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spiriteddreams · 2 years ago

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what leads me back to you

Or, the five times you look for Al-Haitham, and the one time he looks for you Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending Word Count: ~5.3k A/N: happy birthday to the feeble scholar himself, al-haitham! <3

I. Feels Like “Met you at the right time, this is what it feels like.” The Acting Grand Sage is a busy man. There are papers to be filed, positions to be filled, and an entire political government to be reconstructed. The reconstruction process is slow and tiresome and with each passing day, Al-Haitham looks forward to the day that they accept his resignation letter. The day that he returns to simply being the “Scribe,” and a “feeble scholar,” is a day he swears he looks forward to. In the meantime, he is stuck to a large desk in an office that is far too spacious for his liking.

When he hears the rumble of the elevator coming up, an irritated groan escapes his lips. He runs through the words in his mind, ready to chew out whoever has decided to disturb him. His office hours are posted just outside of the elevator entrance, and everyone in the Akademiya knows that he’s far too busy to deal with menial things. Which means there are only a few reasons as to why someone might be coming to bother him: there is more paperwork to be filled out, some old scholar has come straight to him for complaints, or there’s an emergency. He counts the seconds in his head, waiting for the elevator to rise until he can see who’s decided to disturb him.

“You are here!” your voice cuts through the silence of the room before he can even get a glance at who it is. You’re a rush of words and feet, marching up to his desk and near slamming a book on his table, whilst ignoring the glare on his features. You are one of the last people he expected to see. That isn’t to say he doesn’t mind your presence. You’ve proven to be a sensible person, unlike his ridiculous roommate, and he’s had the pleasure of spending more time than he would have ever anticipated with you. As a good friend of Kaveh’s (Al-Haitham thinks it’s a shame), you’re often invited over for dinner or found sharing drinks with Dehya, Cyno, and Tighnari. But ignore that for now, instead, he wants to know what could be so important that you’ve decided to ignore his office hours and disturb him while he’s knee deep in paperwork.

“Okay look, I know you’re probably not happy to see me but this is important! I have this new research project that I wanted to start, I even ran it through Cyno this morning!” you’re flipping through a notebook, not even looking up at him. Since approaching his desk, Al-Haitham hasn’t been able to see the entirety of your face, not that he’s actually searching, yet you’re far too caught up flipping through papers to see the way his eyes follow your every movement. He takes in the differences in your appearance since the last time he’s seen you, which he feels like has been forever with the way he’s been cooped up in his office. There’s a cut on your finger that’s in the process of healing, and a new padisarah charm hanging at your side, right next to the Vision that seems to glow brighter than usual, as if reflecting your upbeat mood. He’s only half listening to you ramble about this project, which by all means, was approved the moment you approached him. You’re a brilliant scholar, there’s no doubt about it, careful about everything you do and meticulous about the smallest of details, and frankly, someone who’s research seeks to better the Akademiya. So why would he deny your approval?

When you finish speaking, Al-Haitham clears his throat and his eyes shift from your papers to your face, surprised to see that you’re already looking at him. He can see the uneasiness in your eyes, and something in the back of his mind whispers that he doesn’t like that when you’re looking at him. Do you not feel comfortable around him? The thought is bitter to swallow but he pushes it down anyway and looks back down at the papers.

“I see no reason to reject this, do you?” he asks flatly. You stare at him incredulously, eyes narrowed and ready to snap back at him. “Besides, you ran this through the General Mahamatra earlier, no? If he thinks it’s fine, and from what I’ve heard, there’s no reason for you to be making such a fuss about this.” For a moment, he’s afraid he might have irritated you beyond belief with the way you glare at him. But almost instantly it’s washed away as you sigh and shake your head with a fond smile.

“Glad to know I have your approval,” you say it so warmly that Al-Haitham’s chest nearly lurches. He locks that expression in his memory, tracing over the smile on your face, the one that reaches your eyes and makes them glint a bit brighter than before as an amused huff leaves your lips. It’s a pretty expression he thinks to himself. And when you leave him to the silence of his office, only joined by a mountain-load of paperwork, he finds that he misses your presence immediately.

