Archive of Our Own

Al-Haitham was not a person of sacrifice. Kindness was not easy for him. Anything even perceived as a favor from him was merely part of his regular strategy to get people to leave him alone or to stop inconveniencing him. 

It was different when it came to Kaveh. 

The shift began when he noticed a lost blond-haired student picking out several books from shelves with wide eyes and contagious curiosity. The scholar made eye contact with Al-Haitham, who at the time was reading selected passages required for an assignment. As he looked back at the man, Al-Haitham noticed the way the Kshahrewar scholar had neatly placed back every book he set his eyes on, a habit not seen often in other Akademiya scholars. 

They were always careless, leaving their books piled on desks for librarians to clean up after them. There was something different about a student who was considerate enough to do such a basic favor. Even if Al-Haitham fell into the section of students that he himself deemed as careless, it was inspiring to see someone who effortlessly helped others through the smallest of tasks. 

So when the scholar waved hello, coming over to Al-Haitham while questioning what sections of text he was reading, Al-Haitham could not push him away. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” the Kshahrewar scholar softly laughed. “My name is Kaveh.” 

Al-Haitham learned that day that the phrase referring to crystalflies being in your stomach had never been a literal one, but it was one that made more sense now. 

Al-Haitham consulted romance books to understand his feelings towards this new light in his life. He could not stand how other authors wrote and viewed romance at times, their texts being full of complicated metaphors and unnecessary fluff. There was no logic in love. 

Al-Haitham wanted to be scared, but instead he suppressed his feelings as they were not a priority. 

They were never a priority. 

Kaveh started finding Al-Haitham more, waving to him when they passed by one another on campus, or sparking more conversation with him as opportunities allowed. 

There were a lot of opportunities for Kaveh to talk to him.

“What made you want to study semantics?” 

“What an interesting perspective…I like what you have to say.”

“No need to share about family, of course. I just want to know more about you.” 

“Reading is a healthy hobby. It’s better than my drinking, ha.” 

Kaveh was easy for Al-Haitham to talk to, and Al-Haitham never knew he was capable of smiling so much because of another person. 

He smiled whenever Kaveh lost track of his words mid sentence. He laughed whenever Kaveh let his mind spiral into pure nonsense over the littlest of things. There was joy to be found in having Kaveh as a close friend.

For Al-Haitham, the most interesting part about Kaveh, out of everything that could be interesting in regards to him, was the way his idealistic tendencies drove his life. 

The opposite could be said for Al-Haitham, as his life centered around the most logical steps for a comfortable life. Kaveh pushed the limits for a greater life, a life of an artist who was to die with a grand legacy, a person that remained awe inspiring for multiple generations. Kaveh’s genius mind was a mind that would capture the interests of the public, and Al-Haitham was just going to be another ordinary man with few who would remember the life he had.

For Kaveh was a mirror for Al-Haitham, a positive balance in his life to recognize all that was missing of himself. 

His grandmother never told him the story of how she met his grandfather. Al-Haitham never knew how any of his family fell in love, leaving him with no model to base his own life off of. His grandmother still gave him useful advice anyway. She was merely a person who existed in Al-Haitham’s life to give unconditional love and words of wisdom that only a grandmother could share. 

“You know, my dear boy,” his grandmother said, “marriage is a beautiful union, but it is not necessary for being a whole person. Philosophers used to believe that love completed you as a person though. I think you deserve that kind of love in your life. A love that gives you purpose.”

Al-Haitham remembers those words every time he cuts vegetables, and now, whenever he looks at Kaveh. 

For love should be easy when you find the right person. 

It was love when Al-Haitham accepted an invite to a party Kaveh specifically invited him to. Kaveh had a lower tolerance to alcohol than Al-Haitham anticipated, and the night ended with them falling asleep together on the floor in the same dorm. Their floormates would never ask questions if they found the pair crashed out on the same sofa or close to each other on a rug, but either way it was not uncommon to find the two of them keeping each other close after a night of fun.

Love was the reason Al-Haitham became used to small touches, whether it was a quick pat on the back, light maneuvers involving a brush of a hand against his hip, or a deeper hug. There was something addictive to Kaveh’s warm breath against his ear when sharing secrets. He had never been one for gossip before, but suddenly anything useless Kaveh had to share with him became the greatest news of his life.

There was love to be found in the way that Kaveh waved hello to him when passing each other briefly in halls and pathways. How Kaveh smiled and said Al-Haitham’s name with an easy enthusiasm.

Love would explain why Al-Haitham did not mind saving a seat for Kaveh in the library during peak exam season, or why Al-Haitham always had an extra chair ready for Kaveh at the café. Al-Haitham never thought too much of it, until he realized his habit whenever he pushed away other students begging for a seat.

Libraries were for more intense study sessions, and the café was for casual hangouts. 

“I do admit I get headaches if I do not drink coffee,” Al-Haitham said, speaking as if he was sharing about having an Achilles heel. 

Their usual spot in the café was inside, near a window to help Kaveh look outside for creative inspiration (though that reasoning soon became invalid the day Al-Haitham realized Kaveh often found excuses to distract himself, and in this case, it was a window with a good view for people watching).

“I’m sure an Amurta student would have an explanation for that,” Kaveh laughed. 

Kaveh bought Al-Haitham a bag of coffee beans the next day. He also said his friend, Tighnari, explained that caffeine addiction was very real. 

The gifts always remained small, yet Al-Haitham would find out how much they would actually cost. Keychains, photo frames, goods from an art fair, coffee cups, and so much more would be given to him. 

“Please tell me you are managing your allowance enough to allow for these gifts,” Al-Haitham sighed, setting a small wood carving of a vulture onto his desk.

“Well,” Kaveh said, nervously playing with his hands. “It’s hard to unassociate these things with you.”

“You think too much about the wrong things,” Al-Haitham frowned.

Al-Haitham did not understand what Kaveh meant.

Love became less easy, however, in times of great struggle. 

