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He stumbles into Al-Haitham once the other slows them to a stop—reaching some predetermined destination that Kaveh neither has the sobriety, nor the capacity, to piece together anymore.
There’s the sound of shuffling next to him as Al-Haitham shifts in place. The hand on his waist keeps a firm grip on him like it's worried he’s going to fall. He’s got his head tucked into the crook of Al-Haitham’s neck and his eyes closed—having drifted in and out of consciousness for the better part of the walk from his old childhood home to who-knows-where.
Kaveh presses against the other, basking in his warmth like an animal starved of it.
He supposes it’s not too unfair to use Al-Haitham in this way. It has been years since they last stood so close. Practically a lifetime ago at this point.
He hears the tiny clink of keys jostling together. There’s a clicking sound of a lock unlocking, then the whine of an opening door. And then, they’re moving again, Kaveh bumping into Al-Haitham who merely grunts and holds him tighter—closer.
His head slumps. His nose drags across Al-Haitham’s scent gland and he finds himself breathing in deep. When they were younger, Al-Haitham had always smelled clean—like the pages of a newly pressed book or freshly washed laundry warm from the sun; Kaveh had always been partial to that scent back then.
There’s a sweet undertone to that freshness now—like a perfume lingering on the pages. It smells like a flower—like jasmine or Sumeru rose, oddly soothing in its subtlety. It unravels the tightness in his chest, burrows into his cracks, fills the crevices in him until he feels something close to whole again.
Kaveh shuffles closer—pressing his nose to the scent.
Al-Haitham stops.
He’s pushed away then, and Kaveh grips Al-Haitham's shirt tighter in retaliation. He feels the heat of Al-Haitham’s exasperated breath before the other bends down and carefully deposits him onto something cushy, adjusting his body until he’s comfortably lying down. His shoes are pulled off and a hand gently cradles his nape, slipping a pillow under his head with the utmost care.
Something is draped over him; something soft and warm, but more importantly, something that smells distinctly like Al-Haitham. Kaveh grips the fabric, scrunching it in his hands and pressing his face to it. This too carries that faint sweetness hiding underneath the clean scent Al-Haitham always had on him. It’s something new, something he doesn’t recognize.
Kaveh sighs and sinks deeper into the cushions.
“Kaveh?” he hears Al-Haitham murmur just over his head—quiet but firm in the way Al-Haitham always speaks that demands attention.
Kaveh grunts half-heartedly and snuffles, burrowing into the blanket.
There’s a pause—one that Kaveh fights sleep to stay awake for.
“Your keys are on the table.”
A door clicking shut is the last thing he hears.
“Live with me.”
“What?”
“Live with me. I have the space.”
“But—”
“It won’t be free. But it will be better than Lambad’s second floor. What other choice do you have, Kaveh?”
Sumeru roses.
Sumeru roses and freshly inked parchment. That’s what Al-Haitham smells like now, and it’s no longer the same beta scent from his Akademiya days that Kaveh grew up with anymore. No. This scent smells like Kaveh’s own.
This scent smells distinctly omega.
He plays with the dark green blanket still draped over him from last night, tugging at a loose thread. There’s a mug of black coffee on the table just the way he took it in the Akademiya and a gold key hanging from a key ring sitting right next to it—innocuous and glinting.
“Since when did you present as an omega?” he asks, halting.
“A little bit after our fight,” Al-Haitham says, taking a sip from his own mug. He mentions their fight so casually. Kaveh supposes he shouldn’t have expected less.
“Oh.”
Al-Haitham nods. They fall silent. Kaveh shifts in place—tugging harder at the loose thread, hands clenching and unclenching the blanket.
“Why am I here?”
“I offered and you agreed.”
“I know that.” He strangles the blanket. “I mean, why am I here? In your home? You’re an omega.”
“I know.”
“Al-Haitham. I’m an omega.”
“I know, Kaveh.”
“Shouldn’t you…? You shouldn’t—Al-Haitham, this is your home. Your nest. You shouldn’t be offering it so easily to people who aren’t your… your…” he waves his hand helplessly, gripping the blanket like he’s trying to choke it. It’s terrible, he thinks, how much this place smells like Al-Haitham.
It’s worse still that he loves the scent just as much as he did when he was younger—maybe even more so now.
“My mate?” Al-Haitham asks, raising a brow. “I’m not searching for one currently.”
“Why not?”
