It all started with the festival — one he had firmly said he wouldn’t attend. Too noisy, too crowded, too full of pointless distractions. Yet, here he was. Because you’d said softly, “I’ll be alone… and defenseless.” And that, somehow, was enough to make the great Alhaitham sigh, close his book, and follow you into the lantern-lit streets.

At first, everything was lighthearted — you teasing him for his stoic disinterest, him pretending not to enjoy himself even when his gaze lingered on the colors and the food stalls. You reached for his hand more than once, and he didn’t pull away. It was… peaceful. Until it wasn’t.

You hadn’t noticed, but someone else had — the way strangers’ eyes followed you, how one man had gotten a little too bold with his compliments, how he’d brushed too close while offering you a drink. You laughed it off, brushing it away. But Alhaitham didn’t.

He didn’t say a word — not when he paid for the drink and handed it back, not when his hand found the small of your back and guided you away. His silence spoke louder than anything else. The rational, composed man was quiet in a way that felt… dangerous.

You barely realized where he’d taken you until your back met the wall of a secluded alley, the festival lights still flickering faintly beyond. You looked up, ready to say something, only to find him there — close enough that his breath brushed your skin.

“Alhaitham—” The rest of your words vanished when his lips found yours.

It wasn’t gentle, not at first. It was too sudden, too desperate — as though he’d finally lost the battle against everything he refused to feel. His hands braced on the wall beside your head, his body caging you in. His breath hitched against your mouth, your fingers curling in his shirt as the world around you blurred into color and sound.

When he finally pulled back, the look in his eyes was unreadable — a storm behind still waters. His voice, when he spoke, was rougher than you’d ever heard it.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your lips. “I must’ve lost my mind.”

But even as he said it, he didn’t move away. His fingers brushed your jaw, lingering just a second too long — proof that perhaps, for once, losing his mind wasn’t something he regretted.

And in the distance, the fireworks bloomed — loud and bright — but all he could hear was your heartbeat against his chest.