i be in situations

With a sigh, you step off the boat that had finally made port, the trip taking far longer than it should have.

The lush greenery of Sumeru’s Port Ormos was a stark contrast to the icy cold front of Snezhnaya, the only place you’d ever called home until today. Fresh off the boat with sea legs, you make your way off the docks toward getting all your things in order– food, drink, and sleep. Heavy emphasis on sleep.

Djafar Tavern was nestled on the side of town, dozens of patrons chittering outside at the tables enjoying the drink and beautiful warm weather. Surely they’d have rooms available, right?

You strolled up to the heavy wooden doors, amazed at the intricacies carved within. It was a wonder how long it took the carpenter to notch each and every design into the stained wood, fitted perfectly in its hinges to show off to the world.

Back in Snezhnaya, you’d seen plenty of artisanal work, and they were nothing to scoff at. In fact, you’d wager your nation was one of the more proud ones around when it came to the livelihoods of craftsmen. 

Your nation. Hah. 

It was that notion that reminded you why you were even in Sumeru in the first place. 

With a deep inhale, you step inside the tavern, the scent of warm spices, aged wood, and faintly sweet wine wrapping around you like a much-needed embrace. The chatter inside is a low hum, a comfortable backdrop against the ache still lodged in your chest. It’s lively, sure, but not overwhelming—exactly what you need right now.

You make your way to the bar, dropping onto the stool with a quiet sigh. The weight in your limbs isn’t just from travel fatigue—it’s from the sheer exhaustion of holding yourself together. Of pretending you were fine when, in reality, you’d left everything behind.

No more crisp winter mornings in Snezhnaya. No more familiar streets, no more shared apartment, no more him.

You swallow hard, blinking against the sting creeping at the edges of your vision. No, you weren’t doing this. Not here, not now.

"Something strong," you murmur to the bartender, voice rougher than you’d like.

The man nods, quickly sliding a glass toward you, the amber liquid sloshing slightly. You don't ask what it is. You just lift it to your lips and drink. The burn is immediate, and you welcome it.

A dry laugh slips from you as you swirl the remaining liquid in your glass. “Pathetic, huh?” you mutter, barely above a whisper. “First night in a new place and I’m already drowning my sorrows. Classic.”

The stool next to you shifts. You don’t pay it much mind at first—just another patron settling in—but then you hear it:

“Wouldn’t call it classic, necessarily,” a smooth voice muses, the tone rich with something between curiosity and amusement. “But I would say it’s a bit cliché.”

You blink, slowly turning your head.

Sunset eyes meet yours—bright, intelligent, and just a little bit tipsy themselves. The man beside you is striking, with wavy blonde hair that falls in tousled layers around his sharp features. He’s draped in a red cape, gold accents catching the dim light, and even in the haze of alcohol, you recognize the look in his eyes.

The look of someone who’s also running from something.

He lifts his own glass in a half-toast. “To the art of self-pity, I suppose?”

You scoff, though there’s no real venom in it. “Eavesdropping is so charming.”

He grins, unabashed. “Not my fault you were practically talking to the whole tavern.” He takes a sip of his drink, watching you over the rim. “Besides, I couldn’t just let such a dramatic statement go unchecked.”

You huff, shaking your head. “Yeah? And what would you call it then?”

His smile falters—just slightly.

“Necessary,” he murmurs.

You don’t expect the honesty, the quiet weight behind the word. But before you can ask, before you can pry, he plasters that easy smirk back on his face and offers you his hand.

“Kaveh,” he introduces, tilting his head. “And you?”

You hesitate, then sigh, sliding your palm into his. “Y/N.”

His grip is warm, solid, grounding in a way you didn’t know you needed.

“Well, Y/N,” he drawls, releasing your hand and leaning forward on his elbows, “if you’re going to drown your sorrows, you might as well have some good company while you do it.”

And somehow, despite everything, you find yourself smirking.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You snort, swirling the last remnants of your drink in your glass before tipping it back. “Good company, huh?” You tilt your head, smirking. “That depends on what kind of company you are, Kaveh.”

