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genshin-impacted · 2 years ago

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Exchange of Rings

(Alhaitham x Reader - 7/?)

The feelings you and Alhaitham hold for each other run deeper than either of you think. Many things are left unsaid. OR affection + artistry + comfort

Word Count: ~4.2k

Notes: afab!reader, second person pov “you”, gn!reader, switches pov with Alhaitham, modern au, arranged marriage, fall first/fall harder, slow burn, ft. Sumeru crew

[Previous - Next]

More than half a year into the arranged marriage, Alhaitham finally decides to provide an update to his family. Being overjoyed would not be an exaggeration, though Alhaitham can tell even through the phone that they are trying to tamper their elation as though he were a skittish animal prone to running away at any sudden movements. Halfway through the conversation his mother gives up and starts to gush about how happy she is for him, among other things. The other things include wondering about the wedding, how you would want to celebrate, when should the wedding be, and oh gosh, what type of theme would the two of you want to have?

His father is better at feigning nonchalance, but then he begins to reminisce about how Alhaitham used to turn his nose up at romantic dramas when he was younger, a tone of warmth seeping into his words. (Alhaitham thinks of telling his father that his relationship with you is nothing like a drama where misunderstandings and tragedies blight the couple like a plague. His union with you is peaceful, though not without its own hiccups, but otherwise... lovely. Serendipitous.

Alhaitham finds that to be the best-suited word.)

Alhaitham updates his grandmother in person. He expected her to be happy for him, smug even, so he is surprised– mildly alarmed– when her eyes grow misty as he describes how his life has been with you. She bats his concern away, a gesture to continue his stories, but her hand holds onto his with a loving tightness that speaks to her joy more than anything.

You had planned to come with him but then your workplace calls you in for an emergency. You are more disappointed than he anticipates that you cannot go, so he simply reassures you that there is always a next time for his grandmother to meet you. Only, this seems to upset you more: something about how this meeting is important to you because you want to make a good impression.

Alhaitham is unsure how this meeting is any different from a meeting, say, two weeks from now. But you worry—unnecessarily, in his opinion, though the last time he said that to you directly was the first time he has gotten a cold look from you, so he tries to keep it to himself if only to not earn your ire too often.

(Alhaitham doesn’t recall what the topic was about– unimportant in the scheme of things– but you were worried about something, bringing it up various times during the day, and he had told you that your concern was extraneous– inefficient. Which is true, he thinks. If there was something to be fixed, then it would be done already; if there is nothing to be done, then why worry about it?

You had stared at him, face blank, before you looked away quietly. He could see the hurt flicker in your expression before you quickly made an excuse to be alone.

Alhaitham had believed the first real fight the two of you had was a difference in philosophy. Later, when the two of you had taken some time alone, you reported back to him that it was not the case.

“I know some things I can’t fix,” you had told him, “but I still worry about them anyways. You might call it ‘inefficient-” it only dawns on Alhaitham then that the wording may have been abrasive if you can still quote him, “but I talk to you because I process things better that way.”

He remembers that you had fidgeted with your hand in your lap, your words evidently hard to come by during conflict but you still worked through them until you could convey what you felt. “I just like being able to talk to you about it,” you say, “I want to be able to tell you about things that worry me, even if there’s no solution.”

Alhaitham is a problem-solver. It is his default for everything. He is used to being abrasive and hard-to-swallow, and he had believed that someone who could marry him would be someone tolerant of those traits.

But something has to give. If he is truly to live a life of peace that he desires with you as a part of it, then he must compromise so that you can fit in with it. It is easy for him to make that decision. He does not want to imagine a life where you do not wake up next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he had said, watching as your lips wobble with emotion in just two words. “I’ll learn for next time.”)

You had professed that he often keeps you grounded when your thoughts tend to go awry, so Alhaitham keeps this in mind and strategically anchors you down whenever he deems necessary. It seems to work so far; he just has to hone in on what words can help soothe rather than aggravate. Holding your hands is step one to calming you down. You squeeze his hand when he does, this gesture so familiar that he no longer bats an eye. (Not that he does not enjoy it still; your hand in his is a comfortable feeling that he will never tire of.)

