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It is with a great amount of strength that Kaveh eventually admits one thing.
And that is that Al-Haitham despite his vexing personality and overall bluntness, can be quite… adorable. Yes, you heard that right, adorable. Him. The man who might not even understand the word even if Kaveh hits him on the face with a cute desert fox. Then again, he won’t ever subject such innocent creature to suffer Al-Haitham’s indifference and inability to comprehend the simple joy of having a very, very fluffy and wonderful animal.
Anyway, he digressed. Back to the topic. Right. Adorable. Yes, that word has been haunting him ever since the revelation. In his defense, however, it is a subtle thing. So subtle in fact, that he believes he is the only one who ever thinks of Al-Haitham this way. But when you are sharing living space with the man and inevitably has to deal with him every single day, you are bound to notice a thing or two that not many or even no one has ever witnessed.
So, of course, the one thing Al-Haitham has irrevocably made Kaveh realize is that he does have the ability to be – let’s say it together now – adorable. And people won’t ever believe Kaveh for this. This is just for him and him only, which just makes him notice these little instances of it more and more.
Ah, well. Such is his life, he supposes.
.
.
.
It happens again.
And of course, it does.
Everyone and their mother know how much Al-Haitham always has a book one way or another. Granted, it used to be worse during his Akademiya days. He had his nose deep into a tome that students couldn’t exactly see his face, and it irked some of his professors. Especially when he kept managing to answer their surprise questions and aced their tests. Nobody could try to say hello or wave because he just ignored them, and he had this uncanny ability to navigate through the thickest of crowds without ever bumping into anyone. Kaveh wonders if Al-Haitham had any idea how prevalent the rumor of him being a sort of ghost story to bored students with his knack to surprise people when he actually put his book down.
But through the years, he has learned to be more aware of social cues and he has long tempered that urge to read whenever and wherever. Still, that doesn’t mean he also lost a bit of that want to collect books. No, not even a fraction. On the contrary, Kaveh knows it merely gets bigger. Especially since he has his own mora now and the connections his position as the Scribe can afford.
His shelves at home are packed. Rare volumes, limited editions, and beautiful bound books filled the top levels while the dog-eared and well-loved ones he places in the middle to the bottom levels. Some of the tomes which are fragile and weathered he keeps on a special shelf. And Kaveh bet his few mora that Al-Haitham paid more attention to fireproofing his library more than the rest of the house.
In short, the man loves his books.
And wouldn’t mind splurging if he can get his hands on a book that he wants.
Which is what is currently happening now.
Kaveh is stepping out of the Akademiya when he bumps into Al-Haitham. He is holding a wrapped package and since Kaveh is familiar with how Al-Haitham is, the man is practically brimming with impatience to unwrap it. His fingers are drumming on the package and his foot is tapping the ground. He wants to open it, but a staff is currently talking to him.
“My office hours have ended,” Kaveh hears him as he walks closer.
The poor woman nods and scratches her head. “Yes, I understand, but this is from Lesser Lord Kusanali herself. It’s a bit urgent.”
Al-Haitham is not beneath just refusing and telling people to find him the next day at his office. Yet even someone like him can’t refuse their archon. Maybe one of these days perhaps, but obviously not today.
“Fine,” he says and quickly clocks Kaveh with a stare. He goes up to him, then puts the package in his hands. It is heavy. Like a brick. “Take this back with you. Don’t open it. Place it on my desk right afterwards. You carry it, not Mehrak.”
His briefcase beeps and Kaveh knows it is making a sad face. “You’re hurting its feelings,” he clicks his tongue but secures the package in his hold. “Fine. I’ll take this with me. Not like I have any other choice.”
“It is highly likely to be raining soon,” Al-Haitham stares at him. “Do not get it wet.”
“Yes, yes, I know how you can be with your books,” Kaveh nudges his arm. “Look, see? I’m carrying it like a newborn. It is in my very safe hands.”
“Good,” Al-Haitham nods and turns to the woman again. “Let’s go, then.”
She nods – squeaks, really – before she leads him away into a hallway. Kaveh sighs, shares a look with a confused Mehrak, then finally steps out of the Akademiya. The clouds are gathering fast since it is monsoon season, and Kaveh is quick to walk down the path to the house. His key fortunately is with him this time, the lion chain swinging as he opens the door.
