Chapter Text
The keys rattled as he tried to figure out which key was the one for the front door again. It’s already late at night, so there was barely any lighting to guide him and barely the function of another hand to help as it carried the rest of his belongings. As he tried for the third time, one of the keys finally turned swiftly, and a click signified its unlocking.
Kaveh hastily enters inside, drops his stuff on the coffee table, and removes nothing from his person as he slumps forward on the divan with a thud and a thump.
He sighs deeply, something he had been holding in throughout the day, lest his clients think of him as unprofessional. Turning on his side, he stares at his toolbox, and the sling bag, visibly worn and torn by overuse on the outside, lets his stationery and other items roll across the table surface. He’s sure another pencil or two got lost today or have found themselves underneath or slipped between sketchbooks. He couldn’t really figure it out from the darkness enveloping the room; all he sees are outlines and silhouettes, in contrast to the moonlight slipping through the thin curtains.
Kaveh could stay like this all night, exhaustion already seeping into his bones, but a pang of hunger is his enemy. A duel he had already pushed throughout the day, giving multiple rainchecks out of forgetfulness.
Did he even have anything in the pantry? He doesn’t remember; he’s been eating out for a while now.
He moans weakly; tonight will be his loss. He surrenders to the bigger enemy, the mastermind behind it all. Hunger can shame him all the while, but he has barely the strength to lift his body up and grab something, anything, off the kitchen counter.
All he wants now is to be lulled to sleep by the ticking clock, with the soft moonlight fully snuffed out and the weight of his eyelids closing them shut.
He knows it will come, creeping up on him and his poor excuse of wakefulness.
If not for the remainder of the quietness between him and this house.
He knows every facet of this place like the back of his hand, having spent most of his life living here, growing up here, and witnessing here, but it’s days like these that the familiarity of it all haunts him more than the anxiety of having a client reject him.
He knows this house, he knows his place in it, and he knows where his bedroom lies.
He last replaced his bedsheets a month ago, thinking they were still clean enough since he had barely laid on them. This divan found more use as a bed than his own did.
But he always made his bed. Always made his room tidy. Ashamed.
Eventually, these thoughts will put him to sleep. He’ll wake up estranged and sore before opening his journal for the schedule of the day again. He’ll use the bathroom to make himself presentable again. He’ll make use of the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, his only breakfast. He’ll leave for work thinking, "Ah, there’s dust piling up the shelves”, and accordingly plan a day of cleaning in the recesses of his mind without touching anything else.
This is how the Light of Kshahrewar lived and made a home for himself after graduating. This is how he made use of the home left to him by his mother.
Kaveh gleefully puts down a whole bottle of good wine on the dinner table. Today was probably one of the best days he's had in some time. A successful meeting with a prospective client and the rare opportunity of a lifetime fell into his hands. No, he was willing to grip it tight and not let it escape. Gone would be the lamenting of his hopes upon society and his career, when now he has the opportunity to prove a point, a beautiful one.
It was a momentous occasion; how could he not spend lavishly for tonight’s dinner? Although it’s a single’s meal, he could not finish the whole bottle in one sitting, lest he want an awful hangover tomorrow. In fact, he could hardly wait to start on this new commission the moment the sun rises tomorrow. So tonight was more of a treat, a product of his good mood towards the world and himself.
And he didn’t hesitate to fill himself up with the hearty meat dish and fruity wines. He didn’t even notice there weren’t many leftovers left to clean, and the bottle was past half-empty by the time he felt flushed and full.
He was clearly inebriated; his walking was barely straight as he circled around the house, trying to clean up after himself. Ultimately failing to do so, when he finally comes to his senses, he’s hugging one of his bolster pillows and feeling soft cushions underneath him.
Blinking in long gaps, he wondered to whom he should be grateful. To be able to lie at ease on cushy beds, to be able to eat delicious, rich food, to have a roof over your head, and to have an advancing career. Life is finally turning at a good pace for Kaveh.
Yet, in this drunken stupor, he can’t help but ask for more.
A celebration done alone felt like no celebration at all. What difference did dinner with expensive Mondstadt wine make compared to the other nights he just ate flatbread with dips because he couldn’t bother to buy anything else at his childhood home’s dining table by himself? Maybe he was just wishing to have someone to share this good news with—to share a few drinks, buy them a round, or more. To share with someone this pleasant feeling, the feeling of a weight being lifted off your shoulders by the spring breeze. Reborn and free.