The project was doomed to fail, but pride remained the motivation as to why Al-Haitham persevered through the assignment. 

The idea was brilliant, bringing together the strengths of two separate Darshans in order to benefit the city. Kaveh’s interpersonal talents and artistic eye combined with Al-Haitham’s logic and great knowledge was the key to a near-perfect team. He knew two geniuses intertwined in a shared passion, a team effort, should be the perfect formula for success. 

However, the things Al-Haitham loved most about Kaveh became the reasons why Al-Haitham started to doubt Kaveh’s work. 

“You did not need to stay up until 7 am because of some inept scholars falling behind in our project,” Al-Haitham said to Kaveh, who was bearing the worst eye bags. 

His friend’s hair had never been clipped back so lazily.

“You already contradicted yourself,” Kaveh said in objection. “It’s our project . It’s a group effort. If this was just you and me, then yes, I would agree that staying up late and neglecting basic care are not the brightest ideas. But they needed my help, Al-Haitham.” 

“You choose to take on the extra weight of your peers to compensate for your endless sense of guilt,” Al-Haitham continued, setting down his coffee. 

“I take on that weight because I want us to succeed,” Kaveh said with an increased volume of his voice. “What part of a ‘group project’ do you not understand? Do you want them to fail?” 

“I don’t care about their careers.” Al-Haitham shrugged. “They can drop if the stress is unmanageable.” 

Anger was not a pretty look on Kaveh. 

“That was not very kind of you, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh spat. “You benefit from their help just as much as they benefit from you. It’s a mutualistic relationship. You cannot expect to just work alone and hope that everyone else can catch up to you. You and I both know you are someone capable of being ahead of everyone else, so when it is a group project , you need to be more accommodating.”

“You’ve repeated the same sentence at least three times,” Al-Haitham said, his voice lacking the same passion as Kaveh’s argument.

Kaveh’s head fell into his hands. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

“Good.” Al-Haitham glared at Kaveh. “I hope you understand me. Or are you too caught up in your ideals to recognize your faults?”

“I don’t know if I want to understand you,” Kaveh said, his voice strained and harsh. The unfamiliar tone in Kaveh’s voice was unsettling.

Kaveh’s words stung more than they should have that day. 

Kaveh began to look physically worse, and Al-Haitham’s heart ached an unnecessary amount every time he noticed. 

His hair was not brushed, being clipped back in a rushed fashion. His robes were scarred with wrinkled fabrics. Coffee stains marred the usual pristine of his white sleeves, the fabric greedily soaking in the brown liquid. Combined with eye bags, unkempt fingernails, dry and cracked lips; Al-Haitham witnessed Kaveh deteriorate in front of him.. 

Somehow, Kaveh got Al-Haitham a birthday present in the midst of their arguing: coffee beans from their favorite café, and a floral tea imported from Liyue.

It was impossible for Al-Haitham to voice concern. He knew Kaveh’s selflessness would be the very thing that led to his downfall. Al-Haitham hated watching Kaveh break away from himself all in the means of chasing some all too perfect ideals, especially when Kaveh still smiled regardless, laughing the same amount in conversation. The guilt and stress of attempting to help his peers was wearing down on Kaveh, and there was no room for him to excel if he was trapped in the faults of his colleagues. 

For how could an intensive career as an architect allow Kaveh to remain true to his core principles?

The stress eroded away all that Al-Haitham knew of Kaveh. 

The final project was completed.

Al-Haitham removed his name.

Kaveh in a frustrated rage ripped the thesis to shreds, only to pathetically tape it back together. 

Al-Haitham was sure Kaveh would burn their thesis. 

Al-Haitham was not sure why Kaveh made him think of such illogical conclusions. 

Kaveh graduated with honors, and supposedly his graduation party involved a stupid amount of drinking and dancing until sunrise. 

Al-Haitham did not know for sure.

He did not attend. 

Al-Haitham and Kaveh were no longer Al-Haitham and Kaveh. Now they were just Al-Haitham, and just Kaveh.

***

Al-Haitham did not get Kaveh anything for his birthday, but he did think of Kaveh when drinking an evening cup of tea.

Kaveh began taking on grander and larger projects, and his seniors gladly took the Kshahrewar graduate under their wing.

Later, Al-Haitham graduated too, but his celebration was an empty and quiet one.

Love became a foreign concept once again, and every romantic piece of text Al-Haitham encountered was enough for him to quit the book he was reading. He stuck solely to complex non-fiction from that point on. 

Scribe work was simple, and the job weaved its way into Al-Haitham’s life perfectly. People told him was capable of more, that he could have a job doing something significant for society. People also did not realize how comfortable a scribe’s salary was, and he chose to let other people make any assumption they wanted regarding his career choices.

The house they built together was still gifted to Al-Haitham, as both gratitude from the Akademiya and a consolation prize for such a grand project. He was glad to have a space that was alone, and most of all quiet. It was not until he began to unpack his belongings that he realized how many pieces of Kaveh remained littered among his collectables.

He kept those items packed away, hidden in a storage unit where he did not have to see them. It would have been wiser to throw them away or donate them, but Kaveh’s money had  already been wasted, so he may as well not put Kaveh’s already questionable spending habits to greater waste.

A new house that reminded him of Kaveh was better than an old house that reminded him of his grandmother. 

The family that bought his grandmother’s house—a newlywed couple with a young son, their wife was expecting another child—looked beyond happy to start their lives there together. There was a fresh start to their lives, as there was a new beginning for Al-Haitham.

The house was nice, but he had no idea how to fully decorate the interior. He still had all of Kaveh’s gifts from a time now lost, with everything that reminded him of Kaveh tucked away in storage. 

There was an extra bedroom, and he was unsure if he wanted the room to be an office or a library. The room became a fusion of both, and he figured as long as he could walk through a room without hurting himself, it was a room well furnished. 

His days followed a simple routine: 

Eat. 

Write. 

Read. 

Exercise. 

Sleep.

His routine never required him sacrificing one task for the sake of fitting in another. It was simple, and it was perfect.

