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“How would you translate the word ‘love’ in Hilichurlian?” Alhaitham pauses. “If the concept of the word doesn’t exist in the culture of the language, should the word exist? Words come from truth, ergo, they should not exist without the necessary prerequisite, which is verity in the specific context.”
You lean back in your chair, pondering his question, posed only to you, as there isn’t anyone else around. Not even the most hardworking Akademiya student would be sitting in the library at one in the morning, writing papers and having discussions that simultaneously kind of make sense and don’t make sense at all.
The warm light from candles struggle against the darkness of the outside forests, seeping in slowly through the transparency of the windows, bringing a sort of quietness and peace that can’t be found in the daytime. You like this, just as he does. An absence of other scholars that don’t possess enough intelligence to not be a hindrance in the path you both seek to knowledge.
“Hmmm,” you say, as you take a sip of sweet dew water, courtesy of Tighnari earlier in the day.
“Hmm is not an answer,” he replies evenly with his gaze on his papers, and years of friendship have already taught you that he is impatient in certain things, usually pertaining to that of knowledge. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting for answers that he thinks his present company already holds.
“I don’t know. And why should I? Ask me about architecture, and I can give you many answers. I can tell you the differential of 3x to the power of 2. I can tell you about the philosophy of ethics of the archons based on their listed known history and the statistical probability of their actions if there were to be a next war. But love? You ask for something so complicated.”
You know that your words rile him up, though not enough to show in his expressions, beyond the slightest purse in his lips. It’s a disappointing answer, yet it’s the one you want to give. He ruffles his ash silver hair slightly.
“I was asking about whether or not the word ‘love’ should exist if it isn’t real, not whether or not it’s real. You are drifting from the point of discussion.”
“If you can ascertain that it is indeed real, then why would your discussion be necessary in the first place?”
You pause, thinking about a certain blond friend of both of you that would have a great response to this. “Why don’t you just ask Kaveh?”
Alhaitham puts his papers aside and looks up at you. You can’t decipher what he’s thinking, though it’s probably somewhere between light exasperation and wanting to laugh at your suggestion, because you both know deep down that neither of you want to have a discussion of the emotional sort with your fellow architect.
“Please, spare me the theatrics,” he says, and leans over to steal some of your drink. Yet another old-friend annoying kind of habit that has become slightly more endearing over the years. “He’s going to go on a long tirade about how love is real and it definitely has the power to change the world - which is why it should be a word in Hilichurlian because they can change their natures. Which they might, I don’t know, there isn’t enough evidence to argue for or against it. I’m just not very inclined to believe it right now, based on extrapolation of existing statistics and field experience.”
For all the scorn and jokes you make at Kaveh’s expense, there’s a secret soft spot there. A long time ago, you admired his wide-eyed enthusiasm, you loved his raw, emotional side, you had this one sided infatuation with his idealistic optimism. He was so sweet, so kind, so unlike you that it was so thrilling and novel, it made you want a piece of that sunshine.
That was a long time ago, though. The feelings have long faded. You’ve learned to appreciate yourself for who you are - an emotionally stunted academic - though not perhaps at the level of self-assurance that Alhaitham shows. Kaveh was simply too different from you for it to ever end up making any sort of logical sense, though there’s still some part of you that likes the idea of being open to love, to happiness, to hopes and dreams.
“So you believe in love?”
You know with some certainty that he doesn’t. It’s a pointless question. He probably thinks that emotions are just caused by chemical reactions in the brain, and when the feeling staves off, there isn’t anything left.
“Maybe.” You look up at him this time in surprise, and his teal eyes catch your own, before flitting away quickly, disdainfully, as if he doesn’t care. “Maybe, it’s just Kaveh rubbing off on me.”
You snort in disbelief. That’s not very likely.
“No, actually, it isn’t. It’s just that what started out as this silly translation work for some Hilichurlian records really got me thinking about the word ‘love’. I mean, it’s such a broad linguistical… possibility. So many interpretations, even though the general meaning is clear. I know, I’ve always been quite dismissive of it, but now that I’m seeing it as a form of knowledge to be gleaned, my interest is piqued. We’re delving into a whole new study topic here. The Aksha terminal currently only renders factual information and objective reality. How can the people of Sumeru connect in terms of emotional, not just logical capacities?”
He makes sense, but it still seems very out of character for him to be so interested in a test subject he priorly voiced a billion doubts about.
“That can’t be the only reason,” you say, and you look at his face for hints. He looks tired, you think. More tired than he’s been in a long time. He’s still dressed the same in green and gold, one shoulder exposed, functional black garment, but something’s changed. Since he’s become Acting Grand Sage… there’s something different about him, but you can’t really pinpoint it. To you, it just feels like a small spark of colour on a previously monochrome canvas, and it’s strangely exciting.
He raises his hands in surrender.
“Alright, maybe Kaveh did make some sense. It’s just that, after so many recent events with the Traveler, the Dendro Archon, Kaveh, Nilou, Dehya, Cyno, you… I don’t know. They all seem so capable of feeling things, and it gives them drive, makes them happy. I kind of want to see what that’s all about. I want that knowledge. Don’t you?”