Kaveh thought he should have just gone to a tavern and called it a day. This nagging greed could have been sated with a talk to a fellow scholar or barkeep, but instead he unconsciously brought everything home to nobody in particular but himself. And the congratulatory greetings were dealt inside his mind, falling flat just like his body did to his bed.
No, no, he shouldn’t sulk anymore. There was much to be done; too many ideas were better off being imagined.
Like the mansion asked of him. Lord Sangemah Bay didn’t request much for the specifics of this commission, but there was still pressure to pass over the freedom of building any estate he wanted, as long as it was deserving of the title ‘Lord’.
At some point, he managed to roll over and grab a spare pencil from a drawer, scribbling on a piece of paper on top of a surface of blankets and bedsheets.
Sleep would come to him without any difficulty, unlike the other nights. He’d fall asleep mid-writing, lying on his stomach. He would have vague memories of how he ended up falling asleep on his bed. With last night’s dishes left in the sink till morning, a pencil in one hand and a note scrambled with concept ideas about the mansion he’s dreamed of building lay beside him. All of that, along with the fact that he’s still wearing the clothes from yesterday,
If sleep did come to him, he wouldn’t mind not having materialized his creative drunken ideas following his dreams, for the people of Sumeru do not dream, but he’s willing to make his own a reality.
Everything fell apart, bringing Kaveh along with it.
How could he have known the source of the withering? How could he have overlooked it? He endangered lives, risked too much, and, in the end, had nothing to show for it. There was shame in having to placate the client, who was justified in their anger. There was disappointment, not just for him but for the team, who worked blood and sweat, their time wasted, to see his vision come to life.
His pride, his greed, and his desire to create stood against his profession’s principles. There was form and function at the beginning, but the purpose only satisfied his and nobody else’s. What he dreamed of could only have been seen by him, and it would only remain in his dreams.
Ah, if only he could cry.
He couldn’t really, not in front of what was left of it. It was a familiar sensation.
He sat over the rubble and under the veil of night, neither hiding the loss in his eyes, and his nightmares came to life. If the people of the forest could see him walk around it, recognizing where each broken tile went, they’d find him pitiful.
But even dignity left him behind as he begged on his knees, foolishly, in front of the infamous merchant. That wasn’t that long ago, really, so he couldn’t be bothered to care.
He took great care in choosing each material, giving purpose to each design. This palace would have had a marvelous opening and, with it, a magnanimous name. It would have been a part of his legacy, something for people to remember him by, and they shall.
Kaveh could laugh; he thought of it as a child, as his own child. He was such a bad parent, wasn’t he? Making decisions out of selfishness, ignoring pressing problems, and now choosing to give up on them.
And a choice is all he has.
The idea had already made itself apparent since his knees touched the ground, but it was too reckless. It wouldn’t save anything out of selflessness; it would just further prove his selfishness.
But it would be worth it, he chants.
He tells himself this repeatedly as he makes his way back to the city. As he arrives at his front door, nobody welcomes him.
He tells himself this repeatedly as he takes everything he needs hastily. As he leaves the door, nobody stops him.
It would all be worth it.
He stopped at the door; there was only silence echoing back at him.
Waking up in an unfamiliar bed to a familiar ceiling, Kaveh groaned; he had too much to drink last night.
What was he even thinking of drinking that much wine for? Drinking and breaking down in front of someone? Even worse, by following that specific person to their home and sleeping in their house, praying for the Archons to strike him down, he really buried his shame six feet under.
But at the same time, his body has never been this thankful for finally being able to lay in a bed again since he lost his own. The sheets felt new and untouched, and the room was bare of any other furniture except the one he was lying on. A part of him doubts there were any guests before him; rather, it was just a room with a second bed.
Kaveh figured that with the sun clearly high and rising, spreading its warm rays through the windows, and the lighting giving him a minor migraine, it was about time he got up.
He’s not sure what time it was, so he tried not to show the flinch he had when he saw Al-Haitham lounging in the sitting room. He seems completely engrossed in whatever book he picked up today. Noticing him from the corner of his vision, they quietly stared at one another awkwardly.
