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Heats are nothing but pure torture for Al-Haitham.
Sweaty, overly warm, and a big mess of feelings. Sensory wise, it's a nightmare. Every sound, fabric, and light seems to have been made just to annoy and pester Haitham.
Not to mention scents. No one smells right. No one ever smells safe. The pain mixed with the irritation of idiots being present at work.
Who wouldn't abuse heat leave? A week off every four months, working from home, no stupid scholars who believe that an Omega shouldn't be in any positions of power. The only reason he even wanted to take the leave was to ensure there wouldn't be anyone bothering him, especially any idiotic, foolish, and-
"Haitham! I will kill you! Stop making me climb through the window! Being in heat doesn't mean making everyone's lives difficult!" Kaveh dusts off Mehrak, throwing the folder of drafts (no doubt, all rejected by today's client) over to the coffee table. "To think I was going to make you something nice for dinner! Forget it!"
Haitham lazily reaches out from under the weighted blanket, batting his hands at Kaveh. "You wouldn't do that to a starving Omega would you? Less the Light of Kshahrewar wants to be hurting my poor feelings." His hand swats at Kaveh's sleeve, some of the coal moves to the tips of his fingers.
Kaveh grabs at Al-Haitham's hand. The pads of his fingers run across far smoother palms. What Kaveh would give to be bored to death and not… sweating in the humidity and heat of the Sumerian rain forests.
"Another rejected draft, you'd think these people would start to have some respect for my time. Something about how I shouldn't be parading around how good I am if I can't understand what he wanted." Kaveh rubs the side of his cheek against Al-Haitham's. "When have I paraded myself around? People these days, I can't! He thinks the window glass for his office should be single paned, I had to explain sun glares to him!"
Kaveh smells…
Normally not like mad and angry… or this level of sweaty.
"You stink." Al-Haitham shakes away Kaveh. "Don't complain when you scent, you smell like wet dog."
"Ugh. So demanding."
"Don't go to my room. I don't want my nest to smell like frustrated Kaveh." Al-Haitham turns over in the divan, back to Kaveh. "It's making me think you're mad at me. Calm down and join me."
A mumbled sarcastic "Yes, sorry dearest Omega." falls out of his Senior's mouth. Throwing his shawl over his shoulder. He tracks into his room, opening drawers, and opening the creaky bathroom door.
Mehrak beeps.
"Hello. Could you project a paper? Natlanese as a first language among Sumerian-Natlanese children." Al-Haitham tucks the red and black shawl under his chin.
Mehrak chirps.
The paper projects right where he left it last night, he reads.
And reads.
And reads.
And reads.
And… reads.
"Mehrak, could you project Bondage in male and female authored works: Cross Cultural Analysis?Thank you."
Mehrak hums.
The paper was written by one of his graduating class classmates, his works in literature was one of Al-Hatiham's favourite works made from any of his classmates. Not that he'd ever admit it.
The house is filled with the sweet smell of Kaveh. A distinctly Kaveh smell. Cypress, caradmon, and bergamot. Had the scholar wanted to make use of his classes in romantic literature, he would say Kaveh is the closest thing Al-Haitham has found to beauty. His errors in humanity, his selflessness, his stumbles in higher heels, and mouth moving faster than his brain- they were all the pure embodiment of perfection. The moles that spill on his back, all 38 of them, have been more than appreciated by Al-Haitham. Kaveh's wordless devotion to the care and love of him will be the very thing to kill him.
But Haitham is not a poet.
He is a scribe, a scribe who does not want to complete refining his transcriptions of the last staff meeting for Amurta.
The sun's gone down, reading articles took away the hours.
The haze of Al-Haitham's heat must of taken away his awareness.
Kaveh's been out the shower for a while, judging by the noise and kettle whistling. Kaveh had spread a half colored drawing on the coffee table, a sketch of the view outside the window. His senior was a wonderful artist, of course he took time to note the little details. The scratches of the old bookshelf where drawn (scarily accurately) and shaded true to life. He'd even drawn the chip in the window frame. Kaveh had his signature in the corner, smudged like he tried to erase it.
Al-Haitham stares at Kaveh's exposed back. His posture slouched.
His mating mark on display.
Mating scars, Al-Haitham's mind supplies, when presented during an Omega's heat subconsciously and instinctually lessen the pain by allowing the brain to release more-
"Do you want what I'm making for dinner or do you want something specific, Junior?"
