Chapter Text
The people around them at the bazaar were beginning to look genuinely judgemental, which was surprising, given that Kaveh and Al-Haitham had an argument just like this one every Saturday, like clockwork. They went to the market, they found produce, they split up to conquer the bakery and the butcher, and then they spent the rest of the morning airing their taste in household decor within hearing of the craftsmen involved.
Al-Haitham’s latest selection was particularly revolting, a crudely carved sumpter beast the size of their coffee table. Kaveh did not approve. “That carving is disgusting. You’re kidding yourself if you think I’ll touch you with something like that in our house.”
“Senior, do you ever wonder if you put too much importance on aesthetics?” He paused, affecting thoughtfulness, just to rub it in. “Let me rephrase that. You put too much-”
“You’d rather we lived in artless squalor?” Kaveh glared at him sharply.
Al-Haitham took one of his oh-so-very-much-smarter-than-everyone deep breaths. “I never said that.”
Kaveh rolled his eyes and frowned. “The only possible explanation for your abysmal taste is that you are incapable of appreciating beauty.”
“Is art not the expression of the very soul? I think I have excellent taste.” Al-Haitham raised his eyebrows to an incredulous Kaveh. This was a level of flirtation Al-Haitham very rarely rose to, albeit still in monotone.
Kaveh huffed. “You-” He collected himself unconvincingly. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I am an artist.”
Al-Haitham smirked. “You certainly are, and temperamental as one too.”
“Sometimes I think you live to torment me.”
The stares were unambiguously judgemental now. “Whatever you say, senior. I think we need to leave now.” Perhaps they should go shopping at a less busy time next week. Ideally, a time when the least possible people who knew them as the couple that never stopped bickering were present.
That evening, once they were settled together in bed, Al-Haitham handed Kaveh a book without ceremony, then rolled over to sleep almost instantly. Kaveh smiled, but paid it no mind.
It was hours later that Kaveh’s buzzing mind slowed enough for him to consider rest. He peered at the book. The note serving as a bookmark was simple. Is this beauty enough, senior? A Rub al-Hizb in Al-Haitham’s crisp handwriting indicated the proper line. How very like Al-Haitham — ancient and classical yet modern and secular.
۞ The intellectual is always showing off,
the lover is always getting lost.
The intellectual runs away.
afraid of drowning;
the whole business of love
is to drown in the sea.
Intellectuals plan their repose;
lovers are ashamed to rest.
The lover is always alone.
even surrounded by people;
like water and oil, he remains apart.
The man who goes to the trouble
of giving advice to a lover
get nothing. He’s mocked by passion.
Kaveh read again and again, stunned. He felt immensely lucky Al-Haitham was fast asleep. It was in the language he’d grown up speaking. Of course, Al-Haitham was fluent, and some half of Sumeru was too, but it clutched at his heart to have Al-Haitham using Kaveh’s own first language for this. A linguist’s overture.
This was a kind of emotional blow Kaveh never got used to from Al-Haitham. This was no confession, but Al-Haitham had clearly taken his little assignment to heart. He must have done some kind of research. Cute. Kaveh smiled at the thought, then turned off the lamp and wriggled his way into Al-Haitham’s arms as he slept.
There was no more talk of poetry for a few days, but Al-Haitham left books of it discarded around the house, without notes. Strangely, he seemed to be on a genuine poetry kick. Kaveh wondered how long it could possibly last. Longer than encyclopedias? Impossible.
“Your eyes,” Al-Haitham stated matter-of-factly over biryani one night. It had been a long work day, and he was on his third serving. He did not elaborate for at least a minute, returning to his book, but he set another book between them.
Kaveh echoed him. “My eyes.”
“They’re-” Al-Haitham trailed off. He thumbed through the book between them with one hand, his attention still on his biryani and his other book.
Kaveh laughed. Lovers over the years had come up with many descriptions, and he wondered what the ever-literal Al-Haitham would contribute. Perhaps in his poetic phase he would contribute something surprising. “Red?”
Al-Haitham found the page he wanted, and shook his head. He went on as though it was the simplest thing in the world. “Look.”