“Uh, good morning?” Kaveh tried to break the tension.
“Close. It’s near afternoon,” Al-Haitham answered, shutting his book and setting it on the table. “Sit down, I’ll get you breakfast.”
The blonde couldn’t pass a ‘thank you’ before watching him leave for what he thinks the kitchen is supposed to be. Hesitantly, he did what was asked of him and sat down close to where the younger man sat.
While waiting, a bit of nervousness comes over him. He vaguely remembers how the night before ended, remembering much more of his show of emotional vulnerability towards the person he used to call a friend. But in a streak of sadism, his memory clearly remembers Al-Haitham’s proposition to him: to live with him.
Yet right now, he feels like an undeserving guest.
He sighs, looking down at the same clothes he's worn for a few days now. Saving himself from figuring out where he can get the rest of them washed by not changing them often, he didn’t care about how he looked in front of Al-Haitham last night, but that changed come morning and sobriety.
Kaveh must have looked such a mess, and he still does, while Al-Haitham has never looked any better, especially physically.
He’s fitted up quite nicely and has grown even taller, with the two years of difference between them now having a skewed impression on strangers when they’re next to each other. The blonde has heard about it through rumors, gossip, and the news over time. That his junior had gained the position of Scribe and had done well for himself despite the mystery surrounding him from the public and the new batch of students.
Comparing all that to how he’s fallen back as the Light of Kshahrewar, he was embarrassed.
In an effort to take his thoughts off that patch, he decides to pay attention to something else. Specifically, the book Al-Haitham had just held—ah, he remembers this one.
A stray memory came to light: Kaveh remembers a day when they were younger, wearing teal and monochrome robes. Where he asks cheekily for his junior to read to him a passage, an allegory of ideas and forms. Despite his blunt and harsh reputation, his junior could be eloquent in speaking, reading aloud, and explaining that section of the book in such a way that he captured all of Kaveh’s attention with his voice alone.
That was one of the many scenes they shared in the House of Daena, and in that memory, the book was borrowed from there. He wonders if this is his own copy of it.
“Here.” An arm carrying a plate arrives in front of him, arriving at his lap.
Kaveh almost jumps from his seat, visibly so. “Ah! Don’t surprise me like that!” What if that fell from his lap!
“I wasn’t the one in a daze.” Completely unbothered, Al-Haitham took a seat next to him with the book back in his hands. The exact position he sat before, but now that he has, the older realizes he would be sitting too close to him. So he scoots back.
Famished at the sight of a light breakfast, he didn’t think twice about biting into the food immediately, losing the nerves that had tightened by being next to him.
They sat together there, minding their own business, until one spoke.
He gulps down a glass of water before inquiring. “Don’t you have work?”
“I took a leave today.” He flips to the next page. “I figured we needed to talk.”
“Oh.”
He felt a bucket of ice-cold water pour down on him, his nervousness returning with apprehension.
Upon correctly guessing, Al-Haitham looks back at him again. “I’m not kicking you out.”
“I wasn’t thinking that!” Yes, he did.
The younger one lightly scoffs at that. “I won’t go back on my word. Stay here as much as you’d like.”
“But that’s—” A huge inconvenience, won’t it?
Kaveh knows him enough; he knows how he values efficiency and purpose. He wasn’t raised to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this was all too sudden and all too much.
He changes his wording. “Thank you for letting me sleep here, really, but I can’t overstay—”
“You can pay me rent.” Al-Haitham cuts him off, giving an ultimatum. “You haven’t lost your job yet, haven’t you? I’m sure with your growing reputation, you’re more sought after by the clientele now.”
“Of course I do!” Kaveh took pride, if nothing else, in his skills. “But my debt...”
“It's your business, I know. I’m not going to meddle so much in your life. I’m merely offering you something you’ve always been entitled to.”
For a second, he was confused, but then another memory hit him. Right, this place. This place was familiar not because of likeness but because it’s the same. The same as it had been years ago.
He remembers that instead of divans and coffee tables, it used to have long desks and stacks of papers and articles. Not a single ornament, unless you count ancient scriptures and tablets to be translated next to concept boards. Instead of bedrooms, there were spare rooms for experimentation and research when there were more of them. And the kitchen—well, it would still be a kitchen, but maybe with more appropriate cooking appliances.