“I am happy where I am. I don’t find my life lacking without one.” Al-Haitham finishes his coffee and stands. “There’s a guest bedroom down the hall. You may use it. I expect rent to be paid every month, but I will waive the first few until you are back on your feet.”
He starts collecting his things. Kaveh’s lips twitch into a frown.
“Are you okay with this?” he asks, standing too. He drops the blanket on the divan only to tug at his pants instead.
“Why would I offer something I wasn’t okay with?” Al-Haitham asks, eyes narrowed. His scent shifts into something deep and bitter—something like annoyance.
“You’ve always been particular about things,” Kaveh says. “Especially things you own.”
“I was particular when I offered my place to you, Kaveh. You’ll notice I only offered it to you—not every drunkard sitting in Lambad’s Tavern,” Al-Haitham says curtly. He crosses his arms. “If this arrangement does not suit you, you are free to leave. It is no loss to me.”
Kaveh stills, hands scrunching his pants leg.
He averts his gaze when Al-Haitham lifts a singular brow.
Whether Kaveh wants to admit it or not, he knows he needs this. Badly. He would be a fool to turn the offer down for something as worthless as dignity. Clinging to pride or a false sense of bravado won’t pay the debt of his own making—definitely not like this.
But, that doesn’t mean that’s something he wants to admit. It doesn’t mean he wants to say he had been wrong, all those years ago.
Al-Haitham uncrosses his arms and sighs.
“I have a few errands to run today. You are free to explore the place if you’d like.” He gestures to the key on the table. The smell of inked paper turns sharp. It causes Kaveh’s nose to twitch. “That key is yours, by the way.”
Kaveh’s eyes flicker to the key.
He hesitates, then plucks it off the table, feeling the cool metal warm up in his hands. His gaze traces the engravings on the bow as he slips a finger through the keyring.
He looks up.
“I’ll cook tonight,” Kaveh says, quiet and faintly resigned. He grips the key tighter in his hand. “What do you want to eat?”
Al-Haitham exhales. The sharp smell disappears from the air.
“If I live here, this place will smell like me.”
“And?”
“I’m just… I’m just letting you know.”
“I know how scents work, Kaveh. I’ve dealt with them my whole life too. And I am familiar with your scent.”
“They’ll mix together. This place will smell like both of us.”
“I know, Kaveh. I don’t care.”
It takes a week for his instincts to settle into the new space, and even less for his scent to bleed into every corner of place—marking the home as something of his own. It’s almost embarrassing how easily it happens, how quickly he acclimates to calling Al-Haitham’s home safe.
He spends most of that first week cleaning—gathering his meager belongings and using what little mora he still has to buy his necessities. He restocks Al-Haitham’s sparse groceries and spice collection, reorganizes and reshelves the books Al-Haitham has lying around everywhere, mops the floor, wipes the counters, and dusts the whole house until he’s certain the place is spotless.
It does not make him feel much better about staying in Al-Haitham’s home. But, it does feel more fair. So he cleans, and he cooks, and he becomes the sole housekeeper of their shared living space.
By the end of the week, Al-Haitham’s home smells as if the two of them have always lived together, the scents mingling as easily as sugar dissolved in water. And, it’s nice, the way his coffee and padisarah scent dances around Al-Haitham’s inks and Sumeru roses.
He’s always found Al-Haitham’s scent soothing, though. He isn’t surprised some things about him never changed with Al-Haitham. What does surprise him is that Al-Haitham doesn’t find his scent aggravating either—especially in his home.
It’s a disposition he only has towards Kaveh’s scent.
“You smell weird.”
Kaveh glances up, brow raised.
“How so?”
Al-Haitham steps closer, sliding next to him in the divan. He sniffs once, and immediately, his brows furrow—lips twitching down.
“It’s not your scent. You smell like a beta.”
“I was working with a beta client today,” Kaveh offers, frowning.
“Did something happen?”
“What are you—nothing happened,” he says, miffed. “Nothing that you’re thinking of anyway. She was just excitable. Overeager.”
Al-Haitham frowns. He grabs that dark green blanket from Kaveh’s first night off the back of the divan and throws it at him, smacking him straight in the face.
Kaveh splutters. Their shared scents on the blanket slams his senses before the smell of Sumeru roses and parchment suddenly fills the air—thick and heavy like Al-Haitham’s trying to smother him every which way.
“Al-Haitham—!”
“Shower,” Al-Haitham says, sharp. “That beta’s scent is stinking up the place.”
