Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

a blank stare that once fueled the past's intrigue

Beep boop. Boop beep?

A green, translucent holographic display. An accurate rendition of a typical Mondstadtian Windwheel Aster.

"Yes, Mehrak–that is a Windwheel Aster."

Beep boop!

Mehrak obliges. The hologram imitates a wind current, depicting the flower's ability to rotate according to the flow of the winds.

The crowd cheers–most especially the young girl, Flora. Her hand passes through the holographic area, watching as Mehrak shifts through frame to frame, impressed by the accuracy of the toolbox's simulations. It proceeds through mimicking different kinds of flowers, taking inspiration from Flora's scattered flower pots, as well as through illustrations printed in pamphlets sitting atop her wooden stand. Of all of Mehrak's attempts, she audibly gasps in awe at the sight of dandelion seeds flowing amidst the simulated environment.

Her eyes appear to twinkle against the soft rays of the morning sunlight. While her fingers reach out to point towards varying aspects of a free-flowing dandelion flower, Mehrak adjusts the holographic figure's relative size and angle. She smiles at the gesture. 

"Many thanks! Dandelions are my favorite flowers–they're feathery, almost as exciting as snowflakes falling to the ground."

Observations manifesting one after another: though Mondstadt's floral palate is comparatively limited compared to Sumeru's–not by much, however!–the form that such plants manifest is a perfect representation of a nation's culture, beliefs, and imposed ideals. 

Closely related is this: though not all of Mondstadt may embody the general concepts of freedom that the nation claims to uphold–nor does it reflect of the Anemo Archon's standards and expectations towards their own people–the shrubs and flowers that sprout through the thickets of the region tell of bygone histories and memories far better than most could ever muster.

In short, Kaveh believes that such deliberate choice in design not only enhances the aesthetics of each structure he creates, but also provides its visitors with multiple layers of self-reflection as proof of their own identity. As such, it offers a sense of belonging:

"These flowers… they're my greatest reminder of home."

Flora's words echo through his mind. Precisely–the choice of floral decorations is not only for the sake of artistry, but to welcome a visitor and reflect pieces of themselves through the petals that surround their abode.

The intricacies of architecture have become a core part of his humanity. Though he finds his doubts at successfully honing his craft to cater to his needs, he accepts the overjoy from granting others their own home. He builds upon the layers that echo their soul, then shares yet another piece of himself…

Perhaps this is but his eternal consequence. A never-ending cycle of promises that buries people into their safest embraces–a byproduct of his limitless creations, also his source of pride and joy towards his own work. With every iteration of a sketch brewing from the back of his mind, he can only hope that his “self” stays all the same… each piece lost will regain itself in some way, right?

He’d frown, but such a dilemma must now be the least of his concerns.

… the symbol of promise he keeps on his ring finger reassures him so.

He steals a glance at his gray-haired companion, stoic but unserious as always. Despite his appreciation of the extra company, he can't help but wonder about his motivations. Even though Alhaitham's choice of escorting him falls within his expectations… seeing the Akademiya barren of the Scribe is an intriguing topic on its own, but even more so is his decision to even be bothered to accompany him to Mondstadt.

"It's a week, Alhaitham. Nothing compared to that business trip I had back then while you guys went to save the, uh… Dendro Archon, of all people. I'm sure you're the same dude who insists that I am 'a grown man' and knows full well that I can manage on my own."

"Do I have to keep reminding you that I have my own investigative work to do?"

"I know when you're making excuses. And I know that this is all because you'll miss me so much. That said, I'd much prefer that you say it to my face."

Having just finished breakfast at the time, Alhaitham shoved an entire Pita Pocket to his mouth that morning. Kaveh could still taste the tomatoes days later…

Either way, the circumstances that brought them both to Mondstadt must not matter–they've already found themselves wandering within their destination, and they had little to no reason to turn back… well, most especially Kaveh himself. He still bothers himself with his unfinished commission, and thus is the reason for his visit to Flora's humble shop… and the impromptu– possibly no one asked for –mental analysis of the philosophy of architecture with regards to a plant's aesthetic value.

He'd usually have Tighnari to trust in such trivial matters… but Mondstadt's floral profile is already established to be much different from Sumeru's. Trusting the region's experts is the way to go, and Flora must be his best candidate!

"Sir Kaveh, do you still need my help?"

Kaveh immediately snaps out of his thoughts. His line of sight meets Flora once more, though her attention shyly finds itself darting towards Mehrak instead. At the same time, the surrounding crowd carefully shuffles around him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his toolbox's ingenuity–but he thanks Alhaitham's stable stance in keeping the area from overcrowding.

Flora folds her hands together, her attention slowly shifting away from Mehrak. She lets out a nervous sigh. 

"Oh, sorry… I almost forgot you were here for my expertise in Mondstadtian flowers..."

Kaveh only laughs. "There's no need to fret. Thanks to you, Mehrak now has a detailed archive of various Mondstadtian flowers. Consider it a reward for fulfilling our favors."

Accompanied by sighs and "aw"s from what once was an exhilarated crowd, Mehrak exits the hologram, swinging back and forth in approval. Upon notice of the now bygone display, most decide to depart from the crowd, with only little children reaching out to wait for Mehrak's next simulation. Sensing this, the toolbox could only blink pleadingly towards its owner, hoping that none would attempt to dismantle its metallic parts or peel the paint out of its fragments.

"Don't worry–I'll take care of you." Kaveh reassures Mehrak, and thus does its happy expression return once more. He reaches out with his right hand, the toolbox instantly shifting its components to shape itself back to an ordinary briefcase, its handle resting between Kaveh's fingers.

The crowd fully disperses, leaving only the sight of Flora's flowers and the smell of soil seeping from her wooden counter, as well as of a busy Alhaitham flipping through the pages of a book he had brought from Sumeru. Musing to himself, Kaveh would argue that his luggage consists largely of books, some of his clothing, a little of… whatever, and the rest for mora (of course, all of that a grave generalization…).

Kaveh looks back at Flora, carefully considering his final question. "Before we leave, I'd like to ask about the meanings tied to a dandelion flower–at least, according to the people of Mondstadt. 

"You've mentioned before about the Windwheel Aster's imitation of windmills across the city, reminding people of the streets of their home… but in being a representation of the nation of freedom, what makes a dandelion distinct after such a fact?"

"Excellent question!" Flora responds, almost elated by his query. "I… didn't know anyone else could love dandelions as much as I do… but–anyway! You've noticed how dandelion seeds flow freely through the winds, just like your toolbox's… uh, cool laser simulations , correct?"

Kaveh nods. He looks back to see if his companion would find the notion intriguing, but Alhaitham seems to have taken an oath to his oh-so-precious book…

Flora continues. "Here in Mondstadt, we have a tradition of sorts–or perhaps a ritual, I'm not so sure. Point being: we whisper our wishes, memories, or inner desires towards a handful of dandelion seeds, then we let the seeds scatter by blowing them to the sky. This is usually done if you wish to carry a message to someone else–a friend or a loved one, maybe?

"... though I've heard of others who only wish to release their deepest regrets towards the wind… but that's a little sad, so I don't really recommend it."

Kaveh rests a hand on his chin. Taking a mental note of the concept, he finds ease at the glimpse of artistry, but also of Mondstadt's culture–there is trust embedded in the roots of freedom, the wind carrying memories for unending decades, the wishes of the people united through the free-flowing skies. Perhaps this is what he wishes for people to see in his latest designs…

… to find purpose and freedom while standing amidst the shade of the structure, meticulous designs etched along its corridors as though reminiscent of the past. Hm, too much work? Ah, no –to be an artist is to pour one's heart and soul to its fullest, despite potential consequences…!

"You're thinking too much."

He flinches at the sound of Alhaitham's voice. He looks back at him in full offense–has he transcended enough in their relationship to have the right to read his mind?! Or perhaps his expression had dropped so badly that even Alhaitham would take the time to notice… 

But whatever it is, his statement is true: he needn't think too much, else he's setting himself up for disappointment, one way or another…

"I… thank you," is the only response he could muster, his mind drained of the energy to refute or question Alhaitham's response. His sentiment is comforting, the chaos of his mind reverting towards a stillness reminiscent of the shores of Sumeru. "For the reminder, that is."

Alhaitham only nods back. His gaze returns to the book in his hands, his fingers meticulously sifting through pages as though refreshing himself of prior details.

