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[ Each kiss is a year, Alhaitham says, and so of course Kaveh starts counting: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven— and then yet more soft kisses against his lips, hips shifting and pressing into his own in a way that makes him groan, until it quickly stops making sense, until there are more kisses than there are years between them,

and for a moment Kaveh is confused, but he gets it, and his eyes fill with tears even as he tries to huff in fake irritation, even as he shoves a hand at Alhaitham's chest. ]

I was asking seriously, Alhaitham—

[ But he doesn't ask again; instead he hooks his leg around the other man's a little more firmly, rolling his hips with a soft moan. ]