What about the side room? Would it still be the same? Or had he converted it into an office, just as he had suggested? It was practically one when they still shared it.
“So this is what it turned into,” He mumbles, finally getting a good look at the rest of the room. Doing so, he confidently says. “Your decoration skills are lacking.”
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion on that.” Al-Haitham completely heard him through his earpieces.
“And you could use some more cleaning and organizing.” He lightly nudges the closest stack of books on the floor next to his feet.
The younger one hums. “I’m sure you could do a better job on that than me, then.”
“Of course.”
Kaveh could guess where this deal is going, and he knows he’ll continuously be at odds with this decision in the future. He knows his place, and he’s aware of how odd this dynamic would be.
“After you take a shower, come with me to the bazaar then. See if your interior design skills have gone rusty.”
“I haven’t been out of commission for that long…” He frowns.
But for now, he surprisingly prefers to be here rather than not.
Al-Haitham did whatever he wanted.
There is not much hospitality to expect from the man who turned him from guest to tenant overnight. But nothing beats how indebted he is to him. From this opportunity alone, Kaveh had already managed to start getting back into the groove of his profession. He was even allowed to make a small office space in the confines of his room, another favor he owed to the Scribe.
With a roof over his head, the heaviness of the rest of his debts started to feel manageable. It was a step in the right direction.
He shouldn’t have many complaints about this stroke of good luck, but every day his patience started to wear thin.
Clearly, there’s a reason why his junior has never lived with anybody after all this time. It's true that he enjoys his independence, something he blatantly confesses, but it’s also true that he is awful to live with.
There is a nagging wonder growing within Kaveh about how he is able to live by himself in such a generous space.
Does he truly just navigate his feet and limbs all over stacks of books on the floor and seats? How come the kitchen counter has both a grocery checklist and a complex physics formula on the same corkboard? Why are there knowledge capsules everywhere? And oh, Archons! Has he never learned how to use a feather duster!?
Kaveh could have spent more time talking to boring clients than taking his time spring cleaning, because truly, that’s what’s needed; the house was in need of being reborn and cycled anew.
And despite all the exaggerations he kept internally, the blonde just diligently and mutely looked for a broom and rags.
Al-Haitham must’ve noticed since the moment he started carrying most of the chores, but he didn’t say a thing, ungrateful brat.
Other than the cleaning project, Kaveh gave up on the fifth takeaway dinner in the same week.
He understood the convenience of such a diet, and he knew the younger man had the capability to cook. Not to mention, Kaveh joined to eat without needing to contribute a single mora. His regular choice of vendors was quite good at cooking too; he would’ve enjoyed it more were it not for the fact that he had a more sensitive tongue than others. Al-Haitham clearly retained his enjoyment of spices, even if he thinks anything is good as long as it’s edible.
Marinated meats, spicy dips, and strong drinks—Kaveh just couldn’t take eating something like that anymore. So he made himself a pot of lentil soup. Adjusted to the mildness he preferred.
“I didn’t pay for this," Al-Haitham says, apparently having sneaked next to his shoulder.
He still hasn't gotten used to how good this man is at sneaking.
“Give me some slack; I used my own pocket money to make this.”
“Hm.” He pulls away. “Pour one out for me too.”
“Keep bossing me around, and I’ll make sure you don’t,” Kaveh whispers to himself. He made enough portions to last the both of them and maybe turn into leftovers.
Al-Haitham didn’t comment on the taste, but he had seconds and finished his bowl cleanly, as Kaveh was a mess internally in front of him, thinking he was going to be criticized.
The next day, Al-Haitham asked for help putting away groceries.
“Do you know how to make Sabz meat stew?” He asks above him.
“Huh?” Kaveh pulls back from the cryobox, stopping from storing fresh meat.
“We should have some for tomorrow.”
“Okay? But why did you ask?”
“Aren’t you in charge of cooking from now on?”
Kaveh could only scream in bed internally that night, the pillow being crushed barely hiding his frustrations at all.
Kaveh couldn’t really believe that he was able to purchase such a thing.