"I trust you to make something good for me, Senior."
Kaveh begins. Washed rice, saffron, yogurt, something else. More ingredients. Mixing, cutting, stirring, all done with precision.
Another cramp rocks Haitham's body, a wince.
Kaveh drops his wooden spoon (engraved with the worst depiction of an aranara that Layla, Madam Faruzan, and Candace had ever seen in the markets) and walks towards him.
Kaveh smells like attentiveness.
The shorter of the two sniffs the air around Haitham, his nose twists up. He licks at the area between his eye and his ear. He scents him, pressing his face against Haitham's neck. His body relaxes, the feeling of restlessness leaves him.
Kaveh is not his mate. "Mate" is a word that's too impersonal. It's a word that everyone uses, it's not a word that belongs to the two. Kaveh is his Senior. Senior is a word that the two of them practically own. Al-Haitham is his Junior.
It's right. It's their terms. They are together, they are "mated".
Kaveh is his Alpha. That's true. But they're not anything like the idea of "traditional" Alpha and Omega pairs. Kaveh loves taking care of Haitham, but Al-Haitham loves caring for Kaveh. Al-Haitham nests, but Kaveh does too.
Heats aren't something they… use, same with ruts. It's not like they don't have sex lives.
Quite the opposite.
The two just choose to use that time as time off work to spend together. It's intimate. Cleaning each other, building nests together, feeding each other, sometimes criticizing articles together.
It's better than sex, Haitham argues. Heats never were anything ""fun"" for Haitham. The painful cramps, the uncomfortable sweating, the looks by knowing people. When he had presented, his grandmother taught him to recognize a worthy mate. He'd gone years without a mate, right up until he found Kaveh (the second time around).
It's close in ranking to sex, Kaveh counters. Ruts made him quick to anger. Ruts weren't a ""exciting"" time for Kaveh. His rut cycle were irregular, with every doctor saying it'll get better as he gets older. Every bad event in his life was swiftly followed by a rut, where he lashed out at everyone who tried to comfort him during these events.
They'd gone from nervous and anxious pups, too scared to tell each other they didn't want anything to happen during their "events" to confident in their personal dictionary of love.
"I'm making tahdig. You have enough scent to last you until dinner. You will NOT take my shirt from me again! Don't be greedy, I'll feed you well."
"Yes Senior. Can you make some cold tea?"
"Sure." Kaveh's nose reaches Haitham's hairline. "Just give me a second, tell me if you want any cherries. I'll peel the orange when I'm done zesting it."
"Thank you, Senior." Haitham watches as Kaveh walks back to the kitchen. "Am I allowed to take a shower?"
A loud and dramatic groan echos the house. "Stop saying that! It wasn't funny at Al-Tighnari's house! Collei totally thought I didn't let you have dessert."
Al-Haitham sends Mehrak away, a huff of laugher sneaking into living room and slugs back to Kaveh's bedroom. He grabs some clothes from his Senior's laundry basket, he grabs Kaveh's towel, before dragging his feet to the bathroom.
He changes, he showers, he's done. It's not like he wanted to get rid of Kaveh's scent. Kaveh just refuses to let Al-Haitham go dirty to either of their nests, even if he didn't go outside or deal with any house plants in the day.
He puts on Kaveh's shirt from yesterday, his sweatpants from last night, and his hairclips that he left on the lip of the sink.
Kaveh smells like… the good kind of musk.
Not the kind in romance novels from Inazuma or artsy films from Fontaine. But in the way Mondstadt sings or the way Natlan weaves in tapestry.
Al-Haitham didn't think he'd understand love.
He understood that he loved his grandmother. He loved reading. He loved arithmetic.
Once he learned who Kaveh was, the blonde boy in his Ethics in Science class. The boy who called out when people were interrupted, the boy who asked people after class pointed questions from their presentations, the boy who asked to group with Al-Haitham for a paper.
The second time he'd met Kaveh, their scents together soured so badly, Cyno thought he was going to die.
Now, they couldn't imagine a life without each other. The monumental failure in their first attempt at courting was rectified their second time around.
Mehrak whirs.
A projected message greets him as he opens the bathroom door.
Leave your worn clothes in my nest. Do not think about making fun of me.
Al-Haitham dismisses Mehrak, drying his hair with the used (to the second power) towel.
He walks briskly into Kaveh's room, folding his shirt and used² towel carefully before laying them on the corner of his bed. His nest was more like a tent. The base of his nest was a heated nesting pad that Al-Haitham bought him, the blankets were from his parents, the walls around the nest where re-appropriated wire clothing hangers he'd had since he first presented.
Courting an Alpha was difficult, every Omega friend he has alleges.
Candace would complain about never finding anything she thinks would suit her partner, she would pay premiums for custom made jewelry that she deems right for her Alpha.
Cyno would hunt, clean, and cook every meal for his Alpha and their… Collei. The first time he tried to cook anything hunted from the markets for him, Tighnari and Collei had to reassure him the didn't think of him any less for "pre-hunted meat".
Madam Faruzan told a story about the first Alpha she tried to court when she was a young girl. The boy was so hard-headed, she recalls, that he ignored every effort she made. She'd hand-woven clothes for the boy, she made him lunches and prepared him coffee, she even made him a grand courting feast for him! Other Layla chuckled at the stories, driving her elbow into Al-Haitham's sides while egging Ms. Faruzan on.
"Junior! Come make sure this is right for me, how much sugar do you want in the tea!"
Kaveh was an easy Alpha to court the second time around.
"I think you have enough. Can I have some ghasemi yet?"
"Haitham, wait until I serve the food! Wait until I at least set the table!" Kaveh's tone, as stern as it is, is countered by how sweet he smells. "Go put Mehrak to charge." He bumps his hip against Al-Haitham.
He'd bought Kaveh material things at first. Golden bracelets, ankle bracelets, earrings, hairclips, and cuff links. He stakes his claim on a man as visibly as he wanted.
"I-I'm not mad at this Haitham. Not at all!" Kaveh talked to him under the veil of moonlight. "It's just… I'd rather us- our relationship-be private. I love your scent, I love your gifts-but I want to know there's things just for me."
The young man curls into himself. "So. So you want-"
"I want to display us-I love the jewelry- but I also want to have things that only we have."
He read plenty of magazines, books, novels. Alphas were always loud, they weren't reserved like Kaveh. Alphas wanted to be public, not private about their mate.
Al-Haitham took a pottery class.
He made a spoon rest in the shape of a Dendro vision.
He hand wrapped it, paper cuts strewn about his hands. He tied a sloppy ribbon on the box.
He gifted it to Kaveh on the 6 month anniversary of his move in.
Mehrak was charging. Al-Haitham picked up the mugs off his Senior's desk.
He washes them in the kitchen sink.
The way that Kaveh cooked was so disorganized it made him shiver. He looked good cooking though. His hair was tied up in a terribly put-together bun, the baby hairs on his nape right next to his scent glands curled up. Kaveh's make up was off, his wrinkles and dark under-eyes where highlighted in the soft glow of overhead lights. His lips were as chapped as they were in the morning.
Imperfect.
"If you want to ogle me, try to help. Go set the table for me, Junior."
"Damn it."
Kaveh turns around so fast it startles him. "You know better than you complain, I didn't even make you lift a finger for this entire meal."
"Sure. Even thought it's my money that paid for everything."
Kaveh smirks. "Our money. We're mated."
The younger of the two prepare the table. Al-Haitham pours himself a glass of cold tea, it's brewed just the way he likes it. A little less honey than they add at the markets and steeped longer than most like.
Kaveh makes portions, a heartier portion on his Junior's plate, and they sit down to eat.
Time passes differently when you're with someone you love more than life tolerate. It's a warm time, fuzzy around the edges and not any different from the period of after glow in the lazy mornings. Holding their hand, locking their foot in between ankles, lingering seconds before sending them off to work.
Kaveh tends to stare down at his food, slowing down when his mind starts to wander. He loves to mix any rice with sauce the either of the two make. He saves any meat until the end of his meals, his reasoning being something about 'the best for last'.
His Senior wipes his face after every other bite in public. In private, he waits for the middle and end of his meals. It's cute, Al-Haitham thinks, that he's the one preening me.
When Kaveh cooks, it seems like food becomes ten times more appetizing. When he admitted he didn't learn to cook more than his and his grandmother's favourite meals, Kaveh took it upon himself to write step by step instructions for him. The pages were stained in tumeric and chili paste, handed to Al-Haitham between classes or passed off in the library. Kaveh would wordlessly pass him a container with said recipe already made, so he could 'make sure he made it right'.
Romance wasn't Al-Haitham's forte. So he did what his grandfather did for his grandma.
He cooked the recipes, returning the tupperware with the food, 'it'd be a waste of a container, to not return it with food would be disrespect."
He studied outside his field, trying to understand and learn aesthetics. During their library study sessions, he tries to contribute input the best he can.
He gives hand knit scarves and mittens, scented lightly, during the winter.
He even turned to every academic's love language, new stationary. Fancy quills and fountain pens with inks equally as luxurious, passed off as "found on the floor of the library".
"Help me clean up. If you're still cramping bad, we can go to your nest for the night."
Al-Haitham nods.
"I'll wash the dishes in the sink tomorrow." Kaveh lifts himself off his seat, his knees cracking. "Do you want snacks by the nest or anything?"
Al-Haitham shakes his head.
Kaveh trails behind Al-Haitham, walking to his room to his Junior's nest.
Haitham's nest is nothing like how it was the first year they met. Kaveh sits in the small desk chair in the corner of the room. Watching as Al-Haitham readied the nest for visitors. His first nest just like the display one at the markets. It wasn't Haitham at all.
Al-Haitham prepared to spend his first shared heat with Kaveh the way other Omega talked about preparing. Scented candles, their partner's favorite meal, a traditional nest layout, and a soft light in the room.
Al-Haitham did everything right to impress his mate, according to everyone else.
But it wasn't right.
Al-Haitham had a small pile of texts by the upper right side, a larger collection of Kaveh's dirty clothes by his side of the nest, elevated pillows by Kaveh's side.
"Could this poor Senior enter the most comfortable nest he's laid eyes upon?" Kaveh bows his head, making a half curtsy to him.
"Sure, as long as this Senior doesn't drool on said comfortable nest." Al-Haitham makes room for him.
Kaveh wipes the sweat off Haitham's brow, swapping it out with his scent. Haitham turns around, back facing him, and slots into his place. There's plenty of city life, murmurs in the street and the sounds of heels hitting stone pathways. Al-Haitham must water the flowers and look for weeds in the backyard. Kaveh has to clean the dishes and figure out how to stay within budget for his client. They both have to go out for more fruits.
Kaveh huffs out one last awake breath before falling into a quieter rythmic pattern. Al-Haitham mentally notes how this is their 35th and a half heat cycle they've spent together. The fact that the only argument they had was about how Kaveh should've brushed his teeth before kissing him goodbye.
Kaveh's head rests just close enough to Haitham's mating scar. Just close enough for him to be between mate can keep me safe Omega brain and Kaveh seriously needs to shave Al-Haitham brain.
Tomorrow, he'd deal with all the chores he'd put off.
Tonight, he will fight the urge to shave Kaveh himself.
The first night they slept together, Al-Haitham took note of the bowtie-shaped Kaveh slept with.
"Is that for you?"
Scoffing, he shoots back. "Do you think anyone else sleep in this bed?!"
"Well. It's just an odd shape for a pillow, Kaveh."
Mimicking his tone, Kaveh replies. "Well, it's for an odd reason, Al-Haitham."
He cranes his neck to the side. "That reason being…?"
"It's for an issue I have."
"That issue being…?"
"I tell you this and you will NOT look down on me, got it?" Kaveh purses his lips and narrows his eyes.
Al-Haitham does a Mondstadtian Knight's salute.
He laughs. "I have some arthritis in my knees. It's far more comfortable to sleep with the pillow-uhm-between my knees." Kaveh gives an example, laying down and slotting the pillow in place. "It aligns my hips and whatever else the doctor said."
Al-Haitham lays next to him. "Why would I think differently of you? That wasn't anything monumental." His eyes trail down to Kaveh's knees, as long as he's comfortable.
"Ah! My last courtship didn't think an Alpha should have any "Omegan" health issues. After I tried explaining that it's a nearly equal rate for-"
"I'm not your last courtship."
"I know that! It's just hard to-"
"I'm a blank slate. You're my first courtship, this is the first time I've laid in an Alpha's bed. Sleep however you need, as long as you don't snore."
Kaveh, wide-eyed, nods. "I don't."
Al-Haitham tucks his wrist's scent gland under Kaveh's open hand. "Good."
Tomorrow, they'd talk about the whole courtship situation.
Tonight, Al-Haitham resists the urge to punch all of Kaveh's past courters.