Kaveh pulls the blanket off his face—catching sight of Al-Haitham’s disgruntled scowl before the other suddenly stands and slips out of their living room.
Kaveh stares after him—speechless.
Hesitantly, he brings his shirt to his nose and sniffs.
Whatever scent his beta client got on him has disappeared now. He can only smell Al-Haitham on his clothes and skin, so obviously an act of petulant possession.
Kaveh scoffs.
He stares at the blanket in his hands. Then, he drapes it over his shoulders, stands, and pads his way toward the bathroom.
“Childish,” he mutters.
“I’m running some errands in the Grand Bazaar. Do you need anything for dinner?”
“Yes, actually. We’re running out of saffron. And can you buy some cucumbers and eggs while you’re there too?”
“Anything else?”
“No. I have everything else.”
“In that case, I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t get into trouble.”
“That should be my line, Kaveh.”
“What are you on about?”
“You know what I mean.”
“What the—fine, asshole. I hope the aunties charge you double.”
“Fine. I have your rent money to cover the cost, after all.”
“Jerk.”
“Don’t you think it’s improper?” Kaveh asks, staring at Al-Haitham all bundled in their dark green blanket. It’s thoroughly doused in both their scents by now, and something clenches in Kaveh’s chest seeing Al-Haitham use it. “Living with me?”
Al-Haitham narrows his eyes.
The other had come home smelling like a pissed-off alpha today—his scent stinging Kaveh’s nose when it usually softened the air like a balm. He’d changed his clothes as soon as he could, then plucked their blanket off the divan, settled it over his shoulder, and rubbed against it like he was trying to rub the offending scent off.
There had already been bitter annoyance prickling in Al-Haitham’s scent, turning the clean parchment scent moldy and sharp. Now though, Al-Haitham’s scent is downright putrid.
“We’ve gone over this already,” he says, curt. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.”
“It’s important, Al-Haitham. You’ll want a mate eventually,” Kaveh insists. The words taste acrid on his tongue but it’s the truth regardless. “You’ll have a harder time finding one while I’m here. This is supposed to be your safe place to share with your mate.”
“Please reschedule this conversation, Kaveh. I’m not in the mood.”
“Al-Haitham—”
“I’m certain you can smell the alpha who tried to bully me into accepting his proposal, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham interrupts. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself—sinking into it until his nose is pressed against the material. “I don’t see why you think I’d let you bully me into something I don’t want to do either.”
Kaveh frowns.
“You can’t just avoid the conversation.”
“Kaveh, not now.”
“Then when, Al-Haitham?”
He releases an aggrieved sigh, eyes sharp and narrowed.
“Never,” he says, biting, “because it doesn’t matter. I’ve already found my mate.”
Kaveh freezes. His eyes widen to the size of saucers.
“Oh?” His voice pitches too high and cracks. Kaveh clears his throat. “Where are they then? Why aren’t they living with you?”
Al-Haitham levels him with a flat stare. He buries his nose deeper into the blanket. Kaveh stares back, fingers twisting in his hands. He watches the other burrow himself in the blanket laced with both their scents.
Oh.
“They haven’t responded to my advances,” Al-Haitham answers flatly. He shifts and turns his back to Kaveh.
Al-Haitham is still under the same green blanket when Kaveh goes to call him for dinner. His hands, though, are clenched around a familiar red cape rather than the sheet—face pressed against it like he’s trying to smother himself.
Kaveh stares at the filched fabric, eyeing the wrinkles forming under Al-Haitham’s tight grip. Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he could pry his cape from Al-Haitham’s hands without waking him. But, maybe that is the intent.
He pads closer, close enough that he can hear Al-Haitham’s even breathing—close enough that he can see the way every exhale sends strands of his hair fluttering.
The scent of that alpha is practically unnoticeable on him now with the way Al-Haitham’s buried under their shared scent. Even Al-Haitham’s own Sumeru roses are muddled with Kaveh’s cape pressed close to his chest like a safety blanket. He’s covered in Kaveh’s coffee and padisarah scent, and Kaveh wonders how it’s taken him so long to put two and two together.
He lowers himself to his knees, resting his arms on the divan and his chin on his hands—watching Al-Haitham breathe a steady beat. His lashes fan across his cheeks, forming little shadows underneath, and his lips are gently parted in his sleep.
When he isn’t frowning or donning a dead stare, Al-Haitham really is handsome in an untouchable way—the kind of way that makes Kaveh ache.