Kaveh could only hope that his silence does not bother Flora much, though if the need arises, he'd be the first to insist that Alhaitham really, really means well–he simply insists on reserving his energy for a better means of his time. 

That said, what constitutes as a "better means" is entirely up to Alhaitham's standards… which is, to say, literally anything –from working on a joint investigation with the General Mahamatra to detain a long-lost criminal… to taking Kaveh on a date disguised as a "pretest of existing Akademiya work" (what a weird way to propose to someone…).

He can't help but smile. Kaveh supposes that most things manifest through their own means… and in Mondstadt, it may flow within the seeds that dance through the directions of the wind. And for him, it could manifest within each pillar he designs from scratch… or even in each drop of coffee he brews every day, or through the breakfast he serves each morning, or solely from the comfort of companionship.

"Um, it is still your choice, Mister Kaveh," Flora hesitantly speaks, her expression afraid of needless intrusion, "though I will offer you these dandelion seeds! For free! You can plant them or use them to carry your thoughts to the winds, as long as it doesn't bother you too much…"

Kaveh panics a little, shaking his head while smiling sheepishly. "No, no–please don't worry! Your advice has been really helpful so far, Miss Flora. Thank you for lending us your time."

Flora's shy demeanor vanishes in an instant, her wide grin visible even from Dragonspine. She waves one hand, the other offering a box of dandelion seeds to Kaveh, all while she prides herself at being of aid to his endeavors. Shortly after, she finds her delicate hands brushing the petals of her flowers, a dose of confidence embedded in her person as she bids her new Sumerian friends goodbye.

With Alhaitham trailing behind him, Kaveh happily waves back, his mind brought to ease by newfound inspiration. Dozens of ideas float through his mind, a mixture of excitement and anxiousness flooding his core, much less of a cacophony than his previous state. 

"Motivated?" Alhaitham inquires shortly after departing Flora's shop. 

Kaveh lets out a soft smile, a pool of concepts manifesting through even the corners of his mind, his hands itching for a moment to pour all of his thoughts to paper. He nods, multiple times, but his hands appear to shake, feeling cold amidst the warm sun, pressure starting to kick in and towards grounding itself through the soles of his feet–!

His hands stop shaking, the sensation replaced by the warmth of another. Looking back at him, Alhaitham only stares back, quietly waiting for him to walk towards his next destination.

Oh .

How convenient.

For the unassumed, Alhaitham's stares dig deep into one's soul–his glances may bear weight far worse than facing critical audiences at the Akademiya (though, granted, he is also one such critical audience). For others, it may not be a source of distress, though it may spark mutual irritance and cause unprecedented discourse. A stare devoid of meaning, urgency, or relevance–such is what people are quick to assume from his blank stare, as though he denies the cycle of communication down to the most subtle step of meaningful eye contact.

Kaveh was once no different. From that damned hall at the Akademiya, the sight of a silent scholar from Haravatat pacing himself through jotting down notes, the emptied table and Kaveh's stupid sense of empathy forcing its path through the busy crowd–that was the first time he witnessed his blank stare, visibly disinterested at the idea of interaction.

Such is a memory of the past. An interaction built on preconceived notions and assumptions of the unaware, but as though the sun burnt bright enough to reflect off a mirror and etch words on a scroll–his unbothered stare is more than what Kaveh cherishes about him, for the sun knows exactly how its light has manifested its use. 

There are secrets behind the stares. A broken heart, or buried feelings. Emotions that dug themselves their graves to cope with the lingering truths of time, to survive amidst the losses of the past.

Every day ever since, he has learnt to decode his "empty" stares. Like the dust that clouds barren bookshelves, the angry sands of the deserts, the calming breeze of the rainforest, the mud left after a thunderstorm… the moods towards interpreting one's identity…

Alhaitham looks back at him, presently, in the midst of the bustling Mondstadtian street. Hand in hand, fingers intertwined, the past long gone but their futures weaved together. Kaveh, at most, would interpret Alhaitham's stares towards him–in particular–as comparable to witnessing a Nilotpala Lotus bloom in the sunset, awe glazing through his expression despite the unchanging gaze.

But the stare he receives is not this. 

Though Alhaitham stares back at him, its interpretation is the first of its kind… that of dandelion seeds and unchanging time.

Kaveh does not know what to make of today's reflections. But he smiles anyway, and thus he leads Alhaitham towards the sweet scent of good food.

~•🏛️•~

The city is noticeably quieter than Sumeru. Most residents keep to themselves, attached to their own tasks–although the crowd from earlier prevents Kaveh from wholly believing so. Perhaps the city is only but one aspect of the nation, its tall grass and white flowers bearing more secrets than what meets the eye. Though it is far from rivaling the intricacies of Sumeru's history and culture, Mondstadt still has its merits in terms of preserving the people's freedom amidst past circumstances.

Point is, he applauds the city's peace. From the lady that boasts her fine souvenirs and gemstones, to the other woman sorting through crate after crate of vegetables and other goods, as well as of the diligent researcher sifting through notes by the crafting bench–Mondstadt welcomes its doors to all, granting everyone the leisure to pursue their interests through the best of their abilities.

Walking forward, Kaveh runs his free hand through the flowing fountain, careful not to soak his gloves yet approach close enough to be overjoyed by the cold water running through his fingertips. A few residents cheer him on, boasting warm smiles at the sight of their Sumerian guests.

Alhaitham does the same, though after dipping his hand through the water's flow, he flicks his wrist in Kaveh's direction, as if purposefully sprinkling water to his face.

"Um." Kaveh is too stunned to speak. "Re… refreshing…?"

Alhaitham tilts his head away from him, possibly stifling a laugh. No, he's definitely resisting the urge to crack up. Or he's ridding himself of any proof of his embarrassment. No, no, he doubts Alhaitham would feel embarrassed about something like this… nor would he laugh, but…

Kaveh would attempt to take his revenge, almost dipping his whole hand under the fountain's basin… only to be interrupted by a rather ecstatic lady chef from nearby. 

"Good Hunter," the sign reads from above. The chef waves in their direction, raising a bunch of readied Chicken-Mushroom Skewers with her free hand, as well as a whole assortment of other goods for them to try resting atop the wooden counter. Kaveh mentally notes and compliments the aroma bursting from the cooking pot, a plethora of Mondstadtian flavors combining to form an unfamiliar but appetizing dish.

He blinks. Twice. He catches himself before his mouth could drool, quickly shifting his attention back to Alhaitham, puzzled at the odd circumstance. He smirks. 

"Y'know, if this is your way of saying that you insist on paying for our expenses, then I suppose–"

"I wish it were, but this wasn't me."

Kaveh blinks again, disbelief settling in. "Wait, huh? Who in their right mind would prepare an entire buffet for a bunch of random visitors?!"

"Well, considering that we have a message from Collei to deliver, I suppose we are far from 'random', Kaveh." Alhaitham lets go of his hand, crossing his arms while deep in thought. His stare is unreadable, though Kaveh concludes that their dilemma constitutes a simple answer, explaining Alhaitham's smug yet dismissive reaction.

Kaveh places his hands on his hips. If his oh-so-dear husband refuses to spit out exactly what he aims to say, perhaps he'd rather trace his footsteps to arrive at his own conclusion. "You're implying that Mondstadt's been anticipating our arrival?"

" Perhaps ."

"Hm, I see–wait, what?!"

Kaveh almost leaps–not at his attempt at an hypothesis… but rather at the notice of a stranger's presence. 

Holding onto Alhaitham's arm for dear life, he wonders how long the blue-dressed man had been eavesdropping, the comedic timing of his presence indulging Kaveh in a whirlwind of mixed emotions and utter confusion. 

"WHO ARE YOU?!"

Meanwhile, Alhaitham only looks back at him in pity, moreso bothered by his reaction than the presence of the stranger himself. His expression remains indifferent, possibly at the edge of second-hand embarrassment, but his voice settles at its softest. "It's not a hilichurl, nor Fatui, Kaveh."

Kaveh immediately retracts his grip on his arm. Diverting the conversation from utmost disaster, Kaveh presents his brightest smile, breathing in and out, reminding himself of his courtesies.

"My… apologies." Kaveh bows. "Though, still, let me reiterate… who are you…?"