You don’t really know what to say to that. It does interest you, of course, the way Kaveh always did. You were always a little more sold on his ideas than Haitham was. Still, your dating history has been a mess. Nothing remotely close to ‘love’ has happened - instead, there’s only been some physical flings here and there, because, well, everyone has needs.
“I guess,” you shrug, trying not to let on how much you actually crave some attention, someone to spend time with, someone to always have your back. Your studies have always been enough for you, filling all the voids in your life, and it’s getting a little touchy how this conversation plays into your vulnerabilities.
You hope Alhaitham finds a good person to find that knowledge out with, because even if you haven’t managed to get anywhere, you want your friends to be able to.
The library dims down further as the candles dry out slowly. The temperature drops as well, and a cold breeze brushes past you from windows ajar, which make you shiver slightly. The conversation sounds like it’s ended with your non-committal reply, so you look back to your work. Tapping your pen on the paper, you try to bring your attention back to the architectural design you were refining.
You feel fingers brush lightly against your own.
“You're cold,” Alhaitham says quietly, before he takes your hands in his own in a horrendously intimate gesture that leaves you thrilled and terrified all at the same time. “Do you want to borrow my coat?”
The words themselves aren’t a surprise to you. Kaveh, Alhaitham, and you have been friends since your Akademiya days from years ago, and there’s been plenty of dendro trio friendship time, crashing out in each other’s houses, platonic care and concern, and sharing of jackets. It’s not the first time you’ve ‘borrowed’ one of their outfits for warmth, though it feels different this time.
It’s the way that it’s delivered that catches you by surprise. Alhaitham’s default tone of talking is always clinical and deadpan, so you’ve never heard him be this gentle to anyone.
You look up at him to find that he’s still looking at your hands with a worried gaze. It seems impossible to find the words to say when shivers are running down your spine and your heart is thundering in your chest at how close he is. You’ve never seen him at this proximity before, and it’s not lost on you how conventionally attractive he is, with bright green eyes, silver medium length hair falling lightly into his face, soft lips that rarely ever see a smile. The junior scholars all talk about how sculpturally beautiful he is, but all you’ve really noticed in so many years is his antagonizing personality. At least until now.
Attractiveness aside, deep down, you’re also starved for intimacy. Not just the physical kind, but also an emotional or intellectual sort of connection. Not just another fling, not another one night of getting someone in your place only to chicken out at the last second, because you simply can’t do something like that with someone you don’t know well.
Your tiredness-addled brain tells you that yes, this is a good idea, being a test subject sounds great. Besides, it’s Alhaitham . It’s not some random person that you met at Lambad’s Tavern and decided to spend a night with, it’s someone you’ve known for years and years and what feels like most of your life. Sure, he can be snarky and insufferable and condescending most of the time, or all of the time, but you can’t deny that he’s always been there for you and Kaveh in his own antisocial way.
For once, he isn’t chasing for a reply, just staring mutely downwards, as if he doesn’t know what to do next. Yet another first, seeing him lost for words, since he always has something to say. With him, literally any conversation can turn into a heated debate, so this is surprisingly… kind of pleasant.
Your impulses seem to carry you forward, and you lean in and press a light kiss to the corner of his lips.
It feels good. His face is warm, his hands are warm, and fuck, you want more, even though the idea of anything like this with someone who knows you well makes you feel vulnerable and ripped open and a little scared.
When you pull back, he’s looking at you like you’re an unexpected shock and a wonderful revelation all at the same time. The soft yellow light casts gentle shadows over his sharply angled face, and a few seconds of silence pass by where a semblance of your rational thought re-enter your brain and you start realising how stupid your actions were.
“I’m sorry, that was ludicrous -” you start, and pull back, thinking about how to play it off as a joke, because archons, this is so so so foolish. You just randomly kissed one of your best friends on the cheek and now he’s so stunned he’s turned from a lecturer to a mute.
“Don’t,” he whispers, clinging tightly to your fingers, and your heart lifts. “Don’t pull back. I -” The uncertain look on his face is bewitching, drawing you in, rendering you incapable of looking at anything else.
“I don’t have a precedent for this,” Alhaitham says uncertainly. “That is to say, well, um, I might not - I - You can’t learn this stuff out of a book, so, I think you can make your - own hypothesis.”
It’s such an unnecessarily dreary way of announcing that he’s inexperienced, but for some reason, it makes your face red. The shared inexperience is surprisingly enthralling, as it makes it feel like a journey that the both of you are about to embark on together, neither more knowledgeable than the other. As equals, which you two always have been.
“It’s alright,” you tell him evenly, before you reach out to cup his face with your hand. He leans into the touch, not breaking your gaze, and sighs slightly. “Just go ahead. Give it a try.”
“Give what a try?” he asks.
“Whatever you’d like to,” you answer.
Alhaitham leans in closer, expression inscrutable, a flush working up from his neck to his cheeks. One of his hands moves from yours to slide onto your upper arm gingerly, and you respond in kind by lightly touching the gold trimmings at his uncovered shoulder.
“I’d like to do a lot of things,” he whispers, before he huffs quietly and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “This is rather crazy.”