He raises a shaky hand, movements halting and hesitant, before combing his fingers through Al-Haitham’s bangs, trailing them down his cheek to cup his jawline. He lets his scent bleed in the air and watches Al-Haitham turn towards his hand—a quiet sigh leaving his lips.
Kaveh feels himself still.
Carefully, he brushes his wrist against Al-Haitham’s scent gland, and immediately pulls away. His cheeks burn hot—shame flooding his veins like lava.
What a shameless mark of possession.
“A mate, huh?” he mutters, feeling his gut twist. His scent is smothering the air now—equal parts anxious and pleased. It’s as messy as he feels right now. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
His hands curl into fists in his lap.
Next to him, Al-Haitham shifts. The other’s breathing deepens, and when he exhales, his whole body sags with it—relaxing further into the cushions.
Al-Haitham, predictably, does not answer.
“Hey… it’s dinner time.”
“… what?”
“You fell asleep.”
“… oh.”
“Yeah. Come on. I made ghormeh sabzi.”
Their home smells like Sumeru roses when he unlocks their door—the scent heavy in the air like one too many burning incense sticks. It prickles his nose with its saccharine sweetness—curling warmth in his chest and winding around him.
It smells like an omega in heat.
Kaveh closes the door and carefully turns the lock. He pours a glass of water from their kitchen and pads towards the bedrooms, stopping just outside Al-Haitham’s closed door.
He raps his knuckles twice and startles when the door swings open not a second later. Across the threshold, Al-Haitham stands with his hair messy like a bird’s nest and a thin sheen of sweat on his face. His cheeks are flushed a fever-red, but the rest of him is pale and dulled—and Kaveh can’t help but feel sympathetic.
“I brought water,” he says, holding out the glass. “Do you want any food? Or need anything?”
Al-Haitham blinks, slow and dazed. His hand drops from the handle of his door, only to clasp around Kaveh’s wrist and pull. Kaveh steps closer and feels Al-Haitham lean against him, nose dipped down into the curve of his neck and shoulder.
He freezes.
A rumbling hum echoes in Al-Haitham’s chest. He’s fever-hot next to Kaveh—his arm burning like a brand as it winds around his waist.
If he had any doubts about Al-Haitham’s cycle, the heat he’s emanating would’ve struck them all down.
He takes a shallow breath, forcing himself to relax.
“Hey.” His fingers rake hesitantly through Al-Haitham’s hair. Al-Haitham breathes a little sigh. “You need to drink water.”
He presses the glass against Al-Haitham’s temple and hears a breathy hum before the other lifts his head. He takes Kaveh’s wrist and pulls the hand with the glass toward his lips.
“You’re in heat, not invalid,” Kaveh snips, even while he slowly tips the glass up—Al-Haitham’s warmer hand wrapped around his. He drinks slow but his eyes never leave Kaveh’s—boring into him with startling intensity.
Kaveh takes a shaky breath—tasting the enticing scent of Sumeru roses on his tongue.
“Do you need pain medication?” he asks. “Or suppressants?”
“Already took them,” Al-Haitham says, voice rough and sleep-worn. He tugs on Kaveh’s wrist, the smell of Sumeru roses thickening with something like anticipation.
“What?”
He pulls harder, leading Kaveh deeper into his room. The curtains are drawn to only let a sliver of the evening sun through—keeping the rest of the room dark. Kaveh glances around aimlessly, eyes trailing toward the bed in the middle. He feels Al-Haitham’s grip tighten on him.
There’s a mess of pillows and blankets arranged into a nest atop the sheets, and Kaveh spots that dark green blanket of theirs in the middle—wrinkled like it had been tightly gripped. Some of his own things have been thrown in as well—capes and shirts and belts he’s recently worn. There’s enough of his things that if Kaveh were to parse through the air, he could smell his own scent there too—coffee and padisarahs cutting through the inky Sumeru roses.
They both stop in front of the nest.
“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh starts, his tone gently placed. “Are you… are you sure about this?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham mutters, his clean scent flaring in annoyance. “I’m not in the mood.”
He climbs into the nest, hand still clasped around Kaveh’s wrist. Kaveh sets the glass down, carefully keeping his distance.
“Al-Haitham,” he repeats again. He can smell his anxiety bleeding a faint bitterness into the padisarahs. Al-Haitham’s nose twitches, and he knows the other can smell it too. “You do know what this… you’re not just offering casually, are you—?”
“Of course not,” he says. His words are clipped. He sounds angry that Kaveh’s even implying such a thing.
