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There’s an intruder on their Friday night get-together.
“Tighnari,” Kaveh whispers furiously. “Why is he here?”
Kaveh spits he like the word is poisoned, and, well. It might as well be when it refers to the absolute bane of his existence.
He’s seated in Kaveh’s spot at the round table, speaking to Cyno with his smug face-hole and sitting at a perfect right angle with his smug posture and exuding an altogether suffocating smug demeanor. Kaveh can feel his happiness shrivel up and die like Tighnari’s last botany experiment, replaced with a kind of rage he’s only ever felt towards one man: Al-Haitham.
“Why,” Kaveh repeats through gritted teeth, “is he here!”
His words grow louder than intended, which is a perfectly natural side effect of being enraged to the point of near-catatonia. Al-Haitham finally breaks away from his conversation to level him a look with those piercing eyes.
“You—!” Kaveh starts, and Tighnari holds him back before he can lunge at the silver-haired man and give him a piece of his mind. Why would I want a piece of your mind, Senior? he imagines Al-Haitham saying in a self-satisfied tone. The statement leaves a very strongly implied unlike yours, mine functions perfectly well and is not prone to fallacies. Kaveh can admit that his inner Al-Haitham is flawed, however, because the brute would never be respectful enough to call him Senior.
Kaveh droops in Tighnari’s hold, looking at his best friend with pleading eyes. Please kick him out, he hopes they read. The traitor does not. Instead, he pawns Kaveh off to Nilou like they don’t have five years of friendship under their belt. Whatever. The dancer is a much better listener anyway.
He drapes himself over her shoulder and buries his head in her fluffy jacket. Kaveh is grateful to have a friend like Nilou—she’s so loyal and reliable and nice, unlike a certain green-and-black-haired individual. She’s also great at giving those head pats Kaveh loves and, oh, that’s the perfect spot. He doesn’t nuzzle into the touch, necessarily, but it’s a close thing.
“Kaveh.”
At the sound of that unnaturally smooth voice, the blonde reluctantly rights himself and scowls. “What.”
“Must I have a reason to greet you?” Al-Haitham states plainly. He looks so irritatingly unbothered. Even his silver hair looks perfectly tousled in spite of the fact that Kaveh knows he doesn’t give a shit about his appearance. The nuisance had probably rolled out of bed and gone straight to intruding on Kaveh’s social life.
It’s in that moment that he realizes the apartment has gone awfully silent. A glance at the kitchen tells him that Dehya and Candace are peeking over curiously, and Tighnari is listening from behind Al-Haitham.
This must be his plan, Kaveh thinks viciously. It’s obvious to anyone that he treasures his friends greatly; they keep the very thin string of his sanity tethered to the earth, and if he doesn’t have them, he may as well use his Kshahrewar skills to build a magnificent bridge as a launching pad that catapults him straight into the ocean.
Amateur. Al-Haitham’s ploy is obvious. He wants to get under Kaveh’s skin in a way he knows no one else can, and when Kaveh has no choice but to take drastic measures, his friends will find themselves horrified at his manic state and leave him for Al-Haitham.
If the other man wants to antagonize Kaveh while cloaked under a veneer of innocence, then so be it. Two can play at that game.
“Of course not!” He pulls his lips in a smile and wills his eye not to twitch. The pain of grinning at someone so undeserving is nothing compared to the smell of victory. Al-Haitham frowns, and the sight of this morphs Kaveh’s grin into something much more genuine. Score: one to nil.
𖥸
After facing his fourth consecutive defeat at the hands of Cyno in Genius Invokation TCG, Kaveh’s throat yearns for the crisp water from Tighnari’s fridge. “Ours tastes exactly the same,” the latter had claimed once, but if that was true, why did it always taste so much better at his place?
Kaveh gets up from his seat and reaches his arms to the sky in a long stretch. His throat feels shriveled, like one of those little bags of freeze-dried fruit—a natural consequence of repeatedly yelling “fuck you, Cyno!” at maximum volume. Facing off against the white-haired junior in TCG is bound to end in loss, and though Kaveh hadn’t been the only one to be miserably defeated, he will gladly ascend from the masses to take the record for most creative cusses.
“I’m going to get some water.”
“And I’m going to use Sacred Rite: Wolf's Swiftness!” Cyno cries. He slaps a hand on the table, and Dehya’s forehead comes to rest on the wood next to her now-downed card.
“Ouch,” Tighnari says to her, not even sparing him a glance. Kaveh pouts.
He does end up walking the few paces it takes to get to the kitchen, and he makes sure to fill the water all the way to the top to spite Tighnari. It does taste better, he thinks as the liquid slides down his throat. He closes his eyes and relishes in its coolness, but then he hears a door open and the telltale sound of Al-Haitham’s footsteps, and not even ice-cold water can combat the sudden heat that spreads throughout his body.
The footsteps stop right in front of him, and for some reason Al-Haitham had made the conscious decision to approach Kaveh instead of going back to their other friends. Kaveh’s other friends, actually.
“Al-Haitham,” he begrudgingly acknowledges. Unfortunately, the other had not fallen in the toilet during his trip to the bathroom. “And that’s Senior to you, brat.”
The younger man crosses his arms, flashing those ridiculous biceps that he has for no reason at all, and opens his infuriating mouth. “You're always quick to remind me that you're my upperman, yet you do not act in a manner becoming of an upperclassman. Why should we attach prestige to seniority at all?”
“You—!” Kaveh starts, then lowers his voice to speak through gritted teeth. If he wants to win Al-Haitham’s game, he cannot falter. “Regardless of whether or not I act in a ‘manner becoming of an upperclassman,’ the fact remains that I am still your upperclassman. Maybe you should stop being a little shit and respect your elders.”
Surprisingly, that gets Al-Haitham to shut up, though it still looks as if he’s struggling to hold back a retort. Before the floodgates can open, Tighnari shouts from the other room. “Kaveh, try not to kill Al-Haitham, please. And stop drinking all my water.”
“No!” the blonde chirps cheerfully. Whichever statement he’s referring to is anyone’s best guess. “You can get some from my place next time.”
“No thanks,” Tighnari yells back, “mine’s better.”
“What—so you do admit it!” he yelps. As expected, there is no response. The most he gets is Al-Haitham’s penetrating stare, and he doesn’t even know why he’s still standing there. Al-Haitham’s gaze refuses to waver, and his eyes flit over Kaveh’s face as if he is trying to look for something. Probably weaknesses. “What? Do I have something on my face?” he sneers. “Stop judging—”
And in a lighting-fast motion, Al-Haitham grabs the glass from his hand and takes a swig. He takes a swig. From the glass. His lips touch the glass. Kaveh’s glass.