He peeked under the cloth, where the mechanical core was hidden and protected. Technology reaching far back to the Scarlet King’s reign is still considered an archaeological find by the Akademiya to this day. Where there was funding, there was extreme risk in exploring the desert. So if any items dug up from the golden sands were at all useful, there would be either students shedding blood or merchants and mercenaries pawning them off at ridiculous prices to the naive.
Kaveh knows his spending habits are imperfect, but he wasn’t even trying to haggle for this one. The seller just eyed him and figured it was far easier to get it off his hands by selling it to him for a fair price. And all he did was just identify its potential purpose at a glance with a dash of trivia here and there; he couldn’t help but notice that it was his major academic interest as a student.
His heart beating fast, he went immediately home, feeling adrenaline and giddiness just thinking about what he could make from it. No, he did have one idea that he has wanted to do the most for a while now. Maybe it was fate that he might even have the perfect materials to make it on hand.
Thankfully, Al-Haitham didn’t seem to mind his suspicious behavior or package when he got home. Otherwise, he would have reminded him about how he was worse, bringing home all those knowledge capsules he figured weren't even distributed legally by the Akademiya. Not that any of them would even snitch on the other.
It took him longer than he expected to finish the project. He figured the core was in need of modification to reach the standards he was aiming for. He trusted his intuition that it held more potential than just an energy core, and in some irony, it urged him to read back on topics about ancient technology again. He was invigorated by the challenge, and despite many sleepless nights, vitality seeped into his veins once again.
All the while, he forgot whether or not to check if Al-Haitham was bothered by his seclusion and fixation on this project.
The clock had probably already reached past the 24th hour; it might even be near morning when he started up its functional testing for the first time.
The screen was black before flashing into a verdant green. Simple lines for eyes blinked at him as its processes started running.
Kaveh never realized he held his breath, waiting for it to work. Releasing all of it with a sigh of relief.
“Hello, Mehrak…It’s nice to meet you.”
He knows that if he adheres to his nation’s great virtues, he cannot breathe actual life into his creations. Especially with his position and title to uphold, Kaveh knows his limits. But a part of his ambitions remained the same; he merely wished that even this time, even if he was doing this for himself, he still had more to prove.
Lines turned upward, forming carets.
Beep!
Kaveh held the metal case against his chest.
Come morning, the sun rose upon Sumeru’s lands, spreading its golden light towards the vibrant blue skies.
His feet took him past the city gates, and once no passerby could see him, Mehrak materialized and floated beside him.
Kaveh wished it was angry for him, but the slanted lines were there out of worry. He slowed his steps, and in turn, it faced him.
“Sorry, you had to hear that.” He confesses.
Beeeep…
Such a dejected tone. Sympathy was not part of its programming. Had Mehrak started to advance without his knowledge? Any other day, he would be more interested in pondering this.
“Look, I can already see the village from here.”
Beep. Beep.
“Too bad we weren’t able to bring anything for consolation to Tighnari and Collei. You don’t have anything with you that could, do you?”
Mehrak shakes to signal ‘no’. To that, he sighed.
“I’ll do the rest of the explaining then.”
Lucky for him, Tighnari wasn’t particularly busy and easy to find this time, so I was surprised to see him. Maybe their time of knowing each other had gone somewhere because he didn’t even have to say anything for the forest ranger to catch on to his somber mood.
He takes his generosity with grace and spends the day volunteering, helping the team of rangers and his friend with whatever they need. It didn’t take much for his stress to lighten and at least give Collei the decency to not appear like a mess in front of her.
As if used to it, Tighnari did let him have lodgings for the night after a good and filling dinner. He was familiar enough with their cabins and didn’t hang around much outside either, letting down the barrier made of leaves and turning off the lanterns.
“Mehrak, to sleep mode.”
The machine side of his toolbox followed his commands with commitment. He’d rather let it save energy for the rest of the night; it's not like he can focus on working all the way out here.
All the way out here, in a bed he’s not used to, in a room that he can’t call his own.
He was on his own, but he couldn’t be alone.
He has Mehrak, and he has his friends.
He has his dreams.
He had Al-Haitham.
He has him as a roommate. He lives under the same roof, eats the same food, and spends time in the same room.
They didn’t share a bed, they didn’t share hobbies, and they rarely shared opinions.