His lips curl at the edges, something playful but measured. “Well, I’d like to think I’m great company. Award-winning, even. But I suppose that depends on what kind of night you’re hoping for.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against the bar. “And what kind of night are you hoping for?”

His Sunset eyes flicker with something unreadable before he rests his chin on one hand, elbow propped up lazily. “One that makes tomorrow seem a little less miserable,” he says, casual, but there’s something about the way he says it—like it’s not the first time he’s needed to forget.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your empty glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Kaveh grins and signals the bartender. Another round appears in front of you in seconds, and you don’t hesitate before lifting it. “So,” you exhale after a slow sip. “You planning to be vague and mysterious all night, or do I get to hear why you look like you’d rather be anywhere else?”

Kaveh chuckles, low and amused. “Oh, I don’t know. I could say the same for you.”

You roll your eyes. “I asked you first.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, making the golden strands fall even messier than before. “It’s not a particularly exciting story. I may have just escaped from a conversation with my roommate. He has this annoying little habit of pointing out my flaws—a delightful skill of his, really.”

You quirk a brow. “And what flaws are those?”

Kaveh takes a slow sip of his drink, considering. “Oh, you know. Being ‘too emotional.’ ‘Impulsive.’ Having a spending problem. The usual.”

You smirk. “So, you’re an expensive mess.”

His hand flies to his chest, mock-offended. “I prefer the term passionate artisan.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think your roommate is wrong. You do seem a little… dramatic.”

“I am not dramatic,” Kaveh huffs, though the twinkle in his eye suggests otherwise. “I just happen to have strong opinions and deep artistic sensitivities.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re sulking at a bar instead of proving him wrong?”

He lifts a finger as if about to argue, then sighs, slumping forward with a groan. “Ugh. You might have a point.”

You smirk, satisfied. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, at least your drama is self-inflicted.”

Kaveh cocks a brow, intrigued. “And yours isn’t?”

You exhale through your nose, leaning back slightly. “Nope. Mine’s the ‘I just left my entire life behind because my ex turned out to be a massive disappointment’ kind of drama.”

His eyes widen just a little. “Oof. That’s the big leagues of drama.”

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, running a hand down your face. “One minute, you’re making plans, building a life together—then suddenly, you’re just… done. And now I’m here, halfway across the world, drinking with some guy who calls himself an ‘artistic genius.’”

Kaveh smirks. “Self-proclaimed artistic genius. Let’s not forget that part.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Wouldn’t want to misrepresent you.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that lingers just long enough to let the weight of the conversation sink in. Kaveh is watching you, his expression less teasing now, more thoughtful.

Then, he lifts his drink in a quiet toast. “To new beginnings, then.”

Your throat tightens for half a second, but you clink your glass against his anyway. “To moving on.”

You both drink, letting the sentiment settle. The weight in your chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy now. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the fact that, for once, you’re sitting next to someone who isn’t pitying you, who isn’t feeding you useless clichés about how things happen for a reason.

No. Kaveh gets it.

The tavern was alive with warmth, a stark contrast to the crisp air of Snezhnaya you were used to. Golden light flickered from lanterns strung along the walls, their glow pooling across the wooden floors like melted honey. The scent of roasted spices and aged wine wove through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from a particularly rowdy table in the corner.

You exhaled, letting the warmth sink into your skin, into the bones that still carried the cold of home.

Snezhnaya had never been kind like this.

A chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“You’re thinking awfully hard for someone who just toasted to ‘moving on,’” Kaveh mused, swirling the remnants of his drink in slow, lazy circles. The liquid caught the light in deep amber ribbons, like firelight reflected in glass.

You tilted your head, considering him. “You always this nosy?”

His lips curled in an easy grin, but the gleam in his eyes was sharper, more perceptive than his teasing tone let on. “Only when I find someone interesting.”

You huffed, letting your fingers trail along the rim of your glass. “I was just thinking about how different it is here.”