“I know, right?” and you laugh in unison with him, feeling him chuckle against your collarbone. “We’ve been friends for so long.”
He scrutinizes you.
“We have,” he replies shortly, before pressing his lips to yours in a clumsily passionate manner without waiting for any more conversation. It’s uncoordinated and awkward at first, especially for someone so graceful and deft, but you love how his kiss feels anyway, how he tastes like tea leaves and smells like summer. What he lacks in finesse, he makes up with sheer, startling intensity, and it takes your breath away.
You run your fingers through his soft silvery-gray hair, pulling lightly, and he sighs into your mouth. He pulls back for a second, allowing you to take in the view of his slightly open mouth, heavy lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. He looks delectable. You want to devour him, you want to be the first in Teyvat to unravel his mysteries and his clothes.
Alhaitham then stands up, pushing his chair back in the process, before he leans over you and kisses you again, raw and unrefined, pressing you back into the velvet backing of the chair. You know by now that his personality is that of subtle dominance, and you welcomingly let him take control as you return his kisses in accordance with the rhythm that he set.
His lips shift over to the corner of your mouth, and he whispers your name against your skin. “Haitham,” you breathe out softly, and you can feel him shiver slightly against you when he hears the way you call his name.
The clock strikes two, breaking you both out of your reverie. It feels like waking from a samsara. He straightens and looks at the clock, while you run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to show that you don’t really care that much, even though your heart is fluttering and your emotions are in a mess.
You have no idea what this means for the both of you. Are the kisses a one time thing? How long is this experiment supposed to run for? Is it just an experiment or is it actually an attempt at dating? What happens if you fall out with him and Kaveh is unknowingly caught in the mess? You don’t particularly want to mess your friendship group up, since they’re basically all you’ve known since your Akademiya days.
“It’s late, Y/N,” Alhaitham says lightly, and his deep, calming, voice pulls you from your barrage of thoughts to reality. “I’ll send you home.”
He reaches out to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, telling you silently that this isn’t over yet, that he still wants in with you for whatever the hell this is. It’s not exactly reassuring, not having laid out the variables in black and white with the Scribe, but you don’t really want to ruin the moment, so you let it go.
“You don’t have to send me home, I can go back myself,” you tell him in a matter-of-fact way, trying not to let on how much you want to spend more time with him. No matter what he seems to show, you still have qualms about showing too much affection with someone you’ve only recently begun to see in a romantic light.
“Kaveh and I have always been sending you home, things don’t have to change now,” he pauses. “Even if we’re in a, well, sort of projected long-term romantic situation now.”
So that’s how he sees it, then. Not some kind of one night stand, but also not clearly defined as partners.
Also, it’s mildly frustrating how he just decided for you both without any discussion as if he’s the one in control of the experiment. Which, you suppose he is, but any consenting test subject should be able to at least dictate some of the parameters. It’s very Alhaitham-coded, and with that comes further reminders that no matter how attractive he is, he’s still occasionally quite insufferable and socially maladaptive. Ugh.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Kaveh was always the one gentlemanly enough to send me home, and you would grouse about how I’m a perfectly independent architect that has enough wits about her to save herself in any situation,” you grumble.
“Are you suggesting I’m not a gentleman?”
You raise a pointed eyebrow.
“Alright, touche. I’m not exactly a gentleman to everyone. Fair point, but in case you didn’t notice, I was giving you a compliment.”
“How is that a compliment? You point blank refused to accompany me home. Reasons aside, it’s an objective fact that you don’t care that much about my wellbeing.”
“And I know perfectly well, unlike Kaveh, that you would not want anyone to see you as weak or stupid enough to not be able to handle yourself. He’s doing it out of politeness without considering what you actually want and need.” He hums. “Besides, I hardly ever call anyone else intelligent,” he adds on as an afterthought.
The unexpected compliment to your intellect makes you feel awkwardly shy. You're momentarily stunned as your brain scrambles around for a response.
“So why are you offering now?”
“Well, I thought it would be quite romantic-partner appropriate,” Alhaitham says in response, as if it’s obvious.
You don’t have any rebuttal to that, so you shrug and pack up your papers, before you pause and think about how he’s actually doing a nice thing for you, so you should tell him that you’re grateful.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Even the ‘you’re welcome’ sounds so snarky and self assured. You’re not sure why you expected him to act any different. You’re half tempted to roll your eyes at him as he takes off his coat and wraps it snugly around both your shoulders, and again, you’re struck by how tall he is.
There’s definitely mixed feelings about this new development where you’re starting to be charmed by everything Alhaitham does.
Alhaitham walks down the curved street with you on the way to your apartment. The roads are devoid of people, lined with shrubs and trees and amber lamps hanging on curved wooden posts. The cool air smells of forestry and petrichor, and you absently think about if it would be strange to hold his hand.
It probably would. This thing between you and him is still really new, and therefore, fragile.
“Why did you choose me? For the test subject?”
“Test subject? Don’t make it sound like that. It’s not exactly an experiment.”
“Call the press, the acting Grand Sage doesn’t want to classify something as knowledge and experimentation for once. How groundbreaking,” you say drily.
