Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Can you hear that? It's the sound of music.

No—not music from a band, or a performing troupe, or an orchestra. It's a voice, humming a song cheerfully but a little off-tune.  

And why not? Above is the moon, shining soft and sweet over the gardens of the Akademiya. The other students are asleep, or working madly on their theses, or conducting late-night experiments.

Not these two.

Look at them. They seem happy. Ah, and there is the one humming that song. Do you recognize it? It's a song popular in Lambad's Tavern, especially late at night, when the tavern's patrons are drunk and dancing.

These two, however. They are drunk, and they are dancing—but that flush on the junior's cheeks is not from alcohol, and neither is that sparkle in the eyes of his senior. He's tilted his head down a little, his full lips curved in a smile of effervescent happiness. He's not in love—not yet. But he is falling in love, right at this very moment, infected by the atmosphere and by the way his junior's face—normally so rigid and unreadable—is soft and open. He seems to hold all the loveliness in the world in his sea-green gaze.

They have eyes only for each other. Their hands are clasped; the senior has his free hand on his junior's waist. He doesn't know it, but that junior can feel it even through his clothes. Every point of contact seems to glow with heat and intimacy.

The junior, too, doesn't know fully that he's in love. Forgive him: he's a little slow in these matters. And he doesn't know, too, that that love that has caught him is entrapping him deeper still—right at this very moment.

It is not a moment that will last. But it is their moment to share—it will become a memory to look back on—a silly little dance under Sumeru's moon.

Let's leave them alone. It's a private moment, after all. The business of falling in love always is.

Chapter Text

"Get up, you lush," Alhaitham said, staring down at Kaveh.

"I'm getting up!" Kaveh said. He did not move, staring up at Alhaitham blurrily from where he was sprawled on the ground. "I'm getting up," he repeated. He lifted one leg—wait, no, that was wrong. He lifted an arm. Okay, he was getting somewhere.

And then—

A hand clasped his.

"Huh?" Kaveh said, peering up. Alhaitham didn't say anything, hauling him bodily up. (It took several attempts.)

When Kaveh was finally standing on two feet, Alhaitham let go. Or rather: Alhaitham attempted to let go, but Kaveh tightened his grip. "Nu-uh," said he, like the genius he was.

Alhaitham sighed. "Let go."

"Sure," Kaveh agreed. He brought their joint hands closer to his face, his brows furrowing as he stared with intent eyes. "You know," he said, "you've sure got... very long hands. Fingers."

"..."

Alhaitham's fingers were indeed very long, his nails trimmed and neat. They were smooth, too, marked only by a writer's callus. Even his knuckles were elegant, his palm broad. That glint of metal on the middle finger was far too intriguing.

What a nice hand, Kaveh thought, although he could only see half. Why was that? Oh, right. Gloves. Alhaitham should take them off, Kaveh decided, and tugged at the fabric with his teeth.

Alhaitham made a choked noise. "Kaveh—" he said.

But he fell silent when Kaveh bit, very gently, his ring and pinky finger. They curled, just enough to meet Kaveh's tongue, and then he just had to taste them, licking a long wet stripe all the way down to the web of Alhaitham's fingers.

"That's enough," Alhaitham said then. His voice was hoarse. Kaveh looked up. Alhaitham's cheeks were flushed, as if it were he that was drunk and not Kaveh. Even his ears were tinted red. His expression, however, remained steady.

"Let's go home," he said.

"Let's go!" Kaveh agreed. "Home. To our home. Heh." He stepped forward—ah, wrong direction—alright, that was better, he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Alhaitham now. Sort of. (Why was he so tall!?) He linked their fingers together. Alhaitham's fingers were still slightly wet from Kaveh's tongue, from his kisses.

Alhaitham did not pull away. Stretched long by Sumeru's street lamps, their shadows intertwined as they walked home, hand in hand.

Chapter Text

"You used to be so cute," Kaveh said. "A wriggling... squirmy little worm."

"You think wriggling, squirmy worms are cute?" Alhaitham said, dry.

"With... these BIG... green eyes!" Kaveh said, drunkenly. He threw his arms wide, as if that might illustrate how lovely and glimmering and big Alhaitham's eyes used to be. Not that they weren't still lovely and glimmering. And green. But.

"You're spilling your wine," Alhaitham said, rescuing Kaveh's glass. Plucked it straight from Kaveh's hand... and then drank it. He was, he rationalized, stopping Kaveh from getting even more stupidly drunk. "Let's go home," he said.

"Go to your home, you mean," Kaven slurred. Like a boneless creature, he slumped against Alhaitham's side.

"Our home," Alhaitham said, but Kaveh's eyes were closed. If he was listening, he was pretending not to.

Kaveh re-invigorated himself on the way back, which was annoying. Alhaitham preferred just carrying Kaveh. ("You carry me like a sack of potatoes!" Kaveh had once accused. "Well, yes," Alhaitham had replied.) It was easier than coaxing a drunk-but-conscious Kaveh home. Despite his slight build, he was very strong, and when intoxicated he often forgot to control his strength. He might go here, go there, go everywhere, and how was Alhaitham supposed to stop him? He'd have more luck corralling a sumpter beast.

Luckily, at least this time, Kaveh was stuck on the topic of baby Alhaitham. "You were THIS big!" he cried, demonstrating with his hands. "When we met! Tiny! A worm!"

"Would you stop calling me a worm? No, this way, our house is this way—"

"A worm," Kaveh repeated. He looked down at his hands and suddenly stopped walking. Alhaitham had a hand on his arm and so he, still walking forward, rubber-banded back.

"Kaveh—"

"And you used to follow me around." Kaveh stared down mournfully at his hands. "You'd follow me... EVERYWHERE. Holding the back of my shirt. So cute. You used to be... cute."

"I did not follow you everywhere," Alhaitham protested.

"Yes you did," Kaveh said. "You were my little tail." He looked behind him. "Where's my tail?"

Alhaitham tugged on one of Kaveh's many scarves and shirt tassels. "Right here. Can we keep walking?"

"Yes, but you have to follow me," Kaveh said. He set off again. "You're my tail."

"..." Alhaitham put a hand to his forehead. "That's the way to the market, Kaveh."

"Big brother Kaveh." Kaveh whirled around. He pointed angrily to the nearest tree. "Why don't you call me big brother! You don't even call me senior!" Then he sniffled. "Wh... why did you get even taller?"

Alhaitham looked at the tree. "I don't skip my meals or sleep late drawing blueprints for clients," he said.

"Oh," Kaveh said to the tree. "That's... that makes sense." He turned and, thankfully, started walking in the right direction. "You were this tall," he said. "With big... BIG green eyes."

Alhaitham followed. After a moment, he reached out and grasped Kaveh's scarf. Kaveh wasn't the only one of them drunk, after all.

"You used to smile at me all the time," Kaveh said. "Why don't you smile at me anymore? And you don't... You don't think I'm funny anymore! You never laugh!"

Alhaitham rolled his eyes. "What is there to laugh at?"

"Me!" Kaveh said. "I'm a joke!" He stopped walking. So did Alhaitham, who curled his fingers tighter on the fabric in his hand. He stared down at the deep red colour.

"I don't think you're a joke," Alhaitham said. "Big brother Kaveh."

Alhaitham was still staring at Kaveh's scarf, and so it took him a moment to realise Kaveh had turned around. This time, when he looked at Alhaitham, he had at least not mistaken him for a tree. "You're so big," Kaveh said. "And tall. And rich. And... and... a big shot! ... An ex-big shot," he corrected himself, before Alhaitham could point out he was no longer Acting Grand Sage. "I... I..." He stared up at Alhaitham with mournful red eyes. "I can't take care of you anymore. I'm no good."

Alhaitham tugged the scarf, as if it were a leash, drawing Kaveh closer. "And didn't you ever think, big brother Kaveh," he said quietly, "that it might be my turn to take care of you?"

Kaveh's lips parted. He stank of wine. "Oh," he said. And then: "I... I'll take care of you too. I'll grow even taller. I'll earn even more money! Y... you won't even have to read applications anymore!" A pause. "I taught you to read!"

Alhaitham's lips quirked. "I remember," he said, and then: "I'll hold you to that."

"Good!" Kaveh cried. He reached up to grab Alhaitham by his headphones and said, very seriously: "You... you're not a worm anymore, but you're still cute."

"... Thank you," Alhaitham said, dryly, and allowed Kaveh to pull him down for a kiss.

Chapter Text

It's a beautiful night, and Alhaitham is getting ready for bed.

"Let me help," Kaveh says. "Close your eyes."

Alhaitham's crystalfly-wing lashes flutter shut. Kaveh's fingers carefully spread cleansing oil on Alhaitham's delicate lids. The kohl smears under his touch, spreading outward like ink dissipating in water. Somehow, when smudged, the black kohl outlining Alhaitham's eyes transforms them, so that they are brighter than usual. He at once becomes an indolent beauty, a concubine awaiting his king.

And how bright Alhaitham's eyes are, how enchanting. Not only because of the colour—though by the Seven, the colour is extraordinary and unique, the sun setting on the ocean horizon—but because the shape of them is beautiful. Framed by sword eyebrows that seem always stern, by steel-grey bangs, Alhaitham's eyes are that of an eagle's, round yet sharp, slanting up at the corners. When curious, they display all his wonder at the world; when angry, they narrow like a predator sighting prey. Kaveh traces their elegant shape now, less helping to spread oil than he is exploring the contours of Alhaitham's eyes.

"Are you quite done?" Alhaitham asks. Those eyebrows, already slightly slanted, seem even more severe when he frowns.

"Patience," Kaveh chides, and kisses first one eyelid, then the other. Alhaitham's eyes open, those thick lashes casting beautiful shadows on his cheeks. "You're so lovely," Kaveh sighs. Their gazes meet, and Kaveh smiles reflexively.

Alhaitham's lips, lovely and full, curve up in response. Having lived nearly four decades, it is impossible for Alhaitham to escape the wear and tear of time, of countless expeditions and exposure to the harsh desert sun. But what a wonderfully unexpected gift it is that the fine lines starting to settle on Alhaitham's face are those of a life well-lived: The crinkles at the corners of his eyes from laughing; the groove between his brows from the perusal of documents (and, it must be admitted, from puzzling over Kaveh's behaviour); the nasolabial folds from his startlingly frequent smiles.

Alhaitham's countenance is that of a slow-blooming flower. Once he might have appeared as an untouchable, unfeeling statue; but the older he gets, the more the truth of him is revealed. His kindness. His intelligence. His gentleness. Kaveh wonders what more of him will be revealed when they are older. He hopes to find out.

Kaveh leans in, and their noses touch, tip to tip like a kiss. Alhaitham's nose is straight, his jaw sharp. But there is a fullness to his cheeks that softens his features, a certain delicacy to his ears and eyes that grant him an arresting, androgynous beauty. "Truly lovely," Kaveh sighs, and licks open the lips shaped like petals, the curve of the slight cupid's bow; and then he is inside, conquering the territory of Alhaitham's mouth. The sensitive palate, the hot tongue, the ridges where teeth meet gums.

When they part, the saliva on Alhaitham's lips gleam as he speaks: "You were supposed to be helping me."

"Was I?" Kaveh reaches for the soft cloth on the dresser and dampens it. He carefully wipes the oil off, taking with it the kohl and fine powder Alhaitham wears daily. "You distracted me."

"If I did, it wasn't intentional."

"Your mere existence is the ultimate distraction, my dear, my love, my moon in the sky," Kaveh replies laughingly. "Let's take a bath."

"By 'take a bath,' " Alhaitham says, "I assume you mean for us to continue distracting each other."

"Most certainly," Kaveh says. He cups Alhaitham's face in his hands. What a beloved face it is. What a beautiful face it is. Every morning he wakes up and the first sight he sees is Alhaitham's lovely visage. He hopes Alhaitham will honour him with that sight for many, many more days to come. Days, weeks, months, years. A lifetime, if possible.

"Come," Kaveh says. "Let me help you up." And he slots his arm under Alhaitham's legs; another under his back; and with a slight oomph, Kaveh rises and carries the love of his life to the bathroom.

As for the goings-on that proceed, only the nightbirds just outside the window might know. The steam that rises thick in the bathroom obscures all the happenings inside. The cicadas' chorus hides the sounds and cries Alhaitham makes when Kaveh makes him sing. And then at last... silence, settling over Sumeru City like a soft gauze blanket.

It's a beautiful night.

Chapter Text

When they get home, the house seems emptier than usual. Kaveh doesn't realize why until he opens up his closet, looking for clothes to change into, and sees it's empty.

"Were we robbed!?" he yells.

Mehrak beeps at him. "Oh, right," Kaveh says. "I packed up my things."

Because, in a fit of emotion, he decided it was a fantastic idea to stuff all his belongings into whatever luggages, containers, and boxes were available to him. Kaveh doesn't generally regret his decisions. He is who he is.

But he regrets this one. He just wants to grab a nice, long shirt to sleep in. And now he can't even remember where he packed his clothes. Argh.

He goes to the kitchen. Oh, good; Alhaitham's still up, making himself his usual cup of nighttime tea. The man sure likes his routine. If all timepieces were to disappear from Teyvat, Kaveh could use Alhaitham as a clock.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" Kaveh asks.

"... Why?" Alhaitham replies.

"Because!" Kaveh says, refusing to admit he packed even when victory wasn't guaranteed. But by Alhaitham's slowly raising eyebrows, he knows anyway.

"That explains all your belongings disappearing from the living room," he says. "And those boxes from the study."

"I was gonna return them!"

"No need, I had no use for them."

A pause. Alhaitham sets his cup down. He returns a moment later with a big, oversized shirt. For all that he goes out in those tight clothes every day, at home, Alhaitham likes his clothes loose.

"Do you need to borrow underwear too?" he asks.

"Rnngnnnnrgh NO!" Kaveh yells. He stomps off.

Alhaitham says, to his retreating back: "I was actually asking the question in earnest."

"Like hell you were!" Kaveh says, and slams the door shut behind him.

The next morning, he starts unpacking.

He... has a lot more things than he realized. By the time he met Alhaitham after—well, after everything with the Palace—his belongings had dwindled down to "not much". Now, when he snaps the first luggage open, he sees it's stuffed full.

Rage, apparently, made him work sloppy and fast. Everything's just stuffed inside without a care in the world. Urgh, he needs to iron so many of his clothes... he folds them up for now, putting them away. But that's not the disconcerting bit.

What disconcerts Kaveh is... realizing just how much of a life he's carved out for himself, here in Alhaitham's house.

Here in Alhaitham's home.

Everything he takes out of the luggage has a place. The Architect's Eye goes right next to The Lost Symbol. His tools have their spot on the desk, next to Alhaitham's. (When the other's out of the house, whoever's still in tends to hog the big desk.) His favourite cup has its own space in the kitchen cupboard.

Alhaitham has the day off, because of course he does. Everyone else got a few days after the Championship; Alhaitham negotiated a whole week of paid leave. He's lounging on the couch now, reading the latest book from that terrible historical series he keeps complaining about, not even looking up as Kaveh flits back and forth.

Why is this taking so long? Why does he have so much stuff?

"Aaargh!" Kaveh suddenly stops in the middle of the living room, planting hands on hips and glaring at Alhaitham. "Can't you just... help me?"

"Do I look like I have nothing better to do than help you unpack?" Alhaitham says.

"Yes!" Kaveh says.

"..."

And Alhaitham... actually gets up. Slowly, like a big cat, stretching as he does it. But he stands. Walks to Kaveh's room. Kneels next to a half-open box and opens it.

Kaveh stares at him, agape. What? Alhaitham? Actually doing what Kaveh asked? No way!

Ah. He snaps his fingers in understanding.

"Was that book pissing you off?" he asks.

"Extremely," Alhaitham says. He takes out some of Kaveh's earrings, wanders over to the dresser, and places them inside. He knows exactly which drawer to open, too. Kaveh watches, bemused.

In fact... Alhaitham rarely has to ask where this or that belongs. Kaveh keeps expecting to be interrupted while putting his things away, keeps expecting Alhaitham to stop and ask, "Where does this go?" or "Where should I put this?" But he doesn't.

He even puts Kaveh's paintings back up.

"It's crooked," Kaveh says. For some reason, his heart is beating fast.

"It was crooked when you first put it up," Alhaitham says. "I assumed that was your intention."

"What!? No it wasn't!!"

Alhaitham turns to look at him. His face is as a deadpan as always. And then he turns, picks up one of Kaveh's workbooks, and places it on the desk by the window. Exactly where Kaveh would usually dump it.

Kaveh swallows. He feels like he's... staring at some complex formula that is just on the verge of making sense.

He's not sure he wants to know the answer. Or even the question.

But his mind goes and goes anyway, because of course it does. How long has he been staying at Alhaitham's house? Not long.

—Long enough for his belongings to have their own space, for them to fill every nook and cranny of the shelves and cabinets and rooms of this house.

—Long enough for Alhaitham to know exactly where his things go.

—Long enough to start calling it "home".

"... Are you going to just keep standing there?" Alhaitham asks him.

Kaveh stares at him, wide-eyed. He feels like he needs a drink.

He always feels like he needs a drink, but he does actually need one now. His head is ringing like someone just hit him with a hammer. He places his hand on the wall. The wall he decorated. With paintings Alhaitham hates. ... Paintings that aren't crooked, thank you.

"Haitham," he says.

"What?" Alhaitham says. His brows are slightly furrowed in that way he does when Kaveh is baffling him.

"Um. I might. Have to stay a little longer. In your house," Kaveh says.

And Alhaitham raises and lowers his broad shoulders in a languid shrug. "Stay as long as you want," he says, completely unbothered. Completely unbothered by the idea of Kaveh invading his house; filling it with his things. With his presence. Completely unbothered by Kaveh.

Kaveh opens his mouth. Closes it. For some reason, he feels as if his heart is flying.

Like all his limbs feel loose, like he's up there in the sky, staring down at his current life with a bird's eye view and finding...

... It isn't so bad, after all, living in Alhaitham's house and calling it "home."

"Alright," he says. And then: "Hey. Seriously. Move that painting a bit to the right, it was not crooked when I first put it up I'm telling you—"

Chapter Text

Their first kiss was a clumsy press of lips. Kaveh was taller, then; he had bent his head to kiss his junior just so. Kaveh's lips were dry and chapped against his own.

The trees of the Akademiya grounds were shelter against prying eyes. The years would blur the memory of this moment, but Alhaitham thought he would never forget the feel of Kaveh's slim waist under his hands; the breath warm against his; the coral-red eyes looking at him as if he were the only person in Teyvat that mattered.

Of course, Alhaitham would soon come to know that for Kaveh, everyone in Teyvat mattered. That is, everyone in Teyvat mattered but for Kaveh, and thus by extension, them. Alhaitham.

They would not have their second kiss until a full ten years had passed.

Kaveh did not remember it, but Alhaitham did. Vividly. Kaveh's breath had smelled of alcohol, and his kiss had tasted of salt. Kaveh, for all his woes, was not a crier. But he had cried, that day. Alhaitham recalled putting his hands on Kaveh's shoulders and thinking they were thin. Logically, it was because he had grown in the decade they had spent apart, living very separate lives. It was Alhaitham that had grown into his over-large hands, his uncoordinated feet.

But it had not felt that way.

Their third kiss—

"No," Alhaitham had said.

Kaveh's face was all hurt and rejection. He had pressed his lips into a thin line. "No?"

"Not yet," Alhaitham had said, feeling himself give way. He often gave way to Kaveh, although not necessarily in ways the other man agreed with, or perceived. "Not until... you move out."

Kaveh's expression had—closed. Shut off. Alhaitham knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. Or, no. He had said the right thing, but with the wrong words. Not, he thought, that it mattered. Their current relationship was like walking blindfolded through a room of shattered glass. But despite the pain, Alhaitham had no interest in picking up those jagged pieces himself. That was not why he had extended his hand out to Kaveh, that night at the tavern.

His help had been given with absolutely no expectation attached.

Their next few kisses were not kisses at all, but Alhaitham was sentimental enough to regard them as—something similar, perhaps. They were roommates. They often shared meals. They often shared drinks.

Sometimes, Alhaitham would pick up a glass Kaveh had used, and touch his lips to exactly where Kaveh's had touched. They might share a straw, or occasionally brush hands. Each time, electricity ran through Alhaitham's gut, painful and sharp. And he would think to himself, dry and entirely without humour, If Kaveh knew...

But Kaveh did not know.

He could not know, and so he didn't know. He didn't know, he couldn't know, he would never know—until nearly a dozen years after their first kiss on the Akademiya grounds, when Kaveh tossed Alhaitham a spare key and said, "This is yours."

Alhaitham stared down at the key, baffled. He curled his fingers around it. The metal was still warm from Kaveh's skin. "I see," he said.

"Do you?" Kaveh said. And he fixed upon Alhaitham a gaze like a predator's. It was not that Alhaitham did not know that Kaveh was fearless, and fierce, and a fighter. But it was easy to forget, the way Kaveh was around him. "Just... come to my housewarming party, alright?"

"Fine," Alhaitham said. Very grudgingly.

"There's a room you can hide in, don't worry," Kaveh said. A strange look came over his face then. Then he cleared his throat and said: "Alhaitham. Thank you. Really."

"You're welcome," was Alhaitham's reply. It was a rare moment of confusion—he was not sure what Kaveh was thanking him for.

He did not interact with anyone during Kaveh's housewarming party. On that particular day, he was already worn down from entirely too many work meetings. He entered—nodded in greeting at some familiar faces—and headed straight for the room Kaveh pointed out. Once inside, it gave him pause.

It was a room of floor-to-ceiling bookcases; of warm greens and yellows, the furniture of sturdy Karmaphala wood. The daybed's cushions, the low light of the lamps, had instantly put him to sleep.

In truth, Alhaitham had not meant to sleep. He was not a man of social courtesies, but that did not mean he usually entirely ignored his friends and acquaintances. But he had had an especially tiring day, and so—

"Haitham." It was Kaveh's voice, next to his ear. His ear... Alhaitham groggily touched the side of his head.

"Headphones," he said.

"I took them off. They were digging into your skull," Kaveh said.

"But," Alhaitham started to say, and then stopped. The room was quiet but for the trickle of the fountain in the corner. Kaveh's new place was near the market, for easy access to materials. But the quiet was as if they were deep in Sumeru's oldest forests, far away from any ambient noise. It was peaceful. He slowly eased himself up. Kaveh's eyes were slightly anxious.

"Do you like the room?" he asked.

"Yes," Alhaitham said, baffled.

"That's great!" Kaveh said, far too quickly. "That's really great. Um, sorry the shelves are empty, but I figured you would... uh. I mean, you might want to fill them. Um. Yes. But I also didn't want to assume—"

"Kaveh," Alhaitham interrupted. "You've moved out."

Kaveh was still half-bent over him. It reminded Alhaitham, oddly, of their student days, when Kaveh had been taller. He'd been able to fold right into his embrace—not comfortably, his limbs overlong even then, but.

"I've moved out," Kaveh echoed. Their eyes met. He smiled, then, as warm and bright as sunrise. And he bent his head to kiss Alhaitham just so.

His lips were warm. They were as warm as the rest of him, as warm as the flowers blooming in Alhaitham's chest. The daybed was big enough to fit two full grown men. Probably by design, Alhaitham thought dryly.

It was his last coherent thought.

Kaveh licked him open—explored his mouth with long, wet, sweeping motions of this tongue. Kaveh kissed the corner of his lips—his jaw—nipped at his chin—and then went back to his mouth. The study was filled with wet sounds as they exchanged kisses, again and again and again, as if Kaveh wanted to fill the night with all the kisses they hadn't had in the many years they had known each other.

Finally, they parted. Kaveh's face bloomed with red, likely mirroring Alhaitham's own. He held out his hand. "There's another room I want to show you," Kaveh said. "If you'd let me." The words were smooth, but his hand was not steady, his gaze uncertain.

Alhaitham looked at that strong, calloused hand. He took it; bent over it to press a kiss against the knuckles. He said, "Go ahead. I want to see it."

And let Kaveh show him the bedroom of his new house.

Chapter Text

Kaveh hasn't heard Alhaitham laugh in nearly ten years, so when he hears the deep, low chuckle from behind him, he nearly thinks he's dreaming.

Kaveh stares at the pencil in his hand. He's working on a project, not at all involved in the conversation on the other side of the room. That chuckle, that soft sound, is not directed at Kaveh. Alhaitham isn't laughing because of anything Kaveh has said or done. He's laughing at—

Kaveh turns his head just slightly. And there they are, that blonde and their floating friend.

Alhaitham had received his guests some time ago. Kaveh had heard their conversation from the study. And then Alhaitham had brought them into the room, walking right by Kaveh like he was furniture, and went to the bookcase—presumably to find some book or reference or something-or-other. It is not the first time the Traveler has come to this house for information. They are one of the house's few regular visitors.

They are, in fact, the house's only regular visitor.

Once upon a time, Kaveh was no stranger to the sound of Alhaitham's laughter. He was no stranger to the sight of Alhaitham smiling. It used to be... not a game, nothing with Alhaitham is or has ever been a game, but like a—prize. Not for Kaveh. But for Alhaitham. Because Alhaitham, Kaveh thought, deserved the world. And that meant making Alhaitham smile, and laugh, and look at him with bright, glittering eyes.

Kaveh had always been so desperate to make Alhaitham happy. Because he was Alhaitham's senior, he'd thought back then. It was his—it was his responsibility, that was what it was.

Alhaitham had been shorter than him, in those long-lost student days. Had large, alexandrite eyes set in a delicate face, and thin shoulders, and every time Kaveh won a laugh from him it had felt as if a star had fallen from the sky right into his hands.

And now, someone else is plucking the stars from the sky. Someone else has the privilege of making Alhaitham laugh.

Kaveh looks at Alhaitham now. He's bigger. Broader. Taller than Kaveh, which still pisses him off. He's grown into those eyes of his, with the corners upturned just so, just enough to make his usual gaze as piercing as an eagle's. A strong jaw, a straight nose... every bit of his countenance screams solemnity. But now—

He's smiling, and though it is subtle, although his laughter is soft and subdued, it transforms him entirely. Softens the sharp edges of him, turns the sharp planes of his face warm. And who's the one smiling back at him? That Traveler and their friend. "Thank you, Alhaitham," they say.

"You're welcome." That's right. Alhaitham likes being praised.

"We'll see you tomorrow!" says Paimon, easy as anything. As if she is obligated to Alhaitham's precious time. Isn't tomorrow Alhaitham's day off? Doesn't he usually have to be dragged, cajoled, threatened, to leave his home when he's on leave?

Apparently not, because Alhaitham nods and says, "See you tomorrow." And he even sees the Traveler and Paimon off. The study door closes behind them.

Kaveh refocuses his attention on the draft before him, but none of the lines and letters and measurements make a bit of sense.

He should be happy that Alhaitham has a friend. Friends. Friendly acquaintances, at the very least. Alhaitham came back from saving Sumeru with a whole unlikely group of them. Wasn't that the one thing Kaveh was always haranguing him about? Get to know more people. Be less of a loner. It will help you, not hinder you, if you only trust in people.

Well, now Alhaitham's doing just that. (Although Kaveh doubts it was because of him.) And Kaveh...

... Kaveh hates it, and he hates that about himself.

Chapter Text

"You've got a fever," Kaveh says. Needlessly, Alhaitham thinks: His state is already apparent. But he doesn't point this out; nor does he object to Kaveh's hand on his forehead. It feels cool. Perhaps due to their current relative body temperatures, it feels soothing.

After a brief moment, that hand draws away. "... Not only are you feverish, but you're actually—really out of it, huh," Kaveh says. He shakes his head. "You're so. Quiet."

Alhaitham doesn't understand that diagnosis. Nor is he inclined to put any further thought to it. He looks at Kaveh through slightly bleary eyes.

"Let me make you some porridge. Don't give me that look, I won't make it too watery," Kaveh says. He disappears. Some time must pass; it's not as if even Kaveh can magic up any dish in the blink of an eye, as efficient as he is (for he can be, if he puts his mind to it—or rather, perhaps it is his specific efficiency that contradictorily results in his overall inefficiency of process). But to Alhaitham, it is the difference between one breath and the next; he closes his eyes, and the next moment there is a hand on his shoulder, saying softly: "Haitham. Wake up. You should eat at least a little."

He is manoeuvred into the simulacrum of a sitting position, most of his weight against Kaveh's broad chest. "At least keep your head up," Kaveh mutters, and Alhaitham reluctantly lolls his head fairly upright.

He watches as Kaveh blows lightly on the spoon, testing the temperature, before bringing it to Alhaitham's lips. The consistency of the porridge is tolerable, so Alhaitham opens his mouth. It tastes... acceptable, but when his eyes fall on Kaveh's elegant fingers, curled just so on the spoon, the slight indentation of his forefinger, the knuckles slightly dry and reddened from sun exposure, somehow, the porridge's flavour, dulled by fever, is elevated.

He finishes the whole bowl.

"That's good," Kaveh praises. He sets the bowl aside, the spoon clinking against the rim. And then—he doesn't move. He is more chair than man now, his arms around Alhaitham, his chest against Alhaitham's back; every exhale causes Alhaitham's hair to flutter just so. He doesn't seem about to get up or to go away, and neither does Alhaitham ask him to, although truthfully it would be more comfortable to lie down curled up on the bed, surrounded by the pillows Kaveh always criticises yet buys more of.

"Feel better?" Kaveh says, words soft.

"Mm," Alhaitham says, or thinks he says. He closes his eyes, sliding down, truly treating Kaveh as a piece of furniture. He means to say something—'thank you,' perhaps, or 'eat more, you're not as comfortable as you should be' more likely, but instead he finds himself dropping off to sleep.

When he wakes up, it is the dead of night. His fever has broken, and his consciousness is similar to one who is half-caught in a dream. The candles have long been snuffed out, the night air cool but still sticky with rainforest humidity. He's in bed... well, yes, he's been in bed the whole day, he recalls. But wasn't he sleeping on—

Ah. And there is Kaveh, curled up next to him. His brows are slightly furrowed as if he's fighting clients even in sleep; one arm is slung out, a weight on Alhaitham's waist, one ankle hooked on Alhaitham's knee. His eyelashes are those of the crystalfly, his wild hair even wilder now, having escaped from their usual braids and clips.

Alhaitham's eyes close again. He draws closer, feels Kaveh's hand on his waist tighten reflexively, and drops back into the embrace of both sleep and Kaveh.

Chapter Text

"This fool," said Lambad, "he's only honest when he's drunk."

Grabbing the red-faced fool in question, Alhaitham said: "Is he?"

"Haitham!" Kaveh cried. "The last person I want to see!"

Alhaitham's lips twitched. "Ah. I see your point." To Kaveh: "I'm paying your tab."

"... Haitham! Exactly the person I want to see!" was Kaveh's gracious reply.

"I see where I stand with you," Alhaitham said, as Lambad threw his head back to laugh, belly-deep guffaws that were so loud and free Alhaitham found himself smiling.

By the time he'd paid off Kaveh's tab and manoeuvred the older man outside, Alhaitham had stopped smiling. "Even if you're drunk, you shouldn't have forgotten how to walk."

Kaveh, too, had stopped smiling. He was a heavy weight against Alhaitham's shoulder. "Walking's hard," he mumbled against Alhaitham. Only Alhaitham's arm around his waist kept him fully upright. He stank of alcohol, of scented smoke, of sweat. His steps dragged along the ground. He was, Alhaitham thought, being less talkative than usual.

... Ah.

Wetness was seeping against Alhaitham's bare shoulder.

In the cool air of Sumeru's midnight, with the raucous tavern far behind them and only the silence of Treasures Street surrounding them, it was possible to indulge in the illusion that they were the only two in the world. That at present, Kaveh was shuffling along beside Alhaitham because he wished to, and not because there was no one else he could call to pick him up after a celebration, and send him to a house he did not wish to be living in. That he wanted no one else to know he was living in.

Alhaitham could allow himself, in the dead of night, to be flattered at being Kaveh's exception, and choose to place himself in ignorance of why only he was excepted: Because Kaveh's pride allowed only Alhaitham, out of all his friends and acquaintances, to see him like this. Drunk, and sad, and weeping. A stark contrast to how he had been at Lambad's: happy and celebratory.

But that exception was not brought about by the intimacy of friendship.

Kaveh reached up to rub at his face. With his drink-addled coordination, he more managed to hit himself a few times ineffectually with deadened hands rather than wipe away his tears. When Alhaitham looked down, it was to see a forlorn look and reddened eyes.

"Did you not have a good celebration?" Alhaitham asked.

"I'm thirty," Kaveh said, which was an answer, but not to the question Alhaitham had asked. "You're twenty-eight."

"I am twenty-eight, yes. Twenty-eight and—"

"—Five months, yeah, believe me, I know."

Alhaitham had not celebrated his birthday. The Traveler had visited, which had at the time flustered Kaveh—Kaveh divided the people he knew into those who could know of his situation, and those who could not. Like Alhaitham, the Traveler had stumbled their way into the former group.

Unlike Alhaitham, they were not disliked for it.

"You're twenty-eight, and yet you're so... you..."

What Alhaitham was, Kaveh did not deign to clarify. They passed by Aryadeva's house and slowly made their way up the curving street, leaving the market and smithy and shops to drop away below them.

In front of their house, Kaveh suddenly stopped. "Look at that. Looking at it makes me... makes me... I'm gonna be sick."

Alhaitham immediately moved away in alarm. "Not in the middle of the street—!"

By the time they were inside—by the time he'd gotten Kaveh's shoes and ornaments off, and cleaned up, and coaxed Kaveh to drink (water, not wine) it was nearly one in the morning. Alhaitham opted to dump Kaveh onto the divan. He dragged over a vase, just in case.

He sat on the floor next to Kaveh's long folded up legs, feeling tired. For a moment, he dozed. His sleeping schedule was exact and routine, and when the runner had come from Lambad's he'd been sleeping. Now his eyelids were dragging down.

"I'm thirty," Kaveh mumbled.

"You are."

Kaveh rolled to his side. He tilted his head down, and Alhaitham turned to meet Kaveh's gaze.

"When I'm with you," Kaveh said, his words slightly slurred, the tempo slow. "Sometimes I feel every single day of those thirty years. Some of them are short, some of them are long..."

Alhaitham didn't understand, but he listened, watching Kaveh with half-lidded eyes.

"Very... very long. I'm thirty, Alhaitham, and what do I have to show for it?"

Alhaitham did not answer. He, himself, cared little for what others thought. A reputation was a thing to be used, as useful in manipulating others' perception of him as his manner, as the way he spoke. But Kaveh...

"Exactly," Kaveh said, as usual assigning to Alhaitham's silence whatever response he'd made up in his head. "Nothing. No house, no money... just a useless title... it's so heavy. Heavy..."

He reached out a hand. Alhaitham took it, and Kaveh curled their fingers together. His hand was rough and littered with the scars of his creations, of all his learning, of all his accomplishments. Alhaitham wanted to kiss them.

"This house, being here, is the heaviest of all," Kaveh said. "Being with you, in this house... aih. But without this house, what am I?"

"Do you need to be anyone but you?" Alhaitham asked.

"I wish I could say I don't. I wish I was content with being just me." Kaveh's grip tightened. "Alhaitham, I got an offer. A project in Aaru Village." A pause. "If I say yes, I'll be gone for at least six months."

"..."

"... Still not going to respond, huh?"

"I'm not sure what response you want me to make," Alhaitham replied.

" 'Don't go,' maybe," Kaveh whispered, into the dark of their living room. "Or, 'Stay. I don't want you to leave. ' "

"And when has my opinion ever swayed yours? Whether you stay, or leave," Alhaitham said, "I will still be here." He exhaled. "This house will still be here, as it always has."

"I don't want to go," Kaveh confessed.

"Then don't."

"But when I think about not going, I..." His fingers flexed against Alhaitham's. "I can feel the long years ahead. Like the shadows at sundown, all stretched and thin. And the night that comes after it... it frightens me. —Haitham, I wish, I... I wish you'd say something. Anything."

"Anything? Then I would say," Alhaitham replied, "that there are twenty-four hours in the day; that however long they feel, time is an inevitable constant, with no qualitative properties. But in saying so, I suspect I would be dismissing your true meaning."

"And what meaning is that?"

"That at thirty years old," Alhaitham said, "you no longer wish to stay here, in our—" He stopped. "In this house."

"That's not—!" Kaveh sat up. In the dark of night, the shadows rendered his expression unreadable. Alhaitham could glean nothing from his rounded eyes, barely discernible. "I... that's..."

It was notable, Alhaitham thought, that he did not fully oppose Alhaitham's statement. Kaveh had never shied away from making his thoughts known, if they disagreed with Alhaitham's.

Alhaitham pulled his hand from Kaveh's grip. Their entangled fingers slowly parted.

Alhaitham stood. At the hallway to his own room, he stopped and turned to say,  "Happy birthday, Kaveh." The door closed behind him with finality.

Kaveh did not stop him. He slumped against the cushions and turned away.

The next week, he left for Aaru Village.

Chapter Text

The slam of the door; the sound of hurried footsteps; and then: "Haitham! I'm home—huh? Why is dinner on the table?"

Alhaitham looks up. He's halfway through eating, but there is some surprise in his eyes. "Welcome home," he says. "I wasn't sure you'd actually make it."

Kaveh scratches his jaw absently. He's travel-worn, scruff on his chin, his hair greasy and his clothes stained with sweat, dirt, sand, and who-knows-what-else. He probably looks as awful as he feels—why else would Alhaitham be staring?  "Me too, but the caravan made good time." His eyes slide to their small dining table. There's claypot biryani, tea, and fruits, the smell beckoning for him to please come eat. So he does, drifting closer despite his half-formed intentions of taking a bath before eating. When Alhaitham doesn't object, Kaveh sits down.

"To answer your question, I only set a place for you in case you did come back today... as you promised you would."

"What would you have done if I didn't come home?" Kaveh asks. His tone is complaining but he serves himself enthusiastically—nothing can compare to the taste of homemade food. He actually filled his belly with dry food bars on the way, just to give his legs energy to run, but suddenly he seems to have gained an extra stomach.

"Then I would have had leftovers to bring to work tomorrow."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that!" Kaveh declares. "I'll bring you lunch tomorrow!"

Suddenly he pauses—a grain of rice dropping from the serving spoon onto his plate.

Across from him, Alhaitham is dressed in his sleepwear: a longer shirt, the collar half-hiding that gem on his collarbones, his hair falling over his eyes. There's an open book near his plate—he reads while he eats, which drives Kaveh crazy, but he can't fault Alhaitham this evening since he was half-expecting to eat alone.

The fading sunlight filters through the windows of their kitchen as the world turns to night. There is something unguarded about Alhaitham at home. Like a pearl protected by a hard shell—the pearl is no less tough than the shell, but there is nevertheless something intimate and beautiful about its shine. Something private.

It is not the first time Kaveh is struck with the knowledge that Alhaitham made room for him in his house. And that somewhere along the way, "his house" became "our home."

Kaveh finishes serving himself, clears his throat. "Um," he says, "thanks... for setting a place for me, even though I wrote that I'd be late."

Alhaitham rests a hand on his chin. The corner of his mouth quirks up in an almost-smile. "The frantic way you wrote, as if you were going to miss some important appointment... I thought the probability of you meeting your initial arrival date quite high."

"Wh... why does it sound like you're insulting me?"

"I'm not. Neither," Alhaitham adds, "am I complimenting you."

"So it's not an insult, it's not a compliment, what is it then?" Kaveh asks. Another pause. "Wow," he says. "Haitham, this is good. Really, really good."

"Thank you," Alhaitham says, as if it's his due. He continues: "It is merely an observation. Even if your delay was due to unavoidable circumstances—even if there was no significance to the date which you promised to return by—it was highly likely you would nevertheless strive to return by the date you initially set. Today. —Even if there was no reason to." Alhaitham's gaze slides over Kaveh, and Kaveh has the urge to hide himself, as if that might hide the exhaustion on his face, the tiredness in his bones. So it is a little true. He hadn't made it home in time just because the sumpter beasts had been in remarkably good condition. He really had hurried.

"... You're right, that's neither a compliment nor an insult, it's somehow both. A-and there is a reason! I didn't want you to wait up for me!!"

Actually, now that he's seated at their table, Kaveh doesn't quite know why it was so important to rush back home. He only knows that the anxiety that gripped him had been suddenly, inexplicably real, as if an invisible hand were squeezing his organs tight. He'd imagined Alhaitham waiting at home alone, fretting—not that Alhaitham would ever fret alone at home, and yet the image his brain had painted for him had been so vivid: A living room somehow bleached of colour, Alhaitham with a book yet his gaze fastened on the front door. Hah! As if that depressing image has any hope of being anything like reality!

—And yet. And yet...

"But I am glad you made it home today," Alhaitham says suddenly.

"Um?"

"For one, it would have been a waste of my efforts cooking extra."

"Like you don't already cook extra just so you have leftovers to eat throughout the week..." Kaveh mutters.

"For another, I really did miss you. The house was quiet without you."

—Silence. A silence so shocking, so abrupt, so void of noise that there might as well be no living creatures in the house. And then Kaveh's face explodes into red, even the tips of his ears flushing. If he were a dog all his hair would be fluffed up in shock. "F-for—for the record!" he says, pointing a spoon at Alhaitham.

"... You're spilling food onto the table."

"For the record!" Kaveh continues, unfazed. "I missed you too! —That's why I hurried back!"

"Next time, don't," Alhaitham says, resignedly grabbing a napkin so he can wipe up the food dripping from Kaveh's spoon onto the table.

Kaveh inhales explosively. But before he can start yelling, Alhaitham adds: "Seeing how obviously tired you are, I think I would have almost preferred you being late."

All the anger at once leaves Kaveh, so that he resembles a deflated balloon. "Yeah, well." He pokes his rice with a spoon. "... To be honest, I don't really feel all that tired now."

"Hm," Alhaitham says, doubt clear in his eyes.

Kaveh doesn't explain. That the warmth of Alhaitham's concern—the atmosphere in this room—the comfort to be found in this space—all of it washed his exhaustion away as soon as he stepped through the front door, like the cleansing rain. Instead he says, "Thank you. The food really is good," and concentrates on eating.

"You're welcome," Alhaitham says. "Please wash up before you eat the fruit, you actually do smell."

"... You!"

(But he does wash up before they eat the fruit. Together, in the living room, as Kaveh regales Alhaitham with all the news and stories of his travels.)

Chapter Text

Alhaitham is wearing Kaveh's shirt. A distracting sight, yes. But what is most distracting is the small, spider-silk-thin scar that cuts across his butterfly bones. Kaveh reaches out and traces it with his finger, eliciting a shudder.

"Where'd you get this scar?"

Alhaitham doesn't answer for a long moment. Kaveh has touched him more intimately, and yet. These casual touches, these questions, make him feel more exposed than he's ever felt in bed, unclothed and panting under Kaveh. "I wasn't aware I had a scar there," he says finally.

"Well, you do."

Alhaitham turns the heat down and covers the pot. He does not, however, move. He can't. Kaveh's placed a palm on the top of his spine; he feels the drag of Kaveh's calluses as that broad hand traces the line of his back, the touch at first skin-to-skin and then, as it passes over the white fabric of Kaveh's shirt, somehow more sensual with a layer of cotton between them. Kaveh's hand rests finally at the small of his back, possessive, territorial.

And then, slowly, it pushes up, bunching up the cotton of Kaveh's shirt.

Up, and up, revealing to Kaveh all the bare skin he explored just last night. Alhaitham's head tilts forward. His eyes flutter shut. "Ah, you're so beautiful," Kaveh murmurs, not as a lover to his love, but as a sculptor to his creation. His lips find the nape of Alhaitham's neck, dropping a kiss that sears Alhaitham with heat.

Kaveh thinks Alhaitham's back is beautiful. He has broad shoulders and waist so thin it drives Kaveh insane sometimes, how well it fits in his grip. His is a body built lithely, all smooth and elegant motion when he is fighting, not a bit of wasted energy in his movements. The skin is smooth, but not unmarked. "Here," Kaveh says. His thumb presses against Alhaitham's hip, right where black leather usually criss-crosses. "There's another scar."

"Ah, that."

"Ah, that?" Kaveh parrots.

"A fight with an... upset colleague."

"A colleague?" Kaveh's thumb does not stop its back-and-forth motion. It takes Alhaitham a while to recall the memory.

"I managed to upset him enough that he came at me with a wine bottle... I was scratched by some wayward shards."

"And what did you do to upset him? —Nevermind, it was probably his fault." Since they became lovers, Kaveh has gone from assuming the worst of Alhaitham to taking his side in every possible dispute and conflict. It is both endearing and annoying. So... about the same as before. "Ah, and here? I always wondered about this one."

This one is a scar right under Alhaitham's armpit. "Another fight."

"Haitham, for a scholar, you get into far too many fights. Excuse me. Violent negotiations."

"Well, this was a violent negotiation I lost."

"Really?" Kaveh's tone is shot through with surprise. "Huh."

"Violent negotiation, as you call it, doesn't come naturally to me. I had to get good at it. I wasn't always."

"So you fought a lot, got good at fighting, and now you fight even more."

"Essentially." Alhaitham turns around. Kaveh looks up at him; one hand remains at Alhaitham's waist, the other exploring idly at the chest exposed by the deep neckline.

Kaveh has his own scars. Many on his hands and arms, not all from creation. The deepest wounds are emotional. Alhaitham knows of them, but he does not know them. He traps Kaveh's hand in his, considering. Brings it to his lips and kisses the life-pulse beating steadily at Kaveh's wrist. There is an uneven twist of scar-tissue there, as if burned. Alhaitham doesn't know what caused it.

He could ask.

He should ask.

... He wants to ask. And so Alhaitham takes a deep breath, and says: "And what about you? Where did you get this scar?"

Chapter Text

"Damn it damn it damn it do you have any paper!?" Kaveh cried, as if the world were ending. Because Kaveh's world ending might mean the clamour he was making would get even noisier, Alhaitham sighed and said, "No."

"Then," Kaveh said, "give me your arm."

"…" Alhaitham did and watched, nonplussed, as Kaveh tugged his glove down—nearly dislocating Alhaitham's thumb—and then brandished his brush pen like it was a weapon. "Don't bite my glove between your—" he said, but it was too late.

"I don't have free hands," Kaveh said, or attempted to say, words muffled by fabric.

Alhaitham sighed. "And what is so important that you have to note it down while we're in the middle of the rainforest—"

He stopped as the pen made contact with his skin. Kaveh had a multitude of writing utensils: quills, pens, brushes, markers, pencils, a dizzying array. In truth, Alhaitham could barely tell them apart. This was a brush pen, and to Alhaitham, it was just a stick with a felt tip.

Now he knew how it felt, gliding across his skin. The first touch was cooling, slightly scratchy, slightly startling, slightly shocking. Alhaitham could feel exactly what Kaveh was writing—could see the words in his mind's eye—could feel the trail of cool the ink left behind. Alhaitham fixed his eyes on Kaveh's face. Kaveh, when he was set on something, was at his quietest and most still—all the motion of him paused as he focused intently on Alhaitham's arm.

He held Alhaitham's hand in a strong grip, as if Alhaitham might run away, taking his notes with him. If he had looked up, he might have known Alhaitham was incapable of running away. He could feel his own reaction as if he were a distant observer: the heat rising in his cheeks, the increasing pace of his heartbeat, the rapidity of his breathing. He thought: Don't look up, and at the same time thought, Look up.

Then Kaveh's pen reached the flesh point of his arm, just before the bend of his elbow, and Alhaitham—

It was a ticklish sensation. It was a jolt of heat that shot from his fingertips—up his arm—all the way to his gut. Alhaitham jerked.

"Haitham!" Kaveh cried, immediately furious. "Don't ruin my notes—!"

And stopped.

He had looked up.

Chapter Text

Here is the truth about ambitious men: Their dreams are foremost. Their achievements are paramount.

For all his altruism, Kaveh is an ambitious man.

Kaveh will sacrifice all of himself for his ideals until all that is left of him is white bone. And the moment their views aligned as students—the moment they stood shoulder to shoulder as equals—Alhaitham sunk into the flesh and muscle and heart of Kaveh's "self". There were other students that withdrew from the project, but only Alhaitham is the flesh that sloughed from Kaveh's bones.

The years passed, but Alhaitham never really ceased being a part of that "self".

Alhaitham knows what he means to Kaveh. He is comfort. He is the big tree underneath which Kaveh finds solace. He is the mountain, standing unmoving and unchanging at the distant horizon.

He is a shackle. He is Kaveh's failure given ruthless form: A younger junior providing for his senior, living an indolent life without the toil that torments Kaveh's.

There are times Alhaitham feels like a shapeless form within the walls of his own home. He has ceased to be a person. He is a symbol, an idea: he is egoism; he is success, envied; he is indifference personified.

He is all that Kaveh is not. They are a study in contrast, learning themselves by what they see of the other.

Kaveh's presence in Alhaitham's life has always been enlightening. Alhaitham, in turn, is a contrast Kaveh cannot escape.

But as impulsive as the decision was, Alhaitham knew what to expect from Kaveh the moment he extended his hand to that drowning, struggling form:

Nothing.

From Kaveh, Alhaitham expects nothing at all.

Alhaitham is a temporary shelter standing small in the tumultuous narrative of Kaveh's life. In time, Kaveh will leave, and he will only be a footnote in the chapter of Kaveh's life... the chapter Kaveh wants most to leave behind, forgotten.

Alhaitham is the "self" Kaveh wants to deny most of all.

In time, he will once again be the flesh excised from Kaveh's white bone, unwanted, discarded, denied.

—Left behind. And Kaveh will leave.

After all, Kaveh is an ambitious man.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham recognizes Kaveh immediately.

It's in the brightness of his eyes, perhaps. The determined set of his jaw when he's decided on a path. His single-mindedness.

Kaveh, once he has determined a course of action, cannot be cajoled or coaxed from it. Or perhaps it is that Alhaitham, too bound by ancient habit, is too used to allowing—to implicitly supporting—the King he once very much admired, secretly and painfully.

And so he allows Kaveh to pull him into a friendship. To become just another satellite among the wide circle of Kaveh's acquaintances.

He does so with a feeling of dread. He does so with a feeling of excitement.

After all, it is a new era. They are not larger-than-life figures, fighting on a celestial stage, fighting for nations. They are just two students, flush with youth. Perhaps, in Sumeru as it is now, the story of King Deshret and his hopeless, foolish flower will be different.

Alhaitham allows himself to believe so.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham's first impression of Kaveh is that he is a well-meaning idiot.

Their first meeting is Kaveh acting as the knight saving the damsel in distress, except that Alhaitham was not in distress at all. When they part, Kaveh is huffy and embarrassed, and Alhaitham is a little bemused, a little bewildered.

It should have ended there, but it didn't.

They keep meeting.

For all their dissimilarities, their daily habits have numerous points of convergence. For example, both Alhaitham and Kaveh prefer manual research to overreliance on the Akasha. For example, while Kaveh likes soup—an unfortunate failing—they both prefer a particular cafeteria stall because the auntie there always doles out an extra serving. For example, they both like studying in the gardens, Alhaitham because he likes napping in the sun, Kaveh because the surroundings inspire him.

And so. They keep meeting. And Kaveh is unrelentingly friendly.

"Hello," he says. "Hi," he says. "Have you read this paper on embedded systems?" he asks.

"… Hello," Alhaitham says. "Hm," he says. "From the recently published collection on ancient mechanisms? Yes," he replies.

Even as a youth in his twenties, Alhaitham has already decried social interaction. He should regard Kaveh as just an annoying senior. Indeed, the longer they are in communication, the closer they edge towards being friends rather than acquaintances, and the more Alhaitham is convinced that Kaveh is yet more proof of how unnecessarily complicated relationships are.

Alhaitham is well aware that Kaveh is motivated by some misguided belief that Alhaitham is some poor, lonely junior in need of a friend. His overtures are well-meant, but are not necessarily done with any intention of going beyond their senior-junior relationship. And Kaveh is anyway not the first senior to attempt as such—many people have approached Alhaitham because of self-serving altruism. Kaveh, too, is just another senior only fulfilling the societal expectations of seniors in regards to their juniors.

But Kaveh is the first that Alhaitham allows within his walls.