“You don’t have to worry about making a first good impression,” Alhaitham tells you. “But if you’re really worried about it, we can meet up all together during her birthday in a few months.”

Your shoulders lose tension slightly at the prospect of a future meeting. You still look skeptical at his first statement, but you are reasonable even at the worst of times, so you allow him to elaborate. “Okay, the birthday sounds good. We definitely should get a present,” you say. “But what do you mean ‘don’t worry?’ Why not?”

“‘Treat my other grandchild well,’ she told me.” Alhaitham feels your hands squeeze his again, more tightly this time, and he looks up in time to see your smile wobble precariously. “So you’re fine,” he says, letting you laugh off the tender emotions to save face.

The year is in the throes of summer now, so it does not take long for things to grow hot and uncomfortable. But still, Alhaitham does not let go of your hands as you swing them back and forth happily– not as long as you won’t.

(What kind of things has Alhaitham been telling his grandmother? ‘Must be only the good things,’ you try to convince yourself, tempering the bubbly feeling of pleasure from bursting. But Alhaitham is nothing if not honest– so what does that mean for what he thinks of you that his grandmother is able to welcome you with open-arms into the family?)

The two of you hold hands very often now. Alhaitham thinks it's convenient to not be separated and to keep you from wandering off: two similar but distinct situations that occur every time the two of you walk anywhere. If it's not to lose you in a crowd during a popular bakery's rush hour, then it is to keep you at his side before you run off to buy yet another houseplant. It's easy to guide you away from the busy streets when you are close to him. Knowing your inability to walk in a straight line (you always lean into him), he feels more at ease if he were the one having to dodge bikers or errant puddles.

You notice this eventually, and you are enamored by this action of his. Alhaitham can understand where you’re coming from, though he can’t say he truly ‘gets it.’ It is only natural that he keeps his mind from being preoccupied by extraneous thoughts such as whether or not you are safe. If he can keep you near the sidewalk walls, hand in hand, then he can save space to think about the prose of the latest literature he has read or focus on answering random philosophical questions that you happen to blurt out that day. Your questions are borne of boredom and a dash of 'silliness' as you say.

You make the excuse often, despite being very intelligent and serious whenever it is necessary. You are good in a crisis, he has noticed, though you tend to downplay your abilities during these times. ‘Modest,’ he thinks, though he has always found that concept quite pointless. Alhaitham, on the other hand, has never found the need to showcase less than what he is. (Then again, that may be why you are more likable than he is.)

For one, you possess a creative soul that Kaveh bemoans is absent in Alhaitham. You try to deny it, but then he reminds you that you have dabbled in far more artistic pursuits than he has with great fervor. You point out that he has a degree in the humanities and a greater grasp on semiotics and linguistics than anyone you know, but knowing is not the same as doing. ‘Art is beauty with human emotion– something you would never understand in a million years!’ or so Kaveh keeps on telling him when he has to carry the architect back to his apartment drunk. Despite it all, you seem to believe that he is capable of it, so Alhaitham obliges.

During break, he writes a poem for you on the notepad that you bought him for his office. Alhaitham thinks you must like it because he has seen you keep it on your night stand since, rereading it at least once before you go to sleep.

Alhaitham believes that he does not have an eye for beauty or an artistic soul, but you think otherwise. Perhaps it is not the same sense of aesthetics as most people, but you know at least that Alhaitham recognizes beauty and acknowledges it. You think it is the same with creating art.

If art is made of emotion, you know Alhaitham has what it takes to make something beautiful. You are rewarded for this belief when, a week after you try to talk him into writing something, he gives you a small slip of paper of less than five lines in Arabic and its translation in English. You never gave Alhaitham any prompt to write, but he writes you a love poem anyways.

