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Nights in Sumeru City had changed ever since Azar had been overthrown and the Akasha was rendered unusable. The evenings used to be quiet, the streets barren except for vendors and the few stray folk that ran their errands at night. Akademiya students had shut themselves in their homes and dorms for the night so they could grit their teeth and down their coffees and teas as they pushed their limits to write papers due the very next day. Research never stopped nor took a break, it seemed, and students and scholars alike never failed to tear their hair out over the stress they’d put themselves under. The urge to climb, to rise, to rush to the top and deny any pauses for rest turned even the most sociable students into shut-ins.
But after all was said and done, things were different. The quiet of the city remained, but it wasn’t the desolate solitude that stood your hairs on end and had you checking over your shoulder. Now, small groups of people walked along together, chatting animatedly and enjoying the cool evening. The lights of houses were warm as laughter resonated through the windows in celebration, the shadows of drinks being raised meeting the paved stones of the road. Students rid themselves of their hats and went out to eat, to spend time with friends, to treasure the momentary break they had been granted by Kusanali (and the mess that was the higher Akademiya). Akashas were nowhere in sight, and the lights of curiosity and wonder shone in the eyes of the Sumerians once more. Although some loathed the loss of the Akasha, many had come to appreciate it for the opportunities it presented. No longer would they feel the need to reach into endless databases of the mind or fall victim to the urge of learning too much. Sure, people were lustful for knowledge, but without the Akasha, it encouraged them to do more hands-on research, to adventure, to explore.
And so it was these celebratory streets that Alhaitham strode through after a long day in the Scribe’s office, fingers cramped from the sheer amount of paperwork he’d needed to sign and check over. He’d been called upon more and more by Lord Kusanali, by the Sages, by his colleagues for his wisdom and seemingly endless strategy. The sheer amount of responsibility and leadership placed on Alhaitham’s shoulders made his muscles ache and his temples throb, but it was only temporary, so he willed himself to continue. He’d taken to waking up at the archon-forsaken hours of the morning in order to get to the Akademiya early, only returning once people retired to their homes and the moon and lamplights served as his best guide home. Recently, however, the workload had been so large that he’d resigned himself to sleeping in his office some nights. It wasn’t healthy by any means, he was aware, and surely wasn’t helping the stiffness of his body, but he’d neglected it.
After sleeping in the office for what would’ve been five nights if he’d stayed, he decided to pack it up and finally go home. He’d breezed through more than half of the papers stacked upon his desk, only a sad sliver of packets serving as the remnants laid abandoned beside a near-empty ink jar and burned candle. He needed rest, a shower, a proper meal in the comfort of his home…things that he’d always known were luxuries, yet never regarded as such. He refused to bring his work home despite the problems it would fix. He’d never be able to get it done with Kaveh’s incessant chatter…
The man sighed as he finally turned the corner to head to the house. It was dark and quiet, comfortably by itself at the end of the street. It was small and unassuming, like something you’d see out in the distant hills of Sumeru - a house for two with nobody around to bother them. The company it kept, however, would shatter that illusion in mere seconds, if the constant arguing (moreso banter) and mess strewn across the kitchen and dining room table were to be brought to light.
(It wasn’t a secret by any means. There wasn’t a single person in Sumeru who didn’t know Kaveh and Alhaitham lived together. Regardless of their arguments, their disputes and bickering, they always came back home at the end of the day, Kaveh having sought the other out because he always took his keys. He wasn’t even sure if it was an accident anymore.)
Alhaitham grabbed the silver tool from his pocket. For once, he hadn’t swiped Kaveh’s key from their shared bowl by the door. He’d double (triple) checked to make sure, as he wasn’t planning to return for a few nights and cringed at the thought of being dragged home from the Akademiya to open the door for the blond.
It brought him a sense of calm once he stepped over the threshold of the house. He closed the door and locked it as quietly as he could, allowing his eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness. Not a candle was lit, the window’s curtains cracked and letting the sky’s light slip into the room and expose the messy living room table. Alhaitham expected annoyance to bubble at the scrawled-across scrolls and small splatters of ink on the finish, yet all that escaped him as a near-fond sigh. Things never changed at home, and he took comfort in it. It was a reminder that this was a space he could return to, a space where he genuinely enjoyed the company he kept.