Kaveh leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Ah, Snezhnaya. The land of ice and stone-faced diplomats. How does it compare to our humble, sun-drenched chaos?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You make Sumeru sound like a painting.”

His grin widened. “Oh, but it is. Everything is. You just have to know how to look.”

You hummed, not sure if you agreed. Still, you glanced around—at the deep, lush wood of the beams, at the intricate floral carvings twisting along the support columns, at the way the lamplight spilled in soft, golden pools over every worn table. Maybe he had a point.

“Snezhnaya’s not a painting,” you said after a beat. “It’s more like… a sculpture. Carved by force. Shaped by necessity.”

Kaveh’s expression shifted—curious, intrigued. “You sound like someone who knows exactly what it took to chisel it.”

You tapped a finger against your glass. “You grow up there, you don’t have a choice. It’s all about control, structure—everything has a place, and if you don’t fit into it, well…” You trailed off, watching as condensation formed against the smooth glass, tracing patterns you weren’t sure you’d finish.

Kaveh watched you carefully, but—thank the Archons—didn’t push. Instead, he took another slow sip of his drink before setting it down with a quiet clink. “And where exactly did you fit?”

You chuckled, the sound short, almost bitter. “Wherever I was told to.”

His brows lifted slightly, but again, he didn’t pry. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling dramatically. “See, that is why I could never live in Snezhnaya. I’d be exiled within a week for refusing to follow orders.”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “No, I think they’d let you stay—just for entertainment value alone.”

Kaveh gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “So, I’d be a court jester? Not exactly the legacy I was hoping for.”

You shrugged. “Could be worse. You’d be rich.”

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. “You know, I keep hearing that, and yet, my debts remain tragically unpaid.”

“Because you spend all your money on architecture.”

“I invest in beauty,” he corrected, pointing a finger at you.

“You overpay for furniture,” you deadpanned.

“I have taste.”

“You have impulse control issues.”

Kaveh gaped at you. “You wound me.”

You smirked. “Not as much as your financial choices do.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face before peering at you through his fingers. “Are all Snezhnayans this ruthless, or did I just get lucky?”

You grinned, propping your chin in your palm, mirroring his earlier posture. “What do you think?”

Kaveh exhaled, shaking his head with a rueful chuckle. “I think I’d be terrible at living in Snezhnaya.”

You shrugged. “You might surprise yourself.”

He studied you for a moment, the humor in his gaze giving way to something softer, something thoughtful. “And what about you? You think you might surprise yourself here?”

The question caught you off guard. Not because it was invasive, but because it was… honest.

You glanced down at your drink, watching the way the liquid shifted under the candlelight. Did you?

You didn’t have an answer yet.

So instead, you sighed, rolling your shoulders as if physically shaking off the weight of the conversation. “I think,” you mused, reaching for your drink once more, “I could use another round.”

Kaveh let the shift happen, let the moment breathe. Then, with a smirk, he signaled the bartender. “You know, I do believe in investing in things of value.”

You arched a brow. “And?”

“And this conversation, my dear, is priceless.”

You snorted. “That your way of saying you’re paying?”

Kaveh winked. “It’s my way of saying I hope you can keep up.”

You shook your head, laughing as the bartender set another drink in front of you. “Kaveh, I think I’m gonna be just fine.”

Somewhere between the third and fourth drink, the teasing started to shift.

It was subtle at first—a lingering glance, a brush of fingers as Kaveh handed you your next glass, a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there before. The edges of the world softened, the weight of Snezhnaya, of the past, of every damn thing that had been sitting heavy on your chest—gone, melted away like ice under the Sumeru sun.

You weren’t drunk. Not quite. But you weren’t sober either, and neither was Kaveh.

His laugh had become looser, richer, his gestures more animated as he talked—hands flying, eyes gleaming with every exaggerated story about his architectural misadventures. He was dramatic in a way that should have been ridiculous, but instead, you found yourself leaning into it, hanging onto the way his voice lilted, the way he smirked just before delivering a particularly scathing self-own.