"Kaeya. Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius." The man dressed in blue smiles back, unminding of the circumstance from earlier. He averts his gaze for a moment, staring back at the lady chef from nearby and raising a hand as though confirming something. "You are friends of Collei, correct?"

Kaveh nods, albeit hesitantly, turning back to Alhaitham for the lack of a better response.

"Correct. We are guests from Sumeru. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rather formal, yet expected from Alhaitham. Kaveh only relaxes his gaze, taking a step back as though finding himself his own space.

"Likewise. As friends from Sumeru, what more could welcome you to Mondstadt than our tasty dishes?" A flashy smile creeps through Kaeya's expression, while his hands flow around and about, complimenting his speech. He attempts to satiate their curiosity, his line of sight darted towards the scenery, patiently welcoming them aboard. "Though, the more I think about it, cuisine is moreso a Liyue thing…"

Kaveh interjects. "Huh? I doubt that should matter, the desire for good food is universa–hey, wait, huh?! You mean all of that is meant for us?! ” 

"Your arrival is anticipated, is it not?"

He briefly pauses after noticing Kaveh's puzzled expression.

"Though I'm not sure why you, too, mention a letter from Collei, considering that we are well-aware of your visit because she had already sent a letter beforehand…"

The claim redirects Alhaitham's attention. “A duplicated letter. I see."

He rummages for the letter, layers upon layers of pockets searched through in a swift motion. Despite his indifference, he finds the letter right away–decorated with leaf patterns, with Collei's handwriting leaking through the sunlight, its back cover imprinted in dark ink, the word "Mondstadt" is made visible. He hands the letter to Kaeya, making remarks regarding its authenticity.

Kaeya carefully unravels the letter. He furrows his eyebrows for a brief moment, but finds himself later chuckling towards them, slipping the letter back into Alhaitham's hands.

"Ah… I see. Rather, it's a letter addressed to both of you."

Kaveh rubs the back of his head, Collei's implications remaining unclear to him. He does read the fine print on the now emptied envelope, though, a few words trailing behind what had seemed to be just the word "Mondstadt."

Only read IN Mondstadt

I wish you the best in your journey!

~•🏛️•~

He traces a figure through his sketchbook, indulging in the steady view of Mondstadt's houses–its infrastructure describing unity in terms of woodwork and stained glass designs. He notices the same hues of reds, browns, and grays seamlessly painting the streets through the glowing sunset, as well as of the flickering lamplights slowly pacing its way into the dimming noon.

The birds flock to decorate the autumn skies, the rough taps of footsteps muting themselves as they approach the silencing evening. Though much time is still left before the day approaches its closure, only a few people choose to settle outdoors, some exchanging shifts, others returning back to their abodes.

Kaveh successfully etches the last stroke of his pencil, graphite scattered through the thickened pages of his sketchbook. An almost-perfect render of Mondstadtian architecture, albeit some of his interpretations deviate from its intended nature, taking a few artistic liberties based on Sumeru's existing designs. An isometric sample of Mondstadt's infrastructure, complete with sights of bushes and flowers scattered through the city, heavy lines through concrete ground and light sketches through glass panes.

Having separated from Alhaitham for a few moments–hilariously accompanied by, one, Kaeya's ample and supposedly concise set of instructions, and two, the Akademiya-certified, verified and published, the "Scribe's guide to keeping one's spouse safe and sound!" (he's kidding)–Kaveh sits by the empty table next to the Cat's Tail's entrance, idly drafting his ideas while whistling to the winds.

He smiles at the satisfaction of successfully rendering his piece, his palms shaded with grays and pencil shavings scattered through the table. He looks up towards the skies, the clouds hovering from above, the nestling noon taking its time to soften Kaveh's gaze.

"Kaveh."

His line of sight slowly shifts, diverting his attention back to the emptied streets… though a familiar figure now stands in its way, a subtle smile forming through the person's lips.

"You're back," Kaveh replies. 

"I had to confirm something. I suppose this has been a productive use of your extra time," Alhaitham comments upon notice of the weary sketchbook. He walks over to appreciate a better view of his draft, fingers tracing the edges of the book, nodding at a few details before walking over to the cafe's entrance.

Kaveh smiles. He grabs ahold of his materials, tucking his pencil between the pages of the sketchbook and pacing slowly towards Alhaitham. He glances back at him, careful of his gaze, sensing a look of concern but also of relief and safety. The mixed emotions intrigue Kaveh, though considering his softened breathing and lack of overall nuance, he does not dwell too much on the thought.

Still, he inquires: 

"You're worried, aren't you?"

As expected, Alhaitham appears to be taken aback by his statement.

"About what? Either way, it should be normal for me to worry about you."

"I know, but that's besides the point," Kaveh reiterates, placing a hand on his chin as the other arm carries his materials. " The commission does exist. I have personally verified the location and have discussed its details with my commissioner multiple times. Please don't tire yourself of my responsibilities."

Alhaitham blinks, then nods. "If it reassures you, then yes, this is well-understood. But what makes you think I visited the Knights of Favonius for that specific reason?"

Kaveh scoffs. "Simple. I see it."

"An accusation without proof is a crime, Kaveh."

Kaveh raises his free hand midair. "You've already outed yourself: what do you mean you've gone to headquarters to “confirm” something? I'd take it from the Scribe to demand paperwork from such a high-profile commission, and despite all the documents I've given to you–which I know you've carried on your person–I'm sure you've been seeking an extra layer of validation."

Alhaitham sighs. "And I suppose you're curious about my findings?"

"Absolutely! There's nothing to be afraid of, anyways."

He only nods in response, crossing his arms and glancing towards him, taking his stance seriously. The wind whistles around them for a while, confidence and intrigue flowing through its path. 

"Okay. Point is, I trust you, and the coast should be clear."

Kaveh cheers. "Exactly as I expected! And besides, even if it were too good to be true… us taking a trip together, exploring outside of Sumeru, is hardly a waste of our time, no?"

Alhaitham nods again. "Correct."

Unable to resist, Kaveh bursts into laughter. "Halt with the formalities, will you? We came here for vacation–well, technically, you're the one on vacation–yet you're acting exactly as you would back in the Akademiya. I wonder, how would the stoic Scribe of the Akademiya spend his time if given the chance to leisurely roam as he pleases? One day into Mondstadt, yet I still do not know the answer…!"

His voice trails off once he feels a heavy weight resting atop his head, finding himself standing idly at the sensation of soft pats through his hair. Alhaitham gazes at him again, an unreadable expression evident through his eyes and lips.

Kaveh only blinks. "Huh? I don't think this answers my question."

~•🏛️•~

"So I'm cooking dinner tonight."

Kaveh grumbles at the thought of his loss. Walking towards their rented cabin, he thinks back to what he thought were the "greatest moves in all of Genius Invokation TCG history!"... that were shortly preceded by Alhaitham's ultimate damage dealing combo, instantly wiping his last card off the board. He could still feel his cards against his sweating palms, disbelief evident in his expression.

"A blessing in disguise," Alhaitham remarks, rummaging for their house key, letting out a sigh as the distant lamplight insists on flickering amidst their presence.

The response catches Kaveh off-guard. "Excuse me?!"

The key reappears in Alhaitham's hands, prompting him to look back–albeit in his usual outward indifference, but such is the least of Kaveh's concerns–only for him to witness his infamous expression drowning in disbelief. In fact, Kaveh musters a glare as if he had awakened the heavenly principles…

"Kaveh," Alhaitham begins, his voice trailing off as if suppressing a cackle, "... I meant that your cooking is exquisite."

Kaveh blinks. He raises his arms. "And that's the best way to say so!?"

Crickets resound in the barren streets. Alhaitham looks away for a while, perhaps wondering at what point did his queries constitute a response, though he settles on the most practical reply:

"Well then. Dearest renowned architect, the Light of Kshahrewar, the love of my–"

"Alhaitham. Just open the door."

With one soft click, the door to their cabin bursts open, the cold air from outdoors seeping into the dusty interior. With unsorted luggage visibly scattered throughout the room, bedsheets and pillows still left untouched, wooden countertops already stacked with books–one after the other, their footsteps resound in the creaking floor.

Kaveh switches the lights on. The area is spacious, though the empty table sitting near the barren closet is what intrigues him the most–a possible makeshift workspace for his ongoing project! He'd sort through his belongings now , but the cobwebs hanging from above seem to beg otherwise.