Kaveh hesitates. His shoulders tense.
When he looks back to Al-Haitham again, the other’s expression softens.
“I don't need you to stay,” Al-Haitham says, quiet. His tone is laced with a gentleness Kaveh wouldn’t have expected mid-heat. The grip on his wrist loosens—the insistence in it all but gone. “You can leave.”
Kaveh stares. He feels his cheeks heating—the flush spreading across his face like he’s entering his own heat.
He bites the inside of his cheek and moves, climbing into the nest next to Al-Haitham. The sudden rush of sweet Sumeru roses makes his breath stutter, and he catches the flush on Al-Haitham’s cheeks darkening in tandem with the way his eyes widen.
“I’m not cruel enough to let you deal with your heat alone,” Kaveh says brusquely—hiding behind his words.
Al-Haitham’s lips twitch down.
“I don’t want your charity,” he says.
Kaveh blinks. He hesitates.
It’s fine to be selfish about this, he thinks, right?
“I’m not doing this out of charity.”
That makes Al-Haitham pause. And then, he’s latching himself onto Kaveh—pulling him down until they’re both lying in Al-Haitham’s nest. He stuffs his nose in the crook of Kaveh’s neck again, burying himself in Kaveh’s scent, and tucks himself close so they’re pressed chest to chest.
“Don’t regret this later,” he warns, hot breath ghosting across his scent gland. He’s so warm, it’s almost stifling, but Kaveh doesn’t think he’s ever smelled as lovely as he does right now—sweet and content. Happy.
“Okay,” Kaveh says. He scrunches up Al-Haitham’s sleep shirt in his hands—his grip tight enough that the mere idea of letting go is foreign.
“Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham breathes steadily. Kaveh leans back the slightest bit.
He’s curled up against his chest now and fast asleep—hands buried in the folds of his shirt. The whole room smells so much like the two of them. It makes Kaveh wish he could bottle this mix for all his rainy days.
Al-Haitham’s hands clench tighter around his shirt when he tries to move further back—brows furrowing and a soft mumble escaping his lips.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Kaveh shifts back, his arms tightening around Al-Haitham in apology. He noses the other’s hair—burying his face in the strands.
He feels Al-Haitham nuzzle against his neck, scenting him unconsciously.
Yours, Kaveh thinks, throat tightening.
He swallows roughly, fingers ghosting across Al-Haitham’s own scent gland.
Mine.
Al-Haitham’s heat breaks sometime in the early morning.
He’s still in Al-Haitham’s nest when he opens his eyes—body tucked close against the other.
Kaveh shifts and groans softly, running a hand across his face. The room only smells faintly of Sumeru roses now, the heaviness gone from the air, leaving only the faint sweetness of content.
Kaveh glances up and meets Al-Haitham’s eyes, his gaze soft.
If he were less of a coward, he’d call Al-Haitham’s expression fond.
“Hi,” Kaveh breathes.
“Morning,” Al-Haitham murmurs. The early morning sun shines a single beam through the curtains and against Al-Haitham; it makes him want to curl a finger through Al-Haitham’s bangs and tug at his hair like he’s living a domestic dream.
“I’m in your nest,” Kaveh says.
“You’re in my nest,” Al-Haitham agrees.
“Only family and mates are allowed in an omega’s nest.”
“I am aware.” Al-Haitham lowers his hand and tugs at a lock of Kaveh’s hair, eyes tracing the curve of his face and the flush spreading on his cheeks.
Kaveh bites his lip.
“This doesn’t need to mean anything,” Al-Haitham says, gentle. Even now he’s offering Kaveh a way out.
Kaveh’s expression twists into a frown. His hand grasps Al-Haitham’s wrist—his hold tight.
“How free can you be in two weeks?” he asks.
Al-Haitham raises a brow.
“As free as I want to be,” he says. “Why?”
“Because my heat’s supposed to come in two weeks,” Kaveh says. His hand tightens around Al-Haitham’s wrist, his breath escaping him in nervous stutters. The coffee of his scent is bitter but he doesn’t think his padisarahs have ever smelled sweeter. “I’ll need help collecting things for my nest.”
Al-Haitham blinks. Kaveh thinks he hears the other’s breath catch.
“You’re nest,” Al-Haitham repeats, slow.
“My nest,” Kaveh says, firm.
Al-Haitham’s lips quirk up. He chuckles softly.
“Okay.”
Kaveh flushes bright red, burning hot like a star, and laughs too.