“Not bad,” Al-Haitham says. He doesn’t even lift a hand to wipe the water dribbling down his chin. Instead, his tongue pokes out, and he licks his lips as if they hadn’t just been in the same place that Kaveh’s lips had been.
“I—you—” he splutters. “You just kissed me!”
Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. “Are you submitting a request, or attempting to practice the art of manifestation by professing your desires in the past tense?”
Kaveh wants to strangle him. “I’m talking about that indirect kiss, you smug bastard!”
“My mistake. I didn’t realize you’ve never had your first kiss.”
“I’ve had my first kiss!” His cheeks heat up in indignance. This hooligan had violated the sanctity of his lips—a highly sought-after, venerated commodity—and accused him of being so repugnant that no one could possibly want to kiss him!
“If you’ve already had your first kiss,” Al-Haitham responds, sounding much too doubtful for someone who scares people more than he attracts them, “then I don’t see the point of getting worried about this, seeing as it wasn’t a real kiss anyways. Besides, you don’t seem to have this same concern with Tighnari or Nilou, or any of your other friends.”
“Other friends would imply that we are friends. We are not,” Kaveh sniffs with his nose high in the air. “You’re an intruder! Tighnari was probably just too nice to kick you out.”
One peek at Al-Haitham’s face tells Kaveh he also realized the absurdity of the latter statement. “How could I be an intruder if Cyno was the one who invited me?”
“Charity work,” Kaveh says immediately. “Obligatory Spantamad responsibilities. He has to choose a friendless loser and socialize them into becoming less friendless, but I think he’s got his work cut out for him.”
“That would fall under the Vahumana discipline,” Al-Haitham responds, ever the contrarian. Why must he make Kaveh’s life so miserable?
“Don’t you know anything about cross-Darshan classes, you imbecile? Oh, never mind. You would never deign to take one since you think Haravatat is so superior.”
“And do you not think the same of your Darshan, Light of Kshahrewar?”
Kaveh flushes at the title, even though it’s just some dumb title that had originated from a group of wide-eyed underclassmen, all of whom are sweet but still much too inexperienced to recognize the many flaws in Kaveh’s work. He’s so taken aback that it takes him far too long to realize that he has yet to give a response, and Al-Haitham simply smirks and pushes the glass of water into his hands.
Score: one to one.
𖥸
The next time he runs into Al-Haitham is two weeks later in the House of Daena. The campus library is Kaveh’s favorite place to study, and it’s also one of the places he frequents with his friends. Just last week, he had met with Nilou and Cyno at the very same table to work on one of his many assigned projects.
Though he loves being able to work in the company of his friends, Kaveh must admit there are some benefits to being alone. He’s less prone to being distracted this way, and besides, none of them really have the same workload he has as a Kshahrewar student. That’s not to say their disciplines require less work, but rather that architecture is ridiculously intensive.
Even when he’s alone, though, the solitude only lasts so long. His distinctive blonde hair is like a lighthouse for other students, who often track him down and ask for advice. He feels a bit awkward doling out advice when he doesn’t really have much to show for his own work, but Kaveh feels a sense of responsibility towards his juniors. What kind of senior would he be if he didn’t at least try to help?
The library is quite empty today, though, and Kaveh flips through his comically oversized binder that is bursting at the seams with sketches and sheets of hastily scribbled notes. He brainstorms, anxiously tugs on his hair, and pulls out a blank sheet of paper somewhere in the midst to dump the entire contents of his brain onto. He’s in the zone, and this is one of the best feelings there is, and—
“Hm.”
A familiar voice hums right into his ear, and Kaveh barely stops himself from shrieking. “What the fuck!” he whisper-yells. He makes the mistake of turning his head, and Al-Haitham’s warm breath flutters across his face. He leans far back to avoid what could have been a (direct!) kiss, but Al-Haitham has already moved to the other side of the table and taken the seat across from him. He pulls out a book and places it on the desk, looking like the picture-perfect, pretentious asshole Kaveh knows him to be.
This is…not something they’ve done before. Of course, Al-Haitham semi-regularly provokes him into verbal battles, but they’ve never sat together for the sake of sitting together. Kaveh narrows his eyes suspiciously, but the silver-haired menace does not look up from his book. That’s fine. He is also capable of being a good, hardworking student.
So Kaveh pointedly ignores the person sitting across from him, excluding the occasional peeks he takes, and eventually concludes that he really is just reading. Kaveh lets his shoulders relax a minuscule amount, but not completely. He cannot let his guard down around Al-Haitham.
The project he’s working on is quite intricate, so he busies himself by making calculations and refining sketches. It’s routine, and the student who timidly walks up to their table after a long stretch of work is just another part of it.
“Um, Senior Kaveh?”
Kaveh removes the pencil he’d been gnawing on from between his teeth and smiles, albeit a bit awkwardly. The student looks like a freshman, judging by her hunched shoulders and altogether meek demeanor. “That’s me! How can I help you?”
“I was, uh, having some problems with my Structural Mechanics course, and Tariq told me to talk to you because he said you helped him a lot with his Visual Narratives class, so I was wondering if you could look over my work for me?”
The poor girl looks like she’s about to keel over, but Kaveh offers her a reassuring smile.
“Tariq, you said? You wouldn’t be Anwar, would you?” The sophomore had talked about his twin in passing, and looking at her now, they share the same high cheekbones and sharp eyes.
“Yes, I am,” she smiles. Anwar looks a bit more comfortable now, which had been Kaveh’s goal.
“Ayo, Senior Kaveh!”
And that would be Fayez: a bright, well-intentioned junior, and somehow even louder than Kaveh. He can see Al-Haitham’s left eye struggle not to twitch.
“How come I wasn’t invited to the party? You, Anwar, and…” He turns to Al-Haitham and must see something in his gaze, because his eyes widen and he aborts his sentence halfway. “Right. Where were we? Don’t worry, I’m listening.”
“I am also listening, seeing as I have little choice when the speakers are no more than two feet away from me. I find this strange, considering that we are currently in a library,” the bastard speaks without even sparing them a glance.
Anwar looks petrified, poor girl, while Fayez adopts a faintly amused expression. Al-Haitham is a hypocrite considering the amount of times they’ve argued at this very same table, and Kaveh is about to tell him just that when he speaks again.
“Senior Kaveh has his own work to attend to. How could he possibly offer quality advice when he doesn’t even have time to improve his own expertise? Your effort would be much better spent practicing your own research skills instead of running to him when you need help.”
Despite the harsh words, the contents of Al-Haitham’s tirade make it sound like he is… looking out for Kaveh, which is frankly impossible. Instead of simply targeting Kaveh’s friends, he must have expanded his horizons to his juniors as well.
