❝ CLEANING THE HOUSE IS NOT 'MALEWIFE BEHAVIOUR', IT'S CALLED BEING A RESPONSIBLE ADULT. ❞
━━━ al-haitham's friends scribble his phone number in one of the stalls of the girls' washroom, and he ends up getting a message at 3 am.
[ al-haith...
❛ can i unplug my ears from my body for a second ❜
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Touch.
It morphed into different feelings depending on the person who initiated it. When someone you hated touched you, you hated it, too. When someone you loved touched you, you loved it, too.
Al-haitham didn't know if he could put the emotion he was currently experiencing in the second category, because 'love' was a strong word for a person who took vocabulary very seriously. He didn't know if he was even allowed to think about such a possibility— one in which a little bud of love would manage to bloom in his heart. He didn't know if he gave a shit about any of that right now, because nothing seemed to matter to him except for the presence that had fallen over his dorm room like a pall. He was too lost in his own thoughts to pay any heed to the rationality he always carried with him.
Why?
Because soft, cold fingers were tracing the shape of his body, from the edge of his jaw to his partially exposed torso. The flimsy cloth of his white shirt, halfway unbuttoned and barely clinging to his chest, allowed the familiar pair of hands to wander closer to his stomach, imprinting an invisible path that brimmed with affection all over his skin. His lungs collapsed at the sensation.
He gasped for air — audibly — his mind fogged with many, many musings; as if every love poem of the world had come together to drown him in this feeling. Trembling and shivering and— oh.
"Y/N..."
Y/N. Whose face he had grown to recognise in crowds. Whose face he had begun dreaming about. Whose face he couldn't stop missing. Whose face he had started to adore.
Her lips peppered tender kisses on the expanse of his neck, the action eliciting a fresh reaction from the man— surprise. Quite a pleasant surprise.
He noticed how her head turned when she heard her name being so delicately uttered, how her eyes shot up to meet his, coruscating with excitement. He released a small chuckle at the sight.
However, it died away in his throat when she pinned him down with a stare laced with anticipation. She was wordlessly asking questions that would leave Al-haitham a blushing mess if not for the silent exchange, and Al-haitham was answering each of them with a kiss on her cheek, smiling fondly.
After every affirmative answer he gave her — with several pecks at that — she did something that left him breathless. Grabbing his wrists as she tattooed marks on his collarbones, getting rid of the useless fabric on him that was concealing absolutely nothing, tugging at the roots of his grey strands as she straddled him— and he never thought he would find himself liking these sorts of things... this much.
