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This was the third time Alhaitham received flowers Kaveh did not buy. And he really did not buy the flowers. He could swear he didn’t buy them on everything he cherished, on his mother’s grave, on his anticipated degree.
Those crimson red, freshly-picked roses wrapped in pastel pink paper, held by his scarred hands due to years and years of working with a too sharp precision knife, too much coffee and too little sleep. He did not buy them.
“Flowers? Again?”
He didn’t buy the flowers. Much less for his roommate, who was staring at him with his usual unimpressed stare, arms crossed as he sat on the chair Kaveh had just brought outside their building.
For someone like Alhaitham, who lacked the romantic tendencies of any sensible man, the sickly-sweet smelling bouquet Kaveh held was nothing short of a joke, and he knew him well enough to see the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled and understand what it meant.
“Don’t laugh at me!” Kaveh pointed his finger at him, the flowers raising along with his arm. He almost said sorry to them, for treating them harshly.
Alhaitham let his lips lift up a bit. “How could I not? You’re completely red.”
That wasn’t true. And if it were, it was because it was cold outside, and it was night, and they were outside, and sleep-deprived Kaveh needed to finish his project before midnight, and he didn't have good lighting inside their apartment as opposed to the bright white light that the streetlight emitted, and he had so many other projects to do that he left this one for later thinking it was just a silly thing and that was it, and five hours ago he realised he had to do much more than what he originally thought, and he needed to do it to pass his Morphology class, and he needed to pass his Morphology class if he wanted to sleep moderately well the next weeks. And it was cold.
Stress, cold, lack of rest, caffeine, his cheeks were as red and warm as the flowers in his hands because of all that. Not every blush was because of embarrassment. He didn’t get embarrassed because a street vendor saw him talking with Alhaitham about chairs and comfort and space, saw him laugh at something Alhaitham had asked, saw him photographing Alhaitham, and had asked Kaveh to come with her a few steps away to gift him a bouquet full of red roses and wish him well with his boyfriend.
It wasn’t because of that. It wasn't because it wasn't the first time it happened. It wasn’t because every single Valentine’s Day they’ve been roommates, they’d inadvertently gone outside their apartment building and crossed paths with the same stupid flower seller that roamed the streets that specific day, who always mistook them for a couple and gave them red roses every single time.
Three times. And none of them were on purpose. Blame his professors for making their assignments due on February 15th.
The first time was funny, albeit he got a little offended someone would think he’d date someone like Alhaitham, who despite appreciating the beauty of languages and their complexity, failed to apply the same consideration to life itself and the arts.
They'd just come back from class, because even though they were in different degrees, they had to wait for each other since Kaveh had recently lost his keys and Alhaitham refused to go down the stairs more than what was necessary. Before his companion could open the door to the building, the street vendor had grabbed Kaveh's shoulder and exclaimed what a lovely couple they were, and why hadn't he gifted his boyfriend a flower yet, for the special day was about to end.
Wide, incredulous eyes were confused for embarrassed ones, and so, the girl decided to gift them a couple of roses, one for each, claiming that a love like theirs shouldn't be hidden and that they should celebrate it. He would've appreciated the sentiment and the passion in her words if it weren't for the fact that she was talking about him and his aloof roommate.
Kaveh almost laughed in her face, but Alhaitham quickly thanked her and opened the door, closing it behind them right on her face.
He figured Alhaitham found it weird, as he caught his gaze traveling towards the flowers in the middle of their table quite a few times, until they wilted and Kaveh turned them into bookmarks—Alhaitham still used his own, he'd seen him slip it inside one of his favourite books last week.
The second time felt like a punch to the gut. Kaveh had been in the middle of a crisis that had lasted for a couple of weeks, and had involved multiple chats with his friends, rolled eyes and exasperated sighs. It involved coming to terms with his feelings, of course, feelings that had ironically made him forget about the romantic festivity until he and his roommate went out for a late-night coffee and ran into the seller.
If it hadn’t been for the small frown that Alhaitham held on his face as Kaveh reluctantly handed the single red rose towards him under the satisfied gaze of the florist, Kaveh would’ve thought more about his feelings. He would’ve handled Tighnari’s judging stare one more time as he barged into his apartment drunk and spoke to him and his boyfriend about what he couldn’t say to the person that caused those feelings. He would’ve followed Cyno’s advice and spilled in a letter what he couldn’t say while sober, and he wouldn’t have hidden what he’d never hidden before.
But Alhaitham did frown at Kaveh giving him a stupid flower, and Alhaitham had seemed uncomfortable at Kaveh giving him those two roses the previous year, and Alhaitham seemed to hold no feeling towards Kaveh but pure annoyance that he occasionally tolerated and made Kaveh think that there was something that was never actually there.
So he quickly gave him the red rose, thanked the girl for the gift, and kept walking towards the coffee shop. His ears burned, but the heat never reached his cheeks. It wasn't embarrassment—it was shame. Kaveh had never been ashamed before.
Alhaitham had taken a minute to catch up with him, and in true Alhaitham fashion, said nothing about what had happened. There was nothing to say, Kaveh reasoned, for this was a mere joke from a bored florist who saw two men walking together on Valentine’s Day. They hadn’t planned it, they were roommates, they couldn't stand each other, and it was just coffee.
