by the wrist, kissing him to shut him up.

By the time he pulls back, a smirk has spread across Alhaitham's face. “My grandmother sent it along with a gift for Collei. She says hello.”

“That’s…” Kaveh says, still in a daze, “nice of her. It was a nice card?”

“She invited Collei and me to visit her. And you.”

“Really?”

“Well, you are clearly obsessed with me.” Alhaitham rattles the witness statement again. “How could she, in good conscience, take me away from you?”

“Shut up,” Kaveh mutters. A weak comeback, but considering he once had Alhaitham posters plastered on his wall, it’s the only one he’s really got.

Alhaitham takes Kaveh’s hand and leads them back into the kitchen. He pours a black cup of coffee for Kaveh, then sets it beside his milkier one on the counter. “Are you staying for Halloween tonight? Collei bought you a costume to wear with us.”

Kaveh’s nerves spike, but not because of the reason that would’ve triggered this months ago, nor because he’s never taken part in a real Halloween neighborhood experience. “What exactly does Collei want to dress me up as?”

“She’s a hot sauce packet. We’re the tacos.”

That is Sriracha adjacent. “How mascot-y are we talking?”

Alhaitham winces. That’s enough to know.

Kaveh groans overdramatically, but his laughter afterward shatters the performance. Guess he’s calling out from work at You’re on Fire.

Not like he needs to work there for a while after the massive Phantasworks paycheck that his new, sparkly agent negotiated. He might even be able to quit for good if the movie blows up enough. If he’s lucky, he could get decent royalties for a few years. Even a Hollywood star.

For some reason, though, Kaveh barely thinks about it. He likes to see Faruzan. He likes to see everyone.

“While I take Collei around the block, would you mind passing out candy here?” Alhaitham asks, pointing toward the front door. “It’d be nice to leave the lights on for once.”

“No promises I won’t poison them.”

“You won’t.”

“We’ll see.” Kaveh smiles. “But yes. Go have fun.”

A thump comes from beyond the kitchen.

Collei, stepping out of her bedroom and rubbing her eyes in her striped pajamas. “What’s going on?”

Kaveh walks over to rub the top of her head. “Did we wake you up? What do you want for breakfast? I'll make you anything you want as an apology.”

“Anything, anything?”

“Anything, anything.”

A mischievous grin curls up her face. “Sriracha.”

Kaveh acts out his best panicked face. “Alhaitham, cover my coffee mug!”

Alhaitham is already three steps ahead, sealing Kaveh's mug with plastic wrap for the third time this month. He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t worry, Kaveh. You’re safe.”