He smiles sheepishly. "I'll clean the–"

"I'll clean the room." Alhaitham had already rummaged through most of his things, leaving him in utmost surprise. "You'll be cooking dinner, correct?"

Kaveh scratches his head, the point of Alhaitham's insistence still beyond him. He does not mind the request, however, diligently pacing towards the tiny kitchen and making do with anything he might find. He does sigh, however. "Okay, okay… the meals from Good Hunter went past my mind…"

"If it bothers you, we could just skip dinner."

Kaveh gasps. "Absolutely not!"

In a false sense of infuriation, he continues searching through the area, the clinking of dusty pans audible between stone walls. He does pride himself on his skills, however, prepping a suitable dish despite the limited array of ingredients available.

Oil splatters throughout the pan, a batch of butter present to his side. A set of vegetables arranges itself as well. As he waves his hands through the area, a parade of flavors flowing amidst their abode, he finds himself inquiring: "I'll be working on an architectural commission tomorrow. Do you have any plans for the day after, Haitham?"

Though he cannot observe him directly, he senses hesitation from behind, as if pleasantly surprised by his sudden proposition. "No."

"Great. Another day scheduled for a Mondstadtian field trip," he boasts, his mind sparking multitudes of envisioned adventures through the calming breeze. Giddily, he continues, "Get some good rest. I'll also cook breakfast tomorrow."

"No, focus on your work. I'll get breakfast ready for tomorrow."

"But–!"

"Kaveh."

He stops dancing amidst the kitchen, sensing Alhaitham's concern from afar. It is a genuine tone, much alike those he has heard before, but a realization now echoes in his ears.

A voice of concern, a sign that can be observed without needing to be seen. As though he thought the hidden secrets buried in his dearest's eyes are the only pieces he could comprehend–his ever-so intriguing blank stare remains etched in his mind, but his soothing voice has begun to reveal its meanings, pacing through the depths of the threads of their humanity.

He smiles. Only a fool would reject the encompassing notions that ring through his ears.

"Fine. Wait for me, Alhaitham."

"Take your time."  

~•📜•~

The Scribe's absence is, in fact, anticipated, and Alhaitham has made sure that all involved parties were notified in time. To most, his lack of presence is almost unnoticeable, the halls of the Akademiya still as chatty and busy as it is at most times. Amateur and veteran scholars alike shuffle through the shelves, panic and joy enticing through their speech, busily working towards pursuing their next projects–with only students with concerns about their revised proposals granted the luxury of worrying about the Scribe's whereabouts. 

And to most, that is all there is to their lingering concerns.

Panah walks through the empty office. Papers pile atop the wooden table, its accompanying seat barren for the first time in months, documents neatly arranged in multicolored folders and ready to be sorted back to its intended archives. The silence is not new to him, for the office stays silent even with the Scribe present… unless a certain blond scholar was motivated enough to accompany him.

He reaches out for one of the unsorted folders, turning through page to page to skim through the document's general contents. Not much fuels his intrigue, most being project proposals he has encountered before–and most he has seen the Scribe reject countless times. Being new to the job, he can only trust Alhaitham's intuition, for no matter how much he pities the scholars' incessant cries through their disapproved projects, he does not share the expertise that the Scribe possesses.

He is not one to question the Scribe's whereabouts. Though after months–perhaps years–of consistently attending to his job–though he is not one to be considered a workaholic, he has also barely filed leaves or excused himself from his tasks–Panah wonders why the Scribe considered making an exception for today, as well as for the next seven days.

Perhaps due to concerns of Sumeru's safety, or details of ancient ruins beyond the scope of his knowledge. Perhaps Sumeru scholars lost in a foreign land can only rely on the Scribe's expertise–but even then, none seem to be critical enough for him to interfere.

He sighs. He insists he wouldn't concern himself with the Scribe's motivations, and it is possible that Alhaitham's circumstances have changed for the better…

"Um… is Mister Kaveh around? I was hoping to ask him a few questions…"

It'd been too late before he noticed another person's footsteps, their figure departing from the rounded elevator. The young scholar looks back at him, patiently awaiting a response. Another document lands on the piling desk, one of the many projects desiring the Scribe's approval. He needn't meddle with others' affairs, but now that Panah realizes–the blond architect hasn't stopped by the office either…

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure why you'd look for him here, but no."

Chapter Text

the ticking clock of the present reflecting off a prism

"Try not to step on the Celilias, Kaveh."

Kaveh turns his head around, unamused.

His legs shuffle through the tall Mondstadtian grass, mud and dew staining through his cape. Loose grass and dandelion seeds decorate his hair, the scent of the wind attaching itself to his ruffled clothes, while the beam of the sunlight compliments the distant shores along the edges of Starsnatch Cliff.

His silhouette almost completely obstructs Alhaitham's view, hence his well-timed warning. As guests of Mondstadt, to harm its local specialties is not best to be known for– that , Kaveh agrees with. He carefully treads through the steep mountain, pedaling one foot after another, already huffing off exhaustion despite only being halfway through their planned path.

Despite his struggles, he takes a quick glimpse at Alhaitham… only to find him well-versed in another of his books, displaying zero signs of discomfort and appearing to have spent no less of his stamina. Calm and collected, even as Kaveh made his pause before continuing to scale the mountain, Alhaitham takes upon his path one step at a time, unbothered from his usual stance. Perhaps those expeditions in the desert have rightfully paid off– wait , hasn't Kaveh gone through twice as much?!

Kaveh could only laugh nervously, now pressing his face against a nearby boulder. He could feel his legs shaking, fatigue finally catching up to his senses while his entire body melts from the roaring heat. He could only thank the winds for the soft breeze, his only solitude against the morning sun…

He rests his eyes for a bit, Alhaitham's muddy footsteps echoing through his ears. The wind whistles once more, brushing away strands of hair blocking his field of view–not that it matters anymore.

It is quiet, but he hears all the same. The sound of a book closing, a pause from Alhaitham's feet sinking into the rich soil. A pair of arms reaching from his shoulders, his weakened feet attempting to scale the area once more, his eyes remaining closed though still recognizing the rhythm of his husband's breaths. Reminiscent of times he'd gone to Lambad and find himself far from sober, to watch for the scent of the all-familiar green cape and find himself waking up back at their home.

A gentle tap at his shoulder. His feet finally indulge themselves in comfort, lingering from what feels to be the edge of a cliff. He'd fear for the risks if not for the arms still wrapped around him, its grip careful not to allow him to slip. The tapping continues, and despite his insistence, he finds himself opening his eyes once more as though waking from a productive slumber.

He gasps. The view is inherently rewarding, so to speak. The chilly breeze makes up for his prior struggles–and he hopes it does, too, for the person who made his best attempts at carrying him to such a magnificent location. He could locate the Cathedral from up high, as well as of the tree they've referred to as Windrise–!

Alhaitham clears his throat. “This was your idea.”

Despite the response abruptly silencing his excitement, Kaveh smiles, resisting the urge to laugh as he continues setting his sight upon Mondstadt's endless greenery. His eyes continue scanning the area, though he finds his hands fidgeting towards an item he has kept in his pockets. “It was only a little assistance. Thank you, dearest junior.”

Alhaitham nods and loosens his grip, finding his own space facing the magnificent view. Kaveh only continues scouting for the item, taking note of the location’s timeliness for an idea that piqued his interest since his first day in Mondstadt.

“What are you doing?” Alhaitham inquires. Kaveh does not heed his query, finally able to locate a sealed box and thus pouring its contents into his own hands. There is no smell (apart from the smell of the sun), though it is soft–each piece is lightweight, almost like freshly fallen snow–and what he keeps in his hands has been readied for its intended purpose…

With his hands full, he presses his palms close to his face, eyes closed and muttering phrases, but muted enough to be beyond Alhaitham’s recognition. “Dandelion seeds. Want some?”

Alhaitham blinks. A thought passes, then a question:

“So… are you… inhaling them…?”

The wind whistles–Kaveh only stares back in response. The trees continue dancing, the birds sway from above. The thought reaches his mind, his eyes twitch in hilarity, and after a few failed attempts…

He sighs. And laughs. And cackles possibly too much…

“If that was your attempt at a quirky reply, it sure is the best one I've heard in a while.”

Alhaitham crosses his arms, only indifference evident in his expression. “Why else would you press them so close to your face?”