The pressure on his throat went away with the first sip of the steaming-hot bitter coffee. He’d asked for no sugar that time.
This one time… it was as if the world laughed on his face, but now he could join it. As much as his body would let him, of course. What a traitorous thing it was.
His neck was still warm as he handed the flowers towards his roommate, but he'd spent a whole year shoving down the feelings that came attached to the man. He wasn't blushing, it was the cold, and the stress, and whatever else he'd listed before.
"It's always roses," Kaveh noted. "Does she not sell any others? I'd be willing to buy some aconites for you."
Alhaitham inspected one's petals. "I assume she'd much rather sell what's popular on Valentine's Day, and a poisonous flower would not fit inside those parameters."
"I don't think she sells many. I've never given her a single cent."
"Are you sure? I would've sworn you employed her to surprise us with flowers all these years. I almost felt touched."
"Shut up and stay still." Kaveh took out his phone, shaking it sharply to open the camera app. Alhaitham was seated in such a way that it showed off the chair legs in comparison to his own—it was definitely uncomfortable for someone as tall as him, so the bend of his knee was the primary subject of the picture.
"Are you done?" Alhaitham asked as soon as he saw Kaveh inspecting the photos. "It's late. I want to go to bed."
He stood up, leaving the chair where it was, and made to cross the street and get back into their apartment building, but Kaveh grabbed his arm before he could leave. If he failed this assignment he couldn't do the final, and he needed to do the final to not off himself before finishing the academic year.
"Wait, wait, wait!" He pulled the grey-haired man towards a nearby wooden bench. "I need to compare it to some street seats, I think just one will do. This one's taller and wider, so it doesn't look like you're sitting on a kid's chair."
"Well, I was sitting on a kid's chair."
"Listen, Yasmin didn't have any other spares! And I needed different chairs to show the differences between their utilities inside a home."
Alhaitham he handed Kaveh the bouquet of roses back. "I don't care. Is this the last one you need?"
"Yes, so please, if you could just sit—"
"Why did your blush get deeper? Your ears look just about to explode."
The roses fell to the ground. A few loose petals splattered around the pink paper.
"I am not blushing!" Kaveh yelled, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He took out his phone. "It's cold outside and I—I didn't bring a jacket. Sit down!"
Alhaitham's brows were slightly raised, the same small smile from before on his lips. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, once again. "You're embarrassed."
"I'm not!" He was. His eyes had gone a little lower than Alhaitham's neck, and they'd found the consequences of his actions. The sleeveless shirt was tight. "I'm very sensitive to the cold."
"It's not cold. You were complaining about the heat before the flower seller saw us. I've never even seen you using a jacket." He paused. "Did I fluster you?"
Kaveh's nostrils flared. He hated his roommate. He truly did. He hated his know-it-all tendencies and he hated that he seemed to know Kaveh well, better than Kaveh knew him. He was the one that… well, the one that couldn't be completely honest with Alhaitham.
Kaveh mimicked him by crossing his own arms, and he raised his chin to direct his face away from the other man. "You didn't. I'm menopausal. Please sit on the bench so that I can finish my assignment."
Alhaitham refused to sit down, instead choosing to take a step towards him, and carefully pick up the bouquet that laid on the floor. The petals that were left behind made him feel somewhat regretful of his careless actions—no flower deserved to be treated that way.
"Kaveh, you're not forty. And you don't have a uterus."
"What do you know?"
"I can recall one time I accidentally entered the bathroom while you—"
"It's psychological."
"Of course it's psychological. You're flustered." One of Alhaitham's hands took out a rose from the bouquet, the reddest rose, the one he'd inspected before, and held it between them. "If I give you this, would it make you blush?"
Kaveh scoffed. "No."
Yes, it would. He could feel the wind picking up. His cheeks would get redder, and the stress of not finishing his project on time would make his heart beat faster, and the five cups of coffee he'd downed in the last couple of hours would make his hands start shaking.
Alhaitham lifted his hand, going past Kaveh's own and seemingly mocking him with an almost.
The wind strengthened its pace when he saw his roommate's hand stop beside Kaveh's face, the stress attacked his heart when he felt the rose being placed atop his ear, and the caffeine took over his hands when he locked eyes with Alhaitham.
Green met scarlet. "It fits your hair clips."
He couldn't reply, not because he didn't want to, but because there was a familiar pressure on his chest that traveled upwards to his throat that didn't let him say anything. He knew from experience that even if this looked like something, it wasn't. That was how Alhaitham worked. That was what Kaveh had learned to accommodate.
Alhaitham's self-satisfied smile turned into a softer one. It didn't take the edge off his next words. "Maybe, if you stopped assuming things and were less of a coward, you could've done this last year."
Kaveh blinked. The spell was over as soon as it was cast. "What?"
Alhaitham didn't immediately reply, yet the small lift of his lips remained on his face. He merely stepped away from him and sat down on the forgotten wooden bench, legs perfectly straight and in the same angle Kaveh had photographed before with the kid's chair.
"I like wax flowers, by the way."
Kaveh sighed. He'd deluded himself for more than a year, he was sure that those feelings could wait one more hour. Morphology was due first.
He lifted his cellphone, the camera app already open. "Lame."