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It’s two hours past midnight, four hours past the time he got into bed, and four and a half hours before he needs to get ready for work—and Alhaitham is still wide awake.
He lies on his back, counts the tiles on his bedroom ceiling, and tries not to think about why.
But the unusual emptiness of his house tonight is impossible to ignore. There’s something different about the silence that goes against logic, and if Alhaitham were willing to lie to himself, he might say that that’s what’s keeping him up—the fact that he feels as if he can sense something imperceptible.
There’s no true difference to be detected—silence is silence, by definition, it all sounds the same. Alhaitham knows it’s in his head, but that knowledge does nothing to calm his restless mind tonight.
The problem—he knows—is that Kaveh has not come home tonight, hasn’t drunkenly stumbled through Alhaitham’s door, complaining about another client, or his crushing debt, or whatever his chosen injustice of the night is.
Alhaitham tells himself to not think much of it. Just because they live together doesn’t mean he’s entitled to every detail of the other man’s life.
In fact, he doesn’t even desire to know as much.
Still though, it’s unusual for him to stay out all night, especially without any prior warning.
For all his talk of moving out, Alhaitham knows Kaveh does actually enjoy their shared living space. It’s made clear in the way his shoulders relax the second he steps over the threshold, the way he continues to buy new furniture and decor, breathing life and vibrance into a place that had previously been strictly utilitarian in design—the way he’s turned their house into a home.
He would deny it until he was blue in the face of course, but Alhaitham knows the truth. Kaveh likes living with him.
And if he did ever find a new place to move into despite all that, Alhaitham is confident that Kaveh would inform him immediately, and with a proud flair—proof to the world, but mostly to himself, that he doesn’t need Alhaitham’s help, that he will no longer be a burden to him. Alhaitham can practically imagine the way his mouth would curve up in a grin as he announced his plans, arms spread to the skies in triumph and scarlet eyes sparkling.
It doesn’t seem to matter that if Kaveh were truly a burden, then Alhaitham would be glad to carry him, would do so with all the honor and implausibility of a lone palanquin bearer if that were what Kaveh required. In fact, Alhaitham is selfish enough to believe himself to be the only one suited for the job.
But of course, that doesn’t mean Kaveh can’t spend the night elsewhere. The Light of Kshahrewar makes friends as easy as he breathes, plenty of which are close enough to let him sleep at their place—but he always informs Alhaitham first when he won’t be coming home that night.
Until tonight, of course.
There are only a handful of scenarios that Alhaitham can think of that would result in Kaveh staying out all night without warning. He goes through them one by one in his mind, assigns them probabilities, and decides Kaveh is most likely passed out at Lambad’s, and that if that is the case, he can deal with it in the morning.
And if that’s not the case… then Alhaitham will also deal with it in the morning.
Running around Sumeru City in the dead of night looking for a lost architect would be a disproportionate reaction, especially if the reason Kaveh is not here is because he’s sleeping soundly in someone else’s bed.
The thought makes something hard settle in Alhaitham’s stomach, an obtrusive presence in his gut, pressing against his lungs. It’s the one other option with a probability high enough to be considered reasonable.
Kaveh is attractive, incredibly so. If he left the house this evening with the intention of finding someone to spend the night with, then Alhaitham knows without a doubt that he would have his fair share of choices.
It’s probably the better option when compared to being drunkenly unconscious in a tavern, and yet, something about it doesn't sit right with Alhaitham. He chooses not to think about why that may be, and instead checks the time again.
It’s now two and a half hours past midnight, four and half since he got in bed, and four more until he needs to get out. The half hour since he last checked feels like an eternity ago.
Alhaitham forces his eyes to shut. Even if his mind can’t get any rest tonight, his body can at least try to.
He slows his breathing, relaxes his muscles, and tries to dissolve his thoughts—thoughts of Kaveh and some faceless individual—into fuzzy white noise. He almost succeeds.
And then the lock on the front door clicks.
Alhaitham’s eyes fly open.
He’s out of bed before he can think better of it, following the sound of footsteps making their way from their entryway to the kitchen.
It’s Kaveh—it has to be Kaveh—unless someone has managed to steal his keys and decided to break into their house with them.
Except his gait is off. Alhaitham can tell from the sound alone, the rhythm uneven and off-kilter.
He’s hiding it well—unnoticeable to the untrained ear, but not to someone who knows by heart what those feet sound like walking through their house.
Alhaitham hears a body settle with a heavy exhale into one of their kitchen chairs and decides to finally make his appearance. He tries for a casual tone, not wanting to spook Kaveh with his voice. Instead, it comes out accusatory. “What did you do now?”
Kaveh’s shoulders freeze. He lets out another long breath of air before leveling Alhaitham with a withering gaze. His voice is strained when he speaks. “Why are you awake?”
Alhaitham narrows his eyes. “How was I supposed to sleep with all that racket you were making? And don’t dodge the question—what happened to your leg?”
Kaveh scoffs, because clearly he thinks Alhaitham is an idiot. He crosses his arms, looking petulant. “Nothing.”
“Quit acting like a child. Are you injured?”
“I’m fine.”
“Then stand up.”
Kaveh does so. He raises his arms out at his sides. “See? Fine. Go back to bed. You have work in the morning.”
