Chapter 1 ,
The Sound of coffee and construction plans .
It started like most mornings: with the sound of Kaveh cursing at the kitchen counter.
“Who the hell puts paprika next to the cinnamon?!”
Alhaitham didn’t look up from his book. Seated on the living room couch, legs crossed and blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a dignified old man, he calmly turned a page. “You did. Last week. You said it looked ‘aesthetically balanced.’”
A sharp exhale followed, accompanied by the distinct clink of a spoon being thrown into the sink. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“Not my fault you can’t read labels at seven a.m.”
Kaveh trudged out of the kitchen, barefoot and dramatic as always, shirt sliding off one shoulder and golden hair a mess of curls he hadn’t bothered to tame yet. He held a mug of something suspiciously orange-brown. Alhaitham didn’t comment.
“I need to move out,” Kaveh muttered, collapsing onto the far end of the couch. He dragged the throw pillow onto his lap like it owed him rent.
“You’ve said that every day for three years. Yet, here you are.”
Kaveh narrowed his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Don’t you get tired of being smug?”
“Don’t you get tired of waking up late, drinking your mistakes, and blaming me for your life choices?”
Silence.
Then Kaveh snorted. “You’re such a bastard.”
“I prefer the term ‘logical individual.’”
The apartment was quiet for a while after that—just the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional rustle of pages from Alhaitham’s book. Kaveh had gone back to sipping his questionable drink, wincing slightly every few seconds.
He looked over at the other man. Alhaitham, infuriatingly composed, wore an oversized dark hoodie that swallowed half his body and made him look less like a genius scholar and more like someone who lost a fight with laundry day. His sharp eyes moved across the page, but he clearly wasn’t fully absorbed.
“I have a presentation today,” Kaveh said, suddenly softer.
Alhaitham glanced up. “Big one?”
Kaveh nodded. “Professor Armin’s seminar. They’re reviewing my housing complex draft. If it bombs, I might as well kiss this semester goodbye.”
There was a beat.
“You won’t bomb it,” Alhaitham said, tone flat but sure.
Kaveh blinked. “Wow. Encouragement? From you?”
“I live with you. I’ve seen you stress for weeks over that design. I’ve also watched you redline it until two in the morning while mumbling about skylight placements and natural airflow like a lunatic.”
Kaveh stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes.
Then: “Thanks.”
Alhaitham shrugged like it was nothing, but there was the faintest flicker of warmth behind his usual deadpan expression.
Kaveh stood up, stretched, and his shirt lifted just slightly—revealing the faint dip of his waist, lean and warm in the golden morning light.
Alhaitham noticed. Of course he did. He was observant, not blind.
“You should eat something that isn’t a kitchen accident,” Alhaitham muttered, returning his eyes to the book a second too late.
“You offering to make me breakfast?”
“Not unless you want toast with a side of disdain.”
Kaveh chuckled, genuinely. “Tempting.”
There was a pause, stretched just long enough to feel loaded.
Kaveh looked at him again. “You know, you could come to the seminar. They allow guests.”
Alhaitham didn’t answer right away.
Then: “I have a thesis review. Can’t skip it.”
Kaveh nodded, hiding his disappointment behind a sarcastic drawl. “Right. Priorities.”
He turned to leave, but Alhaitham spoke before he reached the hallway.
“Break a leg.”
Kaveh stopped. His back was to the living room, but Alhaitham could see his shoulders relax just slightly.
“I’ll try not to,” Kaveh said. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”
Alhaitham didn’t reply. The door shut a moment later, and the apartment was quiet again.
But for some reason, the silence didn’t feel quite as peaceful.
(Time jump 😓)
It was nearly 9 PM when the apartment door creaked open again.
Alhaitham didn’t look up immediately—he was seated at his desk now, glasses perched low on his nose, reading something dense with too many footnotes. But the sound of soaked shoes hitting tile and a soft, muttered curse under someone’s breath pulled his attention away.
Kaveh stood in the entryway, drenched. His hair clung to his face, droplets slipping from his bangs to the tip of his nose. His once-crisp white shirt had gone translucent and stuck to his skin, revealing the outline of his undershirt and the dip of his collarbones.
“You’re dripping on the hardwood,” Alhaitham said evenly.
“I’m dripping with victory,” Kaveh replied, kicking off his soaked shoes. “Also rain. Mostly rain.”
“Didn’t bring an umbrella?”
“I did,” Kaveh huffed, “but someone—not naming names—moved it to the coat closet where I never look.”
“Where umbrellas go. Revolutionary concept.”
Kaveh grumbled but didn’t press it. Instead, he peeled off his damp outer shirt and tossed it into the laundry bin like he lived here for free—which he did, sort of. Alhaitham tracked a droplet sliding down the side of Kaveh’s neck and quickly looked away.
“So? The presentation?” he asked, more casually than he felt.
Kaveh finally cracked a smile. The real kind, the one that touched his eyes. “They loved it. Armin said my use of sustainable materials made the entire design feel ‘ethically rooted and aesthetically modern.’” He threw his arms up dramatically, spinning once despite the wet squelch of his socks. “I’m officially not a failure!”
Alhaitham allowed himself a very small smile. “Congratulations.”
“I know. I’m incredible.” Kaveh moved toward the kitchen and rummaged for a towel, then slung it over his head. His voice came muffled from under the cloth: “I almost messed up the opening line, though. My throat was dry, and I panicked.”
“You always panic. You still always pull through.”
That got him a pause. Kaveh slowly pulled the towel off, staring at him from across the counter.
“Was that… an actual compliment?”
Alhaitham didn’t blink. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” Kaveh said, grinning again. “I’m putting that shit on a plaque.”
He crossed over to the couch and sank down beside Alhaitham without asking. He never asked, and Alhaitham never minded. It had become their unspoken agreement: space, but not distance.
Kaveh leaned back, eyes fluttering closed, tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders. “God. My feet hurt. My soul hurts.”
“Do souls have nerve endings?”
“Yours doesn’t, probably. Mine’s just dramatic.”
They sat like that for a while—quiet, comfortably close. Kaveh’s hair was starting to dry in soft, uneven waves. The scent of rain still clung to him, earthy and oddly comforting.
“You should shower before you get sick,” Alhaitham murmured, without looking at him.
“I will. In a minute.” Kaveh yawned, then rested his head lightly against Alhaitham’s shoulder. “You’re warm.”
Alhaitham froze.
Kaveh didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t care.
Alhaitham’s voice came lower this time. “You’re wet.”
“Thanks for noticing. You can push me off if you want.”
He didn’t. He should have. But he didn’t.
Instead, he let Kaveh stay there, damp hair brushing his neck, the heat of him slowly seeping in. He pretended to keep reading, though the words on the page blurred more with each heartbeat.
“…I’m proud of you,” Alhaitham said, barely louder than the rain outside.
Kaveh didn’t answer right away.
Then, softly: “That’s not fair, you saying that while I’m like this. I might fall in love with you or something.”
Alhaitham’s breath caught, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t tell if Kaveh was joking. Maybe even Kaveh didn’t know.
But he didn’t say anything to ruin it either.
Not tonight.
(I will add a pic of them at the end of each chapter)
