“I could ask you the same thing, Al-Haitham.” You retort with a little ‘hmph’. You’re already cramming for next week’s exams, and you do not want to deal with your rival too; he’s a handful as it is.

“I’m not the one who can’t even turn their head to face me because that’s too much of a strain on their tired brain.” His expression remains the same—cold and stern—and so does his attitude with the constant insults. Though this time they hold an undertone of concern and he looks a little… weary.

It confuses you so much. You always wear a smirk on your face around him, especially when you finally get under his skin. You take pride in your efforts, feeling successful that you managed to beat his cold exterior. He, however, remains the same, even when he one-ups you countless times. No happiness, no pride, not even a hint of amusement. Are you really just another annoying nuisance to him? You shake that thought away quickly; you’re sitting beside him, and you cannot let this opportunity pass to break that shell. After all, you’ve done it countless nights before; it won’t be hard to do it again.

“Really? Because you look as tired as I am.”

You speak firmly, ready for his inevitable rebuttal. The piles of work is the last thing on your mind now, mentally pushed to the side as soon as he had walked in.

“I’ve taken many breaks while studying, actually.” He scoffs, but you notice the way he suddenly seems interested in the scattered notes in your folder, turning his face as if to hide his fatigue.

You slam the notebook shut and smirk; this is your time to shine.

“Are those dark circles under your eyes from the smudge of ink then? Perhaps from the number of times you’ve rubbed your eyes to stay awake?” You shift in your chair to face him better, your gaze forcing him to meet your eyes now.

“Your hair has flattened from the number of times your hands have run through it, and you can’t even keep up your glare longer than usual.”

The cross of your arms indicates the end of your mini-counterargument, and you look at him proudly, waiting for how he’ll try to get out of this.

You think you catch a hint of surprise flickering across his features, but he’s already shadowed it with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re oddly perceptive today; perhaps you’ve taken a liking to admiring my face.”

His lips curve slightly for a mere second; your stern, cold, ass of a rival is teasing you. “What’s wrong? Did I catch the mouse?” His tone is still harsh and blunt, but he lacks the bite he always has when conversing with his rival.

“I only admire you when you’re asleep in my bed.” Your voice is smug, and you’re leaning in, closer and closer, breaths away now. “Come on, we’re both tired.”

You plead in your most convincing tone. He cant deny it; it has been a long time.

He freezes as you gently take his hands, his pride shattering with remembrance of two weeks prior. Al-Haitham narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with his rival more than he needed to. But… the library is vacant right now. It’d be so easy to slip off. No prying eyes and a chance of rumours. Just two sworn rivals, tired and sleepy, desperate for a long rest before they have to remember all their duties for tomorrow.

He scoffs, “I’d rather not. You know exactly what happens each time, and I’m not spending 8 hours in bed with you again.”

He could see the pleading in your eyes, and if he were being honest, he wished he could’ve stayed longer last time.

“You make it seem like it’s a crime.” A grumble and then a small huff— you’re clearly adamant about this. His eyes lock onto your enticing ones, but he knows your tricks all too well.

“You’ve got some nerve asking me again after last time.” He scoffs again (you wonder if he can go a day without doing that), pulls his hands from your grasp, and gets up from his seat.

“Oh, come on, last time wasn’t that bad. You’re exaggerating.” A roll of your eyes, and you’re already starting to pack up your papers. Even if he doesn’t allow that, he will drag you out if you decide to keep studying instead of sleeping.

“I had a lecture at 8:30am, and your body clung to me until 8am. Your room is 20 minutes from the campus, and I hadn’t even a chance to eat breakfast because of you weighing me down.” A heavy sigh escapes his mouth as he remembers the glances he got from the presenter and the other students. Being late was a rare thing for Al-Haitham, but being late, dishevelled, and having to ask for paper and a pen from other students? They thought he must’ve gone insane.

On the other hand, your jaw has found a home on the floor. Yes, you vaguely remember him shoving you off and muttering a string of not-so-nice words, but you swear it wasn’t as bad as he described! Clinging to him—you? never.

“Ha, as if I’d ever-“

“Cling to me? I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Your pride is shattered in a matter of seconds, never to be rebuilt again, you would say. The evidence is shown before you, and even worse, it’s in photo form. Your arms are slung tightly around his shoulders, your legs are intertwined with his, and worst of all, your cheeks are smushed against his neck.

“I..” Nothing can save you now; there’s no coming back from this one.

“Exactly.” He’s got a smug look in his eyes now as he glares at you, knowing you’re very much stuck.

Well, when you can’t agree or deny it, just change the entire subject. At least that’s your newfound motto.

