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Alhaitham remembers the first time he saw Kaveh in the Akademiya’s halls.
Contrary to how he is now, the Kaveh of back then was really quite mild-mannered. He kept his head down unless someone called for him, he walked in slow, steady steps, and did not care much for social gatherings.
Kaveh spent most of his early years in the Akademiya buried in his studies, as if he was trying to chase something quickly rushing past him—or perhaps he’d been running away from something.
One of the stark differences, though, was that his hair wasn’t always this bright shade of blond. When Alhaitham first knew him, it had been dark brown, unruly as it was, and still is.
Alhaitham also learned that Kaveh was not fully Sumerun. His father was Fontainean and had settled somewhere in the nation with his Sumerun mother after their marriage. Apparently, he did not have the best childhood.
It’s hard enough being ’different,’ and even harder with the way his parents constantly argued as he shut himself in his room and continued to scribble mindlessly on paper, if just to ease the sounds away.
His father was not a nice man. Kaveh could almost still picture the bruise that adorned his jaw when his father’s fist collided with it.
People around him used to tell him the same thing.
“You look just like your father.”
It’s not a nice thing to be told.
He didn’t ask to be born with blond hair and red eyes.
He hates it.
His mother was a gentle woman, but he would never forget the stern look of disappointment on her face when she realized that he’d been using all his time drawing instead of studying.
“We aren’t wealthy people, Kaveh,” she said. “You can’t do art for a living.”
Thinking back on it, she might’ve actually cared about her son enough to want him to secure a job that pays well.
it doesn’t soothe the heartache when he came home one day and saw that she tore down all his drawings.
She always told him that he’d look better with brown hair, like her. So when he moved out of his parents’ house, the first thing he did was dye his hair, if only to soothe the pain in his heart, resounding in his ribs.
Alhaitham was a curious personality. He always seemed lonely, opting to the empty table in the library, so Kaveh strived to get to know him.
He turned out to be Kaveh’s most gutsy junior. He never knew one so... sassy. Still, they stuck together.
One day, when Kaveh’s blond roots showed, it was like something ticked in Alhaitham’s brain.
“I’m not naturally brunette,” Kaveh said with a tight smile. “I haven’t re-dyed it in a bit...”
“I’ve never seen a blond in Sumeru.”
“I’m not fully Sumerun either. Haha.”
“...I see.”
Alhaitham turned back to his book, and Kaveh turned back to lining his current draft. He thought the conversation would end there, but he knows Alhaitham stole glances at him every now and then.
He said nothing of it in fear he would overstep. Instead, Alhaitham said, “Blond would suit you, Senior Kaveh.”
Kaveh blinked. “Huh? Why?”
“You’re... different,” Alhaitham said awkwardly. “It’s... not a bad thing.”
He proceeded to bury his head in the book, and Kaveh almost felt bad for putting his dear junior in such an awkward situation. He giggled.
“If you say so.”
Kaveh stopped dyeing his hair, allowing his natural color to show, until the brown dye only stuck at the tips.
The night before his graduation, Alhaitham kissed him between the bookshelves and let gold spill over them like sunlight.
A lot of things happened after that. A joint project, a nasty fight, a messy breakup, a house for two, reunions in the rain—
It ended up with Alhaitham and Kaveh, together, again.
Kaveh thinks that he couldn’t rid Alhaitham from his life even if he wanted to.
Alhaitham awakes in the middle of the night with the absence of a body beside him. The next intuitive thing is him walking out of his room and finding Kaveh sprawled over the divan with bottles of wine.
“Those aren’t yours.”
“Do I look like I care?”
Alhaitham sighs. “Stop sulking and tell me what’s wrong.”
It’s 1 in the morning, and Kaveh is getting drunk in their living room. He only ever does this when it’s bad.
Alhaitham knows Kaveh has these moments. He’s come to accept them. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to see, especially when Kaveh looks all but miserable, spread on the divan with empty bottles on the floor.
Kaveh’s eyes shift between Alhaitham and the bottle in his hand.
“My parents sent me another letter,” he says, eerily neutral in tone.
Alhaitham doesn’t immediately respond. The news is not entirely unexpected, but since Kaveh built the Palace of Alcazarzaray, they’ve been consistently sending him letters to come back to them.
Alhaitham does not have his parents anymore. Kaveh despises his. He supposes, at some point, that became a point of bonding between them. Not a good one, but it is what it is.
Alhaitham wordlessly walks up to the older male, gesturing for him to scoot over. When Kaveh does, Alhaitham takes a seat at the edge of the divan.
Kaveh lays back, and his head is on Alhaitham’s lap.
“What did they say?” Alhaitham starts.
