Work Text:
“You are such an idiot,” Al-Haitham scolded, feeling a headache coming once again. Honestly, how difficult would it be for his roommate to simply not injure himself at least once a week? For Archon’s sake, Kaveh was one of the most intelligent people from the Akademiya, and he was an architect; not a very dangerous job to begin with.
And yet here Vahid Al-Haitham was, having to bandage another one of his roommate’s injuries, because Kaveh had insisted on checking the stability of his newest building without protective gear on.
Kaveh, for once, did not respond with anger like he usually would…which was really more of a concern than anything.
Oh, great, did Kaveh have a concussion along with the gash along his leg?
Time for Al-Haitham to check what to do if your roommate has a possible concussion.
First, to check:
“Kaveh, Kaveh. Can you identify who I am?” Al-Haitham asked, bringing dendro to glow in his hands.
Kaveh moved slowly away from the light, squinting up at Al-Haitham, “..? Huh? Wha.. what? Who..?”
Well, that answered that, did it not? Seriously, Kaveh was so much more trouble than he was worth.
Then Kaveh looked up to Al-Haitham, smiling dizzily, “Hm? Ooh, hello, kind stranger. Wow, you’re really hand..some.”
And Al-Haitham stiffened up, face red and reaching his hands up to hide it- and oh, there it was, the reason why he suffered through this ordeal. Kaveh was simply-
So, so pretty.
Al-Haitham then picked Kaveh up so as to bring him to the nearest medical expert. While able to somewhat discern what was wrong with Kaveh, Al-Haitham would not claim to be anywhere close to the experts.
--
“I suggest you just let him rest at home when he’s more awake. It hasn’t been more than fifteen minutes now, has it? It’s probably a minor concussion, which should take a few days for the side effects to disappear. It doesn’t appear to be a serious injury, but if he remains to feel side effects for longer than a week, visit your nearest doctor,” Tighnari suggested, writing down in a notepad from his bag. Al-Haitham had been lucky enough to catch Tighnari on one of the few times Tighnari came to the city.
“Alright,” Al-Haitham said, supporting Kaveh and trying to ignore the way Tighnari eyed their physical contact. Tighnari was, without a doubt, one of the smartest people Al-Haitham knew: mostly because Tighnari had the most common sense and wit you could find in the Akademiya. Even now, he showed that by having left the Akademiya.
There were times where Tighnari’s wit and sass could be annoying, though. Like now, when he walked away while mumbling, “These damn gay people.”
Fucking fennec fox.
—
Kaveh really was all-too light for a man of his stature. How did he carry that claymore? It was far too easy to carry Kaveh back home and then to rest on their couch, somewhere Al-Haitham could still monitor his troublesome roommate while making a plain curry.
As he cut the vegetables (most of which Kaveh would refuse to eat, except for the potatoes, as Kaveh just..didn’t like vegetables in general), Al-Haitham questioned why he did all this once more. Sure, Kaveh was pretty, but who was Al-Haitham to be doing all this for one person? It was illogical, and Al-Haitham’s entire life was based on pure logic. Emotions did matter, of course, and he had them, but were they truly so strong so as to change his normal routines?
Then Al-Haitham remembered that the two of them had been doing this push-and-pull, quietly not admitting feelings, for so long. Logically, Al-Haitham could see it sometimes: could see a high chance of Kaveh truly liking him.
It was in the quiet way Kaveh admired him from afar, hand reaching up so as to grab the quill in his hair. As if ready to paint Al-Haitham, like Al-Haitham is a masterpiece.
It was Kaveh’s eyes, fiery and red but so mirthful as they argued. Humorous and witty with his words, overreacting dramatically but still shining with so much intelligence.
It was in the sketches Al-Haitham once saw, all scribbled out over and over and over again, like desperately trying to make something perfect yet not quite getting it. Blotches of green and gray all over a page, and Al-Haitham’s heart ached.
It was in Kaveh, drunk and his hand reached up to Al-Haitham, like reaching for the moon and stars, but they’re all in Kaveh’s ruby eyes. Al-Haitham stays still, waiting for Kaveh to just reach him, please, please, give me affection, Al-Haitham wants to reach out as well, but what if Kaveh stops? - and then Kaveh falls asleep; smelling of alcohol.
Al-Haitham is a logical person.
It seems to be only logical that Al-Haitham fell in love with this artist.
(The artist and his muse.)
--
Kaveh wakes, smelling curry but not yet opening his eyes, eyelids feeling so heavy that he doesn't open them. He knows he didn’t make any (he burns anything he touches), so did Al-Haitham cook for him?
It wasn’t all too unusual. His roommate normally brought him food whenever Kaveh was working on a project- still.
He feels so warm; comforted. It seeps through to his bones, unallowed, but welcomed nonetheless. Gently and so lovingly, the warmth spreads through Kaveh like he is being hugged, cared for, loved.
