i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!
part i, part ii, part iii
a/n: the well awaited end to this fic is here! enjoy :)
synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.
tags: alhaitham/reader ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing, miscommunication
It’s Valentine’s Day, and the most unusual thing to ever happen to you—happens.
A pristine white note falls out of your locker, and you never thought you would see the day. You’d assume, being a workaholic and being relegated to tasks (due to people pleasing tendencies you can’t seem to shake off), that you’d finish off the school year without falling victim to Valentine’s day sickeningly sweet confessions.
Please meet me in the homeroom lab after classes. – H
If it was any other day, you’d assume one of the teachers wrote you this note, and that you were going to be subjected to a ruthless talking-to. Yet, coincidentally, it’s that time of the year, and everyone else is getting notes like these too.
For the fun of it, you still decide to go where the note directs you. Mostly because you’re deathly curious to who this H person is. No expectations, of course.
When the dismissal bell rings, you quickly scramble out of your classroom, pointedly ignoring your friend’s confused call of your name. Leaving your bag and belongings behind. You’ll get back to her later—but now, the curiosity is killing you.
You navigate the sloppily decorated hallways; passing by lovestruck couples and through streamer paper decor of pinks, whites and reds. Cupid balloons and the overwhelmingly sweet scent of roses suffocate your senses.
The homeroom lab is at the end of the hallway, where all the decorations dwindle or are practically deflating with the lack of attention to detail—it irks you slightly, if this is a confession like you suspect, the surroundings could afford to be somewhat romantic. Not this cheap, unenthusiastic mess, it certainly wouldn’t be helping your case.
Your eyes lock onto one heart helium balloon, it drifts aimlessly across the floor—not enough to float up but not completely deflated. You glare at it, like trying to pop it with only your gaze, then to the door.
Steeling yourself, you take a breath then slide it open.
The last person you ever expect to be there, is there too.
“Alhaitham?” you ask, breathless and puzzled.
Was it him that sent you the note?
You shake that thought away, although you got your hopes up the tiniest bit, it’s probably unrelated to anything hearts themed. You’re pretty sure he’s been actively avoiding people confessing to him today. Maybe that’s why he hid in here, you muse.
“It’s me, yes,” he nods. “I assume you read my note?”
You laugh, shutting the homeroom lab door unceremoniously behind you. “That was you? Dude, you could’ve just told me, what’s with all the secrecy?”
“There’s something that I need to discuss with you.”
“Discuss with me,” you repeat, walking over to lean against the working table. Which, thank heavens, is pristinely clean. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” he responds and you hum in faux relief. “Though there is something else.”
Alhaitham produces a sleek black chocolate box from seemingly nowhere—or maybe you hadn't seen him hold it—and holds it out to you.
“Sweet!” you grin, snatching the chocolates and examining the box. “This is some really good chocolate, Haitham. Who gave you this one?”
“No one,” he says. Alhaitham picks at his black painted nails—ones that you yourself painted a few weeks ago in his apartment. The polish is immaculate, almost looking freshly painted if it weren’t for the new nail growth starting underneath. “Those are completely from me, for you.”
You double take, taking a long lingering look at the gift. On the smack middle of the box, is the same type of note from earlier in your locker, but this has your name written in elegant cursive:
Happy Valentines. It writes, and you feel strange tingles travel down your spine. Not entirely unpleasant.
“You shouldn’t have,” your eyes widen. “I didn’t get anything for you, I never thought we were getting each other friendship chocolates!”
There’s a lengthy pause before you hear any reaction from him. Alhaitham makes a strangled noise from deep in his throat. “Friendship chocolates?”
He stresses your name, while massaging his temples. “...I wrote you that note, I waited in here for you and have the audacity to think what I gave you are friendship chocolates. Does that sound logical to you?”
“Of course,” you snort, putting down the chocolates to rest on the low table. “The only other reason I can think of would be because you like me, which I doubt—”
His lips flatten in unamusement. “So what if I do?”
“Wait, what?”
He inhales deeply, and you swear you see the slightest hints of pink on his ears that peek from underneath silver hair. The silence now is absolutely deafening, and the anticipation even more so. To you, the knowledge of his bashfulness makes the situation feel all the more real.
Alhaitham utters your name softly, like he’s pleading you to understand so that he needn’t repeat himself. Which he never does, the damn prideful man.
You’d make a teasing remark if you weren’t so frozen with nerves, the sound of your name from his lips is causing ticklish shivers up your spine. It sounds so intimate when he says it.
Like a secret, even. Although Alhaitham might be the most self-preserving and unambitious person you know, when it comes to the things that matter to him—he takes initiative right away.
“So you like me–” you breathe, the button up collar of your shirt feels all too tight all of a sudden, you tangle your fingers together and squeeze tightly. “Like, like like me?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you,” he sighs, low and long-suffering. “For three whole years.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Your eyes widen and you feel a low simmering heat spreading all over, even till your fingertips. You recall all the other times, past Valentine's days and recounting his strange behavior. All the dots start to connect together and you wonder how you never noticed. “What the hell.”
“So that one time last year when you were offering me your button—” you gasp. You remember, it’s a stupid highschool tradition, a boy would offer the second button of his uniform to a girl if he liked her. It’s the closest to the heart, but to you, it’s a thoughtless way to ruin perfectly good clothing. “Haitham, did you ask Kaveh for advice or something?”
“Matters like these are irrelevant to argue with him about,” he scoffs. Alhaitham folds his arms across his chest. “He ran off and came to the conclusion himself. Ever since then, he’s been bothering me with trying all types of confession tradition.”
Laughter starts to bubble out of you, disbelieving and flustered to the maximum level. “Dude, I basically friendzoned you and had no idea! You should’ve told me.”
His shoulders stiffen and he gives you such a disarmingly attractive look. And if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks the teensiest bit hopeful too. Right now, you feel like your heart is beating right out of your goddamn chest. The sound is so loud, the quickening thumping sound of your chest that you swear he might hear it too.
“...I see that now,” he says, his expression is exasperated—but so unbelievably soft. You feel yourself melting like butter under his gaze. “Though I am disappointed in your lacking ability to identify context clues.”
“Oh whatever,” you bump your shoulder against his, though you don’t move back away. The warmth of him is all consuming and comforting as hell, you could burrow yourself in him and never resurface, you think. He accepts your closeness with a strong arm wrapping behind you to hold you by the hand. Your stomach does somersaults in your stomach. “It’s all your fault. You’re an idiot for not telling it to me straight.”
“Does that mean you reciprocate?” he murmurs, leaning closer to whisper in your ear.
You pull back enough to take the box of chocolates, opening it and popping one in your mouth. “This chocolate is pretty good. Guess I’ll have to let you stick around for more.”
I like you too.
He nuzzles into you, leaving a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. “I guess you do, don’t you?”