II. Pancakes for Dinner “I wanna eat pancakes for dinner, I wanna get stuck in your head.” “A little birdie told me that you haven’t come home to eat dinner.”

“Is this little birdie’s name, Kaveh?” Al-Haitham doesn’t even look up from his spot, secluded near the back of the House of Daena. He had found this spot as a student, and since then, had claimed it as his own. Other Akademiya scholars knew better than to disturb him if they saw the light flickered on in the back corner of the library. It was an unsaid rule that started when he was a student, and continued on through his occupation as Scribe. Don’t bother Al-Haitham if he’s working in the back of the library. He’ll get mad at you. And yet here you were, pulling out the chair from across from him and leaning forward as if you were going to try to read his book upside down.

“Perhaps,” you hum, “but regardless, spending the entire day working on paperwork isn’t healthy. I thought you would have left by now. What happened to making it clear that you wouldn’t be working outside of your working hours?” You have a point, Al-Haitham thinks. At his first meeting as Acting Grand Sage, he had made it clear that he would not engage in any Akademiya work outside of your working hours, and yet he was here, secluded in the back of the library. The only catch, he wasn’t actually working, simply reading a physics book for pleasure.

Al-Haitham slides his bookmark between the pages, “I’m not doing work. Just reading.”

“Reading a physics book?”

“Yes.”

“Archons above…”

Al-Haitham casts you a dry look. “You’ve seen me read these types of books before, what’s so different about this time?”

“This time,” you reach over and slowly close the book, maintaining eye contact with the Scribe, “it’s late. So you need to tuck away your physics bedtime story and get some food.” Al-Haitham holds your gaze, multi-coloured eyes seeming like they were digging into your mind. He prides himself in the fact that you break eye-contact first, clearing your throat as you lean back. Your fingers accidentally brush against his and you murmur apologies but Al-Haitham can only focus on the way your touch on his ungloved fingers had sent tingles up his arm.

“Are you planning to cook then?” Al-Haitham brings his focus back to the conversation at hand. His words are meant to be sarcastic and yet you take them in a completely different manner.

“Of course not, it’s late, you silly Scribe.” His heart jumps at the childish nickname. “Instead, you and I are going to get dinner at Puspa Cafe!” He raises his eyebrows, making no effort to move. Is that what you’ve come to bother him about?

“Hey now, don’t give me that look. I know you enjoy a good meal at Puspa Cafe, and I’m craving food there, so it’s a win-win situation,” you scold him. “Come on, pack up your things or I’ll drag you there myself.” He wants to remind you that there’s no way that you would ever be able to drag him anywhere but he still sweeps his book into his arms, tucking away his other papers before standing. He’s only doing this because you won’t stop pestering him if he declines, that’s the only reason, he tells himself. The thought of eating dinner with you is nothing special. It’s just as if he was eating dinner with Kaveh, except that you’re much more tolerable. He keeps reminding himself of such facts as you lead him out of the House of Daena, talking animatedly about the research project that you had been working on, the same one that he had approved. You’ve already made so much progress, from extensive notes and an in depth plan ready for execution. The next step, you excitedly ramble on about, is finally exploring the ruins in the desert. Yet Al-Haitham shoots you a concerned glance. The ruins you’ve mentioned are dangerous and he hadn’t realized you might be interested in actually exploring them. There was no doubt that you could protect yourself. You were skilled in elemental practice and weapon alike, so really, there was no reason for him to be worried. And yet the creeping desire to protect you from harm had planted a seed in his mind.

III. Glowing Review “You ask what I tell my friends, said ‘It’s a glowing review.’”

When Al-Haitham knocks on your door, his palms feel unnaturally clammy. He’s not nervous, no, why would he be. It’s just you. You had found him hard at work the other day with a small bag of pastries and two cups of coffee in your hands. One was for you and the other for him, you had said cheerfully, placing it on his desk. A housewarming gift, you joked, seeing as he had finally stepped down from Acting Grand Sage and was back in his office as the Scribe. He hadn’t even realized that you were staring at him when he took a bite of pastry, and perhaps his expression was enough for you to propose that the two of you go to the little shop hidden within Sumeru City to check out the other pastries.