“I know I don’t do a very good job at showing it, but we are friends, you know,” he says exasperatedly. “We’ve spent so many years together, and have quite a degree of alikeness in our personalities. Like, a healthy respect for intellectual pursuits and a disdain for unnecessary theatrics. And we both don’t like that silly card game Cyno’s so into, or Kaveh’s impractical architectural ideas. If - if there were anybody I would want to spend my life with, it would probably be you. Though that’s a big ‘if’ in itself, spending time with anyone other than myself, but… I don’t think there’s any harm in finding out.”
Something catches in your throat as you think about actually spending the rest of your future together with him. Life is a long time, and… maybe it’s not such a terrible idea.
“Call the press, the acting Grand Sage has friends. And emotions,” you say in an attempt at a joke, but not quite getting there.
“Now you’re just making fun of me. Definitely not because you’re not ready to be put in an emotionally vulnerable position by telling me that you also know we’re good friends and would be compatible,” he says with a knowingly superior look.
You want to wipe that self-assured expression off his face, because of course he’s right.
As you form a refutation in your mind, he stops in his paces, and you realize that you’re in front of your apartment. The lights are off, but your roommate Seteria said that she would be home tonight, so you know she’s sleeping in her room.
If she weren’t home, would you have invited him in for some tea and a chat?
When you turn to look up at him, you know that the answer is yes. For some reason, you don’t want him to leave so early. You want to talk to him until dawn comes, and after the sun rises, and until the next evening falls.
“Alright, I’ll stop teasing you. Good night, Y/N,” Alhaitham says, and his voice is like music to your ears.
He presses a kiss tenderly to your forehead, brushes your hair lightly, and turns to go.
“Alhaitham,” you say. You instantly regret it, because your tone sounds like you already miss him and you need him and you’re not sure you want to give him that type of satisfaction.
He turns back around.
“Yes?” he asks evenly, with no tinge of scorn, triumph, or judgment. It puts you at ease.
“I - I’ve acquired an original copy of the Lay of Ayn Al-Ahmar recently. Some parts are written in Hilichurlian, and I - it might be of your interest. Might help with your current translation work. Do you want to read it?”
“Now? At your apartment?”
“My roommate’s in, so probably not here, but I’ve heard - I’ve heard that Kaveh is out of town. In the Desert of Hadramaveth, with Cyno, overseeing the re-construction of some of the village areas after the recent storms. So…” you trail off, uncertain.
For a second, you’re afraid he’ll decline your silly idea, and you brace yourself for a politely worded rejection.
“I’ll be interested to read that, yes. You want to get it so we can head over?”
“Oh, okay. Yes, yes, I’ll get it now,” you reply, flustered, before hurrying up the doorstep to open your door and retrieve the book and your notes, right on your living room table. Hurrying back out, you lock your door again and see him still waiting outside, reading serenely, before he puts it away as he sees you.
You know the way to his shared apartment with Kaveh perfectly, but he still grasps your hand in his and interlaces your fingers together, sending a thrill right through you.
“That’s so college student romance,” you comment casually. “Aren’t we a little too old to do this sweet hand holding down the streets thing?”
“Hmm. Do you think we should have just done this earlier?”
You try to imagine starting this romance with him in your university days instead. Holding hands on campus, attending classes hand in hand, studying together in the library, sneaking off to hidden seminar rooms to steal kisses. No, neither of you would have skived off classes or done something so immature. Both of you spent those schooling days focussed on studying, on knowledge, and that was exactly the way it should have been.
“No,” you say honestly. “I’m enjoying this now.”
Silence ensues, and you know that he’s waiting for an elaboration.
“You should know that this is the kind of thing I’d only like to explore after I’ve matured as a person and have acquired some level of accomplishments in my academics. Which I have, so the potential of this is maximized with the current stage of life. You know what I mean?”
“Yes,” he says finally. “Yes, I do.”
His apartment looks the same as it has always been, and nostalgia strikes you. It makes you miss how the three of you were back in your younger years. You crashed out on this exact same couch multiple times during your dissertation year, splaying your drawings all over the coffee table, while his and Kaveh’s papers always occupied the main dining table instead.
There’s still a burnt spot on the wooden floor where Kaveh knocked a candle off while falling asleep, and Alhaitham had threatened to kick him out for arson. He announced that fixing floorboards would be a piece of cake to a master architect like himself, but nothing ever came out of that statement, as evident by the still existing crime scene.
All three of you have changed so much since then.
“I see you still remember the arson incident.”
“‘Not arson,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t deliberate,’ he said.”
Alhaitham snorts with derision.
“Certainly not deliberate since he would be homeless if my house burned down, but it’s still arguably a crime, since it’s my property he’s damaging. It’s not counted as half his property since he doesn’t have two mora to rub together to pay his rent. If I stabbed him by accident , wouldn’t Cyno be here to arrest me?”
“You wouldn’t!” you say, scandalized. “You wouldn’t bear to. It’s our precious Kaveh.”
“If he keeps being this annoyingly enthusiastic, I might. Just one tiny stab. Honestly, thinking about his excitable energy already gives me a headache.”
“You know, if you keep talking about him this way, I might suspect you have an infatuation with him.”