And maybe, just maybe—you had started flirting.

“Tell me something,” Kaveh mused, swirling his drink before lifting it to his lips. “Are all Snezhnayans this effortlessly beautiful, or are you just some kind of anomaly?”

You raised an eyebrow, though your lips twitched into a smirk. “Effortless? That’s a bold assumption.”

His gaze flickered over you, slow, appreciative. “Oh, I don’t know. You make it look easy.”

The heat behind his words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. You leaned forward, propping your chin on your hand, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “You use that line on all the newcomers, or am I just special?”

Kaveh grinned, resting an elbow on the table as he mirrored your posture. “Oh, you’re special, alright. Not everyone can keep up with me, you know.”

You huffed a laugh, letting your fingers toy with the rim of your glass. “A tragic fate, really.”

He sighed, feigning sorrow. “Truly. And yet, here I am, forced to endure it.”

“You must be suffering.”

“I am.” His hand landed over his heart, Sunset eyes gleaming with mischief. “But you could make it up to me.”

You tilted your head, playing along. “Oh? And how would I do that?”

He leaned in, close enough that you could smell the warmth of spiced liquor on his breath. “Buy me another round.”

You scoffed. “You’re terrible at this.”

Kaveh let out a low chuckle, tipping his drink in your direction. “Oh, cutie,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something deeper, something smoother. “That wasn’t my real suggestion.”

Your breath hitched. Just slightly.

Because this was different.

This wasn’t just playful anymore.

The weight in his gaze wasn’t just teasing, wasn’t just light-hearted banter—it was intentional.

And Archons, did you want to see just how far you could push it.

“Then what was?” you asked, voice steady, measured, a challenge laced in every syllable.

Kaveh hummed, dragging his fingers idly along the condensation of his glass, considering you like a puzzle he wanted to take apart, piece by piece.

“Well,” he mused, “I was going to say you could admire my work.”

You smirked. “What, your blueprints?”

“My home.”

You stilled. Just briefly.

Oh.

That was it, wasn’t it?

The shift. The invitation wrapped in a casual tone, delivered with just the right amount of ease to make it seem harmless—but there was nothing harmless about the way he was looking at you now.

And there was nothing innocent about the way you leaned in just slightly, your fingers ghosting the stem of your glass.

“Your home, huh?” you mused, feigning thoughtfulness. “And what exactly am I supposed to admire?”

Kaveh’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Oh, you’ll see.”

The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken, something unrestrained.

And then, without thinking, without questioning—without a second of hesitation, you downed the last sip of your drink and stood, arching an expectant brow.

“Well?” You gestured toward the door. “Are you giving me the tour or not?”

Kaveh blinked once, clearly caught off guard by how quickly you called his bluff. But then his expression morphed into something sharper, something starved—and without another word, he stood, tossing a few mora onto the table before grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the exit.

The cool Sumeru night hit you like a shock to the system, but it didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t thinking about the night air.

You weren’t thinking about anything except the way Kaveh’s grip tightened around yours as he led you through the winding streets.

You weren’t thinking about anything except the fact that whatever this was—whatever this night became—you didn’t want to stop it.

The streets of Sumeru felt quieter now, the lingering warmth of the day settling into a balmy night. Lanterns flickered above, casting long, golden shadows along the winding pathways as Kaveh led you through the city’s twisting corridors with an ease that spoke of years spent navigating them.

But you barely noticed.

Because all of your attention was fixed on the man beside you.

Kaveh hadn’t let go of your hand—not entirely. His fingers still lingered, brushing against yours in a way that was almost accidental, almost innocent, but you weren’t stupid. Not when his touch was deliberate, not when his thumb ghosted over the curve of your knuckles every so often like he was testing the waters, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

And neither did he.

“Gotta admit,” Kaveh mused, voice light, teasing, as he glanced down at you. “For someone who just arrived in Sumeru, you sure seem comfortable following a stranger home.”

You smirked. “Should I be worried?”

His sunset eyes gleamed under the lantern light. “Depends.”