Which is how he finds himself here, counting the seconds as he waits for you to open the door. It’s just a hangout between friends, right? You hadn’t specified anything more, so, by Al-Haitham’s rationale, you simply wanted to try out more pastries with him. Why you didn’t ask someone like Kaveh, is beyond him. He’s sure that his roommate would immediately jump on the opportunity to try something as simple as a “pastry.” And yet he finds the thought of you going out to a bakery with Kaveh to be something he doesn’t ever want to imagine. His roommate, despite what he may argue, has no taste when it comes to romance, so there’s no possible way that the two of you would have a good time. Al-Haitham freezes as he replays the thought in his head. Romance? He shakes his head, how did a thought like that pop up in his head? The two of you were just getting pastries. Because you asked. And you’re friends. That’s all.

“I’m so sorry about the wait!” you throw open your door and the snarky remark on his lips dies instantly. You’ve traded your usual wear for something lighter and rather fitting for the nice weather. Your vision still hangs at your side, clinking against your padisarah keychain but you look different. In a good way of course. Al-Haitham thinks you look more relaxed like this, and for a moment, he feels silly that he’s dressed in his typically day-to-day wear and that maybe he should’ve chosen something more casual because what if you feel uncomfortable around him and what if you roll your eyes with a sigh and what if—

“You look good,” you tilt your head and Al-Haitham feels his cheeks flush when he catches the way your eyes drag from his feet up to his chest, and up to his eyes. “I mean, you always do, but you seem more relaxed today. You should try that expression on more often, it’ll scare people less.” Your teasing words comfort him instantly and he realizes there was really no reason to be so nervous about this. It’s just you and him.

“The less people that try to stop to talk to me at work, the better,” he responds dryly, earning a bark of laughter from you as you lock your door. He watches your every movement carefully from the second you turn back around to set off, up to when he steps ahead to open the door for you. And when the warming smell of fresh baked pastries envelops the two of you, Al-Haitham finds himself looking over at where you stand. Your hands are clasped in front of you, eyes closed and soft smile painted across your lips. You look so peaceful, so calm and serene that the thought of what’s coming next at work makes him want to hide away. If you knew what papers lay on his desk, ready to be signed and put into effect immediately, you might hate him. If you knew about it, would you still want to get pastries with him? If you knew about it, would you be disappointed? Angry? Would you ignore him? If you knew about it, would you still like him the way that he can tell you like him now?

But instead of saying anything, he pushes the guilt down his throat and shifts closer to you. He’ll take what he can for now and deal with the consequences later.

“What are you thinking of getting? And I’ll pay. No arguing with me,” he glances over at the display of mouthwatering cakes and croissants. You still try to argue with him, batting his hand away when he goes to pay, much to the baker’s amusement. He still manages to toss them a bag of mora and you still push him gently, mumbling under your breath that “next time, I’m paying, you got that?”

Next time. Al-Haitham smiles to himself at the thought. Next time.

IV. An Ego Thing “I won’t go first, won’t apologize. Pretty sure it’s an ego thing, but I can’t stand a compromise.”

If the Akademiya scholars thought the General Mahamatra was terrifying, then this was a close second. You were furious, hands clenched and eyes laser focused on finding Al-Haitham. You stormed through the halls, glaring at any scholar that tried to meekly call out to you. You could deal with the repercussions later. Finding the infuriating, cocky, self-absorbed, emotionless Scribe came first.

What had gone from a good day, waking up early in the morning and ready to set out on the expedition that had been approved for research had quickly fallen flat. Cyno had been the one to break the news, knocking on your door in the morning with his mouth pressed into a thin line. The expression on his face was enough to spark concern as you offered to make him a cup of coffee and sit down to talk. But Cyno’s hesitance had your mind racing.

“It has to do with the research expedition” his eyes searched your face. “It’s been called off, by the Scribe’s order.” It was those words that led to where you were now, storming through the Akademiya halls in search of the same man who had approved your project, and now had gone back on his word. Poor Cyno had been the one to watch your expression crumble, words near breathless as you asked for the reasoning behind such a sudden decision. And when he sheepishly said that Al-Haitham hadn’t said anything further than that, you felt the spark in your chest light. If he wanted to play dirty and hide behind words and walls alike then you would tear them down yourself.