“Please, no. I only have feelings for people ruled by logic and have enough sense to build architecture without bursting their wallets.” He stops abruptly as he realizes what he’s said. You can literally see his brain gears whirring as he tries to recover.
“I get you,” you say quietly, saving him from his momentary slip-up. “Emotional people are too tiring.”
“Try living with the man, then tell me about it.”
You laugh and settle down on your old spot on the sofa, before patting the seat next to you. He capitulates on your silent request, sitting down, knee caps touching yours lightly. The sky is still dark outside, so you squint somewhat to read the text by the lamplight.
“‘Thus did the three retainers of Al-Ahmar (may seven times seven curses fall upon them!) present their strategy to the king: ‘Your Majesty, ruler of the world, lord of the four corners of the earth, king over Jinn and mortals alike.’ The Goat King, the minister of all ministers, spoke flatteringly,’” you read. “Well, seven times seven here is an approximate numeral translation, since we can’t be sure if Hilichurlian numeric system works the same, but it might make sense since it’s a reference to Liyue myths that seven times seven is a ghostly number. At least, that’s something I gleaned from a conversation with Hutao - you know, the -”
He puts an arm around you, and you sense a tinge of hesitation. You lean back comfortably into him as a silent form of encouragement, and he pulls you closer.
This is nice. You could spend the rest of your life reading to him.
“The funeral parlor director. Regardless, if there’s no evidence this original copy was influenced by Liyue origins, then we can’t really ascertain the numerical information. ‘I humbly beg your pardon if I overstep, but Your Majesty, I’m certain you are aware that indulging in dreams of old and sorrows of the past is no way to be for long. The endless power and wisdom of this land can build you a palace that surpasses the heavens.’,” you continue. “Again, we’re not sure if sorrows of the past is a correct translation. The word ‘sorrows’ has a negative connotation, but it could also be taken to mean ‘thoughts’ instead, which implies neutrality.”
He’s leaning over to read the ancient blurred prints, and your attention drifts from the study at hand to his steady breathing, his warm skin, his sandalwood smell.
As a well established scholar and part time architect, it’s rather mortifying how easily you can be distracted from your academia work.
“No, I think the negative connotation is a correct interpretation, especially if you take the context of the next paragraph into consideration,” he says, and his breath is unintentionally ghosting over your skin.
You make the mistake of looking at him. He’s always been an intense person, but it really shows up at times when there’s information to be dissected, and it’s so unbelievably - alluring. The way he loves the quest for knowledge as much as you do. He can understand any of the papers you write with ease, and therein is the connection you’re looking for.
Alhaitham’s gaze snaps back up to you, and you blush faintly.
“Y/N?”
Shaking your head lightly to try and clear your brain of all the traitorous thoughts, you turn back to your book, but he takes it from you and puts it down gently on the table.
“I was reading that,” you tell him unconvincingly. It sounds absurd even to your own ears.
“You are clearly preoccupied. So why don’t you tell me what’s got you so absent minded, then we can get back to proper reading?”
You don’t know how to tell him that he’s the one being so distracting with his stupid, charming, ways you haven’t even noticed prior to today. It’s like white noise - you don’t really think about it at first, but the moment you hear it, you can’t get it out of your head for a good few minutes after. It’s as if his presence is more acute, more discernible, though nothing has physically changed.
“You’re very distracting. Don’t worry too much about it, it’ll pass.”
“So are you,” he sighs. “I never thought I’d be the type to ever be enraptured by physical intimacy with another person, but here we are. Unfortunately, I think it’s part of being human to have needs and wants, even that of the emotional kind.”
He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, and presses his face into your hair, before he kisses the back of your neck.
The whole romance thing is progressing very quickly, but you find that you’re actually quite alright with it. There isn’t any fear or anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach, mostly because it’s Alhaitham and you know him better than nearly everyone else. Just as he does you. There’s just a faint sense of ‘maybe this was long overdue’ and a small thought in the back of your head saying ‘I feel safe with him’, because you know he’d never do anything to hurt you.
“As unbearable as it is, I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone other than you,” he mumbles against your skin. “I don’t think I could trust someone else to be intimate with me.”
“Unbearable. Do you really think that’s a romantic compliment?” you reply lightly, along with a caress of his front arm so that he knows you’re joking.
“I never claimed to be romantic, that’s clearly an erroneous assumption on your part.”
“Hmm, you’re right about that.”
“I hear that all the time, but thank you anyway.”
You turn around and cup his face in your hands, tilting his chin up slightly so you can trail kisses down the side of his neck. “You - arrogant - scholar,” you say, punctuating each word with a light brush of your lips on his skin. “Don’t expect me to tell you that all the time.”
“I never did,” he murmurs breathlessly. “You’re one of the few people that are astute enough for me to listen to their opinions, even if it's a disagreement.”
Alhaitham’s fingers grip your waist tightly, needily, and you pull him closer with your arms around his neck. “Why thank you,” you whisper flippantly against his lips, gasping slightly as he unbuckles your outer coat and slides it off your shoulders.
Somewhere at the back of your brain, there’s a thought that this is going really fast, and if you’re not careful, things might escalate overly rapidly.