“The usual stuff.” Kaveh shrugs, taking a mindless swig of the wine. “I’m not going back. Why won’t they accept that? It’s not as if they didn’t constantly threat to kick me out of their house before.”
“It’s fine if you don’t,” Alhaitham says, an allusion to something unspoken—
(Just stay with me. You are safe here.)
He knows he wants to.
Kaveh sighs. Alhaitham takes the bottle from his hand and gently places it down, where Kaveh can’t reach it. The blond arches his back, throwing his arms above his head.
“They even made an effort to sound nice. They don’t know how much I don’t care.”
Alhaitham has his chin on his palm as he combs his fingers through Kaveh’s hair, silent and content on listening.
It’s gotten quite long, undone like this, but Kaveh knows Alhaitham loves it. That’s what he told him before, and Alhaitham doesn’t know how much it meant for Kaveh.
“I don’t hate my hair anymore,” he starts mindlessly. “But my dad sure did a good job at making me hate it before.
“And my mom— she always wanted me to have brown hair like her. She was a sweet woman. She just— wasn’t really on board on the whole artistic pursuits thing. But whatever.
“And, you know, they fought often. I’d watch my dad use his Vision on her, weak and Visionless, and wondered just what kind of damage I could do with mine.
“But I didn’t. Never did. They say that you have to respect your parents, right? Well, I did. But I’m not their child anymore. When I left for the Akademiya, I knew that I wouldn’t return — not with all the things they said to me as I walked out the door.
“So why the hell are they crawling back to me like this now?”
“You said that they previously commended you for the Palace,” Alhaitham supplies.
“They did,” Kaveh says. “That’s how I know they only love me for my success. I bet they don’t even know that their son is in debt.
“I don’t even get why all those preachers placed soo much importance on the whole ’respect your parents—’ so fucking what if I don’t want to?” Kaveh chokes down a sob. “I hate them.”
“You don’t have to,” Alhaitham says, overly gentle, more than he deserves, and—
Somewhere along the way, Kaveh tried to convince himself that all the things his mother and father did to him was for his own good, like they always said. Like if he could convince himself of that, things would be better; his heart could stop hurting.
Now, he’s crying at 1 a.m. in Alhaitham’s living room, drinking his wine, sobbing into his chest, and Alhaitham’s arms around him feel too good to be true. Oh, if only his parents did this much for him— to give him a shoulder to cry on, talk about all his problems in the middle of the night, and be hugged in return.
Kaveh raises his head to wipe his tears on his sleeve. “Alhaitham,” he starts, meeting those sharp eyes, bright viridian under the dim lights, “I love you.”
Alhaitham brushes a stray tear away with his thumb, using the hand on Kaveh’s face to pull him into a kiss. Gentle and chaste, a small gesture of comfort. The taste of wine is heavy on his lips.
“I want you to say it.” Kaveh sniffles, and his eyes fall, like he’s asking for such an awful thing, like all this hurt is expanding in his throat, and Alhaitham is his only salvation. “Please? I just— I need to hear this. I feel like you never do and— please.”
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham whispers, and the mere call of his name has Kaveh’s heart skipping a beat like they’re teenagers all over again, his lips falling shut as Alhaitham pulls him in one more time, firm. “I love you.”
His cries only pick up from there. It’s like all hell has broken loose inside of him, and just the utterance of such a thing brings joy and pain altogether.
Kaveh cannot recall if he’s ever heard anyone else say it to him. Maybe his mother had before— lies upon lies.
Sometimes, the only truth lies in Alhaitham alone as he holds him so tightly, and Kaveh knows he’d never let him fall. A solid ground he can stand on, at last.
“Please stay. Please don’t leave. Don’t go. Don’t leave me like—” the name wells up and disperses in his throat before he gets to say it. Instead, a stuttered breath, “You’re the only one I have.”
“I’m staying,” Alhaitham says, a solemn promise.
(“Are you ever going to cut this?” Alhaitham asks, fingers brushing over the brown tips of Kaveh’s hair as he sits before the vanity.
“Maybe eventually.” Kaveh smiles contently, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection as he flicks the blond-brown strands. “I quite like how it looks now. Don’t you think so?”
“It looks like you were dipped in mud,” Alhaitham deadpans.
“Hey!” Kaveh pouts. “Hmph. Well, it’s not like I expected you to have taste. At any rate, I don’t care about what you th—”
“I have taste,” Alhaitham argues, tipping Kaveh’s chin up to meet his eyes directly. “I like you.”
“...Pfft.”
Kaveh jumps up in his seat and kisses Alhaitham.
Kaveh is happier now. Alhaitham is only happy that he is a part of that happiness.)