(Kaveh would say otherwise due to the scribe's constant picking, but Alhaitham couldn’t help himself. It was much too fun to tease the architect.)
He slipped off his shoes by the door and laid his key next to a similar golden one in the key bowl. The little lion charm stared up at him in greeting, and a huff of amusement left him. He’d never told Kaveh how cute it was, had he? Well, he could some other time. Or maybe not at all. Kaveh would tease him about it, bragging about how he’d “created something that even the ever-stoic Scribe could love”.
(He’d done that a long time ago.)
The scholar crept his way to his room, doing his best to remain silent as he snuck past Kaveh’s closed door. As much as he liked to make fun of the man and make as many problems for Kaveh as he does for Alhaitham himself, he wasn’t inconsiderate. Judging by the parchment in the living area, he’d been working himself dry. He needed the rest just as much as Alhaitham.
He slowly turned the knob of his door and slipped inside, closing it with nothing more than a quiet click. He sighed and began to strip off his cloak before he stilled as his eyes landed on his bed.
There laid the Light of the Kshahrewar himself, sound asleep atop the blankets on Alhaitham’s bed. His silken sky-blue robe rippled across the space beneath and around him, too big for the architect that wore it. His blond hair was splayed around his head like a sort of halo, the soft strands tickling his cheek. The moonlight came in through the open curtains, illuminating the view and casting shadows and shines in the most beautiful of fashions. It gave his hair the soft glow of gold, his robe like a gentle ocean in the moon-bathed room.
He was beautiful.
Alhaitham slowly took off his cloak and hung it up before he made his way over to the bed. He gently sat at the edge of the furniture, watching his roommate.. The man was sound asleep, leaning into his own hair as he rested. His brows furrowed lightly when his soft breaths brushed the hair that then fluttered across his lip. Alhaitham clenched his fist to dispel the urge to reach out and brush the golden locks away.
The scribe couldn’t find the strength to wake him up. He had many questions: Why was Kaveh in his bed? Why wasn’t he under the covers? Why was he so perfect?
The warmth in his veins had rushed to his head, making him dizzy. Alhaitham could feel himself sinking into the depths of his mind to ponder on these questions, but his reverie was broken by a sleep-addled laugh, quiet in the night. Kaveh blinked awake, his eyes lidded as he looked at Alhaitham, amusement making its way onto his face.
“You think too loud…” he whispered to the scholar (who had since stiffened). “And you stare too hard…woke me from my beauty sleep…” He yawned, moving to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. Alhaitham stared at him, brows drawn into a frown of confusion. “Why are you in my bed?” He asked in a hushed tone. It was all he could muster, lest he wished to say something incriminating, drawn too deep from his heart and too truthful for a man such as himself.
Kaveh gave him a little smile, slowly moving to sit up. “I’ve missed you.” He said simply, as if that explained away any of Alhaitham’s racing thoughts. As he adjusted, the robe slid off his shoulder, the silk rustling ever so quietly with the movement. The light glazed over the skin, glowing like porcelain. He had the decency to blush and fix himself, tugging it back to conceal himself. Alhaitham continued to stare before he caught himself, averting his gaze. Kaveh sighed, mirth lacing his tone. “You truly have no idea about the art of romanticism, hm..”
He was right. Alhaitham had no knowledge on the art of romantics, nor the phenomena that was emotions. He’d never been one to dwell on such things, casting the feelings aside into a metaphorical waste basket to make room for, what he deemed, more important information, like runes or investigations. He’d never given himself such freedom with things like expression, yet when Kaveh came along, that all began to change. The once bland house he resided in had been turned into something worthy of being called a home, furniture matching and lamps giving golden glows to the walls. Flowers set on windowsills, paints littered the tables and there was almost always the fresh scent of a meal wafting through the rooms. It was somewhere safe, but not because it was Alhaitham’s house; that wasn’t what made it home.
What made it a home was Kaveh. But he’d never admit that.