“Don’t listen to him.” Kaveh glares at Al-Haitham and hopes his eyes can clearly convey the words jump off a bridge, you curmudgeon. “I don’t mind helping you, really. And sometimes it’s a lot smarter to ask for help than to push on aimlessly,” he says pointedly. “We can just go to a different part of the Akademiya!”
His words fall on deaf ears, because Anwar is already backing away. “It’s okay, Senior Kaveh. I-I’ll go look for some books to help me. Maybe I’ll come back another time?”
When Al-Haitham isn’t here is strongly implied. Kaveh, too, wishes for that to be true.
“Guess the party’s over, then. See you later, Senior Kaveh!” Fayez hoists his bag over his shoulder and saunters off, and Anwar scurries after him.
“What the fuck was that?” Kaveh hisses. “You scared that poor student off for no reason!”
“It wasn’t for no reason. They were bothering my reading experience,” Al-Haitham retorts flatly. “If you take the energy you exert from helping underclassmen who are perfectly capable of picking up a textbook on their own and redirect it into your own work, perhaps your efforts would result in more than a few arcs on a page.”
“Fuck. You.” Kaveh gathers his scattered sketches from the table. “These arcs are integral to the structure of my bridge.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I do say!”
And just because he manages to get the last word in, Kaveh gives himself a point.
Score: two to one.
𖥸
There’s nothing quite like the satisfaction of finishing a new project. Though the journey to the end and its hours of preparation and work are important, there’s something special about seeing a visual representation of one’s combined efforts. It’s romantic, almost, to see one’s vision come to life as proof of passion and dedication.
And with this prototype, Kaveh can admire it, touch it, analyze it. He can show it off and prove that he is more than just half-baked delusions of grandeur. Of course, this prototype bridge is nothing compared to the workings of a grand palace he has tucked away in his overflowing binder, but it is proof of concept nonetheless.
He can’t lie and say part of his inspiration for this piece hadn’t been his growing inclination to launch either himself or Al-Haitham off the edge, but he’d also wanted to build something functional. There’s an area around the Akademiya where scholars tend to form a dense crowd—if he designs a second bridge, perhaps his Sage would take notice of the idea and consider implementing it.
Whether or not his work is magnified from project-sized to reality-sized, Kaveh thinks this completing the project at all calls for a celebration. This is not because he would take any excuse to go drinking, shut up, Tighnari, but rather because he is a supremely positive person who thinks the little victories in life are worth celebrating.
He ends up in Lambad’s Tavern that weekend with his friends and—barf— Al-Haitham, but it’s better than no drinks at all. Because Kaveh is such an optimist, he decides to focus on the fact that everyone had managed to make it.
By the time he walks through the door, Dehya and Candace are already sitting at the table with Al-Haitham. They’re laughing, which seems unusual if one only takes into account the surface level, but Kaveh has enough emotional intelligence to know when people are putting on a front. He empathizes with their pain. Pretending to smile and laugh gets exhausting after a while, and it’s especially tedious when the other party has such a punchable face.
In an act of great sacrifice and benevolence, Kaveh scooches in plops himself in the booth seat directly across Al-Haitham. As those eyes narrow at him, Kaveh reminds himself of his goals. He must double down tonight by a) ensuring he gets under Al-Haitham’s skin in the most subtle way possible and b) rescuing his poor, poor friends from that maniac. Especially Nilou.
He smiles sweetly at Al-Haitham, twirling a finger through a strand of hair. He’d spent half an hour pinning up his blonde locks into a braided hairstyle, and like hell would he not show it off. During busy periods, which is nearly all the time as a Kshahrewar student, he doesn’t have as much time as he’d like to get ready. It’s a serious blow to his charisma points, but he’s determined to make it up today.
Al-Haitham’s eyes trail his fingers as they come to tug on his necklace, and he does so silently, which makes Kaveh question why the other hasn’t already made some snide comment.
“Well, hello to you too, Kaveh,” Dehya says drily. That breaks him out of…whatever he’d been doing pretty quickly, and his cheeks flush.
“I said hello!” he protests. “…Didn’t I?”
Dehya simply trades a sly glance with Candace, whom she has an arm draped over.
“What? What am I missing?…Hey! Stop ignoring me!”
Al-Haitham snorts, which is the closest Kaveh’s ever heard to a full-blown laugh. Something in his chest stirs, and he’s sure it’s because the sound of that demon laughing is so contrary to his nature that he wants to grab a bottle of wine and smash it over his head.
Before he can act on this particular thought, Tighnari, Nilou, and Cyno come strolling in. Kaveh is sure their frequent interruptions of this particular line of thinking are the only reason he hasn’t been kicked out of the Akademiya.
Nilou sits next to him, and because of their unwelcome guest (Kaveh was the one who had invited everyone! How did Al-Haitham get here!) the booth is more cramped than usual. He doesn’t mind the contact unlike Al-Haitham, who has the widest berth of them all and is sitting quite stiffly across from him.
Because he’s such a nice person he does feel a bit bad, but at the end of the day it’s Al-Haitham, so it doesn’t quite matter. He accepts this conclusion and orders a round of drinks without the slightest bit of cognitive dissonance whatsoever.
Soon, everyone is chatting away with drinks in hand, and Kaveh happily gulps his down. He’s a bit of a lightweight, which just means he doesn’t need to spend as much money to get drunk, but that doesn’t stop him from drinking just as much as Nilou. Despite what many people assume, the redhead has quite the tolerance.
Before he realizes it, Kaveh has already downed two glasses and almost topples over himself while laughing boisterously at some one of Cyno’s jokes. They’re admittedly funny when he’s sober, but even more so when he’s drunk. On his way down, Kaveh’s eyes skim over Al-Haitham. The younger man hadn’t been acting nearly as obnoxious as Kaveh knew him to be overall, only making a few occasional comments here and there.
“Should we take your drink away? You’ve barely had a sip. Never mind that, are you even old enough to be here?”
Al-Haitham shoots him an unimpressed look. “Despite being younger, I am, in contrast to others,” he retorts, “capable of self-control.”
Even in his alcohol-muddled state, Kaveh has enough spite to remember to bite his tongue. “You must take abstinence pretty seriously,” he comments. “It must be difficult to fend off your many admirers. Because you’re so attr-attractive. Or something.”
I got him! Kaveh cheers internally, even though his body suddenly aches at the effort of having to force those words past his mouth.
Instead of being annoyed at this loss like he’d expected, Al-Haitham looks…well. Kaveh doesn’t know how to describe how he looks, but now that he’s paying attention, he can see their other friends looking at him too.