You brush that thought away, rational thought thrown to the wind.
“The couch isn’t really quite the best location, isn’t it?” you tell Alhaitham conversationally, and you feel his grip tighten by the fraction of an inch. “I have too many fond memories of it for you to ruin it with, well, you know.”
“Alright,” he replies, as if he’s casually discussing the weather. “My bedroom it is.”
He picks you up easily, which surprises you because he spends so much time in the library. Well, you suppose the toned abs have a reason to exist. Scholarly as he may be, he pays attention to his health and his physique, one of the few things you don’t have in common with him.
Nudging his bedroom door open with his elbow, he puts you gently on his bed, and you spare a few seconds to look around. You’ve stayed over plenty of times, but you’ve never actually been in here, since you’ve mostly been in the living room or the guest room.
It’s very… him. The light teak furniture is simple and minimalistic, covered in books stacked neatly all around. The bedsheets are a light shade of jade green, which matches the colour in his eyes. A few cacti sit next to the window ledge, and they look to be thriving, though you know he’s probably selected the simplest variation to keep alive since he’s so busy.
“It’s comfortable,” you tell him. “Reminds me so much of you.”
It comes out more affectionately than you’ve intended, and you look away, abashed.
“I’m glad you like it.”
He gets on the bed, leaning over you, and you lose the attention you’ve been paying to the interior layout of his room.
“Alhaitham,” you whisper.
He looks back down at you with tenderness in his eyes, a kind of fond, warm gaze that you didn’t think he was capable of.
“We can stop if you don’t want to,” he reassures. “Just tell me at any time.”
You don’t know how to tell him how much you want this, how much you just want the attention and love of a single person, how deep down, you’re so so so emotionally lost and lonely you can barely stand it. So you tug on his black gold rimmed collar, subtly pulling him in closer, hoping that he can’t tell how vulnerable and pathetic you are on the inside from your kisses.
He yields to your wordless request, pressing you further into his soft mattress with his hands on your shoulders. The outer coat left abandoned in the living room outside, he traces his fingers over your top, dotting kisses on the underside of your jaw, mimicking your earlier actions. He’s a quick study, that’s for sure.
Sliding your hands down from his neck, you trail over his chest and rest on the hem of his skin tight black shirt, before pulling it upwards. He obliges, lifting his arms so you can pull it off him, and you can't help but stare at him. While your attraction to him is mainly centered on equal intellect and similar natures, you can't help but admit that he really is a feast for the eyes.
You run a hand along his abs while his reaches up under your top, stopping at the edge of your bra.
“I'm not really sure what I'm doing,” he admits. “I might not be very good at this.”
“The great Alhaitham admits for once that he might not be good at something,” you drawl.
“Yes, yes, I know. It's a rare occurrence,” he scoffs, but you can detect the slight insecurity beneath. Maybe, just maybe, he's just as lost and lonely as you are.
“Hey, hey,” you say, your hand on his arm in a reassuring manner. “I'm not very good at this either. I'm enjoying everything so far. So you can just swagger in with your typical confidence and make it work.”
“Of course, the great Alhaitham makes everything work.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes with affectionate exasperation. “Of course. Now can you get back to proving it?”
In response, he grips your neck lightly with one hand, the other snaking under your bra to grab onto your breast. “As you wish.”
You gasp as he pushes your skirt up to your waist, and grinds between your legs. The friction of his clothed dick feels so good against your panties, and you pull him closer, bucking your hips, whining his name, begging for more. It's embarrassing, really, to act like this in front of a decade old friend, but you're comforted by the fact that he's doing the same.
He makes quick work of your top, pulling it off in one smooth movement, before pressing both of his large hands to your chest, kissing the valley between. Impatiently, you reach behind and unclasp your bra yourself, letting him take it off you and put it aside.
He straightens up and takes in the view of you, before sighing. “Y/N, I've admired your intellect for years… but I can't believe it's taken me so long to see everything else good about you.”
The words melt you down right to your very core. You know he's not physically capable of making up anything romantic, so if he's saying this so blatantly, it must be what he really feels. And that hits you with waves of emotions so overwhelming that you feel a little like tearing up.
“Haitham,” you say, trying to express how much you care about him too. “I -” You look away in embarrassment. “I've seen you in a new light tonight, too, and -”
“And?”
He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles with the tenderness of a leaf landing on the surface of a lake.
“And I'm just glad I'm navigating this whole experience with someone I can connect with. Someone who knows me well, someone who cares for me and… who I care about.”
Saying all of that makes you feel unguarded and undefended. At the end of the day, you really are just a tortured academic who never learned how to open up to anybody.
And so is Haitham.
Predictably, he doesn't answer your question or further the conversation. His continuation of whatever intimacy you both have been indulging in is his answer.
You sit up so you can unbuckle your skirt and throw it aside onto his floor, and you see the hungry look in his eyes, trailing from your breasts to your underwear.
“You know, I really thought you'd be more of a dominant sort in bed. You do have, kind of an antagonizing personality on the outside.”
“I am dominant,” he replies, before leaning in to kiss you. “No changing your mind,” he teases, though you can read his undertones and you know he'd respect your wishes if you do. He dots another kiss. “No take backsies.”