“Shh. I'm whispering to the winds.” He extends his hands towards Alhaitham, expecting him to return the favor. He takes caution in handling the seeds, making sure none prematurely flow towards the breeze–nor for some to miss its destination. “Here. Take some.”

Albeit a moment of hesitation, Alhaitham resets his stance–he opens one palm, while the other arm rests still through the healthy soil. A gentle breeze almost wipes half of the seeds off their course, though both manage to grab ahold of a decent chunk of dandelion seeds securely in their hands. A sense of urgency reveals through their expressions, seeing that most seeds find themselves ecstatic to reach new heights towards the skies above.

While Kaveh has successfully maintained his motivated demeanor, Alhaitham returns a puzzled stare–both at him and back at the dandelion seeds. “What am I supposed to say?”

Kaveh tilts his head slightly. He remembers having been to Flora's shop with him days ago–what reasons does he have to insist on mysteriously empty responses?! “I–you were there with me, correct? Well, whatever–just… suppose you have lots to release, at least from the back of your mind. Perhaps these seeds can grant you freedom from your heaviest thoughts… or something, I don’t know.”

He only nods back, his gaze gone from his direction, now solely refocused on the fragile seeds alone. Kaveh could no longer fathom his thoughts from his gaze, though any sane person would notice doubts itching from his figure. “But our circumstances are ultimately dependent on us. What good does this do?”

A valid query–Kaveh nods. “Decluttering one's mind, something of that sort? Or perhaps there's a feeling you'd like to shake away for others to pick up on, like eternal happiness?”

“As though shouting to a void?”

“Precisely.”

Alhaitham scoffs. “I see little point in this.”

Perhaps the thoughts Kaveh expected, though he cannot easily entertain the extra dismissiveness. But seeing that he has deluded himself from his gaze, a million calculating thoughts running in his mind, or– no , he might be once again reading too much from a barren expression… “You were there when Flora gave these seeds. You understand their point, no?”

Alhaitham looks away from the seeds, now staring through mountaintops and lakes visible from afar. It is silent–perhaps even therapeutic–both finding their comfort from the whistling breeze and the sound of their voice. He still insists, however: “Yes, but such a thing appears irrelevant.”

“You love ruining the fun, don't you?” Kaveh instead smirks, his face facing his own seeds once more. “Well, take your time. At least we get to witness an amazing view.”

He whispers back to his seeds, a mellow rhythm apparent from his voice. Brief pauses here and there, as though singing a song to the winds–and while Alhaitham has fallen silent, he sees his filled hand finding itself inching closer, clenched in a fist… Kaveh listens intently to what Alhaitham thought were undetectable whispers towards the same seeds he insisted had little to no significance.

Kaveh closes his eyes. Intrusion would be quite rude!

~•🌱•~

Kaveh hums against the gentle breeze. A silent murmur that even birds could delight upon, complimenting the flaps of butterflies and the gentle pour of water downstream. Frogs hop amidst the soil, pedaling through an endless passage of greenery, its vibrancy comparable to Sumeru's–though also boasting of its own flavors. The tune is a stranger to these lands, though it still flows seamlessly into the rhythm of the winds, the trees dancing along and his footsteps syncing to its beat.

He watches Kaveh settle upon the shade, leaves descending from above–the sun remains in its brightest glow, its reflections almost blinding his sight. It matters not, however–it dims amidst the thick branches, with only crystalflies projecting its glow back at where they stood.

Alhaitham sits by him, though he instantly takes notice of Kaveh's tired breaths. He sighs–what is with his insistence in multiple detours, as though he hasn't already acquired enough architectural inspiration throughout the previous days? He could only assume they have scoured through every species of flower and fauna in Mondstadt, and of every surface made of wood and stone and brick and…

He rests his eyes, indulging in the silence of “Windrise.” A large tree and a Statue of the Seven depicting the Anemo Archon… Alhaitham overhears the lady from nearby rambling about Mondstadt's history, a figure she calls "Vennessa," and the promise of guided winds granting her an almost-heavenly peace.

As a scholar from Haravatat, though it is Vahumana that heavily focuses on history and the intricacies of pre-existing and existing phenomena, he recognizes that some concepts still overlap. The lady's language and her deep recall of Mondstadtian history does pull Alhaitham into deep thought for a moment, but he does not find the point in investigating further.

Instead, he finds himself resisting his exasperation, sensing an ecstatic Kaveh who seems to have taken his exhaustion for granted. Bearing witness to even more species of flowers, as well as of the types of bass and other fish swimming peacefully through the area–there lies a great deal of elemental energy throughout Windrise, cohesively binding all elements together through the calming breeze, as if purposely promoting the lady's beliefs from earlier.

He does not mind Kaveh’s enthusiasm, though he'd rather not carry an out-of-breath architect back to the city… as he has done multiple times, albeit this time without Lambad's familiar tone…

He shrugs anyway, astounded by the silence. For once, he removes his headphones, taking in the soft winds that ruffle through his hair. He takes away his cape, resting it amidst his arms, the whistle of the breeze appearing as some sort of lullaby pacing him towards slumber…

Laughter. “Was I humming too well?”

Kaveh's voice reopens his eyes, his blank stare darting right through him as he takes in the assumption. He witnesses Kaveh's smug grin once more, crossing his arms as though basking in his accomplishment, his smile outshining the morning sun positioned just right behind him. He tries his best not to entertain his amusement, calmly placing his headphones atop his shoulders and tapping his fingers against stone.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Kaveh only retorts back, his grin becoming wider despite the almost nonexistent change in Alhaitham's demeanor. He'd mock Kaveh for how quick he’d jump to such conclusions, but perhaps this sort of amusement might convince the blond architect to finally relax himself for once…

Alhaitham only nods, finding relief in Kaveh's behavior. “Good. Rest up.”

Kaveh resists a cackle, almost worrying Alhaitham of disturbing every hilichurl lounging within the area. Not that he’d mind, of course–a piece of cake compared to insistent Eremites back within Sumeru. “Thanks, can't rest right now though.”

“Why?” Alhaitham finds his eyebrows furrowing at the thought, his lips curling into a frown.

“That disappoints you?”

The query is expected, though the phrasing is rather… peculiar. Of all the times he found Kaveh resting hazily upon a wide wooden counter, with stacks of pencils and markers scattered throughout the workbench, his hands completely dotted with ink and his eyes darkening due to fatigue… he sighs. “If it weren't for you leaning against the bathroom door due to a lack of sleep, I wouldn't be so… disappointed.”

Kaveh’s smile falters very slightly, though noticeable compared to Alhaitham’s lackluster expressions. He still manages to find a dismissive response, though straight to the point and undenying of his circumstances: “Concerned. You're concerned for my well-being.”

“Take that as you will.” Alhaitham shrugs. Perhaps he does, but dwelling on his own concerns does nothing to solve Kaveh's predicament.

“You're hilarious.” He sees Kaveh roll his eyes playfully, later raising his head to face the lush leaves hanging from above. A few brush his skin, some causing butterflies to stray from their paths, and some rest for birds to pick up on. A soft smile, then a response:

“Thank you, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham scoffs. “I didn't quite catch that.”

“Pssh, unbelievable!” Kaveh finally breaks into roaring laughter, clutching his stomach and shifting himself to face the ground instead. A blink or two passes, then a sigh–perhaps that response has gone from Kaveh’s utmost annoyance to his newfound sense of humor… “If I had a penny every time you'd reply like that, I’d have enough to pay for our drinks for a whole week.”

He stands from his seat, walking towards the base of the tree, his expression lost in thought and finding himself shrugging. “Well, I'm glad that amuses you.”

Kaveh calms down and covers his face with his hands, smiling. “You're very, very silly.”

Making no effort to look back, Alhaitham only continues walking, the soles of his feet running through the same familiar soil from days back. He paces back and forth, and despite his insistence, he finds himself in need of a reminder: closing one's eyes does not, in fact, hide a creeping smile on one's face.

It echoes once more: the chirping of the birds follow the same rhythm, each passing second reflected upon its patterns and of the flow of the winds. His thoughts, albeit unwavering, continue to pass through, finding himself relaying towards the breeze–a decision that is much against himself, but it is one that he does not mind as of the moment.