If eyes are the windows to your soul, then what do these few words of raw emotion and tender allegories tell of the artist’s heart?

Alhaitham would ever call himself an artist, but you at least think he’s a poet if the words he writes about beauty, longing, and love etched into your heart is of any indication.

You aren’t sure if it is a direct result, but you get back into photography– and consequently, scrapbooking soon after Alhaitham writes you his poem. You print out pictures you’ve taken over the years, chronologizing the memories you’ve made in the past few years. With only about half a year with Alhaitham, you don’t have as many photos together with him, but you scrounge enough to make at least a page or two. Most of them are candid ones, selfies, and maybe it is because your fiancé is a handsome man, but you think they turned out pretty good anyways.

Though you jump between hobbies often, you are nothing if not dedicated to these whims of yours, buying pages for photos and printing several dozen of them to find a proper place for them in your album. You are delighted when Alhaitham offers you some picture frames to place photos in and decorate the house, so you corral him to look at the photos you printed to pick a few.

One of your favorites you intend to put into a frame is a photo of you and Alhaitham with his friends at work. You slide it into view and hold it out for Alhaitham, and though he lets out a small huff at your suggestion to put it at his desk, he still takes the picture frame from your hand. "You can take a few more," you tell him, beaming. You watch as he sifts through the photos, and you can't help the way you flit to and fro, excited to share a hobby with your fiancé– a little bit of you.

Alhaitham sees the way you attempt to give him privacy to choose the photos he prefers in his periphery. You are too eager for your own good though, your enthusiasm winning out your desire for discretion. You hover at an arm's length, watching him intently ever so often before forcing your eyes elsewhere.

You're… incredibly endearing. He has to turn his head away to hide his amusement.

Alhaitham puts more effort into scanning the table instead of watching you then. The array of photos that scatter the table summarizes his time with you well. Though he is not one for sentimental displays, Alhaitham appreciates it now when he can pinpoint the very moment captured in the pictures like it was only yesterday. The first hike on a sunny day– you had drunk two bottles of water in the first hour. What seems to be one of the many trips to the supermarket– Alhaitham cannot quite tell which trip it is, but his eyes catch your phone's camera not a moment before you stick out your tongue and snap a photo.

You're surprisingly good at taking photos when he least expects it. Alhaitham recalls how you've complained at how he looks good in every photo you take. 'Photogenic,' you had sighed at him, not that he would know; you're the first one to take as many photos of him.

And the first he does not mind taking a photo of. You seemed as equally awed as you were envious the first time you asked him to take a photo of you at a scenic destination, and it turned out, in your own words, stunning. "I never look good like this," you had argued, though you were pleased enough to like it immediately.

If you had asked him, he would have said that you looked charming in every photo you're in. If Kaveh had been there, he would have said something along the lines of beauty in the eye of the beholder. Loath to admit it, Alhaitham thinks he may have to concede to this point.

"I'll keep this one."

"Which one?" You ask, sidling close to him almost immediately. His heart stutters for a moment in surprise before it settles again, hyper aware of your arm pressing against his. "Oh, this one…"

Alhaitham looks at you when you go quiet. You have a complicated look on your face that he has yet to decipher; it is there and gone the next moment.

Alhaitham doesn't think it's an unflattering photo of either of you, and you must agree having printed it out in the first place. In the selfie, you look up into the phone with your eyes gently closing, a smile stretching wide– the perfect embodiment of the type of person you are to him. He hears you mumble that he isn't looking at the camera in this one. He doesn't mind it; whether he's facing the camera or not is irrelevant in his selection.

(His gaze is softened in the photo, his lips upturned just the slightest bit to showcase his contentment in the moment. You don't think anyone has looked at you as gently as Alhaitham does in this picture.

You remember looking at the photo for the longest time with a sense of yearning, imagining that Alhaitham looked a little bit like he was irrevocably in love with you.)

“The angle for my face isn’t that flattering,” you say instead, smiling, but you don’t do a thing to try and take it away from him. “But you look good for someone not looking at the camera, Mr. Candid. Are you going to put it in the office?”

