❝ 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Al-haitham was a patient man.
Or at least that was what he considered himself until five minutes ago.
Cyno had bombarded his phone with forty missed calls, practically begging him to show up at the theatre club. One would think that he was in grave danger, about to be brutally murdered — but not his roommate. He knew better than to fall for his thinly-veiled tricks. And yet, despite it all, he found himself standing in front of the same old sign he thought he wouldn't have to see again.
Inhaling a huge puff of air to prepare himself for the worst, Al-haitham wrapped his fingers around the door's handle, pushing it open.
The area was crowded; not as much as the days he had to check in for the task he was assigned, but crowded nonetheless. He observed the groups that were huddled together with mild disinterest.
However, his eyes hadn't completely settled. They continued to search for Cyno, while he absentmindedly caressed the expanse below his jawline, his palm brushing against the thick fabric of his turtleneck. Though, before he could find him, he was met with a rather... unexpected face. A face he hoped not to have seen for a few days since the questionable fragment of his dream was fresh, and frankly, very humiliating still.
"Y/N."
Her name rolled off Al-haitham's tongue in a delicate whisper — as if it was a secret that he wished to keep to himself.
There she was, her back against the foggy window and her lips adorned with a polite smile. She was talking, and laughing, and sighing, just like everyone else in the room. She was sitting, and breathing, and beaming, just like any other human would.
But others were a haunting reality, and she was art.
"Al-haitham!"
The voice yanked him out of his reverie, causing him to blink owlishly at the disruption. A hint of annoyance seeped into his features once he registered who it belonged to.
"What did you call me here for?"
Cyno tried to elaborate, but upon noticing what, or who, Al-haitham was so intently staring at, he suppressed a knowing smirk behind a facade of indifference.
"You don't seem to hate being here."
"Answer me. I despise it when someone meddles with my resting hours."