Tighnari’s jaw is practically dislocated from how low it’s dropped, Dehya looks like she’s about to die from holding back laughter, Nilou is smiling the same smile she does when Kaveh tells her he wants to kill himself, and Cyno and Candace just look smug.
“…Thanks,” Al-Haitham settles on. He still looks both ghastly and extremely put off, which is probably because he’d had to thank Kaveh or risk looking bad.
Score: three to one. He’s winning by a landslide. To celebrate, he orders another drink.
𖥸
“Nilouuuu,” Kaveh slurs. “I— hic! —love you. You’re the best, an-and your head pats are always the best, and you’re so nice unlike Tighnari, who’s a meanie and I hate him but I also love him because he’s my best friend and you’re my best friend and you’re all my best friends! Except Al-Hai—I mean. Al-Haitham’s whatever, I guess. But I love you more!”
Across from him, Tighnari sighs and raps him on the forehead. “Ow. Meanie.”
“Yes, yes, you say I’m a meanie now, but you’ll be thanking me tomorrow.” That’s when Kaveh realizes that Tighnari has taken his drink. He whines.
“Nilouuu.” He looks up at her from where his head is buried in his arms and pouts. She stops scratching his hair and smiles.
“Tighnari’s right. It’s for your own safety,” she says comfortingly. “Just think about it. What would happen to us without you?”
Kaveh thinks about it real hard. He thinks they would be able to move on just fine without him, but he also thinks saying that would make Nilou sad, and that’s the last thing he wants. “Okay,” he grumbles. “But I need to piss.”
They slide out one by one save for Tighnari, Cyno, and Al-Haitham, who have their own seats across the table. Kaveh wobbles a little when he stands up, but he rights himself and sends them a thumbs up. “I got this,” he says, ignoring their worried looks. He waves Tighnari away when he stands up to help Kaveh. “I won’t fall in. Who do you take me for?”
He doesn’t fall in, but it’s a near thing. On his way back, he thinks that the smart thing to do would be to ask for water, and since he’s obviously a smart person, he walks to the counter.
“Water, please,” he calls out, then plops into one of the stools. The tavern is a bit understaffed today, so he doesn’t mind waiting. Kaveh taps absentmindedly on the counter and looks at the decorations and the stairs to the second floor, which he really wants to beg Lambad to let him redesign.
“Here you go.” A glass is pushed in front of Kaveh, but not from the bartender. A brown-haired man who looks like another scholar leans on the counter and smiles at him, showing off his dimples.“I assumed you were too distracted to notice. Name’s Fayek.”
“Oh, thanks,” Kaveh says after a beat. His senses are still slow, and his brain feels fuzzy. “Kaveh,” he offers.
“I know,” Fayek smiles again, running a hand through his wavy hair. “Everyone’s heard of the Light of Kshahrewar. You certainly look the part, too.”
Kaveh doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, and he supposes his face shows his confusion too, because Fayek just laughs. “Don’t think about it too hard. It’s a compliment.”
“Oh,” Kaveh repeats dumbly. “Sorry. My brain is still fuzzy, so I don’t think I could give you any curriculum advice right now.”
Another laugh. “You’re funny. And I’m actually in Haravatat, so I don’t think that would help much, always.”
Haravatat. Kaveh wrinkles his nose.
“Speaking of, well, speaking, would you care to join me? I could use some company, and I’d like to know what the Light of Kshahrewar is all about past the title. Drinks are on me, I swear.”
Fayek seems so nice that it makes Kaveh feel like a monster for having to decline, but he can’t just ditch his friends like that. “About that, I—“
“He can’t. He’s with us.” Al-Haitham materializes out of absolutely nowhere and grabs Kaveh’s arm. He begins to drag him back in the direction of their table, not even sparing a look at the person he’d so rudely dragged Kaveh away from.
“Wait—” he protests, turning back. He would have twisted his arm rather painfully had Al-Haitham not let go. “Sorry about him. I did come with my friends, but maybe another time?”
Fayek smiles again, and he seems to do that a lot, but it’s different from Nilou’s soft smiles. His are a flash of white teeth meant to charm and disarm. “I understand, Senior Kaveh. I’ll see you around.”
As soon as Fayek turns back around, Al-Haitham resumes dragging him back rather roughly. “Did he give you anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“A drink, Kaveh. Did he give you a drink?” Al-Haitham sounds exasperated.
“Oh. He passed me the water I ordered because I didn’t notice Lambad give it to me.”
At that, Al-Haitham freezes. “Are you crazy? You took a drink from him? Did you ever stop and think that he might have done something to it?” He looks mad, which Kaveh hates, so it makes him a little mad, too.
“But he didn’t.”
“You don’t know that. I bet you didn’t even realize what he was trying to do. You’re so drunk you can barely walk properly and he wanted to ply you open with more?” he scoffs.
Kaveh scowls. He’s not completely naive, but he’s not such a paranoid asshole that he thinks everyone is out to get him, either. “You’re being ridiculous,” he argues. “Why in Teyvat’s name would you jump to that conclusion? I know it’s difficult to comprehend for you, but some people are just friendly.”
Al-Haitham maintains a bewildered expression until it settles into something more weary. “You don’t even know what you look like to other people, do you?”
“Are you calling me a whore?”
“What—no, Kaveh."
“You are definitely calling me a whore. I don’t think Fayek would think that,” he taunts, not because he actually thinks Al-Haitham is calling him a whore—the man is probably incapable of registering attractiveness—but because the mention of Fayek seems to incite some kind of annoyance within him. “Maybe it’s just you,” he continues rambling. “Maybe you’re projecting, and it’s just you who thinks I’m a whore.”
They’re met with bewildered looks by their friends, who catch the tail end of Kaveh’s rant, and he does a victory dance in his head. Does thwarting Al-Haitham’s seemingly flawless reputation count as a point?
“Stop talking.” The clench in Al-Haitham’s jaw returns, and he shoves a glass into Kaveh’s hand. “Here. To stop your whining since you wanted water so bad.”
Kaveh reluctantly takes a sip—indirect kiss, his brain reminds him, and he accidentally makes eye contact with Al-Haitham at the same time. The other man raises a brow knowingly and Kaveh chokes on his water.
“Nilou,” he whines, and she flits to his side immediately. And from there, things continue just as they had begun, but Kaveh can’t shake the feeling of Al-Haitham’s watchful gaze on him the rest of the night.
The next morning, Kaveh wakes up much too tired to add to his mental tally. He decides to give himself a point because it’s only probable, and in his endless grace, decides to add one to Al-Haitham’s score. The poor thing could use an extra boost, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run. Kaveh would prevail.
Score: four to two.