Kaveh looked.
“The things you remind me of, senior, are words like these.” He held open the small book he’d put between them, complete with a scribbled note beside the marked words. Kaveh could have laughed, but this didn’t quite seem like the moment.
۞ You are a ruby embedded in granite.
How long will you pretend it’s not true?
Kaveh’s heart ached. Al-Haitham indicated the end of the quotation idly, his focus still upon his food, and then returned to his book.
Kaveh turned to the note. All I wish is for him to realize this. Once could be explained, but twice pushed upon the bounds of believability. “Haitham, am I behind on your great love of poetry?”
Al-Haitham smirked. “You told me to appreciate beauty. I have done as you asked, O wise sage.”
“Shut up. Eat your biryani.” Al-Haitham hummed his agreement.
A few days later, they were spending a quiet evening together sprawled across the divan, Kaveh sketching tropical fruits and Al-Haitham reading something or other, when he handed Kaveh a small book.
It looked very sturdy. “Do you remember the day we met, senior,” he asked, as if Kaveh could ever forget. Kaveh laughed and took the book, reading the page Al-Haitham held it open to.
۞ The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along.
Al-Haitham spoke over Kaveh’s shoulder, breath hot. “I don’t think I believe this one.”
Kaveh smiled fondly. “There’s the Haitham I know.”
“I thought of it as simply a part of human experience. I did not seek it out.”
“So why the poem?”
“On topic, mostly. But I did remember it when we met. In the back of my mind, I thought, if I’m looking, here he is. Of course, we didn’t do anything about that for years.”
“Well, we cared so much about our friendship. Losing it was-”
“-unimaginable.”
“Yes. But then I suppose we realized we didn’t need it, and the gamble held far less risk.”
Kaveh was struck dumb. “We don’t, what? What do you mean, need? Does anyone need anything? If I ever-” Kaveh sputtered, and Al-Haitham simply went on.
“I suppose we could all live alone forever as perfect ascetics, although that does happen to be expressly forbidden.”
Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Do you only believe in things when it helps you win arguments?”
Al-Haitham smirked back. “I didn’t say what I thought about anything. I simply related information.”
Kaveh sniped back, his tone mocking. “Simply related information.” He sneered at Al-Haitham, who just looked at him smugly with as little facial movement as possible.
Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather we went your way?”
Kaveh huffed. “I don’t have a way. You don’t have a way. We’re only having ways because you think every conversation is an opportunity to be right.”
“Irrelevant. Your father was a mobedyar. Ergo, you have a way.”
Kaveh’s voice softened, the way it always did when he recalled his father’s death. “We didn’t talk about it afterwards. Maman never cared that much in the first place, and it was painful after.”
“I see.” He squeezed Kaveh’s hand. “I apologize.”
Kaveh kissed his cheek. “It doesn’t hurt right now.”
Assured that he had not wounded Kaveh, Al-Haitham went on, his tone smug as ever. “That said, we default to my way, so asceticism is not the correct path.”
Kaveh sighed. “Of course you would go right back to the argument.”
“Given that people do not need each other to survive — I have spent much of my life in solitude, and I have not been harmed by it-”
Kaveh whipped to face Al-Haitham. “But you shouldn’t! That’s what I was trying to say while you were busy haranguing me. People don’t need people, but they might as well. Maybe not all the time, but- close companionship especially.”
Al-Haitham nodded. “If you listened a little longer, you would have realized already that I do not entirely disagree.”
“Because I’ve been right all along.”
Al-Haitham smiled. “Just a little longer, senior?”
“Because I’m right?”
“You’ll never know if-”
Kaveh huffed. “Fine. Finish it.”
“I truly needed a caregiver, of course, as children do, but I benefited from more effective emotional regulation and stress responses long past the time it was truly needed. That time with Bibi, to me, is the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.”
Kaveh nodded. “Mm.”
“For some time I was alone. It was unremarkable. Without Bibi, there was no one, and that was simply the way of it. Then we met, and you became-”
“Your closest and dearest friend in the world ever?”