They argued a lot but also conversed a lot. They engaged in sharing knowledge, broadening horizons, but also valued perspectives.
They lived together and existed in some form of harmony, even if he always left the chores to him. Even if he bought ugly wood carvings. Even if he dangles rent over his head like a landlord. Even if he talks to himself when engrossed in something. Even if the coffee he made was warm and done the way he always took it.
Al-Haitham preferred the quiet, but he wasn’t one. He’s talkative about topics that interest him and to the people he wants to talk to. He has a baritone that surprises him from behind when he sneaks up to him. He didn’t let his thoughts go unnoticed. He didn’t let Kaveh know he was never there.
Living with him was never quiet; in the quiet, he was alone.
He never made him feel alone.
What they had cannot be returned, but they have received something in return. An echo of it.
Now it’s silent; only the evening breeze and distant animal calls lull him to sleep.
This doesn’t allow him to rest.
It wasn’t enough to lay him to rest.
He didn’t miss the silence.
Kaveh stood in front of the door, key in hand.
He was thankful that he didn’t forget it, but he sure didn’t know why he just decided to get up and leave. Tighnari, starting his early morning routine, didn’t seem to mind, even approving of him going back as soon as he could. He never really told him that he couldn’t sleep the entire night, or maybe he saw it from his looks alone.
The next thing he knew, he was next to their front door and hesitating. Thankfully, it was too early in the morning, and barely anybody was passing by to see him in front of the Scribe’s house, maybe except the aunties and uncles cleaning the streets. But they all ignored him, while he couldn’t ignore his own anxiety.
He shuffles on his feet before taking a heavy breath and releasing.
Kaveh turned the key and unlocked the door.
The first thing he noticed was that the lounge was cleaner than when he left it. The second thing he noticed was that his roommate didn’t come out of the hall to their bedrooms but instead came from the office.
“Al-Haitham?”
He was just as shocked as he was; they were both barely able to hide it, seeing each other.
The younger man’s voice was hoarse and deep. “You’re early.” Was what he chose to reply with, and he wasn’t wrong.
This is early enough for Al-Haitham, who usually wakes up much later to prepare to go to work or even more during his days off.
“I didn’t want to overstay my welcome there,” He explains.
“I see.”
The silence after that was awkward. They don’t usually have this; they would have a rhythm to get into, to go back and forth. If it was like this, should he have returned at all?
But he should have; he understood looking at Al-Haitham now. Even at a distance, he looked nothing like himself. With his loungewear and disheveled hair, he looked pale too.
“Did you… Did you sleep?” He asks outright.
“Is it that obvious?”
The younger man pushes back his hair, outright tousling it. That explains the look, then.
“Yeah.”
Kaveh couldn’t help but walk closer because of it, holding his wrist without thinking. Making sure his hair falls back naturally over his head. There's not much use in fixing it; he’d need a brush for that.
He especially couldn’t help making fun of it. “You look like shit.”
Al-Haitham was definitely out of it if he found that funny, snorting and giving a laugh. “Yeah?”
Before reaching for his face. Kaveh froze, feeling his fingers rest on his face, a thumb feeling along what were probably his eye bags.
“Though I don’t think any foundation can fix this.”
Oh, this man.
He laughed along with him now. “Between you and me, I think I know more about making a good impression and looking the best at it.”
This close to Al-Haitham, he can hear his humming and the rumble that goes along with it.
“We can discuss that over coffee.”
“What? Make-up?” He’d never even paid any attention when he waited for Kaveh to buy his cosmetics.
“Anything. I just really need a shot right now.” The younger man drops his head forward slightly, looking the part of a man who’s ready to keel over and pass out.
That’s no good.
“I think.” He turns, leaving his hold, but not wanting to drop that connection, he holds onto his sleeve instead. “We both need sleep right now.”
Kaveh nudges him to follow. And follow he did.
How cute, he thinks to himself. Like a shepherd, he guides the bigger man to his bedroom. Imagining Al-Haitham’s cushy bed to lay down on was all too appealing to not join him.
He lacks sleep to think about whether this is wrong or right. If he was even allowed this.
All he knows is that after everything, he was happy to know that someone was waiting for him here.
Despite his reputation, there were still risks associated with losing and disappointing his clientele. In fact, he could say that the existence of the Palace had added more burdens than praise.