“The point is, you don’t have classes until 1p.m. tomorrow, and you know I never wake up that late-“

“How do you know my schedule?”

“…”

The silence is deafening. Well, congratulations on changing the subject. How do you even know his schedule? You don’t remember specifically trying to find it.

“Did you seriously remember the days when I left the room without a fuss and worked out my schedule according to that?”

That’s exactly what you did. Of course, you’d never outright look at his schedule or snoop at his things (he’s crazy observant, he would know). But you find yourself figuring him out more and more each time. On Thursdays and Tuesdays, he’d leave with no fuss, even giving you a small ruffle of your hair (which you never admitted to being awake for). Naturally, as his rival and for only that purpose (obviously), you decided to look up each and every class for that day and slowly work out his timetable based on the subjects you had seen him study for.

Stalking? No. One step ahead of your rival? Yes.

You sigh and place the pile of books you had borrowed earlier back in their rightful places. You’d be going home regardless. ‘I don’t need him. He’s useless, and i can sleep perfectly fine on my own. I’m going to go home and get all cosy and have a long, peaceful sleep.’ Convincing yourself isn’t as hard as you thought, unlike trying to keep a neutral look on your face.

“I can see you sulking.” Al-Haitham remarks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Will you shut up? Ahem, if you have nothing useful to do here, I suggest you leave too.” The monotone sound surprises him, one brow raising at you. He puts a hand down on the table in front of you, stopping you from moving any further. His eyes narrow, scanning your features.

“Stop using your student council voice with me; I’m not some troubled first year.”

“For further support, you may talk to-“

He lets out a reluctant groan and picks up your tote bag, slinging it over his broad shoulder. It sits perfectly, just like every other time. Calloused skin connects with your soft palm as he interlocks his freehand with yours.

“Fine. We’ll have a sleepover. Happy?” He finally gives in, though not without an exasperated sigh. You both know it’ll end this way, and you also both love the little game you play.

“Very.”

He lets you pull him towards your dorm room. A smug smile is permanent on your face, free to roam in the silent corridors as if it existed just for your leisure. You fiddle with your pockets, eventually pulling the keys out. The door swings open after a bit of lazy fumbling, and he follows in beside you. One hand rests on the small of your back after noticing your sudden sleepier state.

“Are you hungry? I have bagels.” You glance back at him, already zooming into the kitchen for a late-night snack. He sets your tote bag carefully on the floor, careful not to crush the notes within.

“You’ll burn it again.”

“Hey, I adapt and move forward, you know!”

You prepare him a bagel as he takes a seat on your plush couch. His eyes scan over the shelves, which are filled with all sorts of trinkets and mementos he’s almost begun to miss. On the other hand, his dorm is plain, with nothing more than the essentials. Is that the reason he always ends up sleeping over at your place? As if the answer wasn’t obvious from the countless times he’s laid awake in an empty bed, he finds himself questioning his emotions once more.

A ceramic plate is swiftly placed in front of his face, interrupting his thoughts. A toasted bagel is placed at a certain angle with extra sesame seeds scattered on the plate and butter spread fancifully on the side. Azure eyes meet your wide ones as you smile cheekily down at him.

“Who are you trying to impress? Gordon Ramsay?” He couldn’t help but let it slip out of his mouth. They were sworn rivals after all, and they’d have to be imposters if they went a day without getting a quip at one another.

“I could make Gordon Ramsay beg for my food.”

You watch eagerly for his reaction as his teeth bite into the soft, warm bread of the bagel and into the filling.

“Fine, I suppose it’s decent. Still overdone by about 20 seconds.”

“Oh, shut up!”

He cant help but let a smirk rise on his face as you storm into your bedroom, leaving him to eat the bagel in the quietness of your living room. He won’t admit it, but there was something about tasting something you made that satisfied him more than his favourite food usually did. Perhaps it was your focused look as you layered the fillings, or maybe it’s the way you proudly presented it before him. Regardless, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’re dressed in a plain t-shirt and plaid pyjama trousers when you return, a pile of clothes in your hands. “You left these at my place last time.”

“You didn’t wear them, did you?” His eyebrows raise as he looks at you suspiciously.

“Ew.” Disgust forms in your expression, and you roll your eyes at his accusation.“I washed it for you; be grateful.”

The neatly folded pile of clothes is taken in his hands, and he is surprised by the kind gesture. Or maybe you’re just a germaphobe, which seems slightly more likely. He slips on the freshly washed garments, closing his eyes as he inhales the sweet scent. It’s wonderful; like he’s sitting in a field of flowers at this very moment. It overcomes all his senses, being subdued by the comfort of your perfume—Wait. His eyes widen at the sudden realisation, and he lifts the thin fabric to his nose.