“None,” you reply. Reading that as consent, he kisses you hungrily as he tugs your underwear off you, leaving you exposed. You don't have much time to ponder on the shyness you feel as you watch him fidget with his own hip accessories and pants and take them off.
He's already hard and dripping slightly, and rather a bit larger than you expected. You suck in a breath. Forget about being Grand Sage, if Sumeru had some kind of beauty pageantry, he would have placed first easily.
A second’s hesitation flickers across his face as he looks unsure of what to do, but it fades away quickly as he presses his fingers to your entrance. You're already wet and dripping, so you instinctively grab his arm and guide his fingers in.
He receives the message and towers over you, ghosting his breath over the tip of your nose then your lips as he pumps one thick finger in and out of your sopping damp pussy. You moan at the friction and claw at his back, trying to get him to go deeper.
“Two. More, Haitham, faster. Please. Fuck.”
Your usual eloquence has left you, but he listens and caves in to your demands anyway. Slowly inserting a second finger, he curls his fingers up to press against your g-spot and you bite back an urge to scream, gripping his sheets tightly. Archons, where did he even learn to do that?
“You don't have to hold back,” he says in your ear. “There isn't anybody around. I - I want to hear you.”
“Haitham,” you pant his name, breathing heavily as he fingers you passionately. “Fucking archons, fuck, Haitham, don't stop,” you moan. A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin as he works to please you, muscles rippling in his arm. “I want to - I want to finish.”
“Finish for me, love,” he says, and you barely register the word that he's called you. In more sober times, you might have questioned him, but all you can think about now is chasing your own end. By the looks of it, he doesn't realize what he's said either.
“Think of me and me only when you do,” he says in that sultry, hoarse voice, and you lose all sense of control.
You cling tightly onto him as your climax washes over you, his fingers buried to the hilt.
When you look at his heavily lidded gaze, his sweat-damped silver hair falling gracefully over his face, you feel crystalflies bursting to life in the pit of your stomach, heart thudding strangely against the insides of your ribcage.
Alhaitham, Alhaitham, Alhaitham, your brain repeats like a chant. Short visual flashes of nostalgic memories from college rush through your mind. Him covering you with a blanket when he thought you were asleep. Him taking a book from the highest shelf in the library for you. You, crying on his shoulder after you received a B+ on one of your classes, him, brushing your tears away, claiming that he didn't want his shirt stained.
How did you take so long to get here?
“Haitham,” you bring his hand up to your face and he covers it with his own, angling his face further into your touch.
“Y/N,” he returns.
He's still hard and dripping, though he clearly doesn't quite know how to ask for help.
“Lean back,” you say, and he acquiesces, stretching back out on his own bed, muscles rippling with dexterity. Gently wrapping your hands around his cock, you start stroking him up and down. He grunts lightly and bucks into your hands, which you take as a cue to bring your mouth down onto his tip. The moment you lick the underside of his dick, up to the slit, he groans with pleasure and slides his fingers into your hair, closing his hand into a fist, gripping tightly.
“Your mouth feels so good, archons -” he loses his cool and starts babbling incoherently. You love the way that you make him come undone in bed, especially since ‘Alhaitham’ and ‘incoherent’ never ever belong in the same sentence.
You suck on him hard, as you grip his thighs and feel him shudder and tremble beneath your fingertips. Your name spilling from his mouth sounds like heaven, and it incentivises you to please him more.
“Wait, stop,” he exhales, and you pull off with a light ‘pop’, looking at him quizzically.
“I don't want - don't want to finish like this,” he says, as he runs his fingers through his tousled hair nervously. “It's okay if you don't want to, though - I would understand. It might be unsafe, I don't know -”
Archons, you're about to have sex with one of your best friends.
The craziest thing is that you want to. You want to so badly that you don't know how to put it into words, you want Alhaitham more than anything right now, because frankly, there isn't anyone else you could see yourself doing this with. No matter what happens, at the very least, you know you’d always be good friends with him, and he’d always have your back.
“I'm on protection.”
Prior to all your previous flings, you'd asked Collei to whip you up some orally ingested protection, since you were definitely expecting to go all the way, though it never ended up actualising. She helped you out without any judgment, weird questions or excitement, which you were infinitely grateful for.
“Oh,” Alhaitham breathes. “But do you want to?”
You pull him close, before kissing his cheek lightly. “Yes,” you say in his ear without a second of hesitation, “a million times, yes.”
Something awakens in him, and he flips you over so that he's on top and you're lying beneath the light pressure of his body. His green eyes seem to glow in the dark, staring at you so intensely that you're suddenly a bit self conscious about how you're bare and naked. Do I look okay? Or stupid? You ponder with a bit of anxiety, hoping that you look sexually appealing.
Alhaitham’s anticipatory gaze shifts downwards, and you see him bite his lip slightly, the air punctuated with his heavy breathing. He spreads your legs apart, before lining up his cock against your pussy. The grazing of his wet tip against your clit brings back the arousal in you, and you mewl softly, rutting against him in an attempt to get more friction.