𖥸
Months have passed since Al-Haitham has forcefully integrated himself into Kaveh’s life like some sort of friend-sucking leech, and their psychological warfare has continued with just as much passion as it had the very first day.
Score: 34 to 36. Kaveh knew he shouldn’t have given Al-Haitham that extra point.
Unfortunately, having to spend more time around Al-Haitham means there is more opportunity for the bastard to piss him off. He ignores the fact that the opposite is also true to fume over his current ranking. Kaveh must do something extreme, something incendiary.
His mental defenses are quickly fraying, considering what had happened the night before. They’d been out for dinner with Tighnari and Cyno, but the latter had to leave early, and Tighnari decided to escort him out. Kaveh had twiddled with his fork until he decided some socialization might make Al-Haitham a bit less insufferable.
“So. How are your classes.”
Instead of responding to the damn question, Al-Haitham had snarked him, saying, “You know, there is such a thing as comfortable silence.”
“You can’t even spare a single nice thing to say?”
“Why would I do that?”
And when Tighnari walked back to their table, Kaveh prostrated at his feet and begged him to extract Al-Haitham from their lives.
“Quit whining, or I’ll feed you my next experiment.” No one else would believe that, despite his sweet face, Tighnari could be so cold-hearted.
“That’s an ethical violation,” Kaveh glared.
“You’ll be fine. Last time wasn’t so bad.”
Kaveh disagreed, considering how he had been hunched over a toilet for three hours after consuming that discolored, vaguely purple mushroom.
Even now, he shudders at the thought and curses Al-Haitham’s seemingly impenetrable mask. Wait—impenetrable. Penetrable. Penetration. Of course!
…Wait, no, not like that. Kaveh would never penetrate Al-Haitham, or be penetrated by him. That was, quite frankly, a ridiculous notion. Rather, he would appeal to Al-Haitham’s non-penetrableness.
According to the man himself, he’s never been approached by anyone but finds himself glad for it, because he ‘has no interest in wasting his time.’ Kaveh would only admit this to himself, but he’d found himself surprised by the fact. Al-Haitham was what one could maybe-possibly consider objectively attractive, but his face was wasted on his frankly horrifying personality.
His aura of non-penetrableness could work out in Kaveh’s favor, actually—since Al-Haitham had never been hit on before, nothing would throw him off his guard more than Kaveh doing so. So for the sake of competition and being able to best Al-Haitham, he puts his game face on.
𖥸
By his game face, Kaveh means the impeccably applied eyeshadow he hardly has time to do anymore and his favorite set of jewelry.
This time, it’s everyone with the exception of Tighnari, who had to pass up their shopping trip in favor of finishing an essay for one of his various Amurta studies. Kaveh is normally excited to expand his wardrobe and look for new household decorations, but he’s frankly too broke to buy anything this month. He’d spent all of his leftover allowance buying koloocheh from a bake sale to help feed children in poverty; during their last meet-up, he’d distributed them to the group, only to be met with Al-Haitham’s scorn towards his so-called stupidity. Whatever. Al-Haitham wouldn’t know the meaning of charity if it beat him over the head, so Kaveh had continued to ignore him.
Since he has no Mora to spare, Kaveh decides to mill around the changing rooms with Al-Haitham and Nilou. The shop they’d entered is rather barren, so they stay in close proximity to act as on-hand fashion consults.
“Look,” Cyno commands as he sweeps open the curtain in a grand fashion. “Isn’t this plant-tastic?”
He spins around to show off the short-sleeved button-up he’d donned. It’s decorated with bright green leaves, most likely chosen because of his questionable style and love for Tighnari. Gross.
“Get it? Because plant-tastic is a play on words with fantastic and plant , and the shirt I’m wearing has leaves, and—“
“We get it, Cyno,” Kaveh groans.
“No need to uproot my happiness like that.” Cyno grins even bigger, and wow, he and Tighnari really are perfect for each other: they’re both complete menaces that appear unassuming at the surface.
“Uproot because—”
“I am begging you. No more,” Dehya interrupts from the next curtain down. Cyno frowns.
“I thought it was funny,” Nilou says.
“Of course you do, Nilou.”
In the midst of their bickering, Cyno sticks his hand out the curtain to drop the shirt onto their collective checkout pile, and Kaveh fumbles with the addition.
“Oh, Kaveh, let me help you,” Nilou offers. Her hands flit over the pile as she frets over him with a concerned look.
“No, no, I got them. If anything, Al-Haitham should help.” He glares at their silver-haired companion. Al-Haitham is leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, an unbearably indifferent expression on his face.
“Ah, well, maybe we can put them on the table over there. I found a shirt that I think you’d like, so you can try it on once you free your hands.”
Kaveh really doesn’t have the budget for that, but he’d hate to turn down Nilou’s gesture even more, so he places their collection on the table next to Al-Haitham. The asshole barely acknowledges him. What could possibly be more interesting than bonding with friends?, he fumes. Cyno’s puns aren’t that bad!
He whisks past Al-Haitham and hopes the wind he’d generated with the movement makes a hair brush against his eyeball. Once he’s in the stall, he tries on Nilou’s pick and gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror. The long-sleeve is sheer but of fine quality, and has quite the resemblance with the white top he’d just taken off. This one has no front cutout, but the see-through fabric lends to an equally breezy feel. Sumeru’s climate tends to the hot side, so it would fit in perfectly with the rest of his wardrobe.
“What do you think?” Kaveh draws back the curtain and steps outside with a flourish. When he sees Candace showing off the gold skirt she’d picked out, he gives her a big thumbs-up.
“Looking good, Kaveh,” she says teasingly.
“You both look great!” Nilou exclaims. “Kaveh, I think that would pair well with that red jacket of yours.” He’d been thinking exactly the same thing. Bless the girls for being the only ones with good taste.
“What do you think, Al-Haitham?” Candace prompts. Kaveh turns his gaze to the other man and finds himself surprised at the fact that Al-Haitham is already looking up. His discerning gaze makes Kaveh feel naked, though he supposes the shirt he’s currently wearing brings him a lot closer to that state.
“I suppose it is adequate. If your objective is to leave little room for the imagination, I would suppose it sufficiently fulfills the criteria.”
Kaveh can hardly believe that Al-Haitham is calling a whore again, and so shamelessly at that! He takes a deep breath to stop himself from grabbing the hanger and shoving it up the other man’s ass. Don’t forget the goal. Penetration, he reminds himself. Fuck. I’ve got to find a better mantra than that.
“Are you saying that you prefer me in clothes that let your imagination roam?” After bracing himself, he leans forward and bats his eyelashes shamelessly.