And not because Alhaitham needs a friend. Alhaitham does not need anyone. Alhaitham depends on no one. No, Alhaitham allows Kaveh close not because he needs a friend but because he makes a horrifying discovery:

That underneath Kaveh's friendly smile and the endless chatter… is a brilliant mind.

… How inconvenient.

Alhaitham finds himself turning towards Kaveh as a sunflower turns towards sunlight. He finds himself thinking of Kaveh, of the palaces he builds with his words. He finds himself yearning for Kaveh's attention, for Kaveh's intelligent gaze on his, for Kaveh's refutations of his own viewpoints.

Kaveh is a good senior. He treats Alhaitham to meals; shares texts with him; walks him to class. He is a conscientious senior. But he is not only nice to Alhaitham, and so Alhaitham does not read overmuch into his behaviour.

Although he is tempted to.

Alhaitham has always understood attraction in the manner of an outsider. He has read about it; has observed others experiencing it; has overall regarded it as an aspect of humanity he himself will never experience.

… Alhaitham now understands attraction, unwillingly and intimately.

Alhaitham is attracted to Kaveh.

Exceedingly so.

Every day is a new lesson in what attraction is. It is the magnetic thrill of Kaveh's skin against his when they unwittingly brush their hands together. It is the beating of his heart when Kaveh is in close proximity. It is Alhaitham's harsh breaths in the dead of night as he brings himself to completion thinking of Kaveh's smile.

How damnably inconvenient.

Alhaitham does not need anyone. He has existed as an island alone since his grandmother's death. But he finds now that he wants companionship; yearns for it. He does not need it, but he wants it.

He wants Kaveh.

Alhaitham wants a peaceful life, but he also wants Kaveh.

In the end, he chooses Kaveh. Anyway, he has never denied his own humanity. He is not some automaton who subsists entirely on learning. He cannot pull apart the threads of his own mind and erase the attraction he feels.

He is willing to lie to others, but not to himself.

This is how Alhaitham falls in love. Bemusedly; curiously; unwittingly.

-

One day, Kaveh approaches him.

"Hey," Kaveh says, clearing his throat. "I know you don't really do joint projects, but my friends and I are working on this thing… what I'm saying is! I have a proposal for you. Please at least read it before you reject me, alright?"

Alhaitham looks at the document Kaveh is holding out. He looks at the title. "Decoding the Runes and Architectural Philosophy of the Ruins of King Deshret's Civilization." He turns the page. Upon seeing the names listed on the document, he frowns.

His instinct tells him to say "no."

Alhaitham's lack of joint projects stems not from arrogance, but a mindfulness of his own poor interpersonal and communication skills. But… across from him, Kaveh is practically glowing with expectation.

Perhaps, if it's with Kaveh…

He and Kaveh, they are extremely alike. For all their outward differences, there exists an accord between them borne from their similar intellectual capacities. Whatever knowledge Alhaitham lacks, Kaveh possesses, and vice versa.

In his chest, his heart beats fast. He reads through the document quickly.

"I will consider your proposal," Alhaitham says. They both know that's as good as "yes."

"Great!" Kaveh says. He grasps Alhaitham's hand with a smile like the sun.

The moment feels like sunrise. Like the dawning of a new day.

Neither of them know that it is rather the beginning of the end.

Chapter Text

"You don't understand," Kaveh says. "I have to work."

"Even past the point of diminishing returns?" Alhaitham asks. "When you chain yourself to your desk until the early hours for days in a row, can you truthfully claim that your resultant productivity and output justify such long hours?"

"But if I don't, nothing gets done!"

"But when you do, nothing also gets done."

"I accomplish some things," Kaveh says. "I just have to—it just takes a little more time than expected sometimes. Urgh. This conversation is going nowhere. I'm not you, alright? I've got a lot of work, so I have to put in a lot of hours. That's it."

"I am not against you working, although the amount of work you take on also bears scrutinizing. But that is not the current topic under discussion," Alhaitham adds, before Kaveh can open his mouth: "I am merely pointing out that, contrary to what you might think, taking breaks might actually increase rather than decrease your productivity."

"I take breaks!" —At Alhaitham's look: "I take breaks sometimes!"

"…"

"I take breaks when you remind me!"

"You take breaks when you allow yourself to be reminded, which happens often enough to be almost never." Alhaitham snorts. He leans back, raising up his book—the conversation is, as Kaveh has already pointed out, going nowhere. As his eyes scan the page, looking for where he left off, he says absentmindedly: "Since words have no effect, I should just put you on a leash." Ah, there. The protagonist is devising a plan to escape her predicament. He turns the page. "Then I could just pull you away your desk when it's clear you're frustrating yourself into a state of zero output."

It takes him a while to realize Kaveh hasn't said anything.

Alhaitham looks up.

What he sees are cheeks flushed the red of apples, shoulders hunched up. Their eyes meet, and Kaveh jerks his gaze away. "You—a leash! Hah. Hah! You're a pervert," Kaveh says. He bends over his blueprint, but his pencil doesn't move.

Alhaitham's feet are up on the table, not because it's truly comfortable but because it riles Kaveh up. Now they tap against each other as he thinks, eyes fixed on Kaveh. Kaveh's cheeks defy anatomy to redden further, becoming almost the red of spilled blood. At last: "That's not a no," Alhaitham says.

"…"

"Leather, I think, would be the most comfortable," Alhaitham muses. "But if that goes against your current aesthetic, then—gold?"

"Alhaitham. Please. Stop. Talking!" Kaveh gives up on his half-assed effort at pretending to work. He places his head in his hands. Alhaitham shrugs and goes back to his book.

The protagonist has escaped her cell, but the ship is on fire. Does she not not know how to swim? Then Kaveh says, in a voice as small as an ant: "Leather."

Alhaitham doesn't look up. "Fine. Leather." A pause. "Come here."

"I'm not a dog, you don't get to order me around," Kaveh says, even as he stands up and walks with heavy steps to Alhaitham's side, as if he needs the entire neighbourhood to hear him stomping dramatically. "What?"

"Lean down."

"Uh, okay?" And then: "What are you doing!?" as Alhaitham reaches up to place one hand at Kaveh's neck. Measuring. He squeezes lightly, and Kaveh's eyes widen.

That anatomically impossible blush returns.

"You are not a dog," Alhaitham agrees. "That would be too hard to manage. Anything else?"

"… Only at home."

"Agreed."

"—And only, only to stop me from working. F-f-for now. And… and…"

"And?"

"… What's-in-it-for-you?" Kaveh rushes out, the words all slamming into one another.

Alhaitham tugs, lightly. Kaveh follows the motion, enough that he has to reach one hand out so as to avoid falling over, unintentionally caging Alhaitham onto the daybed. For all his bluster, Kaveh is a man who capitulates easily to Alhaitham's whims. He will buy him food if asked; run errands; cut up fruits for eating and bring out the wine for drinking.

In retrospect, he has always been utterly obedient, as long as it suited him.

"I would enjoy putting you on a leash, senior," Alhaitham says.

"Hah!" Kaveh scoffs. He brings up one knee—lets his other hand rest on the wood backrest—and the cage is complete. "You mean you like it when I do what you want."

Alhaitham's thumb rubs up and down, exploring the contour of his larynx. Kaveh shivers. "As if you don't enjoy doing what I want."

"That," Kaveh replies, "is up for debate."

"As most anything involving us is up for debate, I would call that business as usual," Alhaitham replies. "But I suspect we will both enjoy this particular debate," and smiles.

And Kaveh, upon seeing that smile, can only shiver and agree.

Chapter Text

This time last year, Alhaitham welcomed the new year alone.

He does not attach any sentiment to holidays, not even to his own birthday. After all, he has no friends and few acquaintances. With whom would he spend these special occasions with?

This year, however, there is Kaveh. "No," Kaveh says. "We are not spending the last day of the year at the house! I refuse!"

Alhaitham, already on the daybed with a book, dressed in a long loose shirt and not much else, stares at him. "Why?"

"There are fireworks!" Kaveh says. "There's a gathering at Lambad's! Let's go, let's go, come on, get up—"

And that is how Alhaitham finds himself at Lambad's. (He's also changed his clothes. "You're not going out like THAT!" Kaveh had cried.

"Like what?"

"Like... like THAT," Kaveh had repeated, as if that was all the elaboration necessary, eyes fixed on the fabric of Alhaitham's shirt as if the way it fell across his body was a cause of great personal offence.)

It's crowded, and the air stinks of sweat and greasy food and hookah smoke. Alhaitham immediately finds himself a corner table to read at. Unfortunately, Kaveh sits right next to him, and soon Cyno, Tighnari, and Collei are there; even Nilou drops by, and also Lambad, who takes some time from serving food and taking orders to mingle with their group for a while, cheerfully chatting.

Alhaitham turns his noise cancelling up and ignores everyone, reading with his book covering his face, his shoulder pressed against Kaveh. When he opens his mouth, Kaveh puts food in; when he's thirsty, Kaveh sticks a straw in his mouth and all he has to do is sip.

"See? Isn't this nice?" Kaveh signs to Alhaitham, later into the night.

Alhaitham sighs, putting his book down so he can reply. "It's noisy, loud, and hot."

"... Well, yes, a little," Kaveh says. "Alright, alright, fine. You put up with my whims for long enough, we can head back now."

"We didn't have to come out in the first place," Alhaitham points out.

"Yes! We did! We absolutely had to! Last year I spent the last day of the year alone, and I—" Kaveh's hands suddenly stop their vigorous movement. He wrings them, then clenches them tight into fists, shoulders tight, cheeks puffing like he said too much and now he's straining with the effort of keeping the rest of his words in.

Alhaitham looks at him. Unlike Alhaitham, Kaveh is a social creature. He is driven to and fro by the demands of the people around him, like a little bird buffeted by a great storm. When he first came to Alhaitham's house he was drawn, too skinny, with his shoulders bowed as if he'd taken on a great weight. Now, he looks much better. Alright, he looks like a tomato, his cheeks flushed from too many drinks, and the smell of the tavern has already permeated his clothes. But he looks, at least, like a healthy tomato.

"Aren't the fireworks soon?" Alhaitham asks. "Let's watch them before we head home."

Kaveh's face lights up.

Most of the best places to watch the fireworks are already claimed. But they are Alhaitham and Kaveh. They don't go to any of the hilltops, or the top floors of any buildings. Kaveh climbs trees like a monkey, and Alhaitham can flicker up the branches of Sumeru's tallest trees with little effort.

Finally, they sit amidst the branches of the Divine Tree, which Kaveh says feels blasphemous but doesn't otherwise protest. With them are some dry snacks, as well as some drinks from the tavern.

Up here, cradled amidst the branches of Sumeru's most sacred tree, it is as if they are in another world.

The stars glitter above in a blanket of midnight blue. Alhaitham sits with his head on Kaveh's lap. He's nearly reached the climax of the book, and he can't quite bring himself to pay attention to anything else. Fortunately, Kaveh seems content to sit in silence. He throws dried raisins and nuts into his mouth, takes the occasional sip of wine, and aside from a remark here and there, does not speak. And then:

"The fireworks!" he signs, patting Alhaitham's shoulder urgently. Alhaitham turns his noise-cancelling down, but he doesn't sit up.

They watch the fireworks. The display this year is spectacular—as if, with Nahida now in power, the pyrotechnicians went all out, expressing all the creativity and imagination that they could not before.

"Beautiful," Alhaitham says.

Kaveh looks down at him. The fireworks leave dazzling splashes of colour on his face. His hair is frazzled, from the humidity and all his earlier moving about; the thick strands threaten to escape his pins, his braids. His skin is shiny with sweat. In short, he looks a mess.

But when he smiles down at Alhaitham, even from such an unflattering angle—Alhaitham sees more of Kaveh's chin than anything—it strikes Alhaitham that Kaveh...

... is really rather handsome.

"Yeah?" Kaveh says. His smile is soft, his eyes tender. "I agree. Beautiful."

He leans down.

Their lips meet.

Overhead, the fireworks burst into a spectacular finale. A dragon dances through the air, leaving streams of white-and-blue waterfalls; rings and hearts linger in the sky, framing Kaveh in reds and greens.

Alhaitham licks his lips. "You're missing the fireworks show," he says.

"Yeah," Kaveh agrees. He doesn't straighten his spine. The last of the fireworks burst in the air, filling Sumeru's night sky with spectacular colour, and Kaveh gives Alhaitham one last kiss to welcome in the new year.

Chapter Text

"I'm off," Kaveh said, hopping up and down on one foot as he attempted to get his shoe on, his pack of supplies similarly bouncing up and down—each little jump causing the things inside to rattle and thump against each other.

This pair of shoes seemed always ridiculously difficult to get on. Maybe that was why Kaveh was so focused on his task, so that he didn't see Alhaitham come close until the man was barely a finger's width away. When he finally saw Alhaitham—

"Aaargh!" he yelled, jumping back. "Why are you so close—why did you suddenly—!?"

"Have a good trip," Alhaitham said.

"Uh… ah?" was Kaveh's baffled response. "Th… thank you?"

His expression could not have been more surprised if the sky and ground had suddenly inverted, or a million mora had dropped out of the trees.

After all, it wasn't the first time Kaveh had set off for some trip or other. They weren't so estranged anymore that either would leave the house silently, with no word at all—but outside the absent-minded hello's and goodbye's of their coming-and-goings, neither were they nor had they ever been the kind to really care to acknowledge the other's movements. Their lives were very different, and that they shared so much of it still seemed, to Kaveh, a great big cosmic joke.

Even as students at the Akademiya, their lives were parallel lines that intersected only by their own willful design. As adults, this was even more true. If they met, they met. If they didn't, they didn't.

When Kaveh had left the house before, Alhaitham would stay right where he was on the couch, reading his books, not even looking up—if he even bothered to acknowledge Kaveh's parting words—and even then he'd perhaps a raise hand or a mumble a quiet, absent-minded reply.

Now Alhaitham was stood in front of him, tall and looking slightly sleepy in the loose lounge wear he preferred at home, book left on the table behind them. He looked down at Kaveh. Kaveh looked up at him.

"Weren't you leaving?" Alhaitham prompted.

"Ah? Er, yes!" Kaveh stuttered. "See you…"—this last sentence said a little hesitantly. He pushed the door open, and had just stepped one foot outside when Alhaitham said, "Wait."

This single word was said with a strange, quiet, determined weight.

"Hm?" Kaveh turned back.

The morning light fell on his face, turning his eyes a bright coral shade. Perhaps because he'd been running here, there, everywhere like a chaotic typhoon that his hair was already messy despite the early hour, thick strands escaping his usual haphazard braids. That same mad rush had glazed his cheeks with a flush like peaches.

Alhaitham bent down and pressed a kiss to that flushed cheek.

Kaveh dropped the bag in his hand.

Calmly, Alhaitham bent down to pick up the bag—although as he did so, Kaveh thought that perhaps the curve of his bare ears was slightly redder than usual. When Alhaitham handed him his bag, he said, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I… I… I'll be going now," Kaveh said. He turned to leave.

He hadn't even reached the edge of their street before he couldn't help himself but turn back, like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice.

Alhaitham was still there, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was calm, but Kaveh couldn't help but think of those red ears.

He raised one hand in goodbye, and Alhaitham mirrored the action.

When Kaveh finally began walking again, he thought, despite the dew on the leaves and the chill of the breeze, that it was already hot today in Sumeru. The cheek Alhaitham had kissed especially felt as if it was on fire, and that heat didn't leave for many, many hours.

Chapter Text

Kaveh flung his arm out; the claymore disengaged from his grip and boomeranged outwards, leaving a trail of seeds in its wake. The remaining bandits at once reacted: they had seen already the devastation those innocuous green seeds could cause. But it was too late—

Kaveh snapped his fingers, and from his feet came a burst of green, igniting those waiting seeds.

They exploded.

They exploded, and the room shook, hard enough that even the ground moved. Alhaitham's hand shot out, pressing flat against the wall to arrest his fall.

Alhaitham heard stone grind against stone as the walls, no, as the entire building resettled.

And then… all was quiet. All was still.

In the centre of the room, surrounded by unmoving bodies, was Kaveh. Alhaitham was the only other person still standing. Half-standing. The room which had just moments ago been full of the chaos of battle was now utterly silent.

Alhaitham observed through slightly compromised vision the dust floating through the air. There was a hole in the wall that puzzled him… ah, right, Kaveh had blown the door open to get to him… no, he'd blown the door and its frame and the surrounding wall open… that was very… that was… very… Kaveh…

There were hands on his shoulders. Why was Alhaitham on the floor? Oh. He'd fallen. Ah, and there was Kaveh, slightly blurred. Very blurred… Alhaitham couldn't hear him. He touched the side of his head—no wonder. His ear pieces were gone.

"Haitham! Haitham, are you alright!?" Kaveh said. Probably. Alhaitham found lipreading a bit of a struggle currently.

Kaveh turned to yell at someone. A moment later, Mehrak floated over. And then Alhaitham was being levitated upwards, caught securely in Mehrak's energy field.

Secure, too, in Kaveh's arms.

It was Mehrak providing the lift, but it was Kaveh who was holding him. Kaveh's arms were steady against him, for all his panicked demeanor. That panic, if anything, reassured Alhaitham even more. Since Kaveh was here to panic, he could just… rest a moment. His eyelids felt very heavy.

Kaveh looked down at him. The blood on his face matched exactly the red of his eyes. His eyes shone with the sheen of tears. The hand he placed against Alhaitham's cheek was big and rough and gentle.

For all that he had just faced six desert bandits, he looked… surprisingly pristine. Alhaitham thought, He looks nice. It was a ridiculous thought, and the last one he had before he fell unconscious.