“Come here.”
“Excuse me? Are we giving orders now? I’m not your dog, you know. Don’t tell me to heel.”
Alhaitham doesn’t budge from his position at the opposite end of the kitchen. From the way Kaveh is standing, it’s impossible to tell that something is wrong—his center of gravity is perfectly balanced—but Alhaitham knows what he heard. “Are you going to stay in the kitchen all night then? Surely your bed would be a more comfortable place to sleep.”
Kaveh runs a hand through his hair, shifting restlessly, but he noticeably does not move his feet from where they’re currently placed on the tiled kitchen floor. “Just…” he sighs again. “Just give me a minute.”
Alhaitham does no such thing. “What were you even doing out so late?” he asks.
“Researching. For my commission from that one client I met with yesterday.”
“Where?”
“The House of Daena.”
“Until two in the morning?”
“Until midnight.”
“And you expect me to believe it took you two hours to make what is usually a 10 minute walk back to our house?”
“What is this? An interrogation?”
“It wouldn’t have to be if you’d just tell me what’s wrong.”
“I already told you! It’s nothing!”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
A frustrated groan leaves Kaveh’s lips but he doesn’t answer.
The two of them stare each other down in the dimly lit space of their shared kitchen. There are dishes in the sink still—dishes Kaveh said he would wash when he got home today. Alhaitham doesn’t think they’re getting washed tonight.
He takes a long, steadying breath. “I’m waiting.”
Kaveh slumps back into his chair, defeated. He holds his head in his hands as he speaks. “Look… It’s no big deal, okay? I was just… too tired and carrying too many books and not looking where I was going and—” He stops suddenly, and Alhaitham remembers to breathe. “I fell. Alright? I fell from one of the upper platforms and landed wrong and messed up my ankle. Are you happy now?”
Alhaitham's heart is pounding in his chest for some reason. “Why would that make me happy?”
“God, I don’t know.” Kaveh rubs a hand down his face. “You've been acting so weird tonight.”
Has he? Althaitham doesn’t think so. He goes over his actions tonight in his head but finds none of them out of the ordinary—except the irregular heartbeat, but Kaveh can’t possibly know about that. Perhaps he should check him for a concussion.
Alhaitham steps forward, reaching a hand out. “I’m not acting weird. Did you hit your head too?”
For some reason, Kaveh’s eyes flash with anger and well with unshed tears. He swats Alhaitham’s hand away. “Are you serious right now?! I can’t believe you!”
The sudden outburst catches him off guard, and before Alhaitham can stop him, Kaveh is getting up from his chair again. No longer having anything to hide, he walks this time, painfully, slowly, feet dragging at a snail's pace. Alhaitham understands with sudden extreme clarity why it took him two hours to get from the library to here. Every step with his left leg is taken with the anticipation of pain, the grit of teeth.
Meanwhile, against his will, Alhaitham’s own feet stay rooted to the ground, mouth fallen silent, at a loss for how this conversation went so far south so fast and afraid of making things even worse.
His words—the one constant he can rely on in his life—have failed him, betrayed him, left him to drown out at sea without a lifeboat.
Just when he’d thought their tumultuous relationship had begun to settle, Kaveh reminds him how much further they have to go—how much further Alhaitham has to go if he wants Kaveh to understand how he feels.
Alhaitham watches Kaveh limp down the hall to their bedrooms, hand braced against the wall for support, and foolishly wishes it were his arm instead.
Kaveh reaches for the handle on his door, and Alhaitham realizes that he absolutely cannot let him walk over that threshold without saying something—anything. Alhaitham can’t let tonight end like this. He forces his mouth to open, to speak the only word on his mind right now. It comes out sounding like a plea.
“Kaveh.”
Red rimmed eyes turn to meet his own. And oh, Alhaitham hadn’t expected that to work. He hasn’t even thought about what to say next. He takes a hesitant step forward, and then another, and another until they’re face to face again.
This time, when he reaches for Kaveh’s face, the other lets him, and Alhaitham has to hold back his sigh of relief. He tilts Kaveh’s head side to side, checking his pupils under the moonlight from the hallway window. Everything seems in order, but Alhaitham is no medic, and the knot in his stomach barely loosens. He frowns deeply. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Should I send for one of the Bimarstan doctors?”
Kaveh’s answering smile is small, and doesn’t reach his eyes. He gently pushes Alhaitham’s hands down, holding them with his own, smaller ones. “Thank you, Alhaitham. But I’d really rather just sleep right now. We can talk about it in the morning, okay?”
Alhaitham wants to say no, that it’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Kaveh can barely walk right now. Instead, he says, “Can I at least get you some ice?”
Kaveh sighs heavily. “I suppose so.”
Alhaitham darts to the kitchen, grabbing a pack of ice from their freezer and wrapping it in a hand towel before quickly returning.
Thankfully, Kaveh is still exactly where he left him. He accepts the ice with another unconvincing smile. “I’ll be fine, Alhaitham. Don’t worry about me.” He huffs out a soft chuckle like he hasn’t just asked for the impossible, and then disappears behind the door.
Alhaitham is left with no other choice but to retreat back to the lonely confines of his own bedroom. He crawls under the covers and contemplates the tiles on his ceiling.
Sleep never does find him that night.