Some days he would travel to the desert to study, and over time those trips lead to him picking up the sword. One day he looked in the mirror, and realized he had more muscle than he remembered. He was growing as a person, a reminder that his days of being an Akademiya student were no more.

Other days he went to the tavern, learning to value the taste of wine and to enjoy a cold beer on a suffocatingly hot day. The noise of the tavern was unbearable, but investing in noise canceling headphones made his scribe’s salary feel all the more worth it. 

The days in which Al-Haitham heard of Kaveh’s success were always bittersweet ones. 

“Did you hear that the architect Kaveh constructed a massive palace? It’s right in the mountains. It’s such a gem to see in the jungle!” 

“Kaveh is such an artist. It really sets him apart from other architects. How does he balance fine arts and practical architecture so well?” 

“Do you think Kaveh is looking to get married any time soon? Anyone would be lucky to have him.”

“Kaveh donated to the children’s hospital apparently. He also wants to help renovate their interior layout. He is such a kind soul.” 

Every time Kaveh’s name was mentioned, Al-Haitham was certain the rumored Light of Kshahrewar had to be overworking himself. and that Kaveh’s newest projects would go the same way all of his other projects had. Kaveh took on more than he could bear, and was left stranded without a payment he deserved. Al-Haitham was not sure what was true or what was confirmed, but seeing from message boards, news articles, and word of mouth, Kaveh was allegedly doing well for himself. 

So well for himself, that Al-Haitham did not know what to say when he found an alone, drunk, crying Kaveh at a tavern table on an uneventful weekday. 

Kaveh was seated in an all familiar spot, a place that the pair had once often sat in to share a few drinks together. The window Kaveh used to distract himself was now covered with curtains as it was late into the night.

His senior was weighed down, crying and mumbling tragic words to himself to sour his mood further. Some mora was splashed on the table, either to pay for former drinks or for Kaveh to struggle to find what else he had left.

Kaveh was in a bad place.

“Here,” Al-Haitham said, handing Kaveh a handkerchief.

Kaveh never looked more beautiful.

“How has realizing your ideals gone for you?”

Al-Haitham’s intent was to bring up Kaveh’s mood into something more optimistic, a mood that could distract from his crying. He had dealt with Kaveh and his crying before, and he knew that all Kaveh would need was a listening ear and at most a shoulder to cry on. He had also dealt with an avoidant Kaveh, a Kaveh that gave dirty looks and spoke with a disgusted tone.

A crying Kaveh was better than an avoidant Kaveh. 

“Fuck off,” Kaveh groaned. “If you’re here to make fun of me for failing, get it over with.” 

Al-Haitham took a seat. “Your wine smells terrible.”

“It’s the cheapest one,” Kaveh sighed. “Brings me back to my undergrad days. Used to drink this daily.”

“I remember,” Al-Haitham replied. “You said it gave you the worst hangovers.”

Kaveh looked up at Al-Haitham, the first time the two of them made eye contact in ages. His scarlet eyes were full of tears, and his face was red from crying. Al-Haitham’s words made Kaveh break down more, and Al-Haitham only wished Kaveh would use his handkerchief to clean himself up. 

“I fucked up, so bad,” Kaveh hiccuped. “I’m in so much debt. I have no friends. My mother is in Fontaine married to stupid excuse of a man, and I’m probably getting evicted—“ 

Kaveh continued to cry uncontrollably, and Al-Haitham moved his chair over to sit closer to Kaveh. The space between them had grown so large ever since their past altercations, but now they were close again once more.

“Is this what you wanted for me?” Kaveh continued to cry. “Did you want my ideals to blind me enough so I could wake up in a nightmare?” 

“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham said gently. “I never wanted you to fail. Sure, you live too much out of reality, but there was never a part of me that wanted to see you in this state.” 

He never cared for the other scholars. 

“You don’t get it. This is a shit situation,” Kaveh hiccuped. “I did get caught up in my own ideals. The Palace of Alcazarzaray cost me everything. ”

Al-Haitham felt a sense of dread build within himself hearing Kaveh bring up that his very downfall was none other than the pride of his career.

“I lost my income to that Palace,” Kaveh ranted. “Dori wanted me to get caught up in the construction. So many materials, revisions, and expensive upgrades. A fucking withering zone destroyed the project, but I am stupid. I wanted to see the project completed. When else will I get the opportunity to let fine art and engineering combine into one?”

Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham with the most broken expression.

“I’m such a fucking joke.”

To see a source of inspiration, a light that once shined so bright in Al-Haitham’s life, now flickering and burning out was enough for Al-Haitham to hurt from heartbreak. 

The view through the mirror that he’d grown so attached to broke, and Al-Haitham for once did not know what to do. Shattered pieces from the mirror lay in front of him. A familiar part of his life was breaking away, and he wanted it to be fixed.

Al-Haitham did not know what to make of himself without a mirror reflecting the parts of himself he could not see.

“I can’t believe the one time I do something selfish is the one time the damn heavens recognize me.” Kaveh reached down, unclipping an object from his hip and throwing it onto the table.

A vibrant, green dendro vision glowed in front of Al-Haitham.

The two scholars, both opposite of one another, shared the same core of their ambitions. For how creativity and empathy drove Kaveh, and simplicity and logic drove Al-Haitham, at the center of them was a shared recognition from Celestia.

Kaveh always inspired Al-Haitham, being a scholar who could have such empathy for the world around him while still having the ability to excel in the realm of academia. A person with the ability to do anything he set his mind to, and yet somehow he always wasted his time helping other people. 

Kaveh would sacrifice his happiness for a person who would never think to thank him.

Al-Haitham could never understand that about him. 

Kaveh used Al-Haitham’s handkerchief to wipe away his tears. “Archons, I am so pathetic. Just admit you take pleasure in seeing me at my worst.” 

“I don’t,” Al-Haitham said. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“If this is what chasing my dreams has gotten me, then I never want to do anything for myself again,” Kaveh said, tears streaming down his face. 