He leaves the package just as Al-Haitham told him to, gives it a little pat, then goes to cook dinner. He forgets about it altogether until the table is set and the front door is once more opened by the same key. Now, remember when he mentioned that Al-Haitham loves his books? Well, despite being damp from the rain and look absolutely tired, he trails into his office to see the package. That is fine and all, it isn’t Kaveh’s problem, except it becomes his when Al-Haitham almost sits and opens it right then and there.
“Oh, no, no, no. Take a shower and change first before you even think of reading it,” Kaveh steps in and plucks it out of his hand. “What? You walked in the rain and you haven’t eaten. I am not going to listen to you grumbling about a small headache when you miss dinner and get a cold.”
Al-Haitham looks at him.
He is real tired because he doesn’t say anything. The man just frowns, and it quickly turns into a pout. Pouting. Al-Haitham is pouting. Kaveh almost can’t believe it. Still, he puts his foot down.
“Don’t give me an attitude. I’m holding on to this until you do the two things I mentioned,” he puts a hand on his hip. “I’m serious. Don’t test me, Al-Haitham. You can read the book later.”
He keeps pouting, but he has always been a rational man that at the end, he huffs and stands up. No negotiating, no comments, nothing. Quietly he grabs some clothes from his room and then locks the bathroom. The sound of water is heard soon after. When he reemerges, Kaveh nods in approval.
“Sit,” he says. Hand still around the book.
Al-Haitham pads barefoot to the table, a towel draped over his neck. He takes a seat and pulls his filled plate closer. Then, he looks up. Expectant. A faint pout is still visible. Kaveh shrugs, finally giving the book back to him. Al-Haitham’s eyes widened a little as he has it again, and in a blink, he already opens it.
This, Kaveh finds, is a mistake. Because he keeps flipping yet another page, yet his food isn’t depleting after fifteen minutes. He already has his book, however, and Kaveh won’t risk being scratched metaphorically by him from trying to take his toy away. So, he improvises.
“Here,” he scoops some rice and fish with a spoon. Al-Haitham glances with narrowed eyes, but Kaveh just nudges it to his mouth. “Oh, hush, just accept it,” he crosses his legs, “or do you want me to take your book again?”
That gets Al-Haitham opening his mouth and chewing. The better part of the thirty minutes, Kaveh eats his dinner and feeds the other intermittently. Al-Haitham is a fast eater, he has to time himself to notice the man has stopped and is waiting for him to bring the spoon yet again. It goes on until Kaveh scrapes both plates clean. He is piling them together when Al-Haitham suddenly calls him.
“Kaveh,” he hums with slightly parted lips and a tiny frown as he slightly turns to him, but his eyes are still glued to the pages.
Kaveh tilts his head, blinking, then… Oh, Al-Haitham doesn’t notice he has finished his dinner. He stifles a chuckle, and instead, grins. “You already ate everything,” he says, taking the plates with him. “Dinner’s done, you know.”
Al-Haitham stops reading momentarily at that. “I see,” he drinks a glass of water before refilling it and taking it with him. “Then, I’ll be at the living room now.” He already returns to his book, and Kaveh can hear him plopping down on the divan.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” Kaveh murmurs while he washes the dishes.
The rest of the evening finds Al-Haitham not moving from his spot. He only moves to take the water pitcher before settling down again. His attention span can be terrifying sometimes. Kaveh has made the final touches to his design, wrote a few letters, set up a meeting, planned his guest lectures, and did his skincare by the time late night falls, and Al-Haitham is still reading.
“Just one more chapter,” he waves him off.
Then, he keeps saying again and again. For three more times before Kaveh gives up.
“Fine, I’m going to bed now,” he says over his shoulder, and he does go to sleep.
It is around two when he stirs only because he needs to go to the toilet and to grab some water. He blearily walks out of the bathroom after doing his business, then when he crosses the living room, surprise, surprise, Al-Haitham is right over there snoozing. He has his head resting against the wall, mouth slightly ajar while his legs are spread out on the divan. He is quietly snoring too. There is a blanket pulled over to his waist, a couple of glasses and a bowl of candied nuts by the table.
Kaveh huffs. Carefully, he leans down and puts a hand on Al-Haitham’s shoulder. A few jostles have him stirring awake to squint at him. “It’s midnight,” Kaveh simply says. “You should sleep in your own bed.”
Al-Haitham grunts while he pushes himself up. He ignores the little mess he made on the table and does that sleepy waddle thing humans do when he is clearly still half-asleep. Watching him walk away, Kaveh belatedly realizes he has been hugging the book as he yawns and disappears into his own bedroom.
Gods, Kaveh combs his messy hair, that man is something, alright.