You arched a brow. “On?”

His grip tightened—just slightly—as he gave your hand a not-so-innocent tug, just enough to make you stumble a step closer, just enough to make the space between you disappear.

“On whether or not you handle disappointment well,” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Oh, he was playing dirty.

You swallowed, tilting your head, meeting his gaze with the kind of challenge he had to know was dangerous. “You worried about underperforming, architect?”

Kaveh let out a low, amused chuckle, his smirk widening. “Cutie, you should be worried about keeping up with me.”

Your stomach flipped.

He was good. Too good.

But you weren’t about to let him have all the fun.

You leaned in just slightly, lowering your voice to something dangerously close to a whisper. “That’s funny,” you mused, eyes flicking over him slowly. Intentionally. “You don’t exactly strike me as the type to go slow.”

Kaveh inhaled sharply—so slight you almost missed it.

Almost.

But then he recovered just as quickly, flashing you that easy, golden grin that was entirely too confident.

“Depends on what I’m working with,” he murmured.

Your fingers twitched against his, and you swore you felt the way his thumb rubbed over your pulse—slow, calculated, taunting.

You exhaled, shaking your head, laughing—partly because of the ridiculousness of it all, partly because Archons, you weren’t used to being outmatched.

And he knew it.

The worst part? He was enjoying it.

“So,” you said, shifting the conversation before you did something stupid, “are you always this forward with strangers, or am I just special?”

Kaveh hummed, as if considering, then shot you a lazy smirk. “Oh, you’re special.”

Your heart shouldn’t have stuttered at that. But it did.

Damn him.

Before you could fire back, Kaveh suddenly stopped, tugging you to a halt in front of a tall, ornate building—his home.

No turning back now.

Kaveh exhaled dramatically, throwing an arm out. “Here we are!”

You arched a brow, glancing at the entrance, then back at him. “No grand speech? No last-minute warnings?”

He grinned, stepping up to his door and pushing it open, shooting you a look over his shoulder. “Oh, cutie,” he mused, voice dropping just enough to make your skin tingle. “The only warning you need is that once you step inside, I might not let you leave.”

Your breath caught.

You couldn’t tell if he was joking.

And that?

That was the problem.

Because you didn’t want him to be joking.

You wanted to test him.

You wanted to see just how far this could go.

So you smirked and stepped forward, brushing past him as you crossed the threshold into his world.

“Guess I’ll have to take my chances, then.”

And the way Kaveh exhaled, the way his sunset eyes darkened as he shut the door behind you?

You had a feeling you’d just made a very, very reckless decision.

The door clicked shut behind you, the soft echo of it settling into the stillness of the house. Kaveh let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before running a hand through his tousled blond hair.

It was a nice place—too nice, if you were being honest. Sumeran architecture was beautiful, intricate, filled with warm golden hues and carefully carved details, but this? This was something else entirely.

Polished floors gleamed beneath the soft glow of lantern light. Arching bookshelves lined the walls, filled to bursting with texts on engineering, history, and—unsurprisingly—architecture. A large drafting table sat near the window, covered in messily stacked blueprints and half-sketched designs. Papers were everywhere, scattered in organized chaos, and somehow, the place smelled like cedarwood, ink, and something faintly sweet.

You smirked. Kaveh would be the type to have a home that’s as dramatic as he is.

And speaking of drama—

The man in question suddenly straightened up, clearing his throat as he shot a glance toward the hallway.

“Hold that thought,” he murmured, raising a finger before swiftly padding forward, sticking his head around the corner with a suspicious level of caution.

You blinked. “What, is there a trap door or something?”

Kaveh hushed you, waving a hand frantically behind his back.

You watched, amused, as he listened carefully, his head tilting toward one of the rooms. His eyes narrowed, as if calculating something extremely important.

Then, after a long moment, he exhaled in relief.

“Alright,” he said, relaxing as he turned back to you, grinning. “We’re good.”

You arched a brow. “Were you expecting a ghost? Because I really don’t—”

“Worse.” He placed a hand over his chest dramatically, expression grave. “Alhaitham.”