Alhaitham felt a hand on his cheek pulling him lightly. His thoughts broken, he turned and his eyes met Kaveh’s crimsons. The architect’s face softened further. “You’re so tired…” he murmured. “But you’re just as handsome as the day you left.”
The compliment threw him for a loop. He swallowed down a choke at the admission, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He was so utterly weak around Kaveh, it was almost embarrassing. His throat felt dry, his heart having lept into it and taking the words from his mind. He could feel the pulse behind his tongue. “Kaveh...-”
“Shhh…” He shushed him gently, terribly fond. “Don’t question it now…just lay with me and rest. We can talk more tomorrow…”
Alhaitham swallowed thickly. Ever since their Akademiya days, Alhaitham had felt…something for the blond before him. He could recall the exact setting in which they met: the House of Daena, the dusk’s sunset framing the Kshahrewar student’s face as he gave Alhaitham a greeting smile, asking what Darshan he was from. At first, Alhaitham had regarded him as a somewhat persistent insect - constantly buzzing in his ear and filling the halls with incessant chatter. Nonetheless, it brought him a sense of….comfort, having that constant warmth at his side. They became friends. Best friends, even.
When Kaveh graduated and they lost contact, he didn’t dare acknowledge the sadness that he felt. He’d known Kaveh would leave eventually, as most people did, but it didn’t lessen the impact. For the rest of his Akademiya days, he’d thrown himself into his work to ignore the silence that filled his ears and tugged at his heart. He’d graduated alone.
When they reconnected in Lambard’s Tavern over two years ago, Kaveh drunk and emotional about debt and homelessness, he wouldn’t show the happiness that took to his mind at the prospect of being by Kaveh’s side once more. He’d jumped at the opportunity; “Come stay with me until you get back on your feet.”
It led them to now, housed together, always in one another’s space, sharing dinners and debating over whose turn it was to do the dishes that night. Even after Kaveh had found well-off commissions, he’d stuck by Alhaitham’s side. And now here he was, closer than ever, the warm breath from his rosy lips caressing his own and the little calluses of his gentle palm against his cheek.
Something Alhaitham had only fantasized about when his mind was addled with wine and his wits abandoned him.
Kaveh lightly pinched his cheek, breaking his train of thought. “What did I say about thinking too hard? You’re going to develop wrinkles before you’re 40.” He chuckled. A breath of a laugh left the scholar.
He was right. He was thinking too hard. He should know by now that Kaveh is unsolvable, the biggest mystery that Alhaitham ever had the fortune of stumbling upon. He could read every book in Sumeru - in Teyvat, even - and his thirst for knowledge would never be quenched, for he lusted to know more about the Light of Kshahrewar, the architect, Kaveh. Perhaps he didn’t need answers for this particular instance. At least, he didn’t have to think about them now. Not when the solution was sitting before him, bathed in silver glows, staring at him like he was something precious.
Perhaps he could believe he was.
He slowly slid his hand over Kaveh’s on his face, leaning into the warmth of his palm. “Alright…but you owe me a big explanation tomorrow.” He sighed, the tension melting from his shoulders.
“I know, I know.” Kaveh grinned. He slowly removed his hand to instead take Alhaitham’s arm and pull him down to the bed ever so gently. “I’ll explain as I make you breakfast. And then you’ll take a shower…and we could try those massage oils I bought on a whim for 38,000 mora.”
"My 38,000 mora,” Alhaitham added with a deadpan look. The blond merely hushed him and situated the man’s face in his neck, pressing his cheek to the silver-haired man’s temple with a soft breath.. The scribe took a slow breath to calm his heart. It was no different than the smell that filled his nose whenever he returned home - ink with a floral hint, fresh scrolls, and some days, a hint of spice from cooking. It was warm here, in Kaveh’s arms. It was safe.
He felt Kaveh’s lips ghost over the shell of his ear. “Sleep, Alhaitham..” he whispered, the warm breath rolling over his cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And so Alhaitham relented to the realm of sleep and dreams, the scent of Padisarahs and parchment paper bringing a calm he hadn’t felt in years.