“Archons above you’re so infuriating!” you snap. “This is why no one wants to be around you! You knew how much this project meant to me and you even approved it! And the next thing I know you’re halting it halfway and you can’t even come up with a decent explanation as to why?!”

“Look, I get you’re upset—”

“I’m more than upset!” you shake your head, mouth parted in disbelief. “Do you not trust me or something? What did I do wrong? Please, enlighten me!” He finds himself at a loss for words. Should he lie and protect his own dignity or lay out the bare truth? Neither were ideal and yet you stand in front of him, chest rising and falling in anger as you impatiently wait for an answer.

“You know it’s not like that. It’s just not safe,” he says bluntly. “And it really isn’t that big of a deal, you’re just being prideful.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Because the sight of your face falling, a tired scoff falling from your lips as you nod slowly and take a step back is enough for Al-Haitham to know that he said the wrong thing.

“You’re calling me prideful?” The laughter that falls from your lips is dry and painful to hear. The words bubble up from your chest, laced with such anger and poison that it even shocks you when they fall from your lips. “Aren’t you one to talk? You, the great Scribe Al-Haitham, pride and joy of the sages, bowing to their every will then working behind their backs. So what you did was for the greater good, should I grovel at your feet then?”

“Archons above, you’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m being unreasonable?! That’s rich coming from you,” you run a hand across your face. “I’m humiliated. Is that what you want to hear? You approved my project and then rejected it just as I was getting to the most important part. I’ve told you about how excited I was about this and the next thing I know, you’re shutting it down! Was this some sort of act, some sort of game to you, to humiliate me like this?” Al-Haitham hesitates and that one second of hesitation is what marks his downfall. He reacts too slowly and you take it the wrong way. You shake your head in disappointment, lips pressed together. You refuse to meet his eyes, refuse to let him see the hurt that’s built up all day. If he wants to play dirty, then so can you.

“You’re a shitty person,” you don’t mean it, but you want to hurt him back. “Clearly, nothing that comes out of your mouth is sincere. Nothing about you is genuine. I can’t believe I’ve tried to be your friend, tried to get closer to you. This was clearly a mistake. Everything between us was a mistake.” He’s quiet at your words. Perhaps you’ve stepped over the line this time and when you look up, Al-Haitham just stares at you. There’s hurt in his eyes, something you didn’t think you would ever see, and it’s because of you. The apologies die on your lips, because how do you apologize to someone after tearing down their walls and striking where you know it hurts? You open your mouth to say anything but Al-Haitham turns away first. His back faces you and he asks you to leave, and as the door clicks shut behind him, you swear you hear a sharp sniffle followed by him clearing his throat. You don’t stay to hear anything more.

V. Tough Act “Saying goodbye to a best friend is the bad part of the right thing to do.”

Guilt, in its most basic terms as defined by any Akademiya dictionary, is “a feeling of having done wrong or failed in an obligation.” And yet the feeling that brews inside of your chest can’t quite be encapsulated in just the word “guilt.” There is a heaviness that weighs down, burdening your every thought since you’ve left his office. The words that had spilled from your lips were cruel. They were sharpened knives ready to strike and the sight of Al-Haitham’s face falling, letting you see the hurt flashing across your features, was enough to know that a line had been overstepped.

Everyone knows that he’s a rather rational person. He doesn’t always express his emotions, and when he does, it’s usually because he has a plan rolling in his mind. So to catch him off guard like this, and see how hurtful your words really were, quickly plagued your thoughts. That didn’t mean his own words and actions hadn’t hurt either. By the time you left his office, you still hadn’t quite gotten an explanation as to why the research project had been cancelled. The first day after everything had unfolded you cursed Al-Haitham’s name, grumbling to Dehya over dinner.

“You know… I’ve noticed that you’ve spent a lot more time around Al-Haitham recently,” she tosses the statement on the table, forcing you to stop eating and stare up at her with a spoon of soup halfway to your mouth.