Gripping his dick in one hand, he slowly pushes into your entrance. You cry out for him as he stretches you open, wanting him to stop taking his time and just fuck you properly already.
“Fuck, Y/N, you're so fucking tight,” he groans as he gradually fills you up with his cock, your pussy twitching around him. You have never heard him say words so crude before, but it sounds so beguiling in the deep cadences of his voice.
Finally, he buries himself in you to the hilt. The sweet sensation of being so full makes you see stars in the ceiling of his room, and you can't think about anything other than how beautiful the person lying above you is. His nails dig into the soft curves of your breasts before he rolls your nipple between his fingers, and you shiver in ecstasy, moaning his name softly.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and he looks like he's struggling to retain the very last bit of his rationality amidst the irrepressible pleasure, resisting the urge to snap his hips into you, hard. The question tells you that he's still thinking about you, worrying about you, putting your comfort above his own, entirely incongruent with the self centered egotistical facade he loves to put on.
“Mmm,” you nod. “Move. Please.”
It's an order, not a request, one that Alhaitham eagerly complies to. He kisses you sloppily on the lips as he bucks deep into you, drawing out and thrusting in rapidly, as if desperate to be as close as possible. Each thrust from him draws small whimpers of pleasure from you, which slowly turn into moans as he grunts and picks up the pace.
Hooking his hands under the angle of your knees, he pushes your legs upwards, giving him a better access to your warm, wet, entrance. You squeeze your walls around him, and he cusses out loud in pleasure, clawing the softness of your thighs so hard that you briefly think about the marks he might leave on your skin.
As if you’re his.
You look up at his face. His brows are furrowed in concentration, sweat dripping from his hair, mouth half open. He cups your face with one hand, and gives you the slightest of smiles that drives you crazy and makes you think stupidly that love might actually be real.
“I'm gonna finish,” you pant as he fucks you. “Soon -”
“Together,” he bites out.
His thrusts become more erratic as he nears his own climax, and you shake and shiver with how good his cock feels. You can't hang in there any longer, and white stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm rolls over you in waves of pleasure and you repeat his name in a delirious manner.
The tightening of your walls push Alhaitham over the edge, and he spills his warm seed deep inside you, his dick twitching and throbbing, him kissing you feverishly on the lips as he slowly comes down from the high.
He lays on top of you for a while, riding out the thrill. You relish in the warm afterglow of the sex and return his embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and closing your eyes, hands gently roaming the rest of his body.
“That escalated rather rapidly,” Alhaitham says tiredly in your ear. “Certainly not quite a predictable outcome.”
You laugh at how he phrases his words, and you feel him smile against your skin in response, face still buried in the crook of your neck. You’d think that after that after an intense sexual session, he’d be more casual, but no. There’s always the air of sophistication and refinement around him.
It reassures you, knowing that things haven’t entirely changed and spun out of control. He’s still the same old Alhaitham you’ve always known, just with an additional layer of attachment and closeness that you’ve come to appreciate.
After a few seconds of comfort, Alhaitham rolls over and gets up. You think he’s going to take a shower, or just go to sleep, but he pads quietly out of the room. There’s a lingering sense of wanting to ask where he’s going, since you think, well, it’s kind of rude to just leave after sex. No matter how insensitive he is in nature.
You’re too lazy to go out after him, though, so you just throw your arm over your eyes and nestle back down.
He returns shortly, and you decide not to tell him how comforted you are by him coming back to bed with you.
When you open your eyes, you see him with a damp cloth, cleaning you up in quick methodical strokes with unexpected tenderness. There’s a quick second of embarrassment that you’re not wearing anything and he’s wiping you down, but it fades away quickly when you see that his gaze is not one of annoyance, something he wears a lot, but one of attentiveness. This must be what it feels like to be loved, to be cared for. You didn’t think it’d ever happen to you, given your track record of absolute emotional constipation and allergies to forming meaningful relationships.
It’s nice.
“Thank you.”
“It’s arguably my responsibility to take care of you and show the bare minimum of concern.” Alhaitham pauses. “Also, I just didn’t want you dirtying my bed.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
He finishes cleaning you up, folds your clothes neatly and puts them by your bedside, and brings you a glass of water. You drink, not realizing how thirsty you are, while he absently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, seemingly not entirely cognizant of his subconscious actions.
The post-sex haze gets to you, and you entangle yourself in his sheets, getting comfortable in layers and layers of jade green silk, the air smelling like a mixture of dry tree branches and musky human scents.
“What do you think of the outcome?” you ask sleepily.
He lies down behind you and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, sniffing at your hair, before using one hand to cover you up with his blanket.
“Why don't you tell me? Any conclusions to our earlier discussion?”
Typical. Holding his cards close to himself.
Well. People don't change in a day, and he wouldn't be the Alhaitham you care about if he had such a malleable personality.
“Still a limited amount of knowledge in the aforementioned field,” you say as you turn around to face him, nesting your face under his jaw as strands of his gray hair brush against your skin. “Needs more data collection.”
He interlaces his finger between yours, before closing his eyes.
“Well,” Alhaitham murmurs as he falls into a doze, “I think I don't mind testing this out together for the rest of our lives.”