---
The second time it happens again, it is more or less Kaveh’s own doing. Well, not really, but he does have a hand in it. Anyway, it happens again.
One thing that you can’t ever find lacking in the house (beside the books and alcohol) is the amount of food in the pantry. Rice, flour, spices, vegetables, fruits, and meats – everything is there. Being in Sumeru has its perks when it comes to homewares, and a Kshahrewar inventor had worked together with a Fontaine group to realize a nifty idea of constructing a cold storage to keep produce and ingredients fresh longer. And a man who has the mora, Al-Haitham did install it to his home because of course, he would.
Kaveh likes going to the pantry if only to grab a jelly or two while looking at the organized shelves and boxes inside. And it is through this familiarization that he has learned that the little boy whose eyes sparkled at the sight of any kind of meat dishes eventually grew up into a man whose appetite whose eyes will zoom in on the butter chicken and shawarma that Kaveh places in front of him.
He just… perks up whenever those kinds of food are given to him. It is a phenomenon, to be honest. Almost hilarious. Because Kaveh can gauge how his day has been from how hard he cuts the meat and bites them before he asks for seconds halfway to his first helping.
Cooking for the two of them often takes more than an hour if only due to how big the portion Kaveh needs to make. But he doesn’t mind. Not at all. There is something satisfying, something nice, to see someone eating what he cooked and enjoying them. It is all too different compared to cook one for himself, he could feel it to be too fast… too empty when he stood in the kitchen and used only a plate.
Al-Haitham arrives with a heavy sigh that he can hear from his place at the pantry. Kaveh peeks out to the hallway, nibbling a grape, while he waves. “Welcome back,” he says and only gets a grunt which is a sign that means ‘Al-Haitham is having a bad day’. He looks at Al-Haitham’s retreating back and just shouts, “I’m starting some late lunch, alright?” That earns only another grunt and a wave before the man goes to his room. Likely to dive into the bed until Kaveh calls him again.
Some izmir kofte, mihari, kabab barg, and butter chicken might be overkill for lunch, but Kaveh has that radar for people that lets him have a sort of premonition. He purposefully heats the bowls and plates to the point the food are steaming even after he moves them from the stove. The scent of spices and meat are cloying on his shirt, but he just sits down and waits for Al-Haitham to come.
The man doesn’t need Kaveh calling him, after all. Not when he practically shuffles to the dining table all by himself the moment Kaveh finishes laying down everything. Without preamble, he just immediately digs in. If there is one thing about Al-Haitham that always gets him is that the man is a bit of a messy eater. And that he is also a hamster.
“Slow down,” Kaveh smirks over his tea. “They are not running anywhere.” What he gets is a glare. A glare with slightly puffed cheeks and sauce splotched chin. It has the opposite effect, and Kaveh can’t help his laugh. “Alright, alright,” he placates and offers a tissue. “It seems like something happened at work. Mind sharing with the class what it was?”
Al-Haitham cleans his second plate before he eventually answers.
“Some staff,” he starts while biting into his third portion, “ruined a bag full of documents and did not tell me until this morning. Where I was supposed to be revising them and put them forth to Lesser Lord Kusanali.”
“Oh,” Kaveh leans over his folded arms.
“Yes, indeed. And when I asked them how it even happened, they told me they didn’t go home immediately after work last weekend,” Al-Haitham frowns. “Apparently, they went to the tavern for drinks with friends instead and brought the documents with them. One drink turned into two, then three, and before they knew it, they were already drunk, and forgot about the documents lying there on the table. Someone, maybe one of them or their friends, spilled beer all over it which soaked the papers.”
“Oh,” Kaveh says again, then adds. “Yikes.”
“Yes,” Al-Haitham nods, “indeed. Yikes as you worded it.”
“What did you make them do about it?”
Al-Haitham scoffs and pours himself some wine. “I told them to go to the archives and write a new copy of each document before the new deadline.”
“And when will that be?”
“This Friday.”
“Wait, didn’t those documents take three weeks to compile together?”
“It’s their punishment.”
Kaveh makes a face and slides a newly filled plate towards Al-Haitham. “Wow, that is… harsh. Understandable, but harsh.”
“So, they learn not to be fools,” Al-Haitham simply replies before he digs in again. “They have wasted a meticulous work because they couldn’t think for a second to realize they were holding important materials.”
“Still, harsh. Though perhaps a bit deserved,” Kaveh sighs. “Anyway, I’m going to take a nap. Put away any leftovers accordingly, okay?”
“Mm,” Al-Haitham nods. “There’re still many of them.”