“No, I am not,” Al-Haitham combats. Then, because the fucker is a petty whore, he tacks on, “Have your various devotees failed you so desperately that you’ve come to me?”
Kill yourself, Kaveh thinks, which translates to pursing his lips in a practiced pout. “Haitham,” he starts, pretending that the nickname doesn’t make him want to spoon his brains out. “It’s not nice to think of yourself as a last resort. Positive self-talk,” he chides. Kaveh swears he can see Al-Haitham’s lips press even thinner and adopts a shit-eating grin in his head.
“This is weird,” Cyno suddenly interrupts. He swings the curtain open and shoves some clothes into Al-Haitham’s arms. Because Kaveh can’t outwardly laugh at his pain, he silently thanks Dehya for doing it for him.
“I’m done,” she announces, and Candace shouts back that she’s almost finished too. Kaveh ducks back into the stall to change back into his regular clothes; when he hangs Nilou’s pick back onto the hanger and drapes it over his arm, he looks at it longingly.
“Are you going to buy it?” she asks. “It was very flattering on you.”
“Ah, I really do like it,” Kaveh replies awkwardly. He scratches the back of his neck, one of the many nervous habits he can’t quite break. “But I don’t have the Mora to spare right now. I appreciate you thinking of me, though.”
Nilou protests and offers to treat him. So does Candace, but Kaveh firmly declines both their offers. Even if it’s no trouble for them, he’s not sure he can live with the guilt.
“Perhaps you would be able to afford it if you hadn’t bought ten boxes of koloocheh,” Al-Haitham drawls, finally speaking up again. Fucker.
“The stall owner said they were about to go bad! No one else was buying them, so I had no choice,” he bristles.
“My mistake. I forgot the responsibility of feeding every child in Sumeru rests on your shoulders. It’s not as though our nation has food assistance programs and free healthcare. Perhaps the reason no one else bought them is because it was such an obvious scam.”
It ends the same way most of their conversations have ended recently—with Kaveh’s absolute outrage. When he gets home that night, he woefully tacks on another mark to Al-Haitham’s score. Operation Penetration was an abject failure.
Score: 34 to 37.
𖥸
The next time he sees that sorry excuse for a scholar, Al-Haitham takes one look at him and says “Hm.”
“Why are you bothering me, you cryptic asshole?” No one else is around, so Kaveh sheds all pretenses and bares his teeth.
“No reason,” he says simply.
“That’s not true. I can see you staring at my nipples.”
Al-Haitham’s eyes immediately flick back up. Kaveh expects him to brush off the comment the same way he’d done with all the others, but he squints and can just about swear that he sees the tips of the other man’s ears grow pink.
“If that bothers you, maybe you shouldn’t have worn that shirt,” Al-Haitham bites out. “How did you afford it, anyways? Did your spending habits somehow become even more reckless?”
He gestures to the top that Nilou had recommended on that shopping trip, and truthfully, Kaveh doesn’t know how he’d ended up with it either. A few days after their excursion, he’d found an unsigned package at his door containing the offending article. At first, Kaveh had suspected Nilou, but she’d sounded genuinely surprised to see him in it.
He has no inclination to divulge this information to Al-Haitham, so he goes for a tried and true response. “None of your business.”
This brilliant retort effectively shuts Al-Haitham down but does not mean that Kaveh can rid himself of the oaf. They are, regrettably, in the same social circle, and because they’d both been studying at the House of Daena, they naturally found themselves walking together to Puspa Café.
Along the way, they bicker about everything from the best kind of halva to the merits of Rtawahist methods of divining one's fate through astrology. As they draw closer to the café, Kaveh slows his pace to observe his favorite stands in the market and check if they have anything new. Al-Haitham sighs but makes no other move to stop him, so Kaveh takes that as an agreement to go off-course. Even irritating pedants must get tired of being so anal all the time.
A stationery shop he frequents has some new wares, and Al-Haitham also looks vaguely interested in the pens laid out on the table. It’s…nice. Nice to not hear that grating voice criticizing him all the time, that is.
“Hey, is that—oh, it’s Fayek!” Kaveh’s voice is loud enough to travel across the street, and the other Haravatat student strolls up to them jauntily.
“Looking good, Senior,” he winks after giving Kaveh a quick up-and-down that makes him flush. He’s still not very used to accepting compliments, especially from those he’s not so familiar with.
The easiest thing to do is to concede, so he utters a quick thanks. “You’re looking well, too. Are you up to anything?”
Fayek holds up the basket of stationery in his hands and gives it a light shake. “Just checking out what’s new. Are you go—I mean, are you two going anywhere?”
“Yes. We’re meant to be there in a few minutes, so it looks like we’ll have to leave now. Shame,” Al-Haitham interrupts, not sounding very sorry at all. Kaveh’s never seen this level of pettiness aimed at someone besides him.
“Ignore him,” he says. Kaveh turns back to Fayek, fully intending to continue the conversation, but the other student looks like something’s just dawned on him.
“Oh, I understand,” he replies. He’s grinning far too happily in the face of Al-Haitham’s rudeness, and Kaveh gets a sense that he’s referring to something that he certainly does not understand.
“Uhm,” he says dumbly.
Al-Haitham takes the chance to grab his wrist and tug him away, which imbues Kaveh with a strong sense of deja vu. “Great. We’re leaving.”
Al-Haitham pointedly ignores the ensuing interrogation about his behavior the rest of way. Kaveh is an unstoppable force, but he knows just as well that Al-Haitham is an immovable object. There may be no use in questioning him, but when has that ever stopped Kaveh from trying?
He stops probing once they enter the café and grouchily plops into the empty seat next to Tighnari. Al-Haitham chooses to sit next to him out of all the empty chairs, which Kaveh supposes is for the sake of convenience. It’s much easier to argue with someone when they’re sitting right next to you.
As more of their friends arrive, they find themselves scooching in closer until they’re just as cramped as they are in Lambad’s Tavern. For such a cold man, Al-Haitham feels quite warm through the thin material of his shirt. This certainly doesn’t help explain the sudden goosebumps that develop on Kaveh’s skin.
As he listens to Tighnari recount the trials and tribulations of his most recent experiment, he tries not to drink too much coffee lest his sudden nerves multiply. He swipes a few candied Ajilenakh Nuts from Tighnari’s plate while he’s speaking, and to his credit, the green-haired man only swipes at him lightly before conceding a rather decent portion of his dessert.
Karma comes in the form of Al-Haitham stealing a bite from Kaveh’s Padisarah pudding, and the two squabble until Cyno interrupts them with a pun about Al-Haitham being “padi-sorry.”
