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The fact that Alhaitham liked to draw was something that Kaveh found out by complete accident. Well, less an ‘accident’, and more of ‘giving in to his curiosity and violating his privacy’, but it was mostly the same thing, if Kaveh glossed over the nuances.

Given their respective temperaments, Kaveh had assumed that any and everything linked with the arts fell under his jurisdiction. It was a field that mixed like oil did with water when it came to Alhaitham. His coldly rational nature, combined with a lack of a romantic bone in his body meant that Kaveh could never think of him associating with the arts in any manner that didn't seem sacrilegious. It felt blasphemous to even think about it. He would rather publicly denounce the Dendro Archon than imagine Alhaitham visiting an art exhibition and appreciating it.

So, if Kaveh found a book left behind in spaces where the scribe loved to obnoxiously sit and read for hours on end, he doesn’t really think too much about it. It was a recent development, but as always, Kaveh just chalks it up to him being his usual annoying, cryptic self. Alhaitham did have a tendency to leave his things scattered around anyway, and it wasn’t unlike him to calculate every possible thing he could do to inconvenience Kaveh. Even knowing this didn't stop him from cleaning up after him and it annoyed him to no end to accept that that was precisely what Alhaitham exploited.

But why a sketchbook, of all things? Finding a stray book on the divan or at the dining table and placing it back on the shelves (Kaveh had pretty much memorised their positions) was simple, but where was he to keep the sketchbook? It definitely wasn't his (he wouldn't be surprised if Alhaitham had a habit of nosing around his unfinished designs); the ones Kaveh used for his work were far bigger and of better quality. So, he decides to leave it wherever he found it.

A few weeks of finding the sketchbook in a new position from time to time eventually has Kaveh's curiosity get the better of him. The more he tried to ignore it, the more the unanswered question behind its origins gnawed at him.

It was a hot, humid afternoon and Kaveh had been agonising over a placement of a window in his recent model for hours. The maddening weather wasn’t supplementing his concentration either. For some reason, he remembers Alhaitham's snarky comment on him 'working himself to death' and just to spite him for that, Kaveh decides to take a break.

Not that it really mattered, because the scribe was currently out, so he couldn't exactly witness this grand act of spite and see Kaveh come out of his room and sprawl over the divan. He might have as well retired to his own bed.

Kaveh spends a few minutes tossing and turning about, until he feels something poke at his waist. Feeling around under the cushions, his hand grasps and pulls out a sketchbook.

The same sketchbook he had been seeing everywhere.

Kaveh glares at it, briefly hallucinating Alhaitham’s face embellished on the covers, "Does this man even draw?"

Maybe it was empty, and Alhaitham's way of silently mocking him for leaving his own behind to laze around. Maybe he used it, instead of a regular notebook, to jot down blackmail material against him, like the sociopath he was. Kaveh flips the book open, expecting it to be either of the things and nearly drops it when he sees a cup of coffee on the first page, drawn with frightening amounts of detail. It was a neat pencil sketch, but for a second Kaveh had believed it to be real.

He scrutinises the sketch from every possible angle. Had Alhaitham tinkered around with the settings of a Kamera and somehow managed to print the output into the sketchbook? But the graphite seemed too real to be a simple print. Kaveh did not dare even think of erasing part of it to check; he was a principled artist at heart and despite the rocky relationship he shared with his roommate, only a complete asshole would try to ruin a drawing out of curiosity. So Kaveh decides to flip the pages instead.

There seemed to be little pattern to the sketches that he sees: an occasional cup of coffee, a perfectly shaped Padisarah, a rather cozy looking chair that he remembers seeing in the upper levels of the House of Daena, a scarab sitting atop a perfectly round ball of mud. There was one of the General Mahamatra, scrambling on the ground to collect the TCG cards scattered around, the angle of the drawing implying the artist’s position to be behind a tree.

Kaveh snickers. What if he anonymously sent this to Cyno? Not like there was anything he could hold over Alhaitham’s head but it would be funny to see him getting chased around by a dude half his height.

There were also a bunch of cats scattered between these drawings. One stretching under the sun, another in the middle of grooming itself, and yet another one sitting in a perfect loaf position. The last was of the one at Puspa cafe, curling around a shoe that was undeniably Alhaitham's.

All of these sketches presented very casual scenes, their subjects quite simple, yet every single one of them was downright gorgeous. Not overly detailed, not too abstract or messy; just clear lines and perfect amounts of simple, neat shading. In a way, it did seem to be the kind of style Alhaitham would go for; no unnecessary details, but just enough effort employed to produce high quality results. But the thought still nags him.

Had Alhaitham really drawn these?

Kaveh frowns. How had he never seen him at it before? In the times where both would be at home, Alhaitham would be strictly focused on his reading, expertly ignoring whatever Kaveh talked about near him. Did that mean Alhaitham only drew while outside? Did he work on it during the numerous occasions where he would hide away to avoid unnecessary social interactions? Why did Kaveh find the book at home so frequently then?

Perhaps he had commissioned someone. That seemed perfectly reasonable. What even was he doing it for, then?

Kaveh turns to the next page and drops the book for real this time.

It was him. Kaveh. His own face, traced with graphite, stares back at him.

Well, not exactly. Kaveh rubs his eyes, before picking up the book to take a closer look. It wasn't just his face, the entire area behind him had been sketched as well. The interior seemed too familiar, and when he recognises Lambad at the back, behind a counter, he realises the drawing’s setting was in his tavern. Kaveh in this sketch was holding a drink in his hand, his blonde hair tousled and his cheeks coloured a deep red.

He blinks.

No, not red. The sketch was black and white; it wasn't possible for him to see colours that didn't exist. Still, the drawing made it pretty clear that Kaveh wasn’t sober in it. He observes the sketch again. On the table, close to his hand that was rested on it, was the tavern menu, a dark stain covering part of it.

And suddenly Kaveh is plunged back to that day, the day a small, yet precious project of his had been approved for sponsorship by the Akademiya. That very evening, he had held a celebratory dinner at the tavern, inviting juniors and friends. And his roommate. Kaveh remembered one of his juniors spilling a bit of coffee on his table, staining the menu, he could smell the sizzling food and sweet wines that had been served, he could taste the piping hot curry he had shoved in his mouth (he hadn't had a proper meal while working on the project).

Kaveh remembered how his mouth felt burnt after he had swallowed that morsel, and how he had opened it towards Alhaitham sitting next to him at the table, drunkenly asking him to blow into it to cool it.

Kaveh chokes on air.

In the picture, his eyes were half closed and he was giggling (?) at something he couldn't remember. But he did remember where Alhaitham had been seated that evening, and judging from the angle he was drawn in, it was from his perspective. Only Alhaitham could have seen him from that particular angle.

Kaveh breathes in slowly. How could a mere drawing make him see colours that didn't exist, allow his nose to pick up scents that were no longer present, make him remember things whose memory should have been blurred by the liquor? Make him feel emotions that has long dulled?