You snorted. “Your roommate?”

“My parasitic roommate,” Kaveh corrected, scrunching his nose. “And the last thing I need is him ruining the mood.”

You tilted your head, arms crossing as you leaned against the nearest wall, grinning. “The mood, huh?”

Kaveh’s lips parted like he was about to protest—but then stopped.

Because you caught him.

You knew exactly what he meant, and instead of covering it up, you were making him own it.

His sunset eyes flickered, and just like that, the hesitation melted away into something far more dangerous.

“The mood,” he repeated smoothly, stepping closer—just enough for the air to shift. “Or did you think I invited you here for a friendly drink?”

Your breath caught for half a second.

So that’s how we’re playing this?

You licked your lips, watching the way his gaze flickered down, the subtle clench of his jaw at the movement not going unnoticed.

“I don’t know,” you mused, tilting your head in mock innocence. “For someone who’s so worried about his roommate overhearing things, you seem awfully confident about what’s going to happen next.”

Kaveh chuckled, low and warm, and Archons, it was unfair how good he sounded.

“My sweet Y/N,” he murmured, raising a hand to lightly brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “If I were truly confident, I wouldn’t have let you get a head start on teasing me at the tavern.”

His touch burned.

And he knew it.

Because the second your breath hitched, the second you didn’t pull away, Kaveh’s smirk widened.

You exhaled through your nose, composing yourself. “So, what? You’re saying you were letting me win?”

Kaveh hummed, his fingertips ghosting down your arm, barely touching, just hovering close enough to feel.

“Not quite,” he murmured. “I’m just saying…” His voice dipped, teasing, sunset eyes dark with something deliberate. “I hope you weren’t planning to leave so soon.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Kaveh was dangerous when he was bold.

The distance between you was nonexistent now—a breath, a flicker of hesitation, a pause that stretched just long enough to make the air too thick to breathe properly.

Kaveh didn’t step back.

Neither did you.

His fingers lingered at your wrist, tracing lazy, featherlight patterns against your skin—enough to tease, not enough to satisfy. The kind of touch meant to drive someone insane.

Sunset eyes burned into you, sharp and knowing, waiting.

Waiting for what, exactly? For you to break first? To give in?

He was playing a game.

And damn it, you wanted to win.

So, instead of folding, instead of letting the slow crawl of heat unravel you, you smirked—slow, deliberate, the same way he had at the tavern, when he knew he had you hooked but wouldn’t bite just yet.

You dragged your fingertips up the front of his chest, slow enough to feel the way his breath hitched before he schooled his expression back into its lazy confidence.

“Does this patience of yours ever run out, Kaveh?” you mused, voice silky smooth, like you weren’t already feeling the heat of his body soaking into yours.

Kaveh hummed, tilting his head slightly—considering you, sizing you up like a blueprint he wasn’t quite finished drafting.

“It depends,” he said finally, voice low, warm, his other hand brushing the outside of your hip, his thumb dragging slowly against the fabric of your clothes. “Are you planning on testing it?”

Your lips curled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” you murmured, your fingers trailing up, slow, teasing—resting just beneath the sharp line of his jaw. “But I will say… I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet all night.”

Kaveh let out a breathy laugh, rich and deep, his hand at your hip gripping just a little tighter.

“Maybe I don’t want to talk,” he murmured, voice thick with implication.

Your pulse jumped.

Not a tease. Not a dance around the obvious.

A confession.

Your fingers tightened slightly at his jaw, nails lightly scratching, just enough to make him breathe deeper, slower.

“Then what do you want?” you asked, leaning in, barely a whisper between you.

Kaveh’s smirk faltered, just slightly.

His grip on your hip tightened, enough to pull you flush against him, enough to make your breath catch.

His voice was a low murmur against your lips, a ghost of a touch.

“Oh, cutie,” he purred, tilting his head just enough to barely brush his nose against yours. “I think you already know.”

Kaveh wasn’t in a hurry.

