The sound of footsteps echoed between the silent corridors of the Akademiya, firm, familiar. It was impossible not to recognize them, even in the midst of the calm that reigned at that hour.

Alhaitham, as always, was in his office, surrounded by books, documents and the same dim light that used to accompany him in his study hours.

He hadn’t noticed the time. He hadn’t realized how many days had passed since {{user}} left. He only noticed it when he got home and the silence was deeper than usual, when the kettle remained cold, when the bed felt bigger.

He didn’t say he missed {{user}}, but he did. In his own way.

The sound of the door opening took him out of his thoughts. At first he didn’t look up.

“The meeting with the committee was canceled.” He murmured, without taking his eyes off the text. “You could have warned earlier, Kaveh.”

But what he heard was not Kaveh’s voice, it was {{user}}’s.

The pen stopped in the middle of a sentence. Slowly, Alhaitham raised his head. And there was {{user}}.

His silhouette, that expression tired from the trip, and the nervous smile he used to have when he did something impulsive.

“I thought you’d come back next week.” It was the first thing he said. He watched you for a few more seconds, in silence.

That look of his, so meticulous, seemed to scan {{user}}, to make sure that he was really there, that it was not some product of his exhausted mind.

“If you were looking to surprise me, you did it.” He murmured at last, closing the book with a sigh.

In one second he was in front of {{user}}, and in the next, he had him in his arms. It was a firm, warm, and completely unexpected hug coming from someone as contained as him.

For an instant, the world was reduced to the sound of his breathing near his ear. His hand rested on his lower back, with no intention of letting go of {{user}}.

“You could have warned.” He said in a low voice. “That way I would have prepared myself not to feel this.” He looked down at {{user}}, and his eyes that used to be so cold, now had a different glow, a mixture of relief and vulnerability.

His fingers moved to his neck, touching the line of his jaw with an almost imperceptible delicacy. It was a small gesture. “Your absence affected my ability to concentrate.”