He was right; it is your perfume.

Of course, only you would practically drown his abandoned clothes in your most girliest perfume just to piss him off. Well, his cheeks are rather pink now after it had the complete opposite effect than intended. He supposes he should consider this a warning to ensure he takes his clothing with him next time.

The vanity light illuminates your soft skin in the dim bedroom. In front of you, bottles, tall and small, are laid out. Each cream,serum, and cleanser is chosen specifically for each of the steps of the routine. His crossed arms prop him up as he leans against the doorframe, trying to avoid disturbing you with your rather cute ministrations. You’ve changed a few of your products, even going so far as to change some of them to his that you had tested at his dorm. He mentally notes the new additions, already planning for when you next stay over.

If he were being logical like always, he could’ve kept it all in a drawer or a bag in his closet, but your little corner of things in his dorm brings colour and life to the dull room he’s never once considered his home. Something stirs within him—the reflection of his ‘spare’ bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door, a smudge of lipstick on the hand towel, an empty coffee mug that is waiting in the cupboard. He can’t forget the box of vitamins on the dining table as he eats his breakfast. You insist they will keep him healthy (they’re kiddie gummies).

He blinks, returning to the moment. A content sigh rumbles through his chest as he watches you in awe for a moment longer before finally taking a seat on his side of the bed—something he had unintentionally claimed not too long ago. His hands settle on the soft linen of your floral bedsheets,which only ever seem to change colours and never lose the embroidery of your beloved plants. Despite your incessant complaining, the Amurta major in you always seems to shine through in the smallest things, or perhaps he’s the one constantly looking for it. Just now, he had seen the water droplets on your pyjama shirt, signalling that you had just watered all the plants that hang across the walls of your bedroom. He wonders which sage you coerced into allowing you to have this.

He watches you from behind—the way your soft fingertips rub the serums into your skin and the focused look on your face as you look into yourself in the mirror. It makes him feel warm as you admire your face in the reflection. He thinks you’re perfect, and he wants you to think it too. But he’s also getting a little impatient.

“Begged me for a sleepover but won’t even join me?”

Despite the annoyance held in his words , his tone is calm and soft; he’s never been the same Al-Haitham when in your room. The soft fairy lights illuminating the adorable polaroids littering the walls soothe his mind; it makes him think of you in a different light. He could never be so cold towards you now that he’s seen so much of you, and now he intends to lay himself bare, without his armour.

“Just a moment..”

You give up on your witty comebacks as you succumb to what you’ve craved for far too long now. Your warmth encases him as the bed sheets rustle once again in your presence this time. He brings his face closer, not wasting a moment until he coaxes you closer, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into his side.

“You need to rest.”

He states, but its more of a question of whether you’ll listen and sleep or defy your needs to tease him a little longer.

“Oh, I’m the one who needs to rest, do I?”

You say it slyly, giving him a playful grin as you enjoy how his arms feel around your torso. Your hands sneak up to his hair, ruffling it out of its flatness.

“Yes, you. Who else?”

He rolls his eyes at you, and pushes your hand away from his messy locks. One hand reaches up to gently thumb the dark circles under your eyes. “No skin care routine is going to fix this, so you better sleep on time for whoever you’re always trying to impress.”

You hold your mouth shut. Think about it.

Sure, you can argue that you do all of it for yourself. But it’s a complete lie. All of this, this rivalry, this overworking yourself, these antics. They’re all to one up him, all to be smarter than him, in hopes that one day you will beat him. Or maybe something else. Maybe you want him to acknowledge that you beat him. Maybe you want him to acknowledge you.

A small scoff is heard as you rest your head near the crook of his neck, one arm over his chest as you tuck yourself into his side.

“ ‘m not tryna impress anyone.”

The words are mumbled as the dim room gets to you, coaxing the tiredness out of you. His hand moves to your head, running his fingers through the strands of soft hair.

“Did you know if you sleep earlier, then you’ll actually retain more information? If you did that, maybe you’d beat me.”

His voice is low, lulling you to rest as you begin to doze off. He can feel your head growing heavier and his gentle strokes growing slower as he watches you drift off. Your responses turn into inaudible mumbles, which he lets out a small chuckle to.

Maybe, deep down, you do yearn for his attention. Perhaps you do yearn to be better, wish that one day this pretense will be broken and you can love him without holding back.

His gaze is fixed on the way your hair falls around your face, stray strands on your cheeks. He can’t understand why you push yourself so hard. He’s seen your efforts, everyone has, its clear as day. But its rather amusing to see you try so hard to prove yourself to him. You just need to step back and look at your achievements and you’ll realise it all.

“Maybe you’ll see that you already have everything you’ve wanted here already.”