He should have been—he really, really should have been.

But the sight of you, bathed in the soft glow of his dimly lit room, lips still parted from the way he had whispered against them, skin flushed from the warmth of Sumeru’s air and something entirely different now—

He was going to savor this.

The door shut behind you both with a quiet click, the sound sealing your fate.

No more distractions.

No more teasing looks across a crowded tavern.

No more restraint.

And yet—Kaveh still didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

Instead, he watched you.

Watched the way your gaze flicked around his space—the cluttered desk, the half-rolled blueprints, the sketches pinned messily against the wall. Watched the way your fingers hovered over the carved details of his furniture, the intricate patterns of the woodwork—the work of a man who built beauty but had never had someone admire it quite like this.

His breath hitched when you finally turned to him.

Slow. Deliberate.

“You live with Alhaitham,” you murmured, voice silky, knowing. “So where is he?”

Kaveh huffed and shrugged, rolling his eyes, though the corner of his lips twitched.

“Not here,” he said smoothly, stepping forward, closing the space between you inch by inch. “And before you ask—no, he won’t be back anytime soon.If he’s still not home, he won’t be tonight.”

Your smile was pure mischief.

“How convenient.”

His sunset eyes flashed.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he murmured.

Then—finally—he reached for you.

One hand at your hip. The other ghosting up your arm, your shoulder, your jaw.

Slow. So painfully slow.

You didn’t stop him.

Didn’t pull away.

And when his fingers finally tilted your chin up, when his lips hovered just over yours, you could feel the tension snapping like live wires between you.

Kaveh exhaled, slow, measured.

“You were so bold downstairs,” he mused, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Where did all that confidence go, hm?”

Your breath hitched.

Kaveh grinned.

“Oh,” he purred, leaning in, just barely, just enough to feel your sharp inhale. “There it is.”

Then—he kissed you.

And damn if it wasn’t the most devastating thing.

Soft at first. Gentle. Controlled.

But then—not.

It was needy, urgent, a push and pull between two people who had spent the night dancing around the inevitable.

His hand tightened on your hips, fingers pressing firm against the fabric of your clothes, gripping like he was afraid to let go. Like he didn’t want to.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, tugging, pushing until his back hit the edge of the desk, sending rolled parchment tumbling to the floor.

Kaveh only laughed against your lips, breathless, exhilarated.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing the column of your throat.

His grin was pure sin, his hands slipping lower, tugging you closer, closer.

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” he murmured, voice honey-smooth, warm and wicked all at once.

Kaveh was done waiting.

No more teasing.

No more pretty words.

The moment your back hit his bed, his patience shattered.

He loomed over you, sunset eyes dark with heat, lips parted from stolen breath, hands bracing against the mattress on either side of you.

"You wanted to make a mess of me tonight, didn’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, dripping with something dangerous.

His fingers trailed slowly down your side, ghosting over fabric, barely there, barely touching—

And then, all at once, he grabbed you.

A sharp tug, a delicious press of heat, and suddenly, you were flush against him, his body caging you in, his breath fanning against your jaw.

“Congratulations,” Kaveh murmured, his lips grazing your ear.

“You’ve got exactly what you wanted.”

You barely had time to think before Kaveh was on you.

His lips met yours again, soft at first, tasting, testing— but when you didn’t pull away, didn’t hesitate, something shifted.

Something unraveled.

You weren’t sure who deepened this kiss first, but suddenly it wasn’t soft anymore. Suddenly, it was needy, hungry, urgent—like two people who had spent far too long holding back.

His hands were warm. A little clumsy in his tipsiness, but still so deliberate as he traced along your waist, your back, pulling you closer.

And oh, the way he kissed.

Like he needed this, needed you, like he had been holding back all night and just waiting for an excuse.

You sighed against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair, and Kaveh groaned, low in his throat, his grip tightening.

“You taste like alcohol,” you murmured, dazed, a little breathless.

He huffed a laugh, forehead resting against yours. “So do you.”

You bit your lip, barely resisting the impulse to kiss him again.