He tries his best not to let his thoughts trample him, nor does he find comfort in finding Kaveh bothering himself with his thoughts, too. So, he settles himself within the breeze, unminding of the illogicality, holding on to the hope that perhaps, it is the wind that can grant them peace, too.

As such, he opens his eyes, finding Kaveh looking back at him, his head tilted slightly. He does not appear to judge, nor to spark another endless conversation–instead, he asks:

"Haitham… do you like it here?"

The question intrigues him. He thinks for a moment. Mondstadt's winds are clear, free, unobstructed, and silent–fulfilling his tastes for a peaceful and productive environment. He no longer hears the sound of merchants haggling, or the sound of Kaveh's hammer hitting the ground, or the resounding voices of the Corps of Thirty, or the idle chatter of scholars in the Akademiya.

He wonders what invoked such a query. Perhaps due to Kaveh's architectural inspirations, or perhaps it is only a product of their stay. Nevertheless, he thinks further–treading through conclusions, though Mondstadt's peace is alluring; almost a perfect caricature of his preferred means of a simple life…

"Not quite like Sumeru."

He looks back. It is not home, and it'll never be quite like home.

~•🏛️•~

Witnessing the sights of Mondstadt, endlessly clutching on his messy sketchbook, finding his eardrums constantly bugged by Alhaitham's reminders–no, he does not mind, though he certainly does not find the need to rest as of the moment… or perhaps he is right…

Not that it matters anymore, though–the sun finds itself finally setting, the streets growing quiet once more–save for a loud bunch of men standing afront a busy tavern, bottles of wine scattered amidst their table. A young man approaches him, expecting their entrance–his cautiousness would reign if it were not for Kaeya's past invitation leading them towards a short visit.

The door creaks open, its atmosphere not as uninviting and simplistic as it appears from outdoors (or was that only Kaveh's harsh judgment? The thought makes him doubt his own expertise for a moment…).

Details scatter within the area. The lamplight appears dim, though its aura reflects on the shiny countertops within the tavern. He watches a bard hum to himself, an adventurer ranting to himself over chops of wood and lost belongings, while other guests keep to themselves in silence. Most maintain a satisfied demeanor, the taste of wine at the tip of their lips enough to allow the tavern to host their company.

Kaveh delights at the idea of wine, especially of those from overseas. He expects Alhaitham to shoot him a suspicious look, but he tilts his head around, scanning the wooden cupboards and emptied barrels, as well as of dusty posters and delicate wine glasses. He does not appear to judge, nor flinch at the eager sounds of Mondstadters delighting in their latest sip of wine–Kaveh shrugs, happy that they've mutually seemed to have taken a liking to the place.

Angel's Share is one of Mondstadt city's main hosts of the wine industry. The thought had already intrigued Kaveh before they came on their journey, but to witness the tavern through his own eyes is more than a miracle from his perspective.

As planned from a conversation days prior, Kaeya idling by the waxed counter of the tavern is much anticipated. A clear wineglass in hand, he gently swings his drink back and forth, thoroughly mixing and indulging in his choice of liquor. Upon the sight of blond hair peeking from the corner of his eye, he faces towards their direction immediately, extending an arm and inviting them to sit by.

Alhaitham politely obliges, taking the nearest chair while leaving another for Kaveh to occupy. Kaveh almost sinks in his seat, his arms idly resting atop the wooden counter.

A few words are exchanged–Kaeya expresses his salutations and recommends select drinks, Alhaitham insists on keeping track of his husband's alcoholic limits (to which Kaveh only shrugs, politely sighs, but shoots a look back at him as though saying, “hey, no promises!”).

The conversation continues gracefully… for ten seconds, before the door to the tavern breaks into an obnoxious creak, soon followed by the entrance of a strangely dressed man.

And before they could ask, Kaeya already finds him conversing with the man, as though their meetup has taken centuries before it could manifest itself again. He does not heed the encounter much mind; however, there is still much to be asked–a figure dressed in clothing from far up north, casually taking in the breeze from Mondstadtian winds, reuniting in the most intriguing of manners…

And by intriguing, Kaveh means… their conversation is the most personal, perhaps? Even Alhaitham has somehow noticed, if he were to judge by his light tapping against the wooden boards of the tavern.

“Um… we don't mean to intrude…”

The stranger is first to react, boasting his messy ginger hair and looking back in a rather apologetic but sincere fashion.

“Intrude? Oh, no no–I may be the one intruding! New friends of Kaeya, I see?”

He relaxes his gaze while resting one arm over Kaeya's shoulder. The bartender hands him a drink, his preferences needn't be asked– ah, his familiarity is off the roof! But perhaps there is still more to be said–that of which is established on their gazes, or the ginger man's subtle fidgeting, or on the warmest smile plastered on Kaeya's face as of the moment…

“Careful–I don't want you bothering Diluc again, alright?” Kaeya's smile does not falter despite his own warning, and so does the other man laugh at the arbitrary response. Both place their wineglasses down atop the table, its surface freshly wiped clean just as another wave of guests enter the area.

The ginger loudly claps. He takes a moment to register his thoughts, but he returns his gaze back to Kaeya shortly after. “Ah, speaking of! I just happened to see him on his way to the winery.”

“So that's why you stopped by.”

“Oh, no–I’m not here for official business. Unless official business can be regarded as being with you?”

Despite himself, Kaveh's eye twitches. It is a respectable encounter, however–who was he to judge? Far worse is the almost indecipherable gaze Alhaitham returns after the other two's exchange, so much so that Kaveh only scratches the back of his head afterwards…

Kaeya clears his throat. “I–sorry. This is Childe, a friend of mine.”

Kaveh blinks. “A friend?”

“Maybe more than that. But it doesn't matter.” Kaeya casually shrugs off the question, smoothly facing himself towards the stacks of wine embedded on the shelves. “Charles, their drinks, please.”

The bartender nods and slides two glasses towards him and Alhaitham's direction. He raises his glass immediately, also greeted by Childe's enthusiasm–and to his surprise, Alhaitham as well? Perhaps the crowd has gotten too loud, he ends up missing his warnings…

Still, Kaveh drinks. And he does so again. Flavors rush through the corners of his mouth, his entire body brimming in excitement thoroughly evident in his whole stance.

Drinking for joy, to bask on their successes, and to smile against their accomplishments. He thought he'd only use such a circumstance to escape from his insanity, to gulp away his tears and sorrows to indulge in an imposed peace, and to distract himself from reality–here, he finds a sea of smiles and the grandeur taste of wine, a flavor perfect for a momentous occasion.

It reflects back at him, just as it has before. The parade of their life staring back at him–at them , to remind both of how far they've gone. And as such, it only continues ticking–their footsteps only keep moving forward, comfort present in their expressions, the loops of time and their rare deviations against their routines, all wrapped together and tied with a bow–asking him to recognize their mutual efforts, possibly keeping their records in the wind.

The breeze knows, or perhaps it doesn't. But, point being, he knows it asks him to look back and find himself staring back, while also appreciating the little moments he experiences from the Teyvat of today : the present, his everlasting existence, and the record of his humanity.

And he cheers, and sobs, and finds himself finally thanking the world for their presence.

“Cheers to us!”

He sits atop the counter, wineglass raised to the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he wonders if he hallucinates–a sight of a wide-smiled Alhaitham forever etches itself into his mind.

~•🌱•~

“Haiyi…”

“Careful. Try not to fall over.”

Walking back to their cabin, a drunk smile covers most of Kaveh's expression. Though Alhaitham has dodged most of the wine previously offered to him upfront–and perhaps the only one capable of bringing them both back to their cabin as of the moment–he finds himself in charge of proper navigation (and apologizing to any passersby, if need be).

The door to their abode opens, his hands tossing their keys atop the wooden side table and taking effort to switch on the lights. He hears Kaveh quietly ramble to himself–a humble rant regarding the foundations of architecture, if he were to base it on the technicalities of his speech–while swinging his arms far enough to almost hit the decor reserved within the mounted shelves. He finds himself mildly exasperated, though he rather dwells on convincing Kaveh to rest atop the couch.

Upon contact with the soft fabric wrapped around the couch, Kaveh immediately clutches for its side pillows, lying in a curled stance and unminding of his surroundings. His breathing relaxes, though his mouth remains gaping wide, drooling while half-asleep.