Eyes crinkled into crescents, flushed cheeks, mouth open as he yells "CHEERS" and holds up his glass of wine for Alhaitham to toast.

Had Kaveh really looked like this to him?

Before Kaveh could consider the possibility of one of the tavern waitresses seeing him in said state, drawing him in said state, and somehow leaving the sketch inside his house, he hears footsteps outside, approaching the door. He looks at the clock.

Alhaitham was home.

Kaveh quickly snaps the sketchbook shut, shoves it back into the cushions and lies back down on the divan, as naturally as possible. The door swings open and Alhaitham steps in. His gaze immediately lands upon Kaveh's deathly still, horizontal form.

". . ."

"Ah-welcome home . . . roommate!" Kaveh dares not budge an inch.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't you see-I'm relaxing in . . . in this very comfy divan?!"

Alhaitham wordlessly walks out of sight and into the study, emerging out with a book (obviously) in hand. He sits down on the divan facing Kaveh.

"I didn't know relaxing meant you would position yourself like how corpses are placed during cremation."

Kaveh scrambles upright, glaring at the scribe, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all!"

Alhaitham graces him with no response, crossing his leg over the other and going back to his reading.

There was absolutely no way this man could have drawn him like that. Kaveh refuses to believe it. It was an affront to the arts!

. . .

And if he really did, Kaveh decides to hold off on that confrontation for the time being.

Kaveh decides that he wouldn’t touch the sketchbook anymore. There was little reason for him to do so, now that he knew the contents. His curiosities had been sated.

Two days later, he finds himself alone at home again, with said sketchbook on his lap. Again.

There were more reasons why Kaveh shouldn’t be doing this. The most fundamental one being that he was probably invading Alhaitham’s personal space by peeking into his sketchbook, especially when it was highly likely that it contained works by his own hand.

But . . . the waitress theory wasn’t off the shelves yet! For Kaveh, there was no concrete proof at the moment that it had been Alhaitham who had drawn those sketches. It’s not like any of them had anything resembling a signature. As far as Kaveh could reason, it was unclaimed property!

Kaveh had . . . just seen a strange book and opened it-yes, that’s right! You could also sprinkle in a bit of a scholar’s natural curiosity! Pursuit of knowledge, and fulfilling one's desire to understand the unknown was one of the core philosophies of the Akademiya. Kaveh was just listening to the innate call for knowledge! Like any other! He wasn’t breaking one of the six cardinal sins by looking at some cat doodles, surely.

Just for the record, this had nothing to do with Kaveh wondering if there were more drawings of him in there, aside from the tavern one.

Now, back to the present, Kaveh takes a deep breath, throws an anxious glance at the door and flips open the sketchbook (it was on the dining table this time). He pauses for a second on the sketch of his drunken self; he really couldn't believe he looked this . . .

This gorge-

Kaveh decides to set aside the self-appreciation for a bit; he was no narcissist like a certain someone! He decides to browse through as much of the sketchbook as he could, before Alhaitham came back.

His fears were, unfortunately (?), validated. The tavern sketch was not the only drawing of him in there. The sketchbook was filled with pictures of Kaveh during random, mundane moments in his life. Most of which he couldn’t even remember on his own.

One of these sketches had a partially open door, and visible through the space was Kaveh at his desk, one hand buried into his hair, the other furiously gripping a pencil as he works on his design. Black and white, as usual, and his face wasn’t fully visible due to the angle, but the lights and shadows from the lamp had been shaded, capturing the way his face was slightly scrunched up with concentration, the glow in his eye almost rivalling that of the lamp from the intensity of his focus.

The next one seemed to be a morning scene, with Kaveh half asleep and yawning, his hand halfway up his night shirt, making it ride up to reveal his stomach-

Kaveh coughs, looking away.

Wait.

Why was he treating a drawing of himself as if it was something indecent?

He throws another sideways glance at it. His eyes in the sketch were half open, a tiny teardrop forming at the corner. His hair was, of course, a mess, his belly button was drawn very cutely and the night shirt he was wearing was not his, but Alhaitham’s-

Kaveh’s feels his face burn.

Could you blame him?! Of course it felt lewd to be drawn like this by someone else!

Kaveh remembers occasionally wearing his roommate’s clothes by accident, while half asleep, but he has never had Alhaitham throw a fit over it. It happened to be one of the rare errors that the younger let slide.

There were also a few sketches where Kaveh was fully asleep.

One where he was cuddling a lion plush, gifted to him by a junior. Another one where he lay sprawled in bed, drooling onto the satin pillowcase, the sheets a mess, just like his shirt, which was bunched up to reveal his-

Kaveh’s feels his eye twitch.

Alhaitham seemed to have a peculiar interest in scenes where he was unintentionally baring some skin. Why?

Blackmail material. That’s why the bastard never mentioned these things. He wanted to create an entire collection of Kaveh’s most vulnerable moments, to use it against him in the future. Kaveh had been too careless.

The last drawing in the book was also one of him sleeping, but this time on the divan. Kaveh here was curled up in his regular outfit, his face snugly pressed into a cape-

Alhaitham’s cape.

While Kaveh couldn’t recall most of the moments which the previous sketches had been based on, he remembered this one.

It had occurred two weeks ago. A petty argument, as always, had sparked between them, over the atrocious design of the curtains that Alhaitham had brought home without Kaveh’s supervision. Unlike Kaveh, he clearly cared little about colour theory and design aesthetics; even less about what Kaveh had to say.

When he had attempted to walk out on him, Kaveh had grabbed at his cape and unintentionally torn it. And then had said cape flung at his face, tasked with mending it.

Kaveh had been fuming over it, obviously, but after Alhaitham holed himself up in the study, he had cooled down enough to start fixing the mess. Sure, Alhaitham was rude, but Kaveh didn’t feel too great about ruining his clothes over interior décor discourse.

Sewing wasn’t his forte, but a few years of struggling to make ends meet had taught Kaveh quite a useful assortment of skills. After he had finished the patchwork, Kaveh had brought his face close to the cape, to bite off the thread, and unintentionally smelt the scent the hung off the article.

Alhaitham’s scent obviously.

Kaveh had paused for a second, before pushing it away. It was just a scent, nothing to write home about obvio-

And then, out of something that he labels as ‘impulsive curiosity’, Kaveh had brought the cape back closer, pressing his nose against the soft material of it, inhaling the smell that, if he thought about it, had always been surrounding him since he had moved in with Alhaitham.

Now Kaveh didn’t want to recall how exactly he had ended up lying down on the divan, face buried into Alhaitham’s cape and let his soothing fragrance lul him into a rather peaceful afternoon nap. The pressing issue was that Alhaitham knew. He had seen Kaveh asleep with his face nuzzling his cape. There was no ‘scholarly curiosity’ explanation for this.

Someone as smart as Alhaitham would definitely not think Kaveh had ended up in that position naturally.

In the sketch, Kaveh looked so relaxed. His cheeks dusted with a mild blush, his lips tugged into a soft smile. He had slept like a baby that afternoon. Kaveh remembered having had a nice dream-what exactly it had been about, he didn’t, but perhaps that was why he was smiling.