It’s small things like this that are done for him that makes Kaveh hope. A painful, striking type of hope, the kind that should disappear but only grows stronger. A tragic hope, a meaningless hope, all based on Kaveh’s misunderstandings. Kaveh always knew that underneath Al-Haitham's surface was kindness, such bright kindness. And Kaveh was selfishly viewing kindness as love.
A tragic, meaningless hope.
Still, Kaveh keeps his eyes closed for a second. Lets himself hope, lets himself dream: lets himself imagine that this warmth will be his forever. But, as Kaveh said- he burns anything he dares to touch. Reaching out for this warmth will only destroy it.
He opens his eyes to reality.
They feel damp.
—
Kaveh hisses under his breath as he gets up from where he layed, leg stinging as he positioned himself to sit. Furthermore, the fact that his calculations had, in some way, been wrong for his construction to fall apart like such, stung much more for Kaveh.
He glared at his leg like that would solve his problems: alas, it would really be up to him to look over calculations and the past plans, to find where exactly he’d been wrong- or where others had been.
Still, even if it had been due to one of the workers or manufacturers for materials, it ultimately laid at fault with Kaveh, who was also managing the whole thing.
For now, he would rest, at least not trying to physically help, but for now Kaveh could write out letters and go over everything again, make better plans. And he’d have to check his budget, which was already dwindling, because masterpieces in architecture did not cost a small amount of mora.
“Kaveh?” Al-Haitham’s voice echoes from their kitchen to the living room, where a mere corner hid them. Quickly, Kaveh reached upwards to wipe away those stray tears. Stupid, stupid. Look, he’s here now. Will you cry?
“Here, Himar!” Kaveh calls out.
Al-Haitham turns the corner, holding what’s clearly a warm bowl of curry. Kaveh’s stomach rumbles, and once more, that unwanted warmth seeps in. No, he wants to tell it. Kaveh is undeserving of such a thing. He will become too selfish.
“When will you stop calling me a donkey?” Al-Haitham says, but he doesn’t quite seem upset- instead, he smiles.
Kaveh’s heart thumps. Treacherous heart, be still.
“When you stop being one,” Kaveh says, like his heart is calm around Al-Haitham, like he is a selfless person, like he is not so selfish. Like he does not hide behind banter like a worn-down shield, repetitive and too familiar in his hands.
Al-Haitham stares at him and Kaveh wants.
Then, Al-Haitham sets the bowl down on their coffee table (that Kaveh had to painstakingly choose, with Al-Haitham’s money; their coffee table, Kaveh and Al-Haitham, Al-Haitham and Kaveh - wants, wants, wants-) , rolling his eyes as if Kaveh were an immature child. Kaveh grins back at him, not missing the small smile laying on his roommate's face.
Stupid, Kaveh thinks once more. What use is a genius, when this genius is so lovestruck?
But, well, Kaveh has been hiding this from Al-Haitham for years. The unwilling attraction that stemmed in the Akademiya, all the way until now, where attraction became this unwanted adoration, much softer than the sparks from back then- something so, so warm.
(And Kaveh will never say this, not to anyone, not to himself, and not to Al-Haitham, but: a part of Kaveh, unafraid of the consequences, wants to see what will happen if he lets it all burn. If he reaches out, far enough to touch, far enough to let it all be destroyed at his hands.)
Kaveh looks to Al-Haitham, picks up the curry with one hand, and flips off his roommate with the other. When Al-Haitham's face scrunches up ( adorable), Kaveh just laughs and drinks more of the curry.
They are silent for a moment, before Al-Haitham tries to bring up conversation, "How exactly did you get injured? The worksite simply sent me a message through the Akasha, but failed to tell me any further information."
"Ah…" Kaveh didn't really want to talk about it, but Al-Haitham was making an effort at social interaction, which was rather unusual.
"Well," Kaveh continued, "It was simply a mistake of sorts..it must have been something wrong with my calculations, or perhaps with the workers themselves, but nevertheless it's still my issue to fix. I'll probably be going over designs after dinner."
Al-Haitham only frowned at this, which was unusual- was he not usually happy with Kaveh out of his way?
"For how long?" his roommate asks, almost as though worried.
"However long it takes," Kaveh says.
"Are you sure that's efficient? You are still recovering. Do not make me have to take care of you again," Al-Haitham says back.
Ah, how silly of Kaveh. Of course this was nothing more than Al-Haitham not wanting to bother with Kaveh at all. They were once friendly rivals, but were they much more than roommates now? And clearly not good roommates- the two of them have argued far too many times to count.
"It's fine. I'll stay out of trouble, it's not like I can get hurt from here- and you can watch me, I guess. Could you at least bring me my work? It's all in my briefcase," Kaveh said, trying not to sound upset. It was not like Al-Haitham was required to help Kaveh at all, but still, it stung.
Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, considering all Al-Haitham has done for Kaveh already), Al-Haitham gets up with a shake of his head, venturing into Kaveh's room and returning in a few moments with the green, engraved briefcase.
Kaveh is quick to open the suitcase, taking out one of his sharper pencils and the folder holding the work for his recent construction. Al-Haitham stands nearby before sitting down next to Kaveh, looking over Kaveh's shoulder to see his work.
Kaveh is proud of his design, and he had been very certain in the architectural integrity of the building: alas, things went wrong nonetheless. Nothing too major, but enough to be concerning, and enough to need revision. For now, he would work on checking his math, revising, looking for what could have gone wrong.
Al-Haitham leans further, getting closer to Kaveh's face- to the point that when he speaks, Al-Haitham feels his breath on his neck. Kaveh tries to pay attention to his own notes.
"What went wrong with this project?" Al-Haitham asks, quietly.
"I don't know yet," Kaveh says. His voice trembles a bit. He hopes Al-Haitham didn't notice. Hopes Al-Haitham doesn't pay attention to how his ears must be red, with how hot they feel.
Al-Haitham hums his response, and Kaveh swears he can feel the vibrations.
Does he truly not know what he's doing?
Kaveh stares up at Al-Haitham for a moment, pondering. He sets aside his pencil and decides this:
Maybe it's alright to burn up their relationship. To destroy it all.
He reaches up to touch Al-Haitham. Maybe they'll burn together, he thinks. Is this worth it? Kaveh doesn't know.
And then he gently guides Al-Haitham's chin down to kiss him. Gently at first, tentative and yet still so wanting. Yearning. It's just supposed to be a simple kiss. One kiss and then they'll be ruined, and Kaveh will finally leave. Kaveh will finally be free of this unrequited love.
Al-Haitham kisses back, rough. Slips his tongue into Kaveh's mouth, desperate, like Al-Haitham has been the one waiting for a decade or so, not Kaveh. Kaveh finds himself overwhelmed, like he's the one being burnt by fire right now- all of it, he wants all of it. Al-Haitham keeps kissing him, rough and so desperate, not breaking apart at all: as though air is less important than kissing him. Kaveh's back softly hits the couch, and his hands sneak up to Al-Haitham's hair, to cradle his head as they make out.
They break apart, eventually, when Kaveh runs out of breath and gently hits Al-Haitham's back, reaching away from his hair.
Kaveh feels like he's burning up. His face must be bright red, a downside of his pale skin that's unusual for Sumeru. Al-Haitham, on the other hand, was also flustered, but his blush hid with his darker skin.
Al-Haitham leaned down to press a kiss to right under Kaveh's left eye.
"Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?" Al-Haitham asked, so unlike the composed scribe the public saw, or the passive aggressive roommate Kaveh met this year, or the antisocial, indifferent student of the Akademiya that Kaveh fell for-
This? A soft grin on his lips, something warm in his eyes, gently- so gently - holding Kaveh?
Kaveh had never met Al-Haitham like this before; had never met a recently-kissed Al-Haitham. He finds he likes this Al-Haitham.
Then Kaveh comprehends what Al-Haitham just said.
"What?" Kaveh blinks up at Al-Haitham, his heart beating far too quickly for his liking. Maybe he's having a heart attack. Is it from all the alcohol he's drunk in the past?
Al-Haitham laughs- soft, deep, unlike the sarcastic scoffs he's done before..and Kaveh truly didn't think it possible to fall in love again, or any further from how he has already, but here he is. A risk was taken- uncalculated and unplanned, something so unusual for a scholar. But not so unusual for an artist.
"I love you," Al-Haitham says, and Kaveh swears his heart suddenly goes from nearing cardiac arrest to nothing.
He feels weak. This is- insane.
And yet it's happening. Here Al-Haitham is, laughing softly, pressing gentle kisses against his skin, smiling, admitting his love. This is not destruction. Far from it.
Kaveh looks up and is surprised to feel tears running down his face. Al-Haitham's face goes from adoring to panicked in moments. That is not unusual. Kaveh was quick to tears, and Al-Haitham did not know how to comfort. Awkward, jolted movements bring Al-Haitham's hand to try wiping away the tears.
"Did-" Al-Haitham stops mid-sentence, something he stopped doing a long time ago, "Was that wrong? Did I-.."
He cuts himself off, silent and looking terrified. Kaveh only smiles.
Kaveh leans up to kiss the worry away, "I love you too. You fucking bastard."
Al-Haitham collapses into Kaveh's neck, resting there . It all feels so domestic. Kaveh doesn't know what will happen.
But they love each other. Always have, but now it's out in the open- now, there is no more yearning. Just both of them, here. Nothing was destroyed; rather, something new can come from this.