Alhaitham learns that he's considerably touch-starved.

--

The first time that Kaveh hugs Alhaitham, he is drunk.

"Please come get him," asks Cyno in that stern way of his that leaves no wiggle-room. "Usually, he is fine, but tonight there are just too many eyes on him. I'd prefer if he made it home safely."

Alhaitham has a lot of preferences as well—Kaveh finding his own place, for starters. Kaveh staying home to drink instead of doing it out on the town. "It's the people," he always says. "Not that I'd expect a lout like you to understand. Your only friends are books."

Still. He finds himself at Puspa Cafe per Cyno's request because for all of his annoyance, Alhaitham wants Kaveh to make it back safely as well. As the man who temporarily houses him, he feels a smidge of responsibility.

"There you are—"

"Haaaaitham." Kaveh drapes himself against Alhaitham's side dramatically. "Fancy seeing you here."

Alhaitham is too tired to push him off, so he stands there a little like an awkward fish, Cyno and Tighnari eyeballing him warily. "Right," he says flatly. "Fancy that. It's almost as if you're drunk enough for others to worry."

Kaveh blinks and pulls back. "You were worried? Haitham." He utters his name softly like it's a secret just for the two of them.

"They are." Alhaitham jerks a hand to their friends in lieu of an outright answer.

"I'm—" Kaveh staggers then, unsteady on his feet even when standing in one place. He catches himself against Alhaitham. "'M fine."

"You are not." Alhaitham doesn't intend to sound so tart but it's the stock response when it comes to Kaveh. Forever Infuriating, even when Alhaitham isn't even there. "Kaveh, you can barely stand."

Kaveh hugs him tightly then, arms circling around Alhaitham's midsection to anchor himself. His face is pressed into Alhaitham's neck, breath warm and hot as it ghosts the skin there. Cyno's brows rise to his hairline and Tighnari's head cocks to the side. Alhaitham just sighs as he tries to untangle himself with little success.

"Kaveh—"

"'M fine," he repeats. "See? Told you. I don't need—" Kaveh's legs wobble enough that Alhaitham has to steady him with a hand against the small of his back. "Okay, I need some..." His mumbling trails off, thoughts lost in his drunken haze.

Alhaitham's gaze tips to Cyno. "I see what you mean. What happened?" Because even though Kaveh imbibes, it isn't to this point, typically.

Cyno heaves a sigh. "He was up for a contract but they went with another designer, so..." He waves vaguely at the end result, which is Kaveh loose-limbed and inebriated to the point that Alhaitham thinks he might not remember this in the morning.

"Right."

There are times when Alhaitham regrets letting Kaveh play roommate. He has lost his quiet solitude. He has to share the laundry, often finding Kaveh's things slipped in with his own. They argue over food and the tight space in the kitchen, and he's forced to endure Kaveh's constant tittering as he flits about Alhaitham's home.

Nights like this are the worst, probably. Alhaitham would rather Kaveh just drink at the house because at least then he'll pass out in the bed, safe. Not that he approves of his imbibing, but if it is to be a thing, he'd rather not be roused in the middle of the night to walk him home.

But if Alhaitham doesn't—

"Hey, thanks for this," says Cyno unexpectedly. "I know that you and I have our... Point is, Kaveh's friendship is something that we share."

"He and I are not friends," replies Alhaitham. And they aren't, even if he's the one who came out here to make sure that he's okay, or that he's holding Kaveh up, or that he hasn't removed his hand from the small of Kaveh's back. Cyno's expression melts into something rueful which Alhaitham dutifully ignores as he guides Kaveh to the door.

"Haitham—"

"Idiot." Alhaitham says it quietly enough for only Kaveh to hear.

"Do you even care?" Kaveh snorts and trips over a chair leg. "Wait, wait—you do!" Kaveh laughs then, the sound bitter enough to make Alhaitham consider dropping him against the floor.

But he doesn't. We are not friends, he thinks, but says instead, "Of course, I care." The discord of his thoughts is always contradictory. He says one thing and thinks another.

Kaveh stills at that, his face scrunched. Then, he leans forward and clings to Alhaitham again, smelling like booze and sweat. "You're infuriating, you know," he mutters near Alhaitham's ears, the alcohol in his veins spurring him into foolish nonsense.

Alhaitham is glad he will not remember this in the morning.

#

The second time that Kaveh hugs him, he is also drunk.

This time he nurses an entire bottle of wine in Alhaitham's home but instead of passing out in his own bed, he crawls into Alhaitham's instead.