Al-Haitham considered himself to be someone with a high pain tolerance. Somehow, the way Kaveh was breaking Al-Haitham’s heart was making him reconsider how much pain his tolerance allowed him to endure. 

“I’ve been so lonely,” Kaveh cried. “You’re the first person who’s actually listened for once. I really hate to admit that, though.” 

“What happened to your other friends?” Al-Haitham curiously asked. 

“They’re still friends, I guess,” Kaveh continued. “They’re either getting engaged, starting families, or moving away. Tighnari is busy with the forest rangers. Plus that one student he just took in. Too many damn withering zones.” 

Kaveh paused. 

“And you know what happened to us,” Kaveh coldly said. 

Al-Haitham sighed. “Look, I can’t do a lot for you—” 

“I’m not asking anything of you,” Kaveh interrupted. 

“Let me finish,” Al-Haitham groaned. 

Kaveh stopped talking.

“I can’t do a lot for you, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham continued. “You have clearly been burdened with a lot of unfortunate circumstances. You’re crying in public, and your mental state is extremely fragile.” 

Kaveh began to sob even more, and Al-Haitham became nervous. 

“I—“ Al-Haitham felt his throat tighten. 

He did not know how to get Kaveh to stop crying.

Fortunately, there was no one else in the tavern, though Al-Haitham figured Kaveh was too drunk to care about who was listening to him. Considering that it came down to a chance reunion between former friends for Kaveh to finally have someone to listen to his sorrows, Al-Haitham figured he had to be the one to get Kaveh out of his crying state.

Kaveh was the type to spiral upon breaking down, and Al-Haitham was the one that needed to catch him.

There was only one time in Al-Haitham’s life where he had cried in front of someone that was not his grandmother. He cried the first time he told Kaveh about his parents. The absence of praise and care from his parents never had any affect on him, until one day he confessed to Kaveh that he was never someone who had a strong relationship with his parents. 

He had not expected himself to start crying until the warm tears became too overwhelming to bear.

Kaveh hugged him and told him he was going to be okay. 

Kaveh knew what to do in that vulnerable moment. 

Al-Haitham, in the middle of a quiet tavern in the depths of the night, hugged Kaveh. 

He gently brought Kaveh into his arms, bringing his former friend as close to him as possible. The comfort was soothing for Al-Haitham as well, being that Kaveh’s frame fit nicely against his, and Kaveh had the sweetest of perfumes lingering on him; the mix of a floral scent as well as something that was definitively Kaveh made Al-Haitham not regret the hug. They fit nicely together.

Kaveh did not freeze, nor did he reject Al-Haitham’s affection. Al-Haitham hugged Kaveh tight enough, secure enough to maybe match the way Kaveh had hugged him before. It was new for him, and it was an experience Al-Haitham wanted to melt away in. 

Kaveh hugged Al-Haitham back, and he cried even more into the crook of Al-Haitham’s neck. Al-Haitham held onto Kaveh as his not-so-former friend rambled and cried out everything he could have in that very moment. It was impressive yet devastating to witness, as Al-Haitham picked up pieces of Kaveh’s tragic life through his breakdown. 

“I miss my dad,” Kaveh cried out. “I want my mom back. She gave me the option to leave and I should have left, but I just wanted to follow my dreams. I have not been able to dream in so long. What else am I chasing? What am I doing?” 

From what Al-Haitham could remember, his parents picked being scholars over being parents. He learned to understand their decision more and more, being that the life of academia was one that could be best compared to a deep ocean with unknown depths. The deeper one went meant the harder it became to escape. 

He wished he could feel resentment, but instead Al-Haitham decided not to trouble himself with any thoughts related to his parents. 

His parents would have loved Kaveh, despite it all.

Al-Haitham quietly held Kaveh, remaining silent both to let Kaveh vent out his words, but also in worry that he would say the wrong thing. 

“She barely mails me letters,” Kaveh continued to sob. “Did I tarnish her legacy? Am I staining her reputation? I wanted nothing more than to make her happy, but I am no longer a priority in her life anymore. Did I burden her that much?”

Saying the wrong thing had rifted them apart previously, and Al-Haitham would prefer not to lose Kaveh again. He let Kaveh continue to cry against him.

“I thought I was doing everything right.” Kaveh’s voice remained muffled against Al-Haitham’s shirt. “I just want the people in my life to be proud of me. But how can they be proud of me when I have failed so miserably? Archons, I am wasted potential.”

His life was so boring without Kaveh. 

He wanted a boring life, but a boring life without Kaveh was an unappealing type of boring.

A life of mundane routines and repeated tasks was only so bearable for a set amount of time. He had never felt like a lonely person, but he never truly understood what being alone meant until he met Kaveh. For Kaveh added sparks into a fulfilling, yet uneventful life.

Al-Haitham missed Kaveh being a part of his simple routines.

The words Kaveh spoke were words of great grief, both for a broken family and for a career crushed from reality. He knew Kaveh was one to be trapped in ideals; his romantic outlook on life was the reason for his eventual downfall. There was a lot Kaveh was trying to chase, but along the way he lost every piece of himself trying to do what he thought other people wanted from him.

For when Kaveh tried to do anything for himself, he was never satisfied. So when Kaveh took the opportunity to support others, failure would hurt him all the much more.

“You don’t have to be alone,” Al-Haitham finally said. “You can stay at my place. That house we built for our previous project. Even just for tonight.” 

Kaveh held onto Al-Haitham even tighter. “Are you sure?”

Al-Haitham nodded, still keeping himself close to Kaveh. “Yes. I am sure.”

Al-Haitham was surprised once more that Kaveh did not comment on the house Al-Haitham had made himself home in. Kaveh knew the house well, being that he was the one to design and build it. The place was familiar to Kaveh despite him not ever visiting. 

Love made it easy for Al-Haitham to invite Kaveh into his home.

Soon, Al-Haitham came home to boxes of Kaveh’s items, and he knew Kaveh was there to stay for a prolonged period of time.