“He’s just nice— well, I just find that I enjoy his company,” you let the words stumble out.

“Haven’t you gotten dinner with him nearly every day this week?” Dehya says it so nonchalantly that it surprises you. You had, in fact, had dinner with Al-Haitham five of the seven days of the week. Three of them were a result of both of you leaving work at the same time and two of the times you had been invited over by Kaveh for dinner. Al-Haitham had volunteered to walk you from the Akademiya to their home, then from their home back to yours, sending you off with a gentle smile and the promise to see each other the next day.

Admittedly, neither of you had clarified the relationship that had grown between the two of you. Unsaid promises, unsaid labels, unsaid confessions lingered in the air. It had become a dance of back and forth footwork, your hands gliding along his figure until you had stumbled, tripping over your feet, curses tearing from your lips as you pushed him away by accident. There was no doubt that he was actively making an effort to avoid you and while you weren’t seeking him at every moment, it still hurt to hear that he wasn’t anywhere that you could find him when you wanted. Which is exactly what leads to you seeking help from Kaveh, who had at first, rolled his eyes, claiming that you were better off without him. But upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he mumbles that the “feeble scholar himself” is in his room.

To your surprise, he lets you in and yet you stand as close to the door as possible. Al-Haitham doesn’t like the way you’re so tense and ready to run, as if the slightest movement might send you fleeing. But he can’t reach out to pull you in. The fraying rope is on its last thread, ready to snap unless the two of you can find some sort of compromise.

“I’m sorry,” your head hangs low and you can’t look at him. “What I said to you, I didn’t mean it. You’re not a bad person.” You’re afraid of what you might see in his eyes. You can hear his breathing, counting the seconds between each breath as you wait for him to say something, anything. It’s clear that he’s trying to find the words to say and you’re preparing for the worst.

“But you think anything we had was a mistake?” Ah, that’s not what he wanted to say but he had blurted it out anyway. He knows that you don’t think so, but he just wants to hear it from your lips. But saying it this way, he isn’t sure he’s going to get an answer because his chest physically hurts when you flinch at his words and inhale sharply. You still refuse to look at him and it’s eating him up inside.

You exhale sharply, “No. I don’t. I just… I was upset because I was looking forward to going on the expedition and it was cancelled without even a day’s notice. And when I heard that the order had come from you, I didn’t even try to hear you out, I just… yelled at you instead. I’m sorry.”

Your words are honest, and Al-Haitham knows that you didn’t mean the words you had said. You were upset, rightfully so, and had taken the anger out on him. But the words still stung, leaving him reeling from the sudden burst of anger and the subtle truth that had been woven in. You didn’t mean them, and he knows it. So why is forgiveness so hard to give out?

“I’m also sorry about what I said and did.” Al-Haitham ducks his head slightly in hopes that you might meet his eyes. You don’t and it frustrates him. It worries him that he can’t read the expression on your face. You, who wore your heart on your sleeve, was now covering it up and he hated it. “I cancelled the project because I was worried about your safety. I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself but I didn’t want to put you in any danger. And I ended up cancelling your expedition. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”

But do you? What are you supposed to do now?

“Are we okay?” your voice is small and tight, as if Al-Haitham’s room is starting close in and suffocating you. The tension continues to build and there are no signs of it dissipating.

Al-Haitham answers honestly, “I don’t know.” It’s three words, but not quite the words you’ve dreamed of hearing from him. It’s three words that tear into your chest and hit you full force because it tells you that Al-Haitham can’t forgive you.

“Right.” You clear your throat. “Right! I understand. I’ll leave you be then. And I’ll give you some space for a bit. Thank you… for hearing me out.” Your voice sounds a bit more high pitched, words choppy and sentences fitting together awkwardly. But the tension in the room has filled to the brim and it feels like it’s hard to breathe, so the next step is the run. And you leave immediately, pushing your way out of his room, down the hallway, past Kaveh who glances up at the sight of your tear-filled eyes and hasty steps. You leave out the front door with shaky breaths, unaware of the way Al-Haitham tries to go after you with his hand outstretched and your name silent on his lips. But the door clicks shut, and the rope snaps.