Al-Haitham nodded, unabashed. “Yes. My life was better with you in it. Everything was better. And before, when your mother…”
“Abandoned me? Yes, I leaned on people. My friends.”
“To me, you were the difference between solitude and companionship. I struggle to make the kind of emotional bonds other people do, that you do. It’s easier now, with the traveler’s introductions, admittedly, but no one is you.”
Kaveh hummed. “I never really thought about it. But yes, after our fight, until my life fell apart, I did have good friends. I wasn’t lonely. Just a fool.” Al-Haitham squeezed his hand, and Kaveh smiled. “I still do, and even more if I count the ones who don’t know my little secret.”
“You understand, that for many years you defined companionship to me. People may not need each other, but they can improve life considerably. I lost you, and I thought, well, I had my chance for love, and now he is gone.”
“Haithoomi, you can’t just say things like that.” Kaveh hugged Al-Haitham roughly, squeezing as hard as he could. Al-Haitham patted his back and stabilized Kaveh on his chest.
“Why should I lie? You always have and always will be my only lover.” Kaveh knew his face was horribly red, so he just buried it into Al-Haitham’s shoulder.
Kaveh looked at their joined hands. “You- you know, though. That you’re just as important to me.”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Later that night, when Kaveh was fresh from the shower and returned to their bed, he took his place next to Al-Haitham greedily.
Al-Haitham abandoned his book and turned to face Kaveh. “Do you know what I said to you, ya ruhi, that first night with you in my bed again, for the first time in so many years?”
Kaveh laughed. “Of course not. I was drunk. And asleep.”
“I quoted something I read in our student days, back when you’d go out to parties and crash into my room at all hours of the night.”
Kaveh raised his eyebrows. “Out loud?”
Al-Haitham nodded. “Out loud.”
Kaveh laughed. “I’m sorry, are you not just a lover of poetry, but also a reciter of verse?
Incredibly, Al-Haitham nodded again. “Bibi was a devout woman. Qira’at made her happy, and the memorization was simple enough. I became a qari out of curiosity, and it was one of many things that brought me to Haravatat.”
“It makes sense, but only you would say hifz is simple.”
“Children have remarkably plastic memories.”
Kaveh scoffed. “Of course, says the grade-schooler at the madrasa. Not at all unusual.” Al-Haitham let out a small laugh, and Kaveh continued. “You’re the farthest thing from devout, anyway. Do you even remember it?”
Al-Haitham nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately, it is among the rules I agreed to. A hafiz must not forget.”
“I can’t imagine you care about that.”
Al-Haitham nodded. “True. Honoring Bibi, however, matters immensely. She would care, so I care for her sake.”
“That’s very sweet. Now tell me what you said, already.”
Al-Haitham’s tone softened, and he pulled Kaveh closer. “I looked down at you, that first night, after I’d listened to your woes and given you a safe place to rest, and I remembered a verse I'd read years ago.”
“Yes, you’ve said. Are you going to tell me, or are you going to keep repeating yourself until the heat death of the universe?”
Al-Haitham ignored Kaveh and pulled a book from the stack beside their bed. “When I read it for the first time, it made me think of you, and only you. I knew even then that you were the only person I could ever speak lovers’ words to.” He flipped to a worn page, soft with years of revisiting. Kaveh read.
Last night you left me and slept
your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn and turn. I say
Al-Haitham read along with the poem now, his voice low, murmuring into Kaveh’s nape. He spoke more slowly than Kaveh read, but Kaveh magnanimously took no offense.
۞ "'You and I will be together
till the universe dissolves.'"
Al-Haitham finished the words softly and ticklishly, and Kaveh squirmed, but Al-Haitham held him firm. Kaveh read on.
You mumble back things you thought of
when you were drunk.
Kaveh laughed. “A bit on the nose.” He felt so warm inside that couldn’t think of anything else to say. His chest felt too full to speak.
Al-Haitham spoke dryly into Kaveh’s hair. “I apologize if the quotations that ran through my adolescent mind each night you slept beside me were insufficiently sophisticated, senior.”
“Shut up.” Kaveh yawned and glared at Al-Haitham.