Maybe people just hold more expectations for him now, and society will not move on so easily from being against the arts, even if he tries to prove his side on it.
Not to mention, he still had a huge amount of debt. He couldn’t really risk dissatisfied clients if he wanted to be out of debt before he reached old age.
But today was different.
He just finished having such a pleasant discussion with a client who was specifically seeking him. She loved his work in the Palace and had been thankful for its creation amid the shaky tides of public opinion and the arts. She fell in love with it so much that he wanted Kaveh to design their home next.
Recently married, the couple wanted to build the foundations of their future together farther from the hustle and bustle of Sumeru City, purchasing a small piece of land on the outskirts of it. They were not asking for much or extravagance; all she wanted for Kaveh was to give them something out of his passion, seeking to love a home that loved them in return.
There was no big opportunity or other incentive that came with the job. And the payment wouldn’t make a sizable dent in his debts. But Kaveh accepted the project with open arms.
He retold Al-Haitham all about his day as soon as he sat next to him. He snuggled close to him, and the other man held him by his side the entire time, reading a book on the other hand.
A part of him expected he would have something to say about hastily accepting the job or questioning the design ideas he had already brainstormed during his trip back.
But instead, “Celebrations are in order, then.”
Kaveh was immediately stunned.
As if that was the reaction he was trying to pull from him, “You’ve been bringing in complaints and vents for a while now every time you meet a client. If you continue to bring in some more, I’m afraid I'll witness you getting gray hairs far sooner than possible.”
The blonde flailed from his position beside him. “I’m not that old!”
“Maybe, but it’s good that you found a more passionate project to work with, and the client respects you enough to care about your position too.”
“Well, yeah, I guess it is less stressful if you look at it that way.” He continues to be a bit confused. “But there’s no need to celebrate getting one prospective job out of many. If I did, I’d lose more money buying alcohol than I would be able to save.”
“So? I was thinking of eating at Lambad’s for tonight.”
Kaveh blinks. “What?”
“I have to pay for your tab anyways, so what about a bottle or two? We can share some fish rolls to boot.” Al-Haitham turns to him, amused.
And the older man looked up at him like he'd grown a second head.
He slowly backs away from the other person’s side hug. “Who are you, and what did you do to my roommate?” he asks, squinting at him.
The younger man closed his book and slipped it back into his pouch.
“What do you mean? I’ve always been generous, Senior.” He stood up first, grabbing his cloak and going straight to the door.
“Wait—you’re actually serious?” Kaveh, in a panic, had to slip his shoes back on in a hurry after getting far too comfortable slipping them off with his own cloak before lounging on the couch.
“You’re free to stay here and wait for leftovers.” He hears Al-Haitham already opening the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming! I told you to wait!!!”
There’s an architect in Sumeru whose cape resembles a bird of paradise’s wings and who’s famed for building his magnum opus on top of a cliffside, known for its beauty throughout the nation. He is frequently seen surrounded by people attracted to his magnanimity.
When seen outside, he is either with a prospective client or in the process of erecting a new creation. He can also be found in the classrooms of the Akademiya as a guest lecturer or in the halls as a guiding beacon to his juniors, offering knowledgeable advice and suggestions.
Sometimes he’d hang around the taverns drinking or spend too long talking to vendors in the bazaar, too familiar with his presence as a regular, in the middle of shopping. He’d share with his peers or the bar owner how his roommate has been buying weird stuff again or other complaints. He’d ask the older folk manning the stores for new recipes to try and cook, and after a few days, he'd tell them that they both found them delicious.
There were days when he wasn't the one who arrived first.
When this happens, there is no need to turn the key to have the door open, if he even has it on his person.
He’d open the door for Mehrak to float into, carrying his equipment, seeing the house already well lit inside. There would be food to greet him from the aroma in the air and the presence of a person waiting for him to arrive.
He’d find a taller man sitting comfortably facing the door, with one leg crossed over the other and a signature book in his hand. A record player plays in the background, an endless classic of a song about longing. His imposing appearance betrayed the fondness of his expression as he looked up at him, striking turquoise and orange eyes meeting reds.
Al-Haitham greets, “Welcome back”.
“I’m home!” With a huge smile on his face, he answers.