+ I. Invisible String “And isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

“Have you seen (y/n)?” Al-Haitham stops Dehya as she’s slipping through the streets of Sumeru City. The Flame Mane raises her brows at him, sending him a suspicious look. Her arms cross over her chest and she tilts her head as she studies the expression on his face. He looks more tired than usual, less composed and shaken. It’s quite a surprise to see him like this, but Dehya knows better than to poke fun at him. Now, she’s seen both ends of the Spectrum. She’s seen your disheveled look, puffy eyes and half-hearted attempts to do your work at home. And now she’s seen Al-Haitham, actively searching for you in the middle of the day, exactly when he should be caught up with menial tasks at the Akademiya. It’s been a couple weeks since the aftermath of an attempted reconciliation and while you’re attitude

“They’re not feeling well.” Dehya answers carefully. It’s not exactly the truth, but also not a lie. You had been under the weather just a week prior but had recovered quickly. Today was the first day you had returned to work without feeling congested, but Al-Haitham didn’t need to know that.

“They’re sick?” his back straightens and almost instantly he looks more alert. An interesting reaction, Dehya thinks to herself.

“Well, not anymore.” Dehya shrugs, “They went back to work today.” She watches the change in his expression and gives herself a little invisible high-five. This is just the push the two of you need. Then maybe she won’t have to hear the groans from your lips whenever someone brings up Al-Haitham’s name, and she won’t have to hear from Kaveh how his roommate has been “moping” around. As if on cue, Al-Haitham thanks her, bids her farewell, and walks down the street, not quite in the direction of the Akademiya but she assumes that he’s off to pick something up for you.

That something just so happens to be flowers from one of the local vendors. And when you tiredly open your door to get ready to get lunch you’re greeted by the sight of Al-Haitham about to knock on your door, mouth parted in surprise, one hand raised and poised to knock and the other holding a small but pretty bouquet of flowers.

“Grand Scribe?” Ouch, that hurt. “Is everything okay?”

“Um… are you free?” he tries to regain his composure and yet you stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

You clear your throat, “I’m about to get lunch. Did you need to… discuss something?” Your eyes flick between the flowers and his face. He wants to curse himself because he has no doubt that he looks like a ridiculous gaping fish. But you had thrown open the door when he hadn’t even finished planning what to say and now his plan was falling apart.

“Could we get lunch together? I just wanted to talk about us.”

You’re silent. Al-Haitham curses and you giggle quietly, trying to cover it up immediately. It’s almost as if the laughter melted any tension between the two of you because he feels his shoulders relax instantly and a fond smile crosses his features.

“Sure! Puspa Cafe?” you propose. There are things to be said, boundaries to be discussed and no doubt a relationship to be repaired, but if this is how easy it is for the two of you to move past such arguments and find comfort in one another, then, you think to yourself, things will be okay.

“Ah, would it be too soon to call it a ‘date?’” Al-Haitham blurts it out before he can stop himself. It’s like he loses his filter around you, the words that he wants to phrase better just falling out and laying bare his true feelings.

You raise your eyebrows and Al-Haitham wants to run. “Are you going to give me the flowers first?” He feels like an absolute fool with the way he’s acting. It’s like he’s a teenager again and he wants to hide away. He swears that he’s more composed than this. But instead of replying, he offers the flowers to you with a sheepish smile. When your fingers brush against his he feels all too aware of the close proximity of the two of you.

No doubt, there are things to talk about, but for now, the two of you can bask in the moment. You both find that despite all that has happened, when standing in front of one another, it’s difficult to stay mad. It’s as if there was an invisible red string wrapped around your pinkie fingers, leading you through life and tugging you towards one another, waiting for your pinkies to intertwine and a confession to be sealed. Just wait, let time be the guide, let your friends cheer on the sidelines and whisper to one another that of course you and Al-Haitham were meant to be. After all, only the two of you could keep up with one another and match one another in every way possible. Isn’t it so pretty to think?

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 a/n: if you know all the songs i used i love you

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