He jolts awake at the mattress dipping underneath an expected weight. Kaveh paws at the blankets tiredly and for a moment, Alhaitham thinks that he's just made a mistake in his drunken haze.

It becomes apparent that it is intentional. "Haitham," murmurs Kaveh as he presses close, plastering himself awkwardly against Alhaitham's side. "You're warm. Fuck, you're warm. Smell good too. You always—" He inhales against Alhaitham's nape. "Mhmn."

Alhaitham lays there stock still. Confused. Oh, he shouldn't enjoy this. But even he can't deny that Kaveh's body is a welcome weight against his and that he looks divine, hair spread out against a spare pillow. He wonders just how many times he's had this dream.

Kaveh too, apparently. He hums softly, lost in whatever haze he's found himself in. A hand wanders down Alhaitham's side, fingertips ghosting the skin there until they find his waist. Kaveh pulls him close, chest-to-chest, legs tangled together.

He's drunk, Alhaitham tells himself. He will not remember this.

Kaveh will wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and snap at Alhaitham when he brews the coffee too long. He'll spend the entire day irritable as he fails to work, fingers jittery as he tries to muster through his hangover.

He should take him back to his room, but Kaveh is too tempting, smelling like wine and whatever soap he washes his hair with. Orange Blossoms and tea. That Silk Flower lotion he thinks he pays for, but really, Alhaitham covers it because Kaveh's fingers are cracked around the cuticles.

Alhaitham is quiet in the way that he pines because relationships are too much work and he wouldn't know where to begin. He and Kaveh are too different, opposite sides of a Mora piece that'll never see eye to eye.

He did not realize that, perhaps, Kaveh craved him in a similar way.

"Kaveh—"

"I'm lonely." Kaveh's voice is quiet and vulnerable. He would never say something like this sober. "With Mother in Fontaine, and you—" He stops abruptly. "In this house, I feel lonely, even though you are here. I don't want to feel that way, I want—"

Alhaitham doesn't know exactly what he wants because Kaveh doesn't finish the thought, he just hums again, fingers digging into the small of Alhaitham's back as he hugs him.

This is one of those moments where words aren't needed. Kaveh is a needy thing as he clings to him. His hand slips just underneath Alhaitham's shirt, palm flat against his skin.

Alhaitham thought himself a solitary man until Kaveh moved into not just his home, but his heart as well. His chest burns. His heart flips upside down and not just because of the pining.

He combs his fingers through Kaveh's hair, brushing sweat-damp bangs back. Kaveh dozes, not quite asleep, not quite conscious, that strange in-between when the booze pulls you into a lull. Alhaitham didn't know that he needed this too, just the comfort of another person pressed close enough to drown in their scent.

So, he lets Kaveh stay.

#

Alhaitham has never considered himself a tactile creature but things change after the night Kaveh sneaks into his bed.

Suddenly, his touches are lingering, ghostly things he finds himself indulging in when Alhaitham thinks that Kaveh won't notice. Knuckles brushing when Kaveh hands him a coffee mug; brushing Kaveh's hair from his shoulder under the guise of knocking away dust; a hand against Kaveh's side as Alhaitham skirts around him in the kitchen.

Kaveh doesn't seem to notice. He goes on about his day as usual with nothing but snarky responses and a generally displeased demeanor. Alhaitham has learned to like these bits of him because it means that Kaveh at least feels something, and if he's feeling something, he's less likely to drink.

But, if he doesn't drink, he isn't so touchy-feely. At first, Kaveh's weight against him was unwanted, but now, Alhaitham misses it, dreaming of it as he lays in his bed and stares at the wall. He isn't touch-starved, a mantra that Alhaitham tries to trick himself with, but the days pass, and his touches linger longer because he misses Kaveh's fingers digging into his skin.

This is bad. This is bad, this is bad, this is bad.

Alhaitham is so distracted that his coffee mug is still half-full and tepid, and his book has gone unread, his entire focus on Kaveh who wanders about the kitchen in a sleepy daze.

Oh, he itches to touch. Something simple, just a hand that drags across the length of Kaveh's shoulder as he reaches around him. Or maybe both palms boxing Kaveh's hips to guide him to the side.

Kaveh pours himself a mug of coffee, takes a sip, and sneers with a grunt. "Sludge," he says, shooting an accusatory glance at Alhaitham. "For a man as picky as you I'm surprised that you manage to choke this down."

"You complain every morning and still... choke it down."

Kaveh grunts again but will drink the entire cup, as he always does. "You've gone to the trouble of making it."

Oh. Alhaitham blinks. "Kaveh—"

"Do shut up. It's too early to fight with you." Kaveh crosses the room with the coffee press in hand. "Refill?" he asks, as if he hadn't just insulted Alhaitham to his face.