Somewhere between swapping stories and exchanging food, Kaveh feels an overwhelming wave of appreciation crash onto him. He’s in the midst of working on his capstone project, and despite his deep love for architecture, being stuck in his own head can get overwhelming. Tighnari, Cyno, Nilou, Dehya, Candace—even Al-Haitham, he reluctantly admits—all offer him moments of reprieve amidst trying times. Perhaps it’s moments like this that make life worth it.
This realization renders Kaveh a bit speechless, and it isn’t until Tighnari nudges at his thigh with a concerned expression that he realizes he’d grown uncharacteristically silent for quite some time. Kaveh takes the proffered hand from under the table and squeezes it with a reassuring smile. He has his friends and his passions, and he feels—he feels good, he realizes. He doesn’t know when it had started, or if that kind of happiness had always been within reach, but he’s finally holding it in the palm of his hand.
For the first time in a long time, he lets the weight fall off his shoulders. Things are good.
𖥸
Kaveh takes it back. His life is a mess, Al-Haitham is not a pleasure to be around whatsoever, and the Haravatat scoundrel has only ever stressed him out for no conceivable reason.
Ever since that day in the market, he’d started to notice some kind of a pattern—him and Al-Haitham are out and about, one of his juniors would inevitably approach them asking for “Senior Kaveh,” and Al-Haitham would respond with a barrage of curt and rather impolite excuses to leave. Forget excuses—at some point, they’d metamorphosed into full-fledged lies.
Today’s pattern starts like this: Kaveh and Al-Haitham are on their way to a secluded corner of the Akademiya to continue their dispute about the value of art, and like the cold cynic he is, Al-Haitham claims that all art forms will eventually lose their reason for existence once their value is sufficiently exploited. Kaveh fervidly disagrees, so they make their way to the thus-far undiscovered part of the gardens that has somehow become their spot.
After one too many loud altercations in the House of Daena, the two had miraculously agreed on their need to relocate to a different area. There were only so many times they could be publicly reprimanded before the librarians’ already-short patience was wrung dry.
In the midst of Kaveh’s rebuttal—“You can't compare art to production and exploitation for commercial purposes!”—they’re halted for the umpteenth time that week.
“Senior Kaveh!”
At this rate, Kaveh knows how it goes, so he turns around and sees a student running towards them. It’s a Spantamad scholar this time, which is one of the more uncommon ones; quite predictably, the students who approach him tend to be from Kshahrewar or Haravatat.
“Name’s Samira,” she offers. “I’m conducting research on the use of technology in Ley Line research and was wondering if I could interview you for my paper. I need to synthesize various perspectives about the kind of devices used to evaluate them.”
Well, usually there’s a bit more of a lead-in than that. Kaveh’s head whirs while trying to process the rapid barrage of words, and he’s under the faint impression that he’s already being interviewed. “I have my doubts that I’m the most qualified person you could ask,” he confesses, “but if you’re sure, I don’t mind helping. When do you need it by?”
“Next week, preferably. Also, has anyone ever told you that you’re even prettier in person?”
The answer to that is no, because no one’s ever been quite that direct with Kaveh. Once again, he finds himself at a temporary loss of words and expects his Haravatat junior to answer in his stead, and then—
It’s quiet, but Al-Haitham lets out what sounds like an honest-to-god growl from behind him. Kaveh chokes on his breath and pounds at his chest in an attempt to clear his lungs.
“Thank you,” Kaveh rushes to say before Al-Haitham can come to his senses and drag him off. The words come out all choked-up and mangled, so he pauses to take a deep breath before continuing. “Uhm, I think I can do three days from now. Same time as this.”
“Perfect. Does Puspa Café work for you?” Kaveh offers a short nod of confirmation. “Great! It’s a date.”
There’s something about that sentence that stirs Al-Haitham into action. Normally he’d have the other party running off already, so all things considered, this reaction is a bit delayed.
“Unfortunately,” he begins without a shadow of remorse, “Kaveh misspoke. He has prior arrangements; ergo, he is occupied.”
Samira’s expression shifts from a smile to a squint and back to a smile, but the one she directs at Al-Haitham doesn’t look quite as congenial as the one she’d given Kaveh. “Is he now? What for?” Despite their curious facade, the words sound like they’re coming from a place of challenge rather than genuine interest.
“Social obligation,” Al-Haitham tosses back. It’s perhaps the most indeterminate excuse Kaveh has ever heard, but Samira lets it fly by with grace.
“What about the following day?”
“I—”
“—have prior engagements,” Al-Haitham finishes smoothly. He steps forward and positions himself in front of Kaveh with what appears to be his trademarked neutral expression, but there’s a slight tightening at the corner of his lips that means he’s annoyed.
“Really.” Samira looks simultaneously amused and unimpressed.
“Do you truly believe you’re the only one who has asked for his help? The Light of Kshahrewar is not an empty title. His schedule is busy enough without all the additional requests from his juniors.”
And then, rather than seizing Kaveh’s wrist like he normally would, Al-Haitham deftly wraps his arm around Kaveh’s waist in an uncharacteristic display of affection.
“Right, ya hayati?”
“Urk,” is what comes out of his mouth. What the fuck! is what comes out of his brain.
What the fuck, truly. Al-Haitham smells like oud and cedar wood, and the muscles of the arm around his waist feel firm even though the heaviest thing Kaveh’s ever seen him lift is an ancient tome. This is an inconsistency, just like Al-Haitham’s current behavior is an inconsistency. It’s so strange, so overwhelming, that Kaveh cannot bring himself to process what is happening. The around him are clearing moving, but the sounds don’t reach his ears. It isn’t until his brain begins to recover that Kaveh is able to catch the tail end of the last sentence.
“...won’t tell anyone. But to be fair, just about everyone suspects it. Thanks for the confirmation.”
Peculiar once more. Al-Haitham had just shot her request down, so why did she look so satisfied? Is he truly losing his touch? Instead of prodding further, Samira simply hoists her bag further over her shoulder and walks off with a triumphant grin.
“See you around, Senior!”
It takes all of the meager strength Kaveh possesses to not collapse on the street.
𖥸
“What the fuck,” Kaveh says as he paces around the gardens. He’s trampled more than a few flowers under his feet with his pacing, and it’s a testament to how distressed he is that he can hardly muster up the strength to be guilty about it.
“Please, I’d love to hear it repeated for the twenty-fourth time,” Al-Haitham comments drily.
“What the fuck,” Kaveh repeats just to be petty, and yes, the feeling that slowly rises in his chest is deliciously familiar. “What the fuck!” Again, but more impassioned. Kaveh can suddenly feel the vein on his forehead about to burst. He is beyond apoplectic.
“She thinks we’re dating?” he cries.