Alhaitham takes the photo and slides it into a coffee-colored frame. “Yes,” he says, and if he was any other person, he would have jumped at your sudden shout. Instead, he turns to you with a brow raised in question.

You scramble through the photos before tapping on one of them– a photo the two of you took at a candlelit dinner that you had a gift card for– with much vigor. “Why don’t you choose this one then? I look so much better in this one!” You bemoan, looking up at him.

Alhaitham can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him. “No,” he says.

“Then this one?”

“No.”

“How ‘bout this one?”

“No.”

You huff this time, though a smile tries to peek from underneath your banter. “Why not?”

The picture soothes him, Alhaitham thinks suddenly, but he hesitates on admitting this to you. It is very funny to him to see you whine and gripe, and you know just as much. Saying something as sentimental as this would undoubtedly change the mood.

Alhaitham prides himself on knowing what others may think, predicting their next move and countering it with great ease. With you, he is not too sure. Partly because he has yet to know everything that makes you the person you are, but mostly because he knows he’s been compromised. He wants to make you laugh. He wants to be the one to put you at ease, reading books until you fall asleep at his side. Though Alhaitham suspects that you would be happy hearing that the image of you has the same effect on him as he does to you, he can never be sure when it’s with you.

(How can he accurately deduce the heart of someone he is fond of?)

“It’s the easiest way to introduce you to everyone who hasn’t seen you at work,” he says. “So they can finally stop asking me what you look like.”

“You really don’t have any photos on your phone?” You gape. “Maybe we should start using your phone. It probably has the better camera anyways…” You trail off, looking less despondent than your words would convey. The smile on your face says everything as you turn away to fondly look at the other photos. Alhaitham looks down at the one you’re looking at, and he is surprised to find that it’s a rare photo that he does not remember when it was taken.

For one, Alhaitham is asleep. Based on the light coming from outside and the angle, he can probably guess that the photo was taken mid to late afternoon on a weekend that you were home with him. He must have fallen asleep while reading on the couch because his book is on his chest, one hand still holding onto it.

It is a strangely vulnerable picture. It is a culmination of the time he has lived with you: the ease in which he finds himself in your company, and the trust he has to not stir even as you, he assumes, quietly laugh to yourself while taking the photo. It is a photo taken with a little bit of whimsy and lots of affection. Alhaitham finds himself oddly embarrassed. His face, luckily, remains impassive, though he can feel his ears getting hot.

You look back at him, as if only realizing he was still there, and put the photo to your chest protectively. "I'm keeping this one," you say teasingly.

Warmth settles in Alhaitham's chest. "Aren't you embarrassed, taking a peeping photo of your own fiancé?" He asks, his lips twitching into his own small smile when he hears you sputter.

Sleeping photos aside, Alhaitham is pleased with the photo he has chosen for the frame on his work desk. He was telling you the truth when he said that having the picture would save time for him when people want to see what you look like. His picture frame is turned outward for ease of visitors, but considering how little he encourages visitors, it is hardly ever used for that purpose.

The times that it has been used for that reason are more than likely for the people who have already met you. Dehya comes in his office to hand in a report and always turns the frame toward her, staring at the image for a moment before leaving– though not without throwing Alhaitham a knowing look that he ignores. The first time Nilou sees the photo sitting on his desk, she asks after your well-being and, good-natured as her questions are, Alhaitham can only answer honestly.

But otherwise, Alhaitham likes the convenience of having your smiling face at his desk. That should be reason enough to keep that photo there, isn’t it? (And if he looks at it periodically during work, and more so when work begins to unnecessarily pile up on his desk, then who is there to tell him not to?)

“Working hard as usual, Alhaitham?”

Alhaitham looks up from clearing his desk of paperwork to see Cyno walking toward him. The clock on the wall reads 4:55 PM. “Only as much as I need to,” he replies back, snapping his briefcase closed. “I have never worked overtime and I don’t plan to start. Besides,” Alhaitham continues dryly, “detective work is more in your wheelhouse than mine.”