Always bicker and banter, push and pull—but Alhaitham's now learned that opposites attract. "Yes," he says.

When Kaveh tops his mug off, Alhaitham reaches out before he can stop himself, grasping him by the wrist. Kaveh jerks slightly, but doesn't pull away, leaving them awkwardly waffling as they both wait to see what the other does. "Um—"

"Thank you," says Alhaitham quietly.

Kaveh looks absolutely flabbergasted. Alhaitham lets him go and Kaveh turns away, rubbing at his wrist like the touch burns him. "You're an insufferable bastard, you know," he says finally. "But, even you deserve a little kindness, I guess. Consider it part of the rent, I guess."

Right. That would be easier, wouldn't it?

Later that night, when Kaveh tumbles back into their home loose-limbed and loose-lipped, Alhaitham holds him up and helps remove his shoes.

"I don't need help," snaps Kaveh.

"You should stop drinking."

"Pah! Once in a blue moon does no harm."

And it is once in a blue moon now. Kaveh's been going out less and less, but it doesn't change the fact that Alhaitham has become weirdly territorial. "Then drink here, at least. In our home."

"Your home," mutters Kaveh.

Alhaitham nearly has him to his bedroom when he pauses. "What?"

"Your home, not mine. The Gods know you remind me enough of that. Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair before you know it."

Anger wells in Alhaitham's chest. "This is your home. If it weren't I'd leave you outside, face-first in your own filth."

To his credit, Kaveh doesn't snap back. He leans forward, pressing his head into Alhaitham's chest, and says, very quietly, tiredly, "Haitham, that's a cruel thing to say."

"Kaveh, you're drunk. Let's get you to bed."

He does not fight Alhaitham when he's guided into his own room. Alhaitham helps him out of his day clothes and into his pajamas. Kaveh sits there, slack in his bed as Alhaitham combs his hair quickly before tying it back. Kaveh hums softly as he slips into the sheets, pulling the blanket to his chin.

"You won't remember this in the morning, but you are a fool to think that this is not your home and that I do not care for you."

Kaveh grabs Alhaitham's hand, pressing his cheek into the palm. "Warm," he murmurs, as he often does when he's like this.

Alhaitham sits in that damned chair by his bedside, cradling his face until Kaveh is asleep.

#

The next morning, Kaveh is considerably quieter than he usually is in the midst of a terrible hangover.

Alhaitham is dumping coffee grounds into the press when he skulks into the kitchen, rubbing at his face. "Kaveh," he says, pouring the kettle of boiling water over the grinds.

Kaveh forgoes grabbing his mug and marches right over to Alhaitham. Then he leans forward, his forehead falling right against Alhaitham's sternum. "Haitham, that was a cruel thing to say."

Alhaitham sets the kettle on the counter and thinks about the night before. "That I'd leave you outside? Kaveh—"

"That you care for me." The silence stretches as Kaveh just leans there.

He didn't think Kaveh would remember. And, oh, Alhaitham pines, fingers itching to pull him close and just bask in his warmth. He's starved for this; kind words and embrace, and maybe Kaveh is too.

"Idiot," says Alhaitham. "Come here."

Kaveh wraps his arms around Alhaitham's middle. A hug, a true one, not under the influence of alcohol only to be lost in a boozy haze. Alhaitham sighs, relaxing against him, one hand pressed into the small of Kaveh's back. The other rests against Kaveh's head, turning it until his cheek is settled there against his chest.

"What's this for?" Kaveh sounds exhausted.

"You need it," says Alhaitham. "A hug."

It's just as much for him as it is for Kaveh, but admitting that he craves something so simple isn't easy to say. Kaveh's arms wind tight around Alhaitham's waist, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, and Alhaitham finds himself tongue-tied.

Alhaitham is careless, tripping up in his usual, carefully placed intent. He holds Kaveh because he needs this too, starved for any shred of something that is just... more. They linger there, too long to be enemies, or roommates, or even friends—with this, something has shifted. A hug that is not a hug, but perhaps, a new beginning.

"Thank you," says Kaveh, his voice muffled by his shirt.

No more words are needed. They do not let go, they just sink into the feeling of each other lost in the moment. Fingers twist in fabric. Kaveh shudders against his chest as he tries not to sob his feelings out. Alhaitham's cheek rests against Kaveh's scalp, and he hopes that the beating of his heart isn't too loud.

Alhaitham doesn't know how long they stay there but when they part, the coffee is cold.

And Kaveh still drinks it, complaint and all.