Al-Haitham sighs from his spot on the grass. “Yes, Kaveh,” he repeats monotonously. He’s tearing up blades of grass from a small patch on the ground and adds the new pieces to the rest of the heap.
“I— why in Teyvat’s name would you make her think that!”
Kaveh's most detested companion crosses his arms with a peeved expression. “I didn’t make her think anything. She came to her own conclusion based on the information presented.”
“How could it possibly be a valid conclusion when you fabricated that information! What else did you think would happen when you called me”—he can’t even bring himself to say the words ya hayati to Al-Haitham— “that?”
The bastard shrugs without an ounce of remorse. “Why should the veracity of a single person’s conclusion hold significance to outside parties? She may believe we are romantically involved, but that does not affect the true status of our relationship.”
Kaveh feels his fingers twitch with the urge to uproot the nearest gazebo and clobber Al-Haitham over the head with it. It would be so, so easy…
At the end of the day, Kaveh can’t be blamed for his actions. He is a sane person, and like any other sane person, there is a limit to his tolerance. It’s Al-Haitham’s fault for provoking him so many times. Kaveh just can’t help it.
He breaks.
“You—you sanctimonious troglodyte!” he explodes. “Why the fuck are you doing this? What is the fucking point? Why are you so intent on scaring all of my juniors away? Do you want me to die friendless and alone? Is it your life goal to make me miserable?” Not once in his barrage of questioning does Kaveh take a breath. His cloak whips behind him like a thrashing tail as his pacing becomes progressively more furious.
“Do you realize how insufferable you are? I’ve never met someone as absolutely maddening as you! Are you such a sadist that you refuse to derive joy from any other source? Have you no shame? I’ll wager you couldn’t resist ruining my reputation with your unadulterated depravity! And—and—”
Phew. Kaveh stops to take a few gulps of air, fully intending on barreling on with his tirade. How does Al-Haitham have such defined biceps when Kaveh is the one whose discipline requires all the physical labor?
“Are you done yet?”
His voice is bored. Bored. What kind of boor could possibly be so blasé at a time like this? Kaveh whirls around with his teeth bared, fully intending to continue his diatribe, but what he does not expect is the chest that bumps into his.
“I said, are you done yet?”
“What—” he gasps, and he barely has time to behold Al-Haitham’s silver hair descending upon him before the man’s lips crash upon his own.
His mouth is warm and insistent, moving with ardent purpose, and Kaveh’s hands instinctively fly up to cup Al-Haitham’s jaw. The grip on his waist is firm and unyielding, toned arms pressing them closer, closer, and Kaveh can’t help but keen when Al-Haitham lightly nips at his lower lip. As if responding to the sound, his tongue flicks out to sweep across Kaveh’s mouth, and oh, fuck. Wait. Fuck!
Kaveh’s eyes fly open and he breaks away panting. Al-Haitham simply lets go and brushes a hand through his unruffled silver hair. In fact, his entire person reveals no signs of degeneracy. The only thing that betrays him is the sudden glint in his turquoise-orange eyes, as if they’re alight with something. In fact, Kaveh would say he looks…pleased with himself.
The spark in Al-Haitham’s eyes breathes life back into the blazing inferno of fury, stoking the flames even higher than before. The thought of that tongue nearly entering his own mouth in an act of sheer impiety leaves Kaveh tongue-tied. How dare he?!
Ruffian! Hoodlum! Lout!
This—this—law-abiding miscreant! How dare he attempt to distract Kaveh from his anger with his woefully sinful kissing technique?
The only way he can remedy this is by giving Al-Haitham a taste of his own medicine. If the man wants to scrap his leading score in favor of starting a new competition, then so be it. Kaveh will do everything in his power to make sure he has a head start.
In the spirit of absolute loathing and his impending victory, Kaveh grabs Al-Haitham by the collar and pulls him in for a vigorous kiss. Al-Haitham is putty in his hands, and Kaveh chortles internally as he slips a tongue into the other’s mouth. Too easy.
They’re back at the starting board.
Score: one to nil.
𖥸
“So. You and Al-Haitham, huh?” Tighnari takes a long sip of his coffee and maintains uncomfortably long eye contact with Kaveh.
“Kill yourself,” he says from his seat on Al-Haitham’s lap. The other hadn’t protested the motion, which is a testament to how committed both of them are to this new game. Kaveh is simply trying to test his limits by seeing how long he can remain comfortably seated on Al-Haitham’s legs until the callous junior pushes him off; there’s nothing else to it.
“He had his tongue down your throat two minutes ago. I don’t know what you think you’re hiding.”
“I still can’t believe you had it in you, Al-Haitham!” Dehya ribs. Kaveh’s most hated associate simply grunts in lieu of a response.
It is at this moment that Cyno decides to break his long bout of silence. “You two make such a nice cup-ple. I always thought you were meant to bean, but it’s better latte than never. Let us hope that time brings about no grounds for divorce.”
The volley of frankly appalling puns is topped off by a rather fulfilled smile, and there is a single moment of blissful silence before pure havoc breaks loose.
“I’ll show you divorce—”
“Have you been brainstorming those the entire time—”
“I thought it was creative!”
“Do you really—ow, that was my fucking foot!”
And, lastly, “We’re not a couple!”
The effect of Kaveh’s words is material. Tighnari stops glowering at Cyno to glower at Kaveh, Candace turns her stone-faced expression to him in hopes that Dehya doesn’t take revenge for her crushed foot, and Nilou shoots him a perplexed look.
Okay, he does not appreciate the doubt. Now that their first competition of ‘playing nice’ is over, Kaveh no longer needs to hide his detestation for Al-Haitham. It’s clear that he hates the man! He just needs to act ridiculously lovey-dovey until one of them breaks. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, indeed. The finish line may not be in sight, but if he simply bulldozes ahead for long enough, he’ll stumble across it eventually.
A sigh. “You’re cute when you’re in denial.” Tighnari pats his head, and it’s a real testament to his personality that he could make something so doting feel so mean. Kaveh glares mutinously.
“Do you think he’ll get over himself once they fuck?” he asks Cyno.
Forget propriety. Kaveh screeches. “You—how could I possibly—I would never, seriously, why would you even say that, what makes you think I would ever, how could you—” he begins to ramble.
“Really? Never, you say?”
Al-Haitham’s fingers brush over the hair at the nape of Kaveh’s neck, leaving goosebumps in their trail. His voice is in a hushed sort of tone reserved just for Kaveh, and his breath is warm against his ear. Well, he supposes if he must, Al-Haitham wouldn’t be the worst option…
With that, Al-Haitham shamelessly dips Kaveh into a kiss in front of all their friends again, and for no other reason than spite, Kaveh returns the gesture with just enough passion to surpass him.