“Would you prefer that I seek peer review? Do you think Madam Faruzan would be suitable? Perhaps I could ask Miss Layla.”
Kaveh launched himself into Al-Haitham’s lap, holding Al-Haitham’s face tightly, and kissed him. “No one else ever gets to know you like this.”
Al-Haitham looked up at him, smug, and held Kaveh’s waist. “Behold, The Light of Ksharewar, possessive as any mere mortal.”
Kaveh gestured his agreement. “You want me to be selfish, don’t you?”
“Wanting your lover to yourself is hardly selfish, habibi. Take more.”
“Kaveh grinned, then yawned. “Watch me.”
Al-Haitham smiled smugly. “I will.”
“Good.” Kaveh yawned again, and Al-Haitham turned out the lamp and let Kaveh nestle into his place beside him.
Having bared enough vulnerability for months, neither of them sought out another opportunity for anything especially romantic until alcohol intervened. It was a quiet evening, as they drank on the divan and took in the sunset. Kaveh felt pleasantly tipsy, and Al-Haitham smiled in his secretive way.
Al-Haitham took a long drink from Kaveh’s cup, then sighed. “Drinking with you, senior, I’m twice as drunk.” He looked to Kaveh for a reaction.
Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that’s supposed to be romantic?”
Al-Haitham, slurring slightly, responded casually. “I get drunk on your wine and drunk on your eyes.”
Kaveh gagged performatively. “Both confusing and meaningless. I have to applaud your efforts.”
“Another verse my senior doesn’t know?” Al-Haitham raised his eyebrows and laughed, procuring a volume of khamriyyat from somewhere or other and spreading it on the table. Kaveh laughed.
۞ The wine is a ruby, the glass is a pearl,
served by the hand of a slim-fingered girl,
Who serves you the wine from her hand, and wine
from her eye — doubly drunk, for sure, will you be!
“I appreciate your reference now. Hail Al-Haitham, poet laureate of Sumeru. Why do you drink my wine instead of your own?”
“I am a jealous man. I want to ensure the world knows you are my winebearer alone.”
“What, do you own me?”
“Would you let me? Grant me this one thing, senior. Be my cupbearer. You know I don’t care about the wine.”
“Look at you, being all possessive. Hot.”
Al-Haitham smiled indulgently. “You already own all I am, ya fo’aadi. My life has been yours from the day we met.”
“You’re so dramatic. Fine. you own me. I’m your personal saqi. I’ll entertain you and all your guests and your lovely harem.”
Al-Haitham glared. “I don't want guests. Much less a harem. Surely that’s obvious.”
Kaveh laughed. “Good, because we do not have space for that.” He looked into Al-Haitham’s eyes, searching. “Really, though, beauty is beauty. Don’t you want more? Aren’t you tempted?” Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham skeptically. “I won’t be angry with you.”
Al-Haitham remained firm. “No. I am certain.”
“How can you just be content? There’s always more beauty to be found.”
“I have seen you. Everything else pales.”
Kaveh gagged, but Al-Haitahm made no retraction. “You’re disgusting. Can’t you appreciate beauty? Art?”
“You aren’t a work of art, Kaveh.”
Kaveh glared, and Al-Haitham looked to him for permission to go on. Kaveh nodded.
“You’re alive. That is worth infinitely more than any art in the world, Kaveh.”
Kaveh let out a small puff of laughter. “That’s sweet, uncharacteristically so, but my art will outlive me.”
Al-Haitham ignored him entirely. “What matters is what happens to you, not about you or by you.”
Kaveh looked at him, puzzled. “But what is life without art?”
“I never said without art. I may not appreciate the visual arts, but I understand poetry, senior.” He winked. “It’s just words.”
Kaveh exploded. “Just words! That’s exactly the attitude that makes me question if you can even comprehend beauty!”
“But I do, senior. Don’t you see that? Maybe I don’t see it the way you do - but that is not the end of beauty. I know it.”
“Al-Haitham, it’s alright to just not have very good taste. I still love you, you know-”
Al-Haitham spoke over him, ignoring any argument Kaveh had. “I die of love for him, perfect in every way.” He spoke stiffly and uncomfortably.
Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham, utterly stunned,
Painfully embarrassed, Al-Haitham repeated himself, melodic like a spoken song.
“I die of love for him, perfect in every way.”
Al-Haitham stopped, his face flushed dark with shame. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a sharp breath and collected himself, then went on. His voice was musical, yet he grimaced all the while.
“Lost in the strains of wafting music.
My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body
And I do not wonder at his beauty.
His waist is a sapling, his face a moon,
And loveliness rolls off his rosy cheek.”
He took Kaveh’s hand, looking away awkwardly as he went on. Still, he finished, songlike. He spoke as beautifully as he looked miserable. Kaveh found it desperately charming.
“I die of love for you, but keep this secret:
The tie that binds us is an unbreakable rope.
How much time did your creation take, O angel?
So what! All I want is to sing your praises.”
Al-Haitham stopped short and went silent, completely avoiding eye contact. He took several sharp breaths and grimaced. “There’s a reason I just hand you books. I don’t-”
“Oh, Haithoomi.” Kaveh took Al-Haitham’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
Still avoiding eye contact, Al-Haitham went on. “Senior, do you understand my field insofar as the literal in comparison to the metaphorical?”
Kaveh laughed. “I may not be a Haravatat, but I’m not an idiot, no.”
“There is a parallel concept. A theory of love. The mystics believe that the only love you can have for another human is metaphorical, ishq-e-majazi, because we are imperfect, like any creation.”
Kaveh nodded for Al-Haitham to go on. “So?”
“Literal love, ishq-e-haqiqi, however, is for what is perfect. Divine.” Alh-Haitham paused. “But you know I have no reverence in me.”
Kaveh squinted. “You’re losing me.”
Al-Haitham looked at his hands and fidgeted. “I can tell you I love you the way everyone else does, couched in metaphor. I can consult the poets and let them voice my love, if that’s what you want from me.”
Knowing Al-Haitham’s patterns, Kaveh gestured for him to go on. “But?”
Al-Haitham looked fixedly at the ground. “All I want is to love you literally, without any pretense or misdirection. That is what comes naturally to me.”
Kaveh sputtered. “You’re-. But, I’m not-”
Al-Haitham, still blushing, looked at Kaveh’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don't care. You are perfect to me. I love you like nothing else.”
Kaveh just stared at him, eyes wide. “Haithoomi.”
Al-Haitham slumped and sighed. “I need to lie down alone with my headphones now.”
“Too much…” Kaveh gestured as to indicate the everything of emotional disclosure.
Al-Haitham nodded. “Yes. I did not plan this. Goodnight, senior.” Al-Haitham wearily padded down the hall, stumbling along the way. Kaveh giggled, courtesy of the wine.
Kaveh pondered it. The sight of Al-Haitham, overcome with emotion, was not something he often had the chance to see.
When Kaveh finally came to bed, he feared that, still overwhelmed, this would be a night spent apart, even if only a few feet. Al-Haitham took Kaveh into his arms, assuaging that fear soundly. He whispered into Kaveh’s hair. “I have one last quote for you, senior”
Kaveh curled back tighter into Al-Haitham’s chest, and let Al-Haitham close his arms around him. “Mmm, what a dutiful junior I have.”
“Even you know this line.”
“Haitham, I’m tired.”
Al-Haitham whispered, breath warm.
“The beauty you see in me is a reflection of you.”
Drowsy, Kaveh hummed. “I think I actually do know that one.”
“I am your mirror, senior.”
Kaveh smiled. “That’s self-evident. You don’t need to cite anyone.”
“It’s good scholarly practice.”
“You’re really cute when you try to pretend you’re motivated purely academically.”
“Fine. Stated plainly, I love you consumingly and utterly, senior.”
Kaveh reveled in it, grinning. “I know.”
Al-Haitham squeezed Kaveh tighter. “Good.”
“I love you.”
“Sleep.”
“Stone cold, Haitham.”
“It is established that we love each other. It is not established that you are going to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. Sleep.”
“Fine.”