Alhaitham only crosses his arms, eyes darted at his semiconscious husband. A miniscule smile perks upon his lips, his gaze no longer radiating exhaustion and mild annoyance (though a gaze Kaveh finds the most amusing, according to one of his not-so-sober rants, if he recalls correctly), now replaced by a sense of longing and relief.

It is intriguing, to say the least. Unpredictability is almost the core of their relationship, one reflected upon within each of their encounters, from the moment they found their gazes interlocking with each other's, to the idle footsteps and chatter within the cozy confines of their home. As well as of the muted cries Kaveh once suppressed, of each reference cited in their long-past research project, and of those bookmarks tucked between the pages of his parents’ books, his grandmother watching over him intently as he scours and rereads through every passage…

… then of the times they'd be invited by Cyno to play a humble game of cards. Or perhaps Kaveh asking for Tighnari's expertise once more, or even the times he finds a drained senior resting his head atop his workbench, snoozing amidst the flood of architectural drafts that of which he barely benefits from anymore, earning little to none from his exquisite designs.

Unpredictable. Melancholic. The type of life they both tread, their souls lost between the chaos that insists on engulfing them whole, one initiated by both the roaring sounds of the crowd and the mistakes they've once suffered through–an unending loop of agony and misunderstanding…

But such is no longer proof of the present. The storm that once blinded their fates and attempted to lead them astray does not manifest itself within their lives anymore.

Alhaitham binds himself with logicality and common sense. There is little to no point agonizing over such thoughts, to reflect upon the intricacies of their encounters, and to find too much meaning behind each step they've taken to reach the highs of their relationship.

He only sees the relaxed stance of his sleeping senior. Nothing more, nothing less. His subtle murmurs, the rhythm of his breathing, the almost unnoticeable movement of his lashes and the light powder he keeps on his face. Of the cloth wrapped around the couch, his now-wrinkled clothing, the shoes he has somehow insisted on keeping despite heading to sleep…

Only one of Kaveh's many drunken encounters. But within the soft breeze that even echoes within their home, there is a hypnotizing sense of gratefulness, of appreciation for their little moments, of unbridled joy that his brightest expression cannot display just yet.

Kaveh hums within his sleep once more. Alhaitham only watches him intently, curious of what his sleepy ramblings would inspire this time around.

The clock continues ticking. The lamppost from outdoors does not dim, but its cozy reflection makes it appear so, complimenting the darkened wood from within their home and the carpet that rests below their feet. It is silent, but it is soothing–a silence of companionship, hope, and love.

Kaveh shifts in his sleep. Alhaitham preps himself for rest, taking off his cloak and placing his shoes next to the front door. He basks in the sound of his footsteps, though he returns back to focus after seeing Kaveh almost roll himself towards the ground, his eyes opening slightly and staring deep into his soul. He carries him back to the couch, returning a blank stare.

Between their misplaced gazes and Kaveh's semi-conscious demeanor, Alhaitham hears him whisper, perhaps only to himself:

"What… is a home…?"

The statement catches him off-guard, though it snaps him into deep thought once more. But with an answer immediately revealing itself from the back of his mind, Alhaitham wraps his robe around him, brushing his fingers through his blond hair.

"... wherever you might be."

~•📜•~

“Collei, consider looping your O's like this. ”

“Hm. I figured her writing style adds to her authenticity.”

‘Madam’ paces back and forth across the room. The General Mahamatra fixes his fingers atop his chin, lost in deep thought. ‘Master’ appears to have his ears drooped down–for disappointment or shame? She cannot truly know. With all of Sumeru’s attention darted back at her (that was hyperbole, wasn’t it…?), she stares back at her seniors, shaking her head profusely while waving her hands mid-air.

Nervous breathing. Awkward smile. “No, no, it's fine! Please don't worry, I want it to be, er, readable? Uh… just enough for them to understand… I forgot the word…!”

“Legible.” The word was ‘legible.’

“I, um–thank you!” With a sense of relief, Collei proudly lifts her quill off the parchment. Stacks of messy drafts scatter throughout the wooden table, ink smearing along each page's edges–this time, she makes sure her letters are exactly where needed be, each sentence tidily arranged in adequate chunks, the purest of her thoughts bleeding into the paper with her best intentions displayed wholeheartedly.

She has much more to say, though she knows it hardly rivals her seniors’ commentaries. Most of what is unique to her has already been delivered days ago–a letter directed towards Mondstadt, only one of many, with specific requests and goals enumerated for its future guests heading abroad.

A letter addressed to the Knights of Favonius… she has signed her name in such matters multiple times. What difference does a change in her recipient make?

… a lot, apparently.

“Collei, are you alright? Your hands are shaking.” A curled expression reveals throughout Madam Faruzan's features, her sight darted at the shaky quill Collei has kept interlocked within her fingers. “Hmph, it appears I am right–it’s irrational to put her into this much trouble! Tighnari, would you mind?”

‘Master’ sighs once more, moreso at Faruzan's intentional glare. As per usual, the General Mahamatra attempts to disperse the radiating tension, his weapon of choice obviously being–!

“Ahem. See, what did the fungi say to the–”

Cue three disappointed gazes.

“... okay. Let Collei write from her heart,” Cyno mutters back, this time voiding his speech of any nuance. “As long as it's not from us , I'm sure those two would appreciate the message.”

“And why are we writing to those two again?” Tighnari inquires.

Faruzan audibly claps, enticing the attention of her three accomplices. “Well, it's my dear Kshahrewar junior's first vacation ever–outside Sumeru, at least! Oh, and that Alhaitham's there too, I guess.”

“Correct. It's one of their rare trips outside Sumeru, as well as a visit to Mondstadt. I'll have to let them commission someone for another of my TCG card backs.” Cyno's eyes appear to glitter solely from the mention of his favorite card game, almost diverting himself away from the point of their conversation.

Tighnari reintroduces another of his sighs. “If you were that desperate, maybe you should've joined them.”

“It'd be rather rude to interrupt a couple's vacation.”

“Then save that request for later.”

“I know.”

“Um, sorry to interrupt–I think I should be nearly done, but I don't know what to write about next…” Collei raises her voice very slightly, though the fidgeting of her hands hasn't stopped ever since. She could feel her blood drain from her face, her mind spiraling into panic solely from the idea of working towards a rather… high-profile (?) letter. “I'm sure the Scribe expects something of quality…”

Almost as though forcing his polearm to the ground, Cyno finds himself baffled at the idea. “If he doesn't accept your letter, I'm kicking him out of his own house.”

Tighnari stares. “I doubt it's legal for the Mahamatra to do that.”

“Heed them no mind, Collei.” Faruzan takes her seat from a reasonable distance, sifting through Collei's earlier drafts, raising each piece of paper against the sunlight peering through the windows. She does not look back, though her way her eyes scan through the parchment imply her attempts to analyze patterns within her prior writing. A quick nod, then she responds, “how about… reflecting on a moment in your life that made you retract back to the present?”

The idea catches Collei off-guard. “O-oh?”

Mondstadt letter. Reflections from the past. A bunch of jumbled thoughts creep into her mind, as though unlocking a sealed gate of her deepest motivations.

The monotonous nights she spent trying to find a cure for her long-gone disease. An almost never-ending loop of experiments, as though the heavens screamed against her existence and inflicted upon her a matching hatred for the world. Of the times she spent locked in that cruel disposition, saying things she shouldn't have, finding her concurrent identity a true mockery of what it means to be… herself.

She recalls those times, moments wherein none remains but the thought of hopelessness engulfing her whole… but thus was also the time she witnessed the brightest smiles stacked within the streets of Mondstadt–the loud cheering through minigames and the support of the Knights. To find herself free from the latches of her past, to find a glimpse of joy after the loss of hope in encountering it once more, and to find the light of the present peering through the windows, piece by piece refracting off its surface.

It taught her to see the world for what it truly is, the sections of her existence overlapping to rebuild the real ‘her.’ And thus, as it was back then–walking towards her new home, lush greenery overlapping every surface–she finds another point to her existence and thanks the prism for its kindness.

Collei presses her quill against the parchment once more.

“Um, I think I know what to write about now!”

Chapter Text

layers of memories paint the canvas of the future

He wakes first, eyes darted at the still-sleeping blond drooling from across the room. Strands of hair settle at the corners of his husband's mouth, an arm reaching towards the wooden flooring of the cabin, his breathing slow and steady–an ironic aftermath of the night before. 