At this, Cyno scoffs, his gaze landing on the briefcase with what the both of them know to be papers more important than anyone could ever know. “I’ll have it settled as soon as we get additional evidence on Azar,” Cyno says. “Candace is working on writing the investigation report. Dehya should be able to go through the past transactions the company has made in the past financial year by next week. I’m assuming you’re keeping the other paperwork safe?”

“There’s always a papertrail in one way or another with embezzlement,” Alhaitham states. “I’d rather not have the company go bankrupt from the recklessness of one man. That sounds rather troublesome, and I’d rather not have to find another place to work.”

“So you don’t have to work overtime?” Cyno smirks at him despite the rather somber topic. “Or because you have someone you want to provide for at home?”

You have been saving up money to buy a better coffee machine at home, he thinks. “I’m quite comfortable with the salary they offer for my position,” he says instead. Alhaitham adjusts the frame at his desk and checks the clock again– 5:00 PM. “I’m off,” he tells Cyno, standing up. “Don’t call me unless something is urgent.”

Alhaitham vaguely hears Cyno’s response as he heads off, driving as soon as he is able. The car ride is nothing different than the usual traffic. With summer underway, the sun is more likely to shine directly into his eyes with its longer days, but Alhaitham hardly notices the inconvenience as he wonders if you have already started to make dinner at home. And which apron you have decided to use today– the lemon floral design or the funnier one with a phrase that always makes you laugh a little under your breath.

The thought follows him from his parked car into his shared apartment with you, and when he sees you greet him with a smile, he thinks no photo can compare to the real-life you. It’s a curious thought; your smile is no different then and now, but he feels it inside him that he will always be more satisfied with seeing you in person.

Alhaitham wonders if he is quieter than usual, sitting with his thoughts because he looks up mid-meal and sees your concerned expression. “Are you alright?” You ask, voice warm and affectionate. He feels his cheeks prickle with a tell-tale sign of an oncoming blush and he cannot understand why. “Did something happen at work today?”

“...It’s busier,” Alhaitham says. He has no intentions on bringing his work home especially now when it may become more complicated than he would want it to. With law enforcement possibly being involved and the company’s livelihood… Candace has advised him to keep it among those in the company and Alhaitham is inclined to agree. He would never lie to you though; he’d say everything if you ever asked, and the realization is abrupt. “I’ve been told I can’t say too much because it’s confidential information, but if you would prefer if I told you-”

“No, it’s fine.” You wince, waving your hand. “I mean, unless you want to tell me. But I don’t want you to get in trouble. I appreciate you telling me though.” Warmth seeps into your voice again. You gaze at him with just as much heat, if not more searing, as though you have something else you want to tell him.

You don't, though, dropping your gaze to the plate in front of you. (Alhaitham can definitely feel his upper cheeks warm, and he continues to eat again too, hoping to blame the color on the light.) “If there’s anything I can do for you,” you say, “just let me know.”

You look up again to flash a small smile at him, and he returns it.

“Thank you,” he says, and finds that it is genuine.

“Of course.” You nudge his leg underneath the table with a twinkle in your eyes. “For you, always,” you say and laugh as though your promises do not have a hold on his heart.

The quicker he gets this company problem out of the way, Alhaitham thinks, the faster he can start planning for the wedding, financially and logistically. He remembers that you wanted a large wedding, after all, and he will only provide the best for you on your wedding day. His wedding day. Both of yours.

Alhaitham supposes a few hours of working at home won’t hurt if it means that day can come more quickly. The reason why he feels this way sits on the precipice of his mind, but then you ask him about his opinions on preferred cleaning products for the hardwood floors and the thought is pushed to the back where it will surface when he least expects it.

(And by then, his thoughts will have rearranged everything into three simple words.)

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#weekend reblog #scheduled #wahoo

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