Kaveh groans as he closes the sketchbook and places it back on the table. How had he not realised it before? He had woken up from that nap in his own bed later in the evening, with Alhaitham (+cape) offering to shop for curtains together the next day. Which should have been a very suspicious offer considering the younger’s initial disinterest in their discussion. Kaveh had thought it had been a peace offering of sorts. But now he knew better. It had been a distraction all along. A distraction from the fresh blackmail material he had stupidly handed to Alhaitham on a silver platter.

Kaveh does get the nagging feeling that he might be having a lopsided understanding of the whole situation, but he chooses to not dwell on that.

Now that Kaveh had gone through the entire sketchbook, one thing was clear to him. It was indeed Alhaitham who had drawn those sketches of him. The style was consistent, and the scenes with Kaveh could have only been seen by him.

Yes, he had sort of accepted that fact in the middle of his nosing around, but now he didn’t have some faceless waitress to blame it all on.

Now the thing that bothered Kaveh the most was that he had absolutely no idea what to do with this information.

Yes, his roommate was a weirdo who liked drawing him in secret. What even was Kaveh to do about it? He had long accepted the rather sturdy personality that Alhaitham had; whatever strange mannerisms he exhibited, Kaveh couldn’t see them as anything less than something intrinsic to him. Alhaitham steering away from the norm, in all ways big and small, was hardly anything Kaveh raised a brow over anymore.

Yes, that also meant frequently butting heads with him, but was Kaveh even vying for a change on his part? Sure, Alhaitham would do well to be a little nicer towards his senior but did Kaveh really find his character so undesirable?

Did Kaveh truly want Alhaitham to stop drawing him?

Appreciation was not something he had ever directly received from Alhaitham; Kaveh had learnt from their time as fellow students together, that if Alhaitham wasn’t mean about it, he probably liked it. Which sounded a little pathetic without context.

But direct praise from him was usually something that appeared in the form of blunt retorts, in the midst of their many verbal feuds. Or sarcasm. It had reached a point where Kaveh was actually uncomfortable with it; he couldn't help associating such a thing from Alhaitham with conflict of sorts.

Which felt strange if he thought about it, because Kaveh’s ideas of praise and criticism were completely reversed when it came to the non-Alhaitham people in his life. In casual settings, he preferred their praises to be direct, and criticism to be soft. But when it came to his roommate, his blunt critique stung, obviously, but in a bizarre fashion, Kaveh had found a unique sort of comfort in it. He didn’t need to put on a front and conceal his flaws with flimsy efforts, since Alhaitham was going to cut through all of that anyway. He didn’t need to hold his own tongue to respond to such criticism. He didn’t need to hide even the smallest of displeasures when it came to him; his interactions with Alhaitham didn’t require either of them to tiptoe around the other. In many ways strange, to openly say what they disliked to each other’s faces also meant simultaneously accepting such flaws.

Kaveh had always been a social man. He was a genius in his Darshan, but unlike the isolation that most geniuses faced, people had only gravitated towards him, in stark contrast to his Haravatat counterpart. He had plenty of friends to turn to for support when his life hit rock bottom.

Yet it had been Alhaitham’s doorstep that Kaveh chose to darken, and they weren’t even friends at that time. Instead of people who would soften their passive judgment to comfort him, it had been Alhaitham’s honest, unblemished acceptance of him that he sought comfort in. A genius falling from grace would only receive the pity Kaveh wanted nothing to do with; only the scribe would spare him such pleasantries.

Now, what exactly did this train of thought have to do with Alhaitham being a weird little guy drawing Kaveh in compromising positions?

Well, the glaringly obvious issue was that if this had been anyone else, Kaveh would have been at the matra’s office, requesting a restraining order.

But this was Alhaitham and Kaveh was judging this entire situation with the assumption of some indirect . . . something that his roommate was trying to convey.

And as the above train of thought suggested, Kaveh’s perception and judgement were a little skewed when it came to him.

“You looked at my sketchbook, didn’t you.”

Kaveh’s jumps, rudely shoved out of his musings. The first thing he does is check his hands; empty, as the book in question was safety in its place at the windowsill. The second thing he does is look at Alhaitham, who was standing right in front of him.

“I-no, what proof do you have that I did?”

From where he sat, it strained his neck to look all the way up to his face, so Kaveh opts to rest his gaze on his chest instead.

He jumps again when Alhaitham suddenly squats down, chin dangerously close to his knee.

“Well, your body language implies guilt, and combined with your casual acceptance of the fact that I, who holds not a single artistic atom according to you, actually own such a thing.”

“. . .”

“Is that proof enough for you?”

“Fuck you.” Kaveh whips his head away, coincidentally towards the windowsill, “And in my defence-“

“I appreciate that you didn’t waste any time switching over to a defensive position. Now, continue.”

Kaveh takes in a deep breath, still feeling Alhaitham’s piercing gaze on him.

Since when had the scribe ever offered him this much of his attention?

By the archons he was one infuriating motherfucker. What was he even thinking, believing he was ‘comfortable’ with his bluntness?

"I didn't know it was yours. I just saw the first couple pages."

"That clarification implies a belief that you might have seen something you shouldn't have had you continued which, in turn, creates the possibility that you did see some-"

"Archons man, stop loving the sound of your own voice, maybe?" Kaveh stands up to tower over his crouched form, instantly humbled when Alhaitham follows suit, noticeably a few inches taller, "And I don't recall you ever learning how to draw."

"Why, do you feel your dominion over the artistic facet of wisdom has been threatened because I can indulge in it?"

The audacity.

"Hah? You think you drawing a bunch of cats and me sleeping around the house is enough to challenge my artistic prowess? Dream on!"

For a provocation like that, Alhaitham remains annoyingly quiet, but Kaveh catches his lips tugging upward slightly.

And then he realises what he let slip.

Kaveh shuts his eyes, stifling a groan. This was all according to Alhaitham's plan-he was sure of it. Some grand scheme to humiliate him. Even if his eyes were shut, he knows Alhaitham hadn't moved, gaze affixed on him like a hawk, a vulture waiting for its prey to keel over and die.

For Kusanali's sakes. What the hell did he even want from him?!

". . . I was curious."

This was the closest thing to an apology that Kaveh would offer.

The lack of response from Alhaitham almost makes him noticeably squirm until-

"How did you find them?"

". . ."

Kaveh opens his eyes to stare back at him.

"The drawings?"

"What else?"

"Well, genius, you just left your book in rando-"

"It seems that I have flustered you into a state unsuitable for a coherent conversation.” Alhaitham interrupts him, his hand reaching out to adjust the feather in his hair, "I'm asking for your opinion on them."

Kaveh would normally wish to dodge his hand, but when his knuckles briefly brush against his ear, his mind goes blan-

Wait, his opinion?

"Oh? Mr I Don't Care What They Think wants my opinion? Lil old me?"

"Given that my privacy was invaded by little old you, I think I'm entitled to one."