Alhaitham gently taps his shoulder. Kaveh shrugs, shifting in his sleep to face the other way, clutching the Scribe’s coat in his arms and indulging in the warmth of his makeshift blanket.

“Kaveh. It's morning.”

“... and?”

The blond swiftly goes back to sleep, covering his ears with his hands. Alhaitham only sighs, eyes darted at the clock hung from their door, later shrugging as he paces towards their kitchen to retrieve a pack of coffee grounds. 

The sky is fairly lit, sunlight seeping in from the glass windows. Its translucence reflects patterns to the cabin's interior, every surface coats itself in luminescence, steel pots and pans reflecting a blinding gaze that instantaneously wakes his eyes from its hazy state. Cups and glasses sort themselves in rows, his sight resting on his signature black mug (that of which was appropriately decorated by Kaveh's doodle of a bird extending its arms to the skies, all in white ink).

He wastes no time prepping his coffee, finding comfort in its dark aroma taking over the scent of the room. Shortly thereafter, he secures a cup of coffee in his hands, gently stirring the product to blend its flavors thoroughly, just as he prefers. Taking a sip of his treat, his gaze stops at the sight of Kaveh's mug–he pours what's left of his creation while adding a tiny bit of milk and sugar.

He makes his way back to the living area, Kaveh still basking in the coziness of both his coat and the leather couch. He rests both mugs atop the wooden table, finding his seat amongst the surrounding chairs, allowing himself to bask in a good book as though waiting for time to run its course.

Alhaitham stares at the clock once more. Three hours before their designated departure–Kaveh still insists on his sleep, their luggage far from sorted, their reservations barely organized.

He only reaches for his cup of coffee, taking a sip while allowing his thoughts to reign free. He basks in the chaos, his mind wandering endlessly, only to settle on the reflections of their memories etching patterns in the sculpture of their lives. Or perhaps, more accurately, one might find each memoir piling one after another–a book rewritten through a hundred drafts, or a piece that suffers through a thousand erasures, later to boast of its refined state and seeing its entire state of being as its own pride.

Language makes for wonderous observations. Though his understanding of his field is not as colorful compared to others in Haravatat–perhaps the lack of it serves better purpose in terms of effective communication, ridding of barriers present in convoluted speech–he does not yet understand why, but all logic in his brain throws itself off-course over the topic of memories and flashbacks.

The purpose of language in the academe is simple–to communicate information as fast and as reliably as possible. This act has been observed for thousands of years, each practice observed by Sumeru's scholars to understand meanings and motivations from those whose “present” has already eroded, and even from the symbols and nuances still available to this day.

But in one's mind, language transcends most barriers–the only language Alhaitham cannot yet comprehend are the symbols that comprise his heart, most especially from emotions he cannot yet predict. He'd attempt to reach for invariability in his conclusions, reach a point of wisdom ridding of all doubts…

… but if it were not for the symbol of promise looped around his ring finger, he'd have no hope to understand the puzzles that lock his own heart.

Symbols decorate the canvas of their shared life. Its base is painted over a thousand times, colors muddying the palette through the pitfalls of their hopes and dreams, the void also saturating moments they mutually cherish the most, drenched in a nullifying color of the brightest shades. It is loud, over-encompassing, a noise that pierces through his headphones and his thickened eardrums–the path they take is overwhelming, so much in fact that he has learned… the use of metaphors…?

Language as a concept is easy to comprehend–he could briefly summarize every book pertaining to the subject through the same eyes that have fallen numb to the Akademiya's halls. 

But as the medium by which his thoughts manifest… it is perhaps the only key Kaveh has never lost.

Alhaitham snaps away from his inner consciousness. The time stares back at him: two hours and thirty minutes. Sorting through their luggage is one thing–Kaveh’s business is another, and so is rummaging through their documents to ensure their safe travels back home. He is not one to waste his time, but nor is he a figure that he trusts for his own housework…

Kaveh is exhausted. He needn't bother him any further.

He stands from his seat, his gaze briefly scanning the dusty cabin. A wooden cabinet boasting mostly of Kaveh's clothes, the drawers filled with miscellaneous papers and of Alhaitham's own stuff. Stacks of books–half brought from Sumeru, the other half from the Knights of Favonius–both he admittedly hadn't finished from cover to cover, though none he feels the need to rush himself through. A desk that has become Kaveh's makeshift workspace, a busy kitchen filled with their own cutlery (by Kaveh's insistence), a bathroom of scrambled toiletries…

Cabinets first. He wastes no time, his arms reaching for the handles of the cabinet to reveal a plethora of neatly arranged clothes. A bag hanging from one of the handles, he promptly rests it atop the cushion of their bed, later followed by a large suitcase dragged towards the wooden floor. A rather heavy trip, he'd say, judging by the amount of possessions they've both managed to bring along.

His hands meet the wool bases of their garments, shoving each piece into the tight corners of the first suitcase. Each garment secures itself in its place–not a lot to sort through, though it is barely a quarter of their stuff that needs to be packed neatly in one bag alone. Space optimization, advantageous pockets…

A metallic noise reaches his ears. More muted than a hum, but noticeable due to his barren eardrums no longer cushioned by his trademark headphones. He heeds the fact no mind, however, only funneling most of his attention towards the task in hand–not much of a cause of concern.

The noise gets louder. Comparable to a buzzing bee, but coupled with the sound of hinges switching back and forth, metal limbs initiating locomotion. He finally takes a glimpse to his side, finding–

Beep boop.

Alhaitham only blinks, later respectfully nodding at Mehrak's direction. He shifts back to his task, however, unminding of the circumstance. He could hear Mehrak proceeding on its course, its buzzing compartments fusing with the silence of their cabin, the toolbox hovering far from his direction. 

Another thirty minutes passes. Two hours before their designated departure, possibly an hour before Kaveh's commissioner might barge at their door for the absence of their trusty architect. Despite his multiple attempts to wake his sleeping husband, Kaveh refuses to budge, endorsing the comfort of the cabin's pseudo-magical couch. Not that he has much to concern himself with, however–the cabinet now finds itself barren of their belongings, all packed tightly within their bags.

Alhaitham's demeanor does not reveal the fact, but he finds himself both physically and mentally exhausted from sorting their possessions–mostly from his unending calculations of “ How to fit all of their stuff into one suitcase: The Scribe's latest case study ,” revealing that “ blond architects might have a natural efficiency towards handling belongings '' or… whatever. Even Cyno has better attempts at being funny.

He seals his accomplished bags and tucks them towards one concern of the cabin. His line of sight diverts from the cabinet, searching for another task of interest–

Beep boop.

His books are all sorted out. Kaveh's workspace is cleared of all his papers, materials, and guides. The drawers have been rummaged through, each one completely out in the open and sweeped dry. Their key lands on his hands, promptly hovered towards him by a cheery Mehrak.

Alhaitham blinks. Blinks too many times. He stares in horror, the thought of being surpassed by Kaveh's briefcase dooming him to an endless spotlight as Kaveh's new target of amusement. He looks back at the blond, still visibly asleep, much to his illogical relief–he watches Mehrak hover away from him once more, as though the device intends to play relay in terms of its sorted belongings.

The circumstances are odd, but Alhaitham does not entirely mind. Upon reaching a hand out, he receives Kaveh's architectural tools floating from Mehrak's holographic module–each piece hovers towards him one by one, the toolbox awaiting his response each time it successfully delivers its “parcel.” Despite the idiosyncrasy, he obliges anyway–he retrieves each object and arranges each piece within their suitcases, careful not to break or bend any of their belongings.

That said, Alhaitham is not one prone to anger… or so he thought.

Every few seconds, he'd bask in the pretense of their success at sorting their luggage. But, minutes later, he'd find another of their belongings lounging atop the most common places, also finding some buried underneath their bed frame. Today would also be the first time he witnessed Mehrak triggering its “agitated” expression outside the context of combat… even a toolbox can share the struggle, huh.

All his hesitation to wake Kaveh from his slumber finds itself already bygone. Despite his seemingly unbothered appearance, his mind warps through his own voice constantly berating himself for the illogicality of his struggle–he exhales deeply, surrendering against a pitiful war much worse than Madam Faruzan's 100 years worth of puzzles.

Mehrak lazily hovers close, plopping its final batch of belongings atop a nearby table. