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It is very difficult for Kaveh to get out of bed in the morning. And, like most things in his life, it is all Alhaitham’s fault.
Alhaitham can be a very hard man to live with. He is blunt, caring nothing for anyone else’s feelings, only interested in the facts and logic of the topic discussed. He cares not a bit for the visual appeal of his surroundings, so long as they are functional. Alhaitham sees no point in wasting time with making the bed or picking up his books, saying “they will just end up in the exact same state the next time they are used, Kaveh” in a droll, bored voice every time the topic is broached.
The man is also not expressive about his feelings. Getting a smile to form on Alhaitham’s face is equivalent to suddenly finding an entire bag of mora hiding under the couch. A frown, on the other hand, is the sign the Scribe has found your argument, comportment, or general existence to be lacking in some manner, and the gears of his brain have set into motion to determine the most efficient manner in which to deal with you.
And if the frown is accompanied by a cold glare that burns like the ice on Mondstadt’s Dragonspine? It portents a storm brewing that, when unleashed, will rain down a fiery hell on whoever earned his wrath. (Kaveh, having been on the receiving end of Alhaitham’s fury on only one very memorable occasion, makes a point to avoid the escalation of a frown at all costs.) The man is difficult to rile, but impossible to contain once the fastenings on his temper have been loosened. Like a sandstorm, Alhaitham’s temper must blow itself out — with words or fists as the needs must.
Alhaitham does have a sense of humor, but his outlook on life is serious. He is committed to himself, the betterment of both his mind and body, and to his work. Though he will put in not a minute more on the job than the day requires, the tasks of his employment are always completed in a perfunctory manner. There is a steadfastness encapsulated into every cell of the man’s body.
Even sex is taken seriously, often hard and rough, with a single-minded focus to bring Kaveh to the heights of pleasure — and Kaveh certainly has no complaints about that. But as a rule things like gentleness and romance are concepts as foreign to Alhaitham as if they exist on a completely different planet, expressed in one of the only languages he seems unable to grasp.
But in sleep, Alhaitham is soft.
All the tension of the day, the things at work that he pretends not to care about — that is normally held in the stiffness of his shoulders and back, the tightness of his jaw, the barely-discernible-if-you-don’t-know-where-to-look-for-it furrow of his right brow — it all melts out of him overnight. The bottle of solemnity uncorked and tipped over, until not a drop of it is left. There’s a softness to his face and the curves of his biceps. His spine, always held straight and firm when awake, relaxes and bends like a tranquil river.
But all of that doesn’t explain the real reason Kaveh can’t pull himself from bed in the morning.
The actual reason is one most people who’ve met Alhaitham would never, ever suspect. Because the truth is that Alhaitham is secretly…
A snuggler.
The man is far from an expressively affectionate person in his waking state. He’s not one for touch unless he wants it, and usually there’s a purpose driving his choice. He will wrap an arm around Kaveh’s waist to assist him in walking home from the tavern when he’s had too many drinks, or even pick him up and carry him in his arms if he finds the process of Kaveh’s stumbling to be too inefficient. He will occasionally let Kaveh lounge against him as they both read, and often Alhaitham’s free hand will find its way to the blond strands of Kaveh’s hair. His fingers will play with it idly, like an outlet for whatever fidgeting he won’t allow the rest of his body to partake in.
Unlike Kaveh, who will drape himself over Alhaitham’s strong shoulders while talking to their friends or take hold of his hand to lead him around the market, Alhaitham rarely reaches out for affectionate touch. Only when the mood strikes, which usually involves pulling Kaveh toward the bed or another flat surface.
In sleep, the logic of Alhaitham’s brain shuts down. Whatever internal impulses that cause him to avoid physical interaction when he is fully cognizant seem to abandon him at rest, leaving his body free to the whims of his unconsciousness.
Whatever disagreements Kaveh may have with his beloved roommate during their waking hours, however angry he may be at the obstinacy of his junior, it is simply not possible for his heart to hold a grudge for long.
For in sleep, Alhaitham wraps around Kaveh like he never wants to let go.
As if his unconscious self is an alter ego, the man who resists physical contact will shift over to wrap an arm around Kaveh the moment he slips into bed when staying up too late working on projects. He presses his chest to Kaveh’s back, molding their bodies together as closely as possible regardless of the heat of the season.
Some days, Kaveh wakes to the sensation of soft hair against his chest, with Alhaitham’s head tucked under his chin and face pressed against his neck like a young child seeking comfort. Like this, he can hold his partner in a way he would never allow otherwise: gently, like a precious gift he can cradle against his heart. It is Kaveh’s favorite way to wake up — unless Alhaitham is drooling on him.
That bad habit resulted in waking to too many damp shirts, until Kaveh finally gave up trying to sleep in one at all.
And he’s convinced that, somehow, Alhaitham managed it on purpose. Now, his hands tend to sweep all over Kaveh’s bare body during his sleep, like a blind man memorizing the shape of things. Or just an inherent desire to keep constant contact with Kaveh throughout hours he’s unable to keep track of him with those sharp, intense eyes.
It is nearly more affection than Kaveh knows what to do with. Sometimes he stays awake just to revel in the feeling, to bask in the warmth of attachment that Alhaitham can’t project when his body is vertical and his brain fully functioning. The fact is, when stripped down to his most basic, the thing that Alhaitham’s soul wants most is to have Kaveh close. After years together, the theory has been proven, and none of Alhaitham’s arguments about the chill in the room or Kaveh’s alleged blanket stealing can convince Kaveh’s heart otherwise.
He may or may not be the greatest architect of Sumeru’s modern age, but Kaveh knows one thing for sure. He is loved.
Alhaitham has unknowingly convinced him more in sleep than any words in any of the ridiculous number of his fluent languages ever could.
Which is why, on a Saturday — when Alhaitham has meticulously trained his brain to allow for an extra hour and a half of sleep — Kaveh finds himself stuck in bed. He was supposed to meet Nilou to help out with sets for the troupe’s newest production, since the staff and volunteers had fallen behind schedule and were in desperate need of an extra set of artistically skilled hands.
But instead of jumping out of bed the moment he’d awaken, Kaveh had taken a moment to savor the view next to him. The handsome man, perfectly at ease in his sleep, soft grey hair tousled up and away from his face so the delicate morning light lit up all the edges. The sight of Alhaitham like this was only for Kaveh to enjoy, and it would be wrong of him not to appreciate it on behalf of all the jealous souls who couldn’t.
(When Kaveh had realized that the Amanuensis Enthusiast Drinking Club, which met regularly at Lambad’s Tavern, was not a group of people who enjoyed the written word but instead an organization formed out of literal thirst for the city’s Scribe, he nearly passed out from the combination of shock and glee.)
Unfortunately, the extra few minutes in bed have been his undoing. For the moment Kaveh squirms slightly to get up, the arm draped over his waist tightens into a vice, with a large hand splayed across his back and Alhaitham’s face using his torso as a pillow. After twenty minutes of trying to gently extricate himself without waking his partner and incurring his wrath, he has only ended up in an even tighter grip, with the addition of a long leg wrapped around one of his own.
Glancing out the window at the brightness of the sun, Kaveh realizes that desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Let me go, you big oaf!” He says loudly, smacking at the arm that has him pinned to the bed. “You’re worse than a monster from the depths of Fontaine! Did you grow extra limbs in your sleep?”
Alhaitham stirs, grumbles like a waking cat escaping from deep in his throat. “What are you yelling about? It’s too early for this much noise.”
His voice is coarse from sleep, raspy and even deeper than normal. The leg wrapped around him like an octopus flexes but doesn’t let go. The movement only pulls their bodies even closer, causing reactions from both parties, which Alhaitham is quick to notice. His mouth finds Kaveh’s collarbone, licking and teasing and clearly now very awake.
“Haitham,” Kaveh says, hearing the slightly encouraging whine in his voice that he will swear on his life is not there. “I’m supposed to meet Nilou!”
“She’ll wait,” Alhaitham quips, his hands and lips roaming across Kaveh’s skin.
“Haitham!” Kaveh tries to argue while also trying to breath.
“We both know your time spent here will be much more enjoyable than providing free labor for the theater,” Alhaitham purrs. His hand glides down the length of Kaveh’s back, a gentle caress at the small of his back that travels along the swell of his ass where the hand finally takes a very firm hold.
Well. Kaveh doesn’t possess the willpower to get out of bed now.
And of course, as usual, Alhaitham is to blame.