"And I-you didn't fluster me. I'm perfectly calm, you just suck at asking questions!"

"And two plus two equals five."

Alright Kaveh, stay calm. He was just your silly little junior, and when one's juniors acted naughty, one needed to be the bigger person. Metaphorically, obviously, since Kaveh had long lost in the physical aspect of that. Alhaitham probably wanted something from him, and was riling him up for that purpose, because he couldn’t just say so, like the menace he was.

"Look at how quiet you are now. I assumed you would be more than happy to say something, given the amounts of unsolicited opin-"

It was so damn hard to be the bigger person with this fellow.

"They were fine."

"Fine?"

". . . They were well done." Kaveh accidentally thinks about his sleeping self again, and almost stutters, "The-the cats were cute!"

"Just the cats?"

Asshole.

"I guess you drew me well too. Not a hard thing to do, when the muse is so handsome, right?"

"Yes."

Kaveh freezes. Did he hear that right?

"Wh-what did you just say?"

"I said the kitchen is a mess." Alhaitham decides to mercifully walk away, "It was your turn to clean it today."

Kaveh narrows his eyes. He was sure he hadn't heard that wrong. But now that Alhaitham had given him a chance to escape, Kaveh decides to take it. All in all, now things were out in the open, and Alhaitham's response hadn't been too severe; Kaveh had gotten off easy. One less thing weighing in on his conscience.

The next morning, Kaveh wakes up to a sheet of paper pressed against his cheek. He turns over on his stomach and picks it up, flattening it against his pillow. It takes him a few groggy blinks to realise it was another drawing.

A drawing of him. Kaveh instantly deduces it was a scene from his conversation with Alhaitham last evening. Indignation clearly fleshed out on his face, brows furrowed, strands of light hair comically sticking out, his mouth wide open, as if he was giving a retort. But it's the deep flush of his cheeks that stands out the most. As if Kaveh had been dying from embarrassment during the course of his entire spat with Alhaitham.

Well, it had been an embarrassing affair, if he was truthful.

But fuck off, no way Kaveh had been blushing that much during the argument. This was just Alhaitham being an ass. Alhaitham taking some liberties to project his own fantasies on the whole scene-he seemed to be getting off on making Kaveh into this flurried, blushy-blushy chap, judging from the previ-

. . . No. Not the best choice of words. The implications of that weren't something Kaveh was sure he wanted to address.

But . . . had he really been blushing that much? Kaveh looks at the drawing again. Like with his previous renditions, the drawing made him look absolutely beautiful, even if he tried to assess it from his least narcissistic approach.

Kaveh could probably fall for himself from such a portrayal alone.

Kaveh has seen himself in the mirror. He has seen photos of himself from different periods of his life from a Kamera. He wasn't a bad looking guy, maybe a borderline lady killer if he pushed it, but in the sketches, a different kind of charm accompanied each; he looked appealing in a different manner, the difference being something that he couldn't describe.

Maybe it was something that Kaveh wasn't fit to describe.

The sleep had fully abandoned his senses by then, and Kaveh catches something on the corner of the page. A text, words in small, neat letters, with an insultingly familiar penmanship.

[Yes, you were blushing exactly like this.]

Kaveh flings the sheet away. As if to add insult to injury, he could feel the embarrassment creep over him again. Kaveh had never been good at concealing his emotions; his body was always the first to betray him even when he tried.

He had been too quick to think he had escaped. Kaveh should have known Alhaitham would never let this go.

It slowly evolves into a bizarre interaction of sorts between them. Kaveh had expected Alhaitham to grow a little more careful about where he kept his drawings, but the scribe seemed to be ensuring that Kaveh found his drawings instead. Instead of a whole sketchbook, Kaveh was now beginning to find sheets of paper at random, but noticeable spots in the house.

Sheets of paper with specifically Kaveh drawn in them, in different situations and poses.

Drawings of him rambling about a project, giggling over a cup of wine, huffing and sulking at someone (Alhaitham, obviously), petting a stray animal, working at his desk, enjoying a delectable meal or catching a quick nap.

Stuff that wasn’t exactly different from what was already present in the sketchbook, only that this time around, Alhaitham was drawing them specifically for Kaveh to see.

Another difference was that for most of the works, Kaveh could remember what exactly he had been doing. Alhaitham's style wasn't hyper-realistic, as aforementioned, but there were just enough details in each for Kaveh to feel like he was seeing himself through the younger's eyes.

Initially Kaveh wondered if deliberately making him see these drawings was Alhaitham's indirect way of threatening him with something.

Why didn't Kaveh truly feel a sense of foreboding with each, then? Sure, he would consciously entertain the notion that the scribe wanted to harm him, but ultimately, he couldn’t ever believe his own hypotheses.

There was no chronological order to the drawings either. Kaveh would receive a sketch of something that occurred the previous day, followed by something that happened weeks before.

That meant Alhaitham was drawing each and every one of them from pure memory.

Kaveh just grinned like always when Alhaitham would begrudgingly buy him a bottle of wine. But on paper, he seemed to exude a radiance he didn't know he had, for it. His pupils seemed bigger when he looked directly in front (towards the artist). In none of the works was Kaveh making a conscious pose of sorts. Alhaitham had drawn him simply . . . existing in a particular moment, in certain moods and environments. Kaveh wasn't even trying, yet Alhaitham made it look like his mere existence was beautiful.

They make him wonder, was that who Alhaitham saw when he looked at Kaveh?

Actually, no. He was giving him too much credit. Kaveh remembered waking up one morning, just wanting to peacefully drink his coffee, and coming across another sketch of him lying on the table. In that one, Kaveh had his back to the artist, his shirt slightly tugged up, with his arm curved around to the back, hand delving inside his pants.

He was scratching his butt.

This atrocity, of course, had a caption.

[When no one was supposed to be looking...]

Kaveh remembers marching up to the scribe, who was sitting at the window seat, reading his stupid little book with one leg pretentiously crossed over the other.

He remembers the sly smirk on his face when Kaveh had cussed him out with a beet red face.

And Kaveh knew that bastard was planning to draw him in that state as well.

To learn from history to avoid errors of the future was the mark of a wise man. Kaveh knew better than to leave himself to the mercy of the vulture in his house, lest another sketch of him scratching someplace much more scandalous appears.

There was another sketch of his drunk self, resting his head against a chest that he instantly recognises to be Alhaitham's, from the number of times he has gawked at-no, studied it. Scholarly curiosity, anyone?

And these were all works that Alhaitham allowed him to see. How many more of these did he have stashed in some secret place?

"I feel some of the details are . . . not exactly accurate."

Alhaitham's brows furrow by half a millimetre at the accusation and he shuts his book with a snap.

Kaveh wonders with a dormant sense of glee if he had touched a nerve. Alhaitham’s face rarely betrayed anything, but Kaveh could recognise the signs he usually developed in his days as a student. The signs of being two seconds away from pointing out a damning error in his own professor’s research project, relating to a field said professor had dedicated half their literate life to. The other students naturally found Alhaitham audacious for such a thing, but Kaveh used to be amused by it. It wasn’t like he was spouting bullshit, anyway.