Kaveh didn’t move back.

Instead, his fingers ghosted down your arms, slower this time, more sure.

“You know,” he murmured, voice dropping just a little, just enough to make your stomach flip, “for someone who just got out of a relationship, you’re handling this very well.”

You smirked, emboldened by the wine, by the warmth of him, of this.

“Maybe I was ready for a distraction.”

Kaveh exhaled, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “Careful.” His hands tightened on your hips. “I might take that as an invitation.”

You swallowed, pulse skipping.

“…Maybe it is.”

His sunset eyes flickered, and suddenly, he was pulling you toward him again, kissing you deeper this time.

Messier.

Needier.

This wasn’t pretend. This wasn’t just tipsy teasing.

This was real.

This was happening.

And neither of you had any intention of stopping now.

Kaveh’s hands were everywhere. Warm, eager, mapping your body like a blueprint, like he was trying to memorize every curve, every sigh, every little shiver beneath his fingertips.

And you let him.

No second-guessing. No guilt. No thinking.

Just this. Just him.

His lips trailed lower, slower, teasing down your jaw, across your throat, pressing heated kisses like he was determined to make you forget everything but him.

“You’re not going to regret this, are you?” he murmured, breath hot against your skin, voice low, waiting.

You didn’t hesitate. “No.”

That was all he needed.

Kaveh groaned softly, hands sliding under your clothing, pushing fabric out of the way with an impatience that made your head spin.

And then there was nothing between you.

The world blurred. The air crackled.

This wasn’t rushed.

No, he made sure of that.

Every kiss, every touch—he took his time, savoring the way you responded, the way you sighed his name like it was the only one that mattered.

And when he finally pressed into you, filled you with his length, you gasped, fingers gripping his shoulders, feeling him shudder at the sensation.

“Fuck—” Kaveh’s voice was wrecked, sunset eyes hazy, blown wide. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours as he moved, slow at first, relishing in every breathless moan, every little shift of your hips.

His hands found yours, fingers intertwining, pinning them above your head as he thrust deeper.

You were gone.

Lost in the heat of him, the fevered kisses, the desperate way he held you like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get another chance.

And maybe that was the truth.

Maybe you both knew this could only be tonight.

But right now, that didn’t matter.

Because he had you.

And you had him.

And neither of you planned to stop until there was nothing left to take.

Sunlight.

Warm and golden, it streamed through the wooden blinds, painting long stripes across the floorboards, your skin, his skin. You squinted against it, the unfamiliar ceiling above you making your brain lag as it tried to catch up.

Where were you?

The bed beneath you was too soft, too warm. The air smelled different—spiced, woodsy, so unlike the crisp cold of Snezhnaya.

And then, a breath against the nape of your neck.

Your entire body tensed.

Kaveh.

The realization settled in slow, like ink bleeding into parchment. The heat of his body against yours, the tangled mess of sheets, the way his arm had found its way around your waist sometime during the night.

Your heart did something weird in your chest.

Not panic. Not regret. Just… something.

Moving carefully, you turned your head just enough to glance over your shoulder.

He was still asleep.

Or at least, you thought he was.

His golden hair was a tousled mess, strands falling over his closed eyes, breath steady, lips slightly parted. The faintest crease remained between his brows, like even in sleep, he couldn’t escape whatever weight always seemed to linger in his mind.

It hit you then—you didn’t actually know what to do.

You had nowhere to be. No real plan for the morning after. No well-rehearsed excuse to grab your clothes, mumble something about needing to leave, and vanish before things got too real.

Because leaving meant what?

Going back?

You had nowhere to go back to.

The thought left a strange hollowness in your chest.

And as if sensing the shift in your thoughts, Kaveh stirred beside you.

A slow inhale, a small sigh.

Then, his arm tightened just slightly, fingers flexing against your hip as if anchoring himself to you.

Your stomach flipped.

Was he awake? Did it matter?

Swallowing down the foreign rush of something, you focused on the ceiling again, trying to steady yourself, ground yourself.