“This is embarrassing for me,” Kaveh explained. “I know you already don’t talk to a lot of people, but please. Just promise me this stays between us.” 

“Okay.” Al-Haitham shrugged. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. I am a man of my word. I’d recommend you do the same, considering how easy it is to get any confession out of you with the tiniest amounts of liquor.” 

“Why you—“ Kaveh began to say, only to then take a deep breath as he returned to unpacking. 

Al-Haitham helped Kaveh unpack his belongings as well, more as a means to clear space so he did not trip on any boxes when trying to navigate his own home. Kaveh had little belongings, which was concerning to Al-Haitham because he hoped Kaveh did not sell too much for too small of a price. 

As Al-Haitham sorted through more boxes, he found himself fixated on a picture of Kaveh’s family. 

Kaveh’s hair used to be more brown; he had most likely been bleaching his hair since they first met. He looked more like his father, but Al-Haitham suspected Kaveh inherited more of his mother’s personality, being they were both Kshahrewar scholars. 

“Stop looking at that!” Kaveh reached over, grabbing the portrait from Al-Haitham. 

“You were cute as a child,” Al-Haitham laughed. “What happened to all that?” 

Kaveh frowned. “Please tell me you did not invite me into your house just as an excuse to insult me.” 

“This is the fourth time you’ve made a remark about me insulting you,” Al-Haitham responded. “Do you perhaps find pleasure in me humiliating you?” 

The red flush on Kaveh’s face nearly matched his eyes.

“Al-Haitham! What is wrong with you?” 

For love was the only explanation Al-Haitham ever had as to what could be wrong with him. How suddenly it was easy for him to find Kaveh despite everything, and how Al-Haitham could effortlessly bring Kaveh into his home.

Their home, to be more precise.

The extra bedroom had always been meant for Kaveh to have.

Al-Haitham did not have to sacrifice any of his schedule to accommodate an extra person in his life. Meals for one became meals for two, he started purchasing a larger amount of groceries, and soon he acquired more towels and blankets for Kaveh’s sake.

His house had noise for once, despite Al-Haitham’s preference for quiet spaces, and everything about Kaveh became all the more noticeable.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Al-Haitham noted, giving Kaveh an extra plate.

He never realized how terrible Kaveh was at taking care of himself. When Kaveh first moved in, the house became cleaner and more efficiently organized. Books always remained in order of subject and author, and pillows remained perfectly fluffed. 

However, Kaveh forgot to eat, drink water, and sleep at decent hours. His workload outweighed his personal care routine, and as the project load increased, a ghost of Al-Haitham’s past began to appear again as Kaveh stayed up in the dead of the night.

Al-Haitham set down a plate of fruit, bread, and rice in front of Kaveh. He figured it was light enough for Kaveh to eat in the midst of his drafting.

“Thanks,” Kaveh said. “Can you leave now? I concentrate better on my own for these types of drafts.”

“I’m not leaving until you finish your plate.” Al-Haitham took a seat on Kaveh’s bed, folding his arms and staring at Kaveh neglecting his food.

“Fine,” Kaveh rolled his eyes. “I’m making this quick.”

“Don’t choke from eating too fast,” Al-Haitham responded.

“I’m not your dog,” Kaveh snapped back, wiping his hands clean and eating the fruit.

“You’re more like a bird,” Al-Haitham teased.

“Why? You wanna keep me in a cage that bad?” Kaveh said, nearly finished with his plate.

He scarfed the food fast.

“It would prevent you from getting too close to the sun.”

Kaveh set his plate down on his desk, placing it in between mountains of scrapped drawings and incomplete sketches. “I did not take you for a poet, Al-Haitham.”

“I did not either, to be completely honest.”

Al-Haitham found it easy to smile again.

Even if Kaveh was irritated with his presence in the morning, or annoyed that Al-Haitham did not give him all of the privacy possible, Al-Haitham enjoyed observing the way Kaveh went about his creative processes. It was hectic, scattered, and chaotic. Papers everywhere, pencils broken, sweat and tears. However, the cyclone would cool down to reveal a masterpiece underneath it all each time.

Kaveh had stronger success with cleaning up after Al-Haitham as compared to his own personal messes.

It was fascinating.

Shortly after, it was easy for Kaveh to genuinely smile as well. 

His tan skin reclaimed a healthy glow, his blond and few streaks of brown hair shone brilliantly in the sun, and he began to adorn more reds in his wardrobe. The shades of scarlet brought out Kaveh’s eyes, allowing for them to shine as brightly as Al-Haitham remembered.

Dark circles were hardly noticeable, his skin was clearer than ever, and Al-Haitham even noticed Kaveh starting to take better care of his eyebrows.

He spent more nights talking with Tighnari, and soon Tighnari’s friends. Late nights of Kaveh coming home drunk were no longer stressful, as his rants instead became enthusiastic stories of a night well celebrated.

Al-Haitham was what he could best describe as happy.

Work was less draining, he was more inspired to add more to an already simple routine, and the finer things in life caught Al-Haitham’s eye more often.

“The padisarahs this year feel more blue than violet,” Kaveh said, following Al-Haitham on a series of errands. 

“How so?” Al-Haitham looked at the flowers along the pathway of Sumeru City. They looked the same to him, with some padisarahs being different sizes and some of the petals more pronounced on the various flowers.

“Might just be this specific type of padisarah,” Kaveh guessed. “This is not my area of specialty. Questions for Tighnari, I guess.”

“I will see what I find in my books regarding flower colors,” Al-Haitham suggested. 

“Why are you suddenly interested? Jealous that I am consulting a different genius for his expertise instead of you?”

Al-Haitham felt his throat dry. “I believe it is good to be knowledgeable in a variety of fields. You are speaking absolute nonsense.”

“Ha,” Kaveh barked out. “Nice cover.”

“You live too much in your bizarre fantasies,” Al-Haitham narrowed his eyes, giving Kaveh an annoyed look.

“Join me in them some time,” Kaveh winked. “You’re too grounded sometimes.”

“You need someone grounded,” Al-Haitham said, walking away from the padisarahs.

“And if I ask Tighnari to be that person?” Kaveh teased, doing a light jog to catch up to him.

“You won’t.” Al-Haitham remained monotone. 

“Hm.” Kaveh smirked. “Whatever you say, Al-Haitham.”

The reason the flowers were different colors in Sumeru City was because of the city’s specific variety. They were more blue within the city compared to in the wild. 

Al-Haitham found the information before Kaveh had the opportunity to ask Tighnari about the padisarahs.

There were many things Al-Haitham began to do for Kaveh. Before, little favors were only in means of getting people to leave him alone; yet, Kaveh was easy to do small tasks for. When grocery shopping, he grabbed extra fruits and cheeses, knowing that Kaveh had a fondness for fresh fruit. He would bring home extra meals if he found himself eating a quick bite at a local cafe.

Kaveh started to insist he pay Al-Haitham rent.

Al-Haitham did not want him to pay rent, but considering Kaveh’s contributions to researching the house, Al-Haitham supposed that rent was not a terrible contribution.

“Just—let me pay you based on what I make for the month,” Kaveh attempted to negotiate. “I’ll feel bad if I just continue to stay here while occupying your space.”

“Are you sure, Kaveh?” Al-Haitham said, skeptical of Kaveh’s reasoning. “For all you know, I could waste your money on useless upgrades for the house.”

Kaveh reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins. “Whatever, get an indoor spa for all I care. Let’s just start here. I promise the amount will increase as I continue to stay here.”

Al-Haitham extended his hand anyways, taking the few Mora Kaveh had to offer. “I highly doubt this payment can afford an indoor spa.”

“Just use it for something,” Kaveh sighed.

“I’m going to buy new furniture with this.”

“Really?” Kaveh raised his brow. “It better not be anything ugly.”

Al-Haitham bought the ugly furniture anyway.

“I am going to move out if you bring home one more sculpture that does not match your already existing aesthetic!” Kaveh yelled out, struggling to drag a stone sculpture to a fitting place in their living room.

“I thought you would appreciate me supporting local artists,” Al-Haitham teased. “Besides, what even is my aesthetic, O’ Light of Kshahrewar?”

“You say that like it’s a pet name,” Kaveh sighed, exhaling in relief upon moving the sculpture to a more desired place. “Your aesthetic, Al-Haitham, is actually very beautiful. Geometrical shapes, vivid greens and cool tones, as well as some inspired design from the Akademiya itself. It is a shame you ruin it all with these brutalist sculptures. Don’t even get me started on your clashing book organization.”

“Then guide me with your genius input, Kaveh.” Al-Haitham smirked. “Do you want me returning these pieces to the artists I purchased them from? Do you want me to insult their craft with my change of mind?”

Kaveh gasped. “You would never.”

“Then, this is a part of my aesthetic now.”

The impulse purchases could be linked with Al-Haitham having a weak strategy as to how he was going to stop Kaveh from paying rent. The more disdain Kaveh showed over a questionable looking chair, the more Al-Haitham hoped that Kaveh would stop giving him the last of his pocket change.

Kaveh was unhappy with Al-Haitham’s new-found horrible taste in art, so Kaveh made it his mission to drag Al-Haitham out to the Grand Bazaar in hopes of teaching his roommate a thing or two about the fine arts. The Grand Bazaar was a circle of nonstop noise and sensory overload, but because of Kaveh’s continuous commentary and his need for constant attention, Al-Haitham tolerated the noise as much as he could.

He refused to think of love.

“Nilou puts on amazing shows at the theater, as I have heard,” Kaveh commented as they walked past Zubayr Theater. Multiple actors, performers, and stage engineers remained gathered on the grand stage as they collaborated with one another.

“I’m sure she does.”

Kaveh looked too distracted to be paying attention to anything Al-Haitham said in response to his useless series of fun facts.

“You need a different rug in your office.” Kaveh lightly tapped Al-Haitham’s shoulder, pointing at the vendor selling a variety of finely made rugs. 

“You should stop pointing at the shops here if you have no intention of committing to buying anything,” Al-Haitham sighed. 

“Well, come on then.” Kaveh smiled widely, taking Al-Haitham by the hand and dragging him over to the collection of draped over rugs.

Al-Haitham recalled the years ago during their time at the Akademiya how often he would find himself with Kaveh leading him around, with a grab of the hand or even a loose grip of his fingers. The feeling was familiar and yet nostalgic, and Al-Haitham did not shake away Kaveh’s touch.

An old feeling of a rushed heartbeat ate away at Al-Haitham as Kaveh observed the textures of the fabrics with his free hand.

Not once did they let go of each other.

Kaveh’s fingers were longer than Al-Haitham’s, yet Al-Haitham’s hand was wider. Kaveh’s hands were naturally cold. Al-Haitham never realized how calloused his hands were until he held onto Kaveh’s softer hand.

Al-Haitham questioned how Kaveh managed to keep well-manicured hands despite his job requiring an intense amount of work with them.

“Kaveh! Lovely to see you again, and you brought your friend, I assume.”

An older woman came up to the two scholars, slowly approaching as she made her way over to her two potential customers. 

Kaveh let go of Al-Haitham’s hand.

The loss of Kaveh’s touch disappointed Al-Haitham more than he would have liked to admit.

“Hello, Mariam, you look wonderful today.” Kaveh waved, a fake smile glued onto his face. “This is Al-Haitham. He’s just someone I knew from my time at the Akademiya.”

Al-Haitham politely waved, making it a quick gesture as he looked at Kaveh to wrap up his small talk.

“Where’s Sulaykha today?” Kaveh said, looking at the front desk of the shop.

“She’s out trying to make greater trades in Port Ormos actually,” Mariam said, followed with a low chuckle. “Her father is very encouraging of her growing her business. Yusuf should be back here shortly if you wish to buy anything. I am just being a supportive grandmother.”

“How much is this rug right here?” Kaveh asked, his hand pulling out a blue and teal rug to show Mariam.

“Let’s wait for Yusuf to return,” said Mariam.

Al-Haitham figured the rug was going to be sold to them for a steep price, and Kaveh was going to justify the pricing with some explanation of how arts deserve to be paid fairly. But Al-Haitham knew a good price for a rug versus an inflated price. 

Kaveh and Mariam kept talking to pass the time, questions about family and jobs. Kaveh evaded all questions pertaining to family, which Al-Haitham understood considering he only ever got stories of Kaveh’s parents after a bottle of wine. 

One conversation caught Al-Haitham’s attention as soon as the tone switched to something more playful. 

“Kaveh, what a handsome young man you are,” the shopkeeper said, giggling as she held onto Kaveh’s hand. “If you ever decide to settle down, I would love for you to meet my other daughter. She just finished her studies at the Akademiya.”

Al-Haitham hated the conversation Kaveh was trapped in.

“Oh?” Kaveh perked up with interest. “What did she study?”

Al-Haitham held back the urge to grab Kaveh, and drag him away before small talk turned into a greater disaster.

“She was in the Vahumana Darshan. She loves sociology,” the shopkeeper lightly giggled. “Are you interested in meeting her?”

Kaveh nervously laughed, his hand loose in the woman’s grip. He awkwardly glanced at Al-Haitham, his eyes pleading for help despite his friendly smile.

 “Thank you for the offer, really. But I am not particularly interested in marriage right now.” 

Al-Haitham, in either a need to get out of the situation or from a slight wave of possessiveness, brought his arm behind Kaveh, wrapping his arm lightly around Kaveh’s waist to bring him away from the rugs. His arm remained hovering over the small of Kaveh’s back, and the brush of Al-Haitham’s sleeves ever so slightly touched Kaveh’s exposed skin. Kaveh did not show any physical restraint to Al-Haitham bringing him away, and Al-Haitham knew that a lost customer would not be detrimental to Sulaykha.

“We are not in need of a rug today.” Al-Haitham looked at Mariam. 

“It was lovely talking to you!” Kaveh turned quickly to wave, only for Al-Haitham to continue to usher his roommate away from the series of shopkeepers.

The walk home from the Grand Bazaar was stale and quiet. The lights through house windows along with street lamps illuminated the stone pathways for the two scholars, and the sky grew into grander shades of violet as the night overtook the sky. Stars were less pronounced because of the city lights.

“Does that happen often?” Al-Haitham spoke, breaking the silence.

“Sometimes,” Kaveh laughed. “It’s lighthearted at the end of the day. Single men in their twenties make older women worry for them.”

“She did not worry about me,” Al-Haitham said.

“You’re too stern and uptight to be wed off to someone’s daughter,” Kaveh teased, giving Al-Haitham a cheeky smile. “I guess I am the more favorable of us.”

“They are under the impression that they are marrying their daughters to a rich architect rather than a broke scholar that freeloads off of his junior,” Al-Haitham replied, giving Kaveh a smug look.

Kaveh dryly laughed. “You’re upset that I am on people’s marriage radar and you’re not.”

“I do not care about marriage.” 

Al-Haitham rarely thought of the idea of marriage in his future.

If Kaveh became a lost possibility, then Al-Haitham would never think about marriage again.

“Do you not think a union of two lovers is beautiful?” Kaveh asked, his voice less tempered. “People devoting the rest of their lives to being together, declaring they will stick together through times of sadness and sickness, and a promise to take care of one another for as long as time allows them to…I think it’s a wonderful thing.”

“For a romantic like yourself, Kaveh, I can see why you would take interest in the idea of marriage.” Al-Haitham shrugged. “I do not think love needs a grand ceremony. Too much noise and too many people. Weddings are expensive anyways, and I doubt you bring a lot to offer to a future bride.”

“Who said I was going to be marrying someone that only cares about my finances?” Kaveh scoffed. “I have always been an advocate for marriage being about love. I mean, just look at Cyno and Tighnari. The two of them are bound to send out the wedding invitations any day now, and I doubt either of them are with each other for financial benefit.”

“They have redeeming personalities,” Al-Haitham reasoned. “As I said before, I doubt you bring a lot to offer.”

“Are you joking?” Kaveh said, his voice more stern.

Kaveh would actually make for a lovely spouse. He was empathetic, considerate, and emotionally intelligent, but Al-Haitham was concerned more for Kaveh once again getting caught up in his ideals to the point where another person would not be able to catch up to him.

Al-Haitham did not like the idea of Kaveh sacrificing himself for the sake of another person’s happiness.

People did not deserve Kaveh’s selflessness.

“You are at your best when you focus on yourself,” Al-Haitham said. 

Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham with a confusing expression.

“Wow,” Kaveh said, his voice ringing with disappointment. “And I thought the two of us were doing better for once.”

The air became stagnant and the night winds were frigid as it weaved its way through Al-Haitham’s hair.

“We bring out the best of each other,” Al-Haitham continued. “Living with me has allowed you to grow and recover in your career.” 

“Sure, whatever,” Kaveh said, bringing a key out of his pocket to unlock the door to their house. 

Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham with a disgusted look.

“Goodnight.”

Kaveh missed the point that Al-Haitham was trying to say.

Al-Haitham woke up at one point to Kaveh using loud tools to make progress on a questionable project he took on. He figured Kaveh was mad at him, and the pettiness was getting the best of his roommate.

Work the following morning was supposed to be simple. His conversation with Kaveh left his heart racing faster and faster as he dreaded the thought of Kaveh with another person. Of course, he knew Kaveh had free will, and that Kaveh had the decision to leave and be on his own.

Writing down information was difficult to do when all Al-Haitham could think about was Kaveh saying ‘I do’ to another person. 

Yet, Al-Haitham remembered how broken Kaveh had been that one tavern night, shattered dreams haunting him as he cried about his loneliness. Al-Haitham did not know if he was someone capable of helping another person, as Kaveh was always the one who knew empathy better than he ever could, so he enjoyed learning how Kaveh brought out the best in him. Keeping Kaveh in his home and witnessing the ways of another genius was improving his life.

So when Al-Haitham returned home to a series of packed-up boxes, his heart sank.

“How did you find cheaper rent than what I charge?” Al-Haitham began, finding Kaveh crouched over and stacking his belongings neatly.

He recognized the photo of Kaveh with his parents.

Kaveh remained silent.

“Kaveh, are you moving out?”

“I don’t know,” Kaveh said, leaning back and resting on his knees. “You seemed upset earlier.”

“Was I now?” Al-Haitham raised a brow, confused with Kaveh’s reasoning. “I thought our conversation earlier was a lighthearted one.”

“You told me I am not worthy of marriage.”

Al-Haitham remained quiet as he watched Kaveh shove more of his belongings into a box. The packing of items became less gentle and more harsh and Al-Haitham continued to stare at Kaveh.

“I thought we were just bantering,” Al-Haitham said.

“We were,” Kaveh sighed.

Kaveh held onto a photo of him and other Kshahrewar scholars in his lap, and Al-Haitham recognized the graduation robes. Kaveh was at the center, adorning special robes and fabrics to commemorate his achievements. The honors, the gifts from professors that definitely adored him, and a group of peers that looked overjoyed at their special day.

Al-Haitham should have gone to Kaveh’s graduation.

“But I think I am overstaying my welcome,” Kaveh continued, his hands placed on his thighs as he kept his head down. “I mean, I can’t be almost 30 years old and clinging onto my junior for housing. This was supposed to be temporary. How else am I supposed to grow if I remain caged here?”

Words carried different meanings for everyone, as Al-Haitham dedicated years of his life studying semantics. For every word had a logical placing and usage, and depending on the situation, tone, and colloquial usage, words had multiple definitions. 

“How expensive is rent in Fontaine?” Kaveh questioned, focusing intently on a picture of an older woman. “I don’t know if my mother will take me in again.”

Even if Kaveh looked more like his father, Al-Haitham could see small traits of Kaveh within the portrait of Kaveh’s mother.

“It is more expensive, but there is higher income potential in Fontaine,” Al-Haitham responded. “I am sure your experience here in Sumeru along with your Akademiya connections will allow you to find a job there.”

Kaveh had clearly been more affected by Al-Haitham’s words than he realized. Kaveh’s sensitivity was a lot more difficult for Al-Haitham to navigate than he would like to admit.

“You want me to leave,” Kaveh said. Not once did Kaveh look up at Al-Haitham.

“When did I say that?” Al-Haitham asked.

“You’re not happy with me, aren’t you?” Kaveh frowned. 

“If you want to leave, then sure. Leave.”

He wanted to look away, but it was too easy for Kaveh to capture his attention. A simple look was enough for Kaveh to completely pin down Al-Haitham in his place.

Kaveh looked back at Al-Haitham, and his face changed into a more affectionate glance. Kaveh looked tired, and it was easy for him to fake a happier appearance all in the means of being more optimistic for another person. However, Al-Haitham knew that Kaveh was genuine with his affection when it came to just the two of them.

“You want me to stay, don’t you?”

Al-Haitham held back from clearing his throat. “And where did you get that conclusion from?”

He did not want Kaveh to leave. 

“The way you smile with me.”

Al-Haitham’s eyes widened.

“Also, you look like you’re ten seconds away from begging me to stay,” Kaveh said softly. “That’s where.”

Al-Haitham was taken aback by Kaveh’s words.

“Got you.” Kaveh smiled all too familiarly. “I understand why you take pride in making me speechless. The look on your face is priceless.”

Al-Haitham gave in, clearing his throat and holding a fist close to his mouth. 

“Are you staying because you want me to be happy, or for your own sake?”

“It’s a team effort here, I think we both benefit from each other.”

“This is your house too, you know. You designed this place well.”

“Wow? A compliment from Al-Haitham? I must be dreaming after all,” Kaveh laughed. “You know, it’s funny how you know so many languages and yet you never find the right way to tell me how you feel. It’s just me, after all.”

Behind the genius architect that shared a home with him, there was just Kaveh.

Just Kaveh.

“The day I properly tell someone how I feel might as well be in my wedding vows,” Al-Haitham said with a small, breathy laugh.

Kaveh’s eyes widened. “Well.”

Al-Haitham raised his brow.

“Okay,” Kaveh exhaled, his eyes filled with a new sense of determination. “I hope I am there for that day.”

It was always going to be Kaveh.

The Kaveh who taught him how to handle liquor, and the Kaveh who effortlessly took over conversations Al-Haitham hated being trapped in. The same scholar that was worth saving seats for, and worth fighting others for the best seats in their favorite cafes.

The one person Al-Haitham had unintentionally hurt too much, to a point where Al-Haitham was convinced their lives would never be able to merge together ever again. Yet, he found Kaveh, just as Kaveh found him all that time ago.

The same person who said ‘you will be okay’ in the exact way that Al-Haitham needed to hear it. 

The person he watched glow brightly, so bright that it blinded the world from realizing how special of a person Kaveh was, and how everyone who had the opportunity to meet him became the luckiest people alive. 

The same Kaveh that Al-Haitham fell in love with all that time ago.

“Stay, Kaveh.”

Kaveh stood up, meeting Al-Haitham eye to eye before closing the space between the two of them with a comforting hug. He still smelled of flowers and the little something special that was purely just Kaveh.

Al-Haitham did not realize he had forgotten how well the two of them fit together.

“Okay. I will stay.”

Kaveh squeezed Al-Haitham even tighter.

“Your heartbeat,” Kaveh softly spoke. “Is it always like this?”

Al-Haitham found himself holding Kaveh tighter.

“Only with you.”

He never wanted to forget how perfectly Kaveh fit into his life.