"What do you mean, ‘not exactly accurate’?"

"I don't look like-I dunno, some of the details feel too enhanced and I seem to have sparkles everywhere."

"I have drawn not a single sparkle ever in my life."

"I mean-not literally, gosh! It's-" Kaveh flaps his arms around, "a figure of speech!"

Alhaitham rests his head against the back of his chair, idly watching Kaveh for a bit before speaking again.

"My imagination has never been involved here. I draw exactly what I see."

It was probably pointless to argue with him.

"How did you even learn to draw?" Kaveh asks another day, observing another drawing closely (one where he seemed to be passionately talking about something again).

The linework was too clean for something that involved no inks. There seemed to be no trace of any rough lines; whatever was drawn had been done so directly.

Maybe Alhaitham had erased them later. Kaveh still found a vague sense of charm in such marks; it helped him visualise the process, making the artist seem more human.

"Hm? I just flipped through a book on anatomy and got the hang of it."

. . . Why did Kaveh even bother? Alhaitham was probably the kind of monster who could draw a perfect side profile without lifting the pencil from the sheet even once.

One day, he sees Alhaitham at the dining table, multiple sketchbooks scattered on it, briskly flipping through the pages. Too fast for Kaveh to catch their contents.

"How-how many books do you even have?"

Alhaitham pauses, before continuing with his work without looking up, "Many, but most of them were . . ."

"Were?"

". . . Nothing."

"Hey! That just makes the curiosity worse!" Kaveh huffs, making his way over to the table. It's not like he made a move towards the books, but Alhaitham suddenly throws his arm over them anyway.

“Oi."

"No."

"I didn't even-why can't I see?!"

"I don't want to show you."

Kaveh narrows his eyes.

"Did you draw some weird porn of me in there?"

Alhaitham scoffs, arranging the books more neatly by his side, "Feel free to conclude whatever you wish. I don't really care."

"Really?" Kaveh raises a brow and leans forward, "You really don't care if I think that you have been filling pages and pages with sketches of my naked body?”

For a fraction of a second, Alhaitham's hands still, his brow twitches, before-

"No."

Hardly noticeable to anyone else, as always but Kaveh was used to such tells, had his senses attuned to specifically picking them up when it came to his roommate.

Alhaitham absolutely cared.

The scribe finally closes all the books, arranging them in a neat stack, before getting up and moving towards the front door.

Kaveh follows him.

"Isn't it your day off?"

"I need paper."

". . ."

". . . . . ."

"I don't recall asking you to join me." Alhaitham breaks the silence as the two stroll up the city streets.

Kaveh places his hands on his hips.

"My junior's showing an interest in the arts! It's my duty as his senior to guide him in that endeavour!"

"What guidance could I possibly need to obtain paper?"

Kaveh stops, to show his bafflement, but Alhaitham continues walking, leaving him behind, so he also has to rush after him.

"You-well, stuff like the kind of papers you need to buy? The press? The texture? The water absorption or the type of wood pulp-these are crucial!"

"I'm not buying anything. The Akademiya provides a standard supply of stationery for its employees; I am planning to simply claim that provision."

"Huh-wait. The Akademiya ones-" Kaveh had thought that dastardly paper quality was familiar, "Are you serious?!"

"Nothing about this is, but here you are."

That was enough to make Kaveh launch into a whole rant about the Akademiya's lacklustre interest in ensuring the quality of the art supplies it provided, punctuated by an occasional hum from Alhaitham.

". . . And that's why you'll find better luck in Kshahrewar department-but I know where you can get even better!" Kaveh grins up towards Alhaitham, who continues to stare at him intently.

And then he looks around. At some point the two had stopped at the side of the street, and Kaveh had no idea how long.

But besides that, why had Alhaitham stopped as well? He had been under the impression that the scribe was never interested in his rants. He could have just left Kaveh there to converse to the air like a madman.

He turns back towards him. The scribe was still staring at him, arms crossed, as if he was waiting for something.

"Well?"

"Uh-what?"

"You said you would take me somewhere better."

"The Grand Bazaar." Alhaitham states, as Kaveh drags him around the market by the arm.

"Don't look down on the hub of the commons with your academic condescension! This is where you get the best stuff!"

"I just stated the name of the place."

"Anyway, this is where I get most of my stuff." Kaveh waves at a group of performers from the Zubayr theatre; he was friendly with most of the staff given the generous amounts of times he had provided a share of his own expertise for the stage’s maintenance and design.

Alhaitham had often commented on how he should really be charging them for it, but Kaveh was perfectly satisfied with getting free front row seats for most of their performances; he didn’t need to bow down to the vices of capitalism to help sustain the arts.

Of course, Alhaitham had responded to said jab at capitalism with a condescending and unasked for clarification on how his suggestion only involved the very basic philosophies of exchange that was present in nearly all economic systems but Kaveh had already stopped listening by then.

"Given how enthusiastic you are about all this, I'm surprised you haven't offered some of your own supplies."

"Huh? You want to get your hands on my stuff?!"

Alhaitham tugs his arm back, not away from Kaveh's grasp, but to pull him closer. The abrupt proximity knocks the wind out of his lungs, and Alhaitham bringing their faces even closer together didn't help.

"Or is it that you needed to restock your own supplies, and you brought me here with the hopes that I would pay for your purchases as well?"

. . .

How the fuck did he figure that out?

A spark of triumph flashes across Alhaitham's face, and Kaveh fidgets, cornered.

And then he flashes his most dazzling smile at him.

"Well, think of it as an indirect fee for my expert counselling! You said it yourself once, didn’t you? That I should be charging for the worth of my wisdom? Well, let’s start with you!"

Alhaitham scoffs, but Kaveh sees his eyes soften, "And I never asked you for this wisdom of yours."

"And besides," Kaveh decides to move again, as the people around had begun to stare, "I . . . we don't have a lot in common, so chances are like this are . . ."

Alhaitham remains quiet at that, but the sombre silence doesn't last long, once they finally approach the stalls Kaveh had been eager to visit.

Their little shopping spree is soon filled with Kaveh’s incessant chatter, the easy trivia that he recalls along the course of it. Alhaitham responded to whatever he said in the form of distracted hums or the occasional snark, so Kaveh couldn’t confidently ascertain if he was really listening to him. But it still felt oddly satisfying to preach about a field that the younger had lesser grasp on, supposedly, than him. Getting to share what he had always filled Kaveh with joy.

"And that's why rubber made from a mix of Karmaphala resin and jackfruit gum is better than-"

"I have never used an eraser in my life."

Kaveh tuts at Alhaitham, who was currently armed with the bags of supplies they had just bought. Kaveh would have normally offered to do the heavy lifting, but Alhaitham's bare biceps looked a little too nice, wrapped around the bags like that.

“I expect you to pay me back for everything except the sheets.”

Kaveh blinks, the flowery thoughts instantly disintegrating as he throws a panicked glance at the items he had bought on impulse.

“Wait-what about my fee as your artistic guide?!”

“Hmph. I suppose it’s worth a 20% discount, at best.” The scribe brushes past him with the stationery bags, leaving him to gawk.

“Just that mu-?”

“But,” Alhaitham turns his head back, a sly but rare smile on his face, “I could raise that to 80, for your contributions as a model.”

Two days later, sitting on the divan, and Alhaitham’s words from that day continued to play over and over in Kaveh’s mind, setting his face on fire.

He had spent almost the entirety of the last two days in his room, furiously working on his designs with the new materials in his possession. Even if it was to simply distract himself from thoughts about his roommate.

His little stint as a hermit also meant Kaveh did not get any new sketches in that period. But later in the evening, he finds three sheets of paper lying on the cushions that lined the cozy sitting space by the window.

It appeared to be a collage of numerous sketches, all taking place in what Kaveh recognises as the Grand Bazaar, with Kaveh in them present at different places, caught at different moments, in the middle of numerous things.

Gushing over a fine set of rulers. Holding up a compass and demonstrating . . . something. Helping a shopkeeper bring a heap of boxes inside. Suckling on a piece of candy given to him as a reward. Lifting up a bunch of props for the theatre. Throwing him a radiant smile. All of these interspersed with Kaveh just . . . talking. His hands pulled into elaborate gestures, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm as he explains things that he had expected Alhaitham to not pay attention to.

“Oh, you’re finally out." Alhaitham emerges out of the study.

“Have you always been looking at me?” Kaveh sets the drawings down, looking up at the scribe, who was currently missing his cape.

“Looking at you?”

“I mean.” Kaveh gestures at nothing at particular, “From the beginning of it all. Wasn’t I just invisible to you, like everyone else was?”

“You are the light of Kshahrewar.” Alhaitham closes the distance between them, standing right in front of him, “It is not possible for you to be invisible-”

“That’s not how I meant that.” Kaveh’s voice softens against his will, as he inches into territory that had fuelled an old, unaddressed fear, “Aside from being a walking disagreement to everything you stood for, I wasn’t anything else.”

He looks away from the scribe, letting his eyes trace the pattern of the carpet on the floor, “Didn’t you just keep me around as a tool to question and strengthen your belief in your own ideals? Wasn’t my naïve, romantic outlook unworthy of-”

“What.” Alhaitham snaps suddenly. It’s his tone that makes Kaveh tear his eyes away from the carpet, to look back at him.

Even if Alhaitham’s expression rarely ever completely transformed, Kaveh knew he looked utterly furious. Even if rage was an emotion he had rarely witnessed from the scribe.

Or at least not in a long time, not since their fight.

“You-“ Alhaitham falters, and then he steps back and walks away, not even bothering to shut the door of his room as he storms inside.

Kaveh sits there for a while, in confused silence. Was Alhaitham upset? Upset because Kaveh had stated something that the scribe himself had made crystal clear in the years they had known each other?

A mild sense of dread seeps into his heart, leaving behind an ache. Had Kaveh understood something fundamentally wrong about Alhaitham?

The man in question suddenly emerges out of his room again, this time armed with a few sketchbooks.

Once Alhaitham is in front of him again, his grip around the books tightens, with an air of uncertainty that was so unlike him. Unlike a man who was so ever sure of every single decision he had made in his life.

“Alhai-”

The younger places the books on the cushions, near where Kaveh sat. From their covers, he remembers them to be the same books Alhaitham had been sifting through two days ago, the ones that he had promptly hidden away from Kaveh.

Kaveh picks up one of them, looking up at Alhaitham, who sighs and sits down on the floor, near his feet.

“Open it.”

Kaveh hesitates, wondering if this was a test of sorts. The earlier frustration on Alhaitham’s face had disappeared, and he was now watching each and every motion he made, like a predator waiting for its unassuming prey to take the bait.

Kaveh takes it.

The sketchbook in his hands had its covers frayed and worn, as if it had been in use a few years ago. The pages were also slightly yellowed.

Its contents immediately matched that description. Most of them were, as expected, full of sketches of Kaveh himself.

The only difference being that he was wearing his Akademiya uniform in them.

How long exactly had Alhaitham been drawing him?

Clearly, Alhaitham had followed the same themes of interest then, as he did in the present. Kaveh working on his projects. Kaveh yawning in the middle of class. Kaveh smiling sweetly at the artist offering him a cup of coffee. Kaveh sleeping over a heap of notes, fingers interlaced with Alhaitham’s.

There were other, mundane scenes scattered in between these, allowing him a bit of buffer to slowly absorb the fact that he had been in Alhaitham’s gaze all along, that he had never left it, even when he was supposed to be invisible.

He feels a mild tightness in his throat, an ache in his chest as his mind instinctually tries to convince him otherwise, that he had been nothing more than a speck of dust in Alhaitham’s world.

What did it mean then, if this speck of dust was shaped into what Kaveh saw, with the love of a sculptor’s fingers on his chisel?

Kaveh picks up the second book. The first thing he sees is . . . eyes. Just a pair of eyes-his eyes, drawn in several ways. Some twisted with anger, widened with surprise, brimming with tears, lidded with exhaustion, softened with joy.

Kaveh throws a look at Alhaitham who stares back at him shamelessly.

Eyes weren't the only thing he finds in there. His hands, writing a letter, gingerly holding a cup, holding down a scale to measure something, fixing the feather in his hair or pinching someone’s (Alhaitham’s) cheeks. His nose, pressed into a fabric of sorts (Alhaitham’s cape), scrunched up in confusion or flared with anger. His bare feet, curling up (from the cold) and stretching, twirling on the floor in a dance or slipping into a pair of shoes. His mouth, pulled into a dazzling grin, soft smiles, petulant pouts, falling open in surprise or curled in anger.

“There-” Kaveh chokes out, seeing a page covered with sketches of his naked back, "there are still empty pages in this."

"This book is reserved for your body parts. I'll be filling those up with future discoveries."

"What the fuck." Kaveh half laughs, feeling his cheeks turn overwhelmingly warm and covers his face with his hand, "I don't know if that's supposed to be romantic, or a threat, with you saying that shit with that straight face of yours."

"It is up to your interpretation."

"THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!"

Kaveh wanted to sound disbelieving, but he knew the redness of his face and the smile in his voice said otherwise. He parts his fingers to peek down at Alhaitham, who was-

Smiling. Or something close to it, from the relaxed brows, the softened gaze, the curve of his lips that could only be noticed if you traced a finger along it.

Kaveh doesn't need to do that, obviously. He has stared at Alhaitham's lips so frequently, (from a time he couldn't even pinpoint anymore, knowing how much of it he had spent denying that he ever did) that he could tell from a glance alone.

The first few sketches he sees in the last book were of an elderly woman, the details on her face limited or simply missing, as if the memories involved in their making had faded.

When Kaveh had first met Alhaitham, his grandmother had long passed. There probably weren’t even many people who actually knew he had one, reserved as the younger was. But there had been rare moments when Alhaitham mentioned things about his childhood. Tiny fragments about his grandmother that only Kaveh knew about.

"This was a few years after she went." Alhaitham speaks again, and Kaveh nearly jumps when he realises his chin was resting on his knee, eyes scanning the open pages, "I . . . couldn't remember how she exactly looked in those exact moments."

Kaveh hums, still watching Alhaitham intently even after the scribe goes quiet, waiting. His face betrayed nothing, yet Kaveh hopes he would tell something else, let him in on something more that no one else knew.

Alhaitham doesn't humour him; instead, he just looks up and raises a brow at him, and looking so damn attractive while at it too, that Kaveh momentarily forgets how stupid he was himself looking.

He coughs and hurriedly goes back to flipping the pages over, finding more sketches of himself, in his Akademiya days.

But these were not ones that captured fleeting moments in Kaveh's daily life. These were the ones that intensified the tightness in his chest, the ache behind his eyes, when he looked at them. Nostalgias of older, happier times, memories of freshly blooming ambitions, tenderly cultivated dreams and budding pride.

The sketches were all of Kaveh at work. Hard, serious, passionate work, pouring over sheets of paper and half-worked blueprints and project models. He has seen something along similar lines in the previous sketches as well, but these felt different. Kaveh felt like he was looking at himself for the first time, like he was experiencing the true brilliance of his light for the first time. He felt like he was his junior self, mouth wide open as he poured over the stories of architects across time who had blessed the lands with their gift; the realisation that he was looking at his own visage, a little delayed.

Kaveh's hands stop over a particular one, one where he was kneeling on the floor, before a massive design that covered the expanse of it. The Kaveh in the drawing stares down at it, his hand wiping his forehead, a mix of pride and jubilance at the work he had perfected with his blood, sweat and tears over the months. Alongside a partner, of course, which played part in the joy that had held his hands in the process of it all.

It had been so long, but he remembered that day. It had been the day his joint project with Alhaitham had reached its conclusion. The drawing had captured a moment that had occurred a few hours before the fight that would make the two men drift apart.

It had been the day the two had rejected the very core of each other's ambitions, the day Kaveh had been convinced that Alhaitham could never understand his soul, let alone ever respect it. It had extinguished the weak tendrils of belief that despite their fundamental differences, there existed a bond, a shapeless connect between them, that made Kaveh see his and Alhaitham’s ambitions have a common destination with each other. It had been the day he had cursed himself for even daring to believe it.

So how had a man, who couldn't fathom even a fraction of Kaveh's passion, managed to etch it on paper? How had Alhaitham given life to the inexplicable, and made it look like he had himself felt the emotions that Kaveh had that day?

" You were right, in a way. There was nothing about you I couldn't disagree with." Alhaitham speaks suddenly, an odd, almost melancholic look on his face, “You asked me then, why I stuck around. Now, you believe you know why."

". . ."

" You fascinated me, if I were to say this simply. I told myself it was to only understand the curiosity you evoked in me; that you were nothing more than that."

Kaveh closes the book.

"I never thought it would-you, and your naivete and your-"Alhaitham trails off, jerking his hand a bit while his eyes scan anywhere, but Kaveh, aimlessly. As amusing as it was to see him, of all people, lost for words-

"Say it. Don't leave me hanging, like you did years ago."

-Kaveh didn't want it.

". . . I didn't think it would become . . . endearing, of all things."

Their collaboration had created a feeble hope that the two were equals, and had shattered it all the same.

Part of him had craved that Alhaitham would be awed by him, just as Kaveh always was.

("It didn't fully dawn on me then. I wanted . . . to understand what I was feeling towards you. And I was unable to label it-and if it couldn't be labelled, it couldn't be navigated. I had never faced such a dilemma before.")

That he would one day see Kaveh, and wish to be at least a little like him, to resonate with him in the most tenderest of ways, just like Kaveh wished with Alhaitham.

("I remembered you telling me about how art was a medium to explore one's heart, and I'm sure you were trying to shade me for my callousness but . . . I thought about it.")

Kaveh remembered feeling hollow after their fight, as if a small portion of his heart still longed to understand the enigma that his friend was, still believed that Alhaitham missed him.

"I wish I could have relayed it to you more efficiently." The scribe finishes, moving his head away from Kaveh's thigh, "Even if I couldn't label what I felt, I wanted to make you feel a little bit of it, even if it was vague. I wanted you to see . . . the way I saw you."

Kaveh swallows, if only to stop the tears welling up in his eyes. He fails. He was relieved the sketchbook was closed, so that his tears didn't ruin anything.

"Kaveh?"

The hint of perplexity in Alhaitham's tone felt so unlike him, but Kaveh finds a small sense of enjoyment in it. In Alhaitham stumbling from his default state as a haughty know-it-all, to uncharted territory, like the softs of a hardboiled egg peeking out from a crack in its shell.

Kaveh sniffs, slowly sliding down from the window seat, onto the carpeted floor, beside Alhaitham, who grabs onto his arm. Not dramatically, but just to hold onto him-to something. Kaveh lets the tears flow for a bit, growing more and more embarrassed by the second.

Was the whole thing even that emotionally moving? Was Kaveh feeling stupid about the liberties he took with his assumptions about Alhaitham's feelings? Was it because of his indirect confession? Confession of what-it wasn't like Alhaitham was explicitly referring to love.

Maybe something close to it.

Maybe if 'love' was a point on a plane, Alhaitham's feelings were contained in a neighbourhood of it?

Kaveh manages to turn towards Alhaitham, who was still staring raptly at him. His face looked . . . not as poised as it usually did and Kaveh could feel the hand on his arm even fidgeting a bit.

But Alhaitham did not look away from his face, watching every tear that emerged out of his eye and slid down his cheeks, with rapt attention, eyes occasionally flicking towards Kaveh's nose whenever he sniffed.

"What? What are you looking at me like that for?"

"I assumed you would appreciate the attention."

Kaveh scoffs.

"You either have no clue how to deal with crying people, or you have found a new idea for a drawing. Which is it?"

"Both." Alhaitham answers like the shameless prick he was.

Kaveh shoves at him with a weak laugh. Alhaitham barely budges, but a tiny smile does spring up on his face, so Kaveh counts that as a success. The two remain quiet for a while; Kaveh even relaxes a little, deciding to lean against the scribe's shoulder.

Just a bit.

In response, Alhaitham's hand on his arm slides down to settle beside Kaveh's. Fingertips just touching. Kaveh inches it a little forward. Not enough to properly hold his hand, but just sliding his fingers loosely in-between Alhaitham's. He watches the younger with baited breath, wondering if he would make a move.

Alhaitham takes in two deep breaths, staring intently at the bookshelf a little distance in front, before sighing, and tightening his grip around Kaveh's hand properly, and tugging it closer, letting their now interlocked hands rest on his thigh.

"Stop smiling like an idiot."

"I'm not smiling." Kaveh half giggles, half sniffles.

"I just know you are." Alhaitham pointedly turns his head towards him, to prove his point.

The two stare into each other's eyes until Kaveh fidgets; while Alhaitham was clearly not very well versed in expressing his feelings openly like him, he seemed to have the uncanny ability to maintain eye contact, even in tense situations like the current one.

"The first one." Alhaitham begins, finally dissipating the silence, but keeping his gaze on Kaveh steady, "The first one I drew, was you falling asleep during class."

"So that was the first sketchbook you filled."

"Mm. To see if your words held water."

Kaveh feels him softly squeeze his hand.

"Did they?"

"It was inconclusive. I decided to continue with it, thinking the doubts would clear themselves one day. I kept drawing you . . ." Alhaitham's eyes settle on his lips,

"Until it became a slow realisation."

Kaveh wants to kiss him.

Should be quite the abrupt development in his feelings towards his roommate, but Kaveh isn't too swayed by it. All that mattered in that moment was what he felt.

Had Kaveh, like Alhaitham, not explicitly thought about what exactly he wanted from him, what kind of desires he held for him? Had Kaveh, too, been unable to label them, too easily swayed by the perpetual conflict that existed between them?

"In the next one-the one with my grandma in it, I had begun to understand you a bit more, even if I didn't fully realise it." Alhaitham continues, "I could see what you felt, when you pursued the things you loved, and because I could see it, I could draw it."

"You didn't think of drawing anyone else?" Kaveh decides to tease, because his heart was currently too weak to let Alhaitham's words fully seep in, "I'm sure the Akademiya had a no shortage of outwardly passionate people."

"I had eyes only for you." Of course, Alhaitham's blunt words arrive to knock him down a peg.

Kaveh coughs, catching a smirk on the younger's face.

"That's what you get for fishing for compliments."

"I-no, I wasn't-"

"And I only entertained you because you were crying."

Kaveh attempts to shove at him again, but Alhaitham's grip on his hand grows stronger, ensuring that he stayed close.

"And what about the last one?" Kaveh decides to press forward, "The one with the hands and eyes and stuff."

"Oh. I started working on that one a while after you moved in with me."

Kaveh furrows his brows, "It-we met again a few years after our fight, didn't we?"

". . . I stopped drawing after our fight." Alhaitham looks down at their hands, idly tracing some lines on the back of Kaveh's.

"Ah." Kaveh stares down at their hands as well, if only to dodge the solemnity a bit, "I thought . . . you could draw from memory."

"I can. I remembered . . . you. I remembered how you would nap on the back benches during our electives together. I remembered how you would tell off the annoying older scholars into leaving me alone, because they had to make their insecurities my problem."

Alhaitham's fingers still on Kaveh's knuckles, and he throws a brief glance up at his face.

"I remembered so much, but I couldn't draw a single one properly. I couldn't draw your lashes the correct way, I couldn't pinpoint the exact positions of the veins on your arms. I couldn't draw your lips to look as soft as they actually do-"

Alhaitham suddenly stops himself, frowning as if he had slid down a slope he hadn't intended to.

"And so, the first thing you did when I returned was draw all of those things." Kaveh joins the dots for him.

A quiet nod.

"I couldn't bear to forget again."

Kaveh breathes. Deeper. Chews on his lips. Shuts his eyes, if only to not see how Alhaitham was looking at him right now. Because it all goaded the sheer chaos in his heart into doing one thing-

"I think I'm going to kiss you." Kaveh exhales, before opening his eyes and immediately looking away, "You're-"

Alhaitham hums where he should have flat out rejected him.

Kaveh turns towards him. It didn't help that Alhaitham was very openly staring down at his lips.

So, he decides to go for it.

Well, not exactly. What Kaveh does is . . . swerve sideways and press his nose against Alhaitham's cheek.

". . ."

". . ."

"Are you serious, Kaveh?"

Kaveh tuts, almost moving away from the embarrassment of it all, but deciding to nuzzle Alhaitham's cheek instead-he couldn't help himself! It felt soft!

He hears Alhaitham sigh and feels a deceptively cool hand wrap around his nape, shifting his head just enough for Alhaitham to finally press their lips together.

Kaveh's response is a little delayed, having to register the sensation of Alhaitham's lips on his, their noses slightly getting in the way, the younger's bangs tickling his cheek, the scent he had been chasing on Alhaitham's cape-

And then he reciprocates eagerly, and Alhaitham gives an approving hum, not moving his lips much, either from inexperience or to let Kaveh have his way; it didn't matter. It didn't matter because Kaveh had finally got to kiss him, it didn't matter if the kiss was still a bit of a mess, if Kaveh felt his lips were pressing more against Alhaitham's chin rather than his mouth, because they were kissing.

And Kaveh would be damned if he didn't accept every single one that he got to share with the scribe.

They break apart for air, but Kaveh swoops in again, a little gentler this time, and he almost coos upon feeling Alhaitham chuckle against his mouth. Either he got too excited, or Alhaitham decides to be a little shit, as Kaveh feels them both topple over suddenly, with Alhaitham's back hitting the floor and Kaveh dropping messily over him.

Hm, probably Alhaitham being a little shit, but that doesn't really stop Kaveh from attacking his mouth again. He shudders as Alhaitham's arm snakes around the small of his back. His lips moved more intently than before, as if slowly mapping out the shape of Kaveh's lips through his own alone.

And when a sly hand sweeps over the broad of his back, delving into the V-shaped window of his shirt to touch the bare skin there, Kaveh gasps, breaking the kiss and holding himself up on his hands, glaring down at Alhaitham.

Alhaitham smirks at his indignation. It didn't help that his lips had turned pinker from their kiss, making Kaveh want to bite them, just to be mean.

"Oi. Watch it."

"Hm? Says the man who pushed me down so crudely on the floor?"

"You-!" Kaveh grumbles, not wanting fall for the provocation.

Of course, Alhaitham could only hold off on being a bastard for so long.

Alhaitham shifts, bracing himself on his forearms to bring their faces closer together again. Kaveh softens as their noses brush together idly, and places a soft peck against the younger's lips.

Alhaitham pauses, before making a small, displeased noise.

"What?" Kaveh frowns, "Are my kissing skills too inadequate for you?"

"Hmph, I'll reserve my comment on your skills for now-it's something else."

"What?" Kaveh resists rolling his eyes.

". . . I can't see your face when we kiss."

Kaveh blinks, the incredulity building up with each.

"Are you-just keep your eyes open then!"

"I tried-your face isn't fully visible and looks distorted to boot, and you surely won't like it if I drew it like tha-"

"Ugh-not everything needs to be drawn!"

Alhaitham stares at him very solemnly.

"It does."

Kaveh shuffles around on top him, the implications of their current position dawning too slowly on him for him to care.

"Can we go back to kissing already?" He pouts and Alhaitham indulges him, fondly exasperated.

Kaveh would surely wake up to a sketch of his comically puckered lips the next morning.

But no need to think about that now. Alhaitham and his little hobby can wait.