“Then that means you can take them for lunch for tomorrow too,” Kaveh replies as he stretches.
“Alright.”
That is all Al-Haitham says, but Kaveh sees his face and there is a pleased look to it. He wipes his mouth while he continues eating. Kaveh catches tiny hums of approval and huge bites between the calmness and sees the sometimes-jittering legs. He huffs before he makes himself scarce.
---
The third time it happens…
Well, if he has a mora each time this happens, he will have two, no, three mora. And by now, maybe he just needs to stop counting altogether because it just keeps happening, anyway.
It is the weekend, and both of them have no intention of going outside. Not when the weather is being mean and angsty and cold. What Kaveh does to combat the dreariness is to create – draw, paint, humming. What Al-Haitham does is far simpler – he naps.
“It’s still twelve!” Kaveh retorts when the man asks him to keep it down with his dutar strumming.
“I don’t care. My house, my rules. And what I want is some quiet.”
“It is still twelve?” He puts down his instrument and crosses his arms. “Gods, you have been lazing around since yesterday.”
“The weather is perfect for it.”
“I thought you like bright days better.”
“Rainy ones with the thunders roiling from afar have their own charm,” Al-Haitham replies from his spot by the divan. He has piled a couple of pillows under his head and a few more beside him. There is a small pile of books on the floor, and a tray with water bottles and some dried fruits. It seems he has long made himself cozy.
“Fine,” Kaveh says. “Enjoy your day lazing around, then,” he shrugs, going away.
A couple of steps before he enters their shared office, he hears the easy, “I will.” And Al-Haitham does. He just… lies there throughout the whole day, and well, Kaveh has to give points from how unphased he is at the stares he keeps giving.
But then, the weather does a switch the following morning.
From storms, it changes to sheer bright sky that has worms crawling back into the holes and people crawling out of their homes to enjoy it. Kaveh had a thought that finally, that guy would definitely step out, but no. Apparently, Al-Haitham fits the worm better. Instead of taking his book outside and perhaps goes to Razan Garden or the outskirts, but no. He gets even lazier. He gets sleepier.
He moves from one divan to the other, sips his coffee, picks up a new book, then proceeds to lay around. Kaveh soon finds that he changed divans because the filtered sunrays are warming the new spot. It is a losing battle to try to persuade him to stretch his legs, so Kaveh doesn’t and takes a long, nice walk along Treasure Streets and also visits the Bazaar to chat with Nilou and the others, before getting reminded that the sun is setting.
Kaveh returns with a kulfi in hand and a couple of sugared breads. And to his not surprise… Al-Haitham keeps napping. The window is slightly ajar now, the breeze flowing in as it sways his hair slightly. Staring at the sight does seem… quiet. Peaceful. Like a cat sleeping in a warm sunspot.
To be honest, he would have left him be if not for the fact that Al-Haitham has a bit of drool on his book, and who is Kaveh if he doesn’t want to see his reaction of his own hubris?
“Hey, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh pokes him. “Hey, wake up.”
An eye peeks between fringes of gray. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry to ruin your little beauty sleep, but it seems that you have a problem.”
Al-Haitham frowns, he follows Kaveh’s finger to what he means. He is swift to pick up the book that had been resting on his chest and clicks his tongue. It will dry, but Al-Haitham is annoyed. In the rare time, at himself. And there is that… sulking whenever he is much too tired to deal with all this but has to. He dabs the drool spot with a handkerchief, keeps it open while he situated it near a window with the most sunlight coming through.
Kaveh hears him muttering a bit and can’t help the image of a bristling cat.
A huge, sulking and frowny, bristling cat.
---
The fourth time it happens when Kaveh is sick. No, not that sick, but enough to force him to take the week off. His head is pounding, his throat is dry, and his body is… very, very sore. He is miserable. Someone please put him out of misery.
“Al-Haitham,” he reaches out to him, “Pass me the glass.” The man just raises a brow, looking down him on him, and he adds, “Please.”
He gets his water.
“Go rest.”
“I currently am?”
“Not in the living room. In your own bed.”
Kaveh tightens his grip around his shawl. “I can’t! I ordered a new drafting table and they are supposed to arrive today. You are going to work, so I have to wait for the delivery.”
Al-Haitham, the bastard, has the audacity to hum impressed and surprised. “You managed to have enough mora for it?”
“Hey, show some respect to my money management!” He croaked. “For your information, I already eyed that table for weeks now, and I had put away the more for it meticulously from the last two clients I worked with.”
“Huh, so that explained why you didn’t just splurge on wine.”
Kaveh glared between his bangs at him, but he couldn’t hold it when he coughed yet again. Damn. The honey isn’t working as well as he thought for the throat. It is dry cough too. He grumbles as he curls more into himself, messing up the papers by his legs. The sun is shining brightly through the paned window, and he shuffles away from it. A hand pulls the blinds down, while the other is shifting a pillow behind his head, before the door is closing shut with a click.
He sleeps for the day, trying to stir in bursts of waking to hear any knocking. But it never seems to come, and when Kaveh finally opens his eyes for real, he sees that it is already afternoon. He shoots up. The delivery. Did he miss the delivery? Looking at the clock, it seems so.
“Ah, damn it,” he scratches his head. “Gods damn it.” Today is the only day they could deliver the heavy wood to the house, instead of him dragging them himself from the dock. And he is still sick. His table is going to be left out in the storage and maybe get damp from the humidity.
A rustle is heard from down the hallway. Kaveh stops and squints at the source. He stands up, putting his shawl on the table, before he walks towards it. The sound is coming from his room. He frowns. No one should have any key…
“Oh, you’re awake.”
… except Al-Haitham.
Kaveh blinks. The man is currently sitting on a chair, some papers in hand and pieces of cut wood lying around on the floor. The carpet has already been rolled to the corner, his bed and nightstand pushed to the wall.
“What are you doing?”
“I think you know exactly what I am doing,” Al-Haitham replies and wow, he is making Kaveh’s eyebrow twitches that he is fully awake now. There is a toolbox beside Al-Haitham.
“Do you even understand how to put these together?”
That earns a scoff. “I have a house. Of course, I would have furniture that needs to be put together before. I might be a bit slower in doing it compared to you, but I believe I am wholly capable of something simple as this.”
“Well, sorry, but lately, I’ve been the one who is fixing this and that around the house. I never saw you doing anything like it, so excuse my surprise.”
“You always volunteer,” Al-Haitham points, and damn it, that is true that Kaveh can’t retort back.
He sighs. “Ugh, fine,” he puts his hands on his hips. “Well, I can do this myself too, so hand me the manual and…”
“No.”
“No? This is my drafting table!”
“And you are its sick owner,” Al-Haitham easily replies. “Your breathing during sleep was heavy and you kept having clogged nose. Even from here, I can see the fever is still there,” he crosses his arms. “The best thing you should do is to head to Birmastan and get yourself checked.”
“I’m fine!” Kaveh says and in that moment, he sneezes so hard his head hurts. He sniffles. “See?”
“Crystal clear,” Al-Haitham deadpans. “Go,” he pulls open a drawer and throws a set of clothes. “Or I’m kicking you out in risk of also being infected with whatever it is you’re having.”
Kaveh grits his teeth, but Al-Haitham is a brick wall, and yes, maybe he is feeling slightly worse after that long nap instead. He grumbles as he changes in the bathroom. The clothes are his outing clothes, at least. Not his usual but might as well. Who would want to see him, the architect, sit in the Birmastan all looking miserable? He splashes his face with some water, gargles, then picks up his key in the bowl, and goes out.
The doctor, an older lady with thick glasses and the steadiest hands he has ever seen, looks at him in all her concern and that brand of elderly judgment. What else he should do except smiles and chuckles? She seems to be holding her sigh, proceeding to tell him what he caught. And archons, his luck is abysmal at times.
Desert fever and rainforest flu.
Gods, damn it, indeed.
“It’s the coming and going between desert and rainforest without proper rest and nutrition,” the doctor tells him. “I advise proper bedrest and lots of liquids. Go easy on spiced food, and make sure to finish all these antibiotics,” she puts the small pouch in his hand. “Also, absolutely no working, Mister Kaveh,” she gives him a stern gaze, “if you want to get well quicker.”
“Yes, of course,” he nods and pockets the pouch.
He doesn’t immediately return. Taking a detour through the bazaar, he buys groceries that should last him the whole week. His bag is filling up with fruits and vegetables, eggs and a new jug of honey, and tea leaves. The aunties are asking him about his hoarse voice, his sniffling. Kaveh has to stop them from sneakily putting more ginger and turmeric than he is buying. It takes him an hour and a half because of them to finish, and even then, he has to slither away through the early evening crowd to get away.
Trekking up the road towards the house is a slow thing. Especially with a heavy and pounding head that just can’t wait to being a menace. Kaveh walks as he casts his sight to the appearing stars in the sky. Al-Haitham’s house has the vantage point of seeing almost the whole of west of Sumeru. If Kaveh squints, he can even see the far lines of Devantaka Mountain.
The porch is already lit, and Kaveh quickly turns his key in the lock. He stumbles over the doorway, catching in time a rolling apple.
“I’m back,” he announces, then notices that the broom in the hallway is missing. Leaving his things by the table, he goes to his room. “Al-Haitham, are you still here?”
The man glances over his shoulder at him. He is midway through his sweeping, the dustpan right in front of him, and as Kaveh observes, the rest of the floor is already cleaned. His bed and nightstand are back to their former position, and he realizes that his old desk has been moved out.
The new table is standing right where he likes it. Right beside the only window in the room. All the drawers are inserted, the knobs fitted, and he can see even the lamp that came with it is already wired. Kaveh brushes past Al-Haitham. He checks everything, shakes the table a bit to find it incredibly sturdy. There are no weird creaks and loose nails, he lifts the adjusted surface and notes how smooth the movement is.
It is perfect. And it has also been set up perfectly.
“Thank you,” Kaveh murmurs. Plain and simple.
“You’re welcome,” Al-Haitham hums and there is that smugness reverberating in his tone. But Kaveh knows how to be grateful, so he is going to let him simmer in it. “You could have said it a bit louder though, I almost couldn’t hear you.”
This man…
“Well, clearly you heard it well,” Kaveh rolls his eyes. “But fine, I’m feeling nice today, so… thank you. Thank you for putting together my drafting table and doing it skillfully that I absolute won’t be complaining because you did a good job.”
Al-Haitham stops midway out of his room. “What?”
“Oh, you’re just being an asshole now. I said thank you, again. It’s the third time now!”
“I heard them all. But what did you say afterwards?”
Kaveh frowns and then he turns to him. He wonders why Al-Haitham is still standing oddly there. “You did a good job?” He crosses his arms. “There, I repeated it for you. Maybe you should lessen using your earpieces if your hearing is getting worse,” he clicks his tongue.
“Hm,” the other says.
Then it hits Kaveh when Al-Haitham is not looking him in the eyes and instead, ambles away slowly. Imperceptible to others, but not him. There is a pleased expression by how the corners of his eyes creased and the sudden tension tugging his lips, and the way he carries himself in this slightly hunched way with hands in his pants.
Huh. Well, what do you know?
Kaveh quietly chuckles when he eventually disappears around the corner. Later, in the following morning, he brews a heavenly cup of coffee only he can make before Al-Haitham is off to work despite his sore body. And when he slides it to the man who raises his brow, he just shrugs.
“Payment for yesterday,” he smiles nonchalantly. “For a job well done.”
Al-Haitham stills for a split second when sipping it, humming distractedly, and he only grins more.
.
.
.
When the fifth time it happens, Kaveh can’t take it anymore. It is already accumulating and accumulating, and it is only a matter of time before he just has to say it out loud.
How it happens is like this.
Aaru Village, being the safe haven in the desert, has been needing some renovations for some of their buildings. The big storage is always looked after, but several houses are in desperate need of being renewed. With the opened official road between the desert and the rainforest by Nahida, the village’s request is answered.
Kaveh volunteers. He had seen the state of the village during the Interdarshan Competition, after all. Any chance he can do to help improve the place is something he can’t pass up. He doesn’t come alone however, because in the rare time, Al-Haitham actually agreed to split the travel cost. The man reasoned it was because he heard of some interesting tablet Lumine and a scholar discovered, and it would better to just go there instead of waiting for them.
They went their separate ways after arriving, of course, and Kaveh was quick to become busy. The villagers are friendly, perhaps even more so than the usual desert dwellers he crosses path deeper in the sea of sands. They are used to outsiders and travelers, and Candace is a warm host. She guides him through the village, pointing this and that while he notes them down.
An engineer and a worker from the city are here too, courtesy of the Akademiya. The younger man is a bit awkward to work with, an unusual sight for the former’s type – but Kaveh appreciates his constant questions and concern about making what works with both Kaveh’s vision and the village’s wants. The latter is a tall lady with arms fit like tree trunks, she has that rough laughter that eases him and a charming wide smile that swoons everyone.
It is a nice setting for a change. A client who doesn’t ask for the impossible and a team that work smoothly together. Kaveh enjoys this, it makes him unaware of the passing time. Before he knows it, two days have passed, and Candace gently reminds him to take a break on the third. She has this ability to make people listen to her, when she advises him to perhaps take a walk, he does it.
The desert has its own charms. During the day, at the height of its heat, the sun shines and Kaveh can understand why they call it the golden sands. It is fierce and beckoning, as if the dry wind whispers of the ancient things buried beneath them all. During the afternoon, as the temperature cools, and the sun is slanting west, it becomes quiet like it is finally taking a breath.
Kaveh is walking alongside the upper canyon overlooking the village when he meets his furry little friends from the competition. There are still three, still healthy, and still just as spritely.
“Oh, hello,” he says and kneels. “Well, why are you guys here? There are no more ley line disruptors around, you know?”
They tilt their heads, ears flicking while tails swishing. It is incredible how they remember him still. He huffs, then offers his head. One of them stalks forward, sniffs it, and rubs its nose against him.
“Sorry, no food this time,” Kaveh smiles. The foxes let out a keen. He huffs. But instead of leaving, they seem to be expectant when they are looking at him over their shoulders as they move. Kaveh hums, brushing off sands from his pants. “You want me to follow?”
Their answer is them circling around him and paws at his shoes. He walks after them, smiling at their lightness across the sands. Mehrak floats after him, doing beeping noises intermittently. Where the foxes bring him to is a patch of cactuses with henna berries growing. Kaveh immediately knows what they want.
“Hold on,” he says as he draws nearer. “Hey, Mehrak, help me with this.”
His toolbox beeps and picks the berries before placing them in his arms. They are heavy, which explains why they fall whenever they get ripe enough. He takes them towards a shade, the foxes eagerly yipping.
“Here,” he places the berries on the ground. “Knock yourself out.”
They dive into the pile. Kaveh chuckles at their eating, little teeth biting into juicy flesh, and licking the drips. He peels his own berry, spitting the seeds. The berry tastes watery with a hint of that sweetness, it lacks the slight sourness he likes in zaytun peaches. He nibbles it, intermittently glancing at the foxes, until one time, he does a double take.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he crouches over one of the foxes when it starts to curl to the side and becomes tired. “Wait, are you… pregnant? You’re a lady?” He scrambles to his knees. “Oh my gods! Are you going to give…”
It – she – seems to be dozing and now Kaveh notices the bum on her belly. Is she alright? Why the sudden sleepiness? She sneezes and curls more into herself. Is that a contraction? Is she about to give birth? Why are the other two foxes nuzzling her? Hold on, does this mean one of them is her mate?
“Sorry, excuse me,” he murmurs as he carefully picks her up. The other two look at him, and he ends up also picking them up. “Alright, we’re going back to the village. Mehrak lead the way, please.”
His toolbox lights up the way in the dimming desert, his latest tinkering addition to it. The walk back isn’t far, and when he is passing the Statue of the Seven, he sees a familiar figure by the village entrance. Al-Haitham is fast to reach him, sand kicked behind his every step. The man practically seizes him.
“Where have you been?” He asks and his grip on his arm is tight. “Candace was asking for when you’d be back. Where were you?”
Kaveh winces. “I was just taking a walk, taking a break,” he answers.
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone, so now could you please let go of me because we have another pressing matter here,” he grits and frowns.
It is then Al-Haitham looks down and sees the foxes in his arms. He blinks. “Why are they here?”
“The female is pregnant and I think she’s about to give birth, but I don’t know, so move,” Kaveh nudges him, “I need to find the doctor if he knows anything.”
A beat passes, then Al-Haitham steps back. He leads him into the village, and Zakhariya is fortunately not yet going back to his house. He checks the fox, gets quiet for a minute or two, before sighing. She isn’t about to give birth, but she is uncharacteristically weak. Perhaps a bit sick.
“What should we do, then?” Kaveh asks.
“We can get her inside and warm her up. Give her some water and food. I’m not a veterinarian, so I suggest we ask someone from the city, sir,” Zakhariya replies with an apologetic smile.
“Or Gandharva Ville,” Kaveh hums. “Maybe if I go now…”
“No, you are not,” Al-Haitham quips from the doorway. “Dehya is around. She can ask her men to find someone in the city or Tighnari. You are in no condition to run all the way from here to there.” When Kaveh opens his mouth, he cuts him. “The fox isn’t in grave danger. She will just need some monitoring, and you seem fit to do this instead of anyone else.”
Kaveh slumps but he nods eventually. “Fine,” he says and with Candace moves the foxes into the house he is staying over. She makes a bed out of an old basket, stuffs it with dried grasses and fabrics. The foxes crowd into it, sniffing and rubbing themselves to their new territory while Kaveh fetches water and a bit of dried meat and mushy fruit in a bowl.
“There,” he smiles, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. “Comfy, right?”
He doesn’t get to enjoy their cute noises in response because a stare is drilling on his back. Kaveh turns, Al-Haitham is there. A tray in his hands. The man sits himself across from him, on the other side of the carpet.
“Yes, they are the same foxes I met during the competition,” Kaveh explains while rolling his eyes.
“The ones who you said, and I quoted, ‘cheated you out of your limited food and water supply’,” Al-Haitham crosses his arms. “How did you end up meeting them again?” So, Kaveh tells him and somehow it makes his face morphs into a perpetual frown. “You also gave them your water then?”
“What? No, I just helped them pick some henna berries,” Kaveh huffs. “And so what if I gave them my water again? I could always return to the village to refill my bottle.”
Al-Haitham looks at him with that personal brand of blankness which conveys everything wordlessly. But before Kaveh rises up to reply, the two foxes get increasingly bored, and decides that the two humans are very much interesting. One bounces to him while the other to Al-Haitham. It does the usual nose nuzzling against his hand before slinking around him like he is a jungle gym. He chuckles when its tail tickles his neck, and it climbs him further up.
They give him a short moment of silence. And a chance to just glance at Al-Haitham. He isn’t phased by the fox’s cuteness, distracted even. He doesn’t push it away, but there is a meaningful sort of stare he keeps giving it. Something sharp and contemplative, Kaveh doesn’t get it until he does. As always.
“Oh...” He clicks his fingers and Al-Haitham turns to him. “Oh, I get it.” It must be a trick of the light when Al-Haitham blinks too rapidly, too unguarded. “You don’t really like foxes, do you?”
Something deflates on Al-Haitham’s face. He sighs. “No, I like them enough,” he says and rubs a finger on the fox’s head.
“Lies,” Kaveh shoots back. “Then, why isn’t it playing with you? Look, I think it just gets somber from looking at you.”
“Because I know what actually makes them happy,” Al-Haitham replies.
He makes a low whistle, earning the foxes’ ears flicking at the sound. With pats on the carpet and pieces of fruit bits, he beckons them to him. They nibble on his palm, and slowly, he starts to rub their necks. Kaveh catches the moment the foxes close their eyes, purring. Al-Haitham moves down to their bellies and before long, they are playfully biting his fingers and hugging him. There is a pleased pitched noise they make as Al-Haitham keeps doing whatever it is he is doing until the foxes splay beside him and seem so happy.
“See?” Al-Haitham says. “I’ve read about the desert fauna, especially these animals.”
He is smirking. Smug. The fire from the hearth casts a warm glow against the full moon from the outside. It adds an irreplicable hue in the room, on Al-Haitham. And with how the foxes are practically on half-lying on his lap, the sight is…
“Adorable,” Kaveh says, then sighs, and repeats it. “Ugh, you all look adorable!”
“… What?”
“I said, you all are adorable!” Kaveh huffs. “I hate this, why are you all have to be cute together? I also want-”
Oh.
Oh.
There is a slight flush on Al-Haitham’s neck. Kaveh gulps and murmurs to the side.
“I, I mean, the foxes look adorable, and I can’t believe they are behaving like that because of you, not me!”
“I see,” Al-Haitham eventually hums, then coughs. “You can have them back.”
Kaveh bristles. “They are not pets!” He calls after Al-Haitham as the other gets up.
“Seems like it to me,” Al-Haitham shrugs. “I’m hungry. I’m grabbing dinner. You should too before the kitchen closes because you are too busy fussing over your little critters.”
“I told you they are not my pets!” He yells, but Al-Haitham is already out of the room. “Ugh, that guy…”
The foxes do return to his side, and they are too willing to have him do the same thing to them. Their furs are soft, he likes feeling them. His movements are a bit stilted, a bit awkward. Unlike Al-Haitham’s methodical and easy one. He had been confident and even smiled a little. The image is sticking to his head now. But he can’t help it. The man had looked… adorable, and also…
Kaveh stops himself.
Damn it.
“I’m so glad you don’t understand me,” Kaveh mutters to the foxes. “Or at least, if you did, then you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
The foxes only burrow deeper into his clothes and cape which is might as well. Kaveh caresses the sleeping female fox, her tail calmly swaying along the rhythm of his brushes. He sighs to himself.
Ah, really, what is he thinking?
He knows the other word he wants to use. He just doesn’t want to say it.
Adorable. That is as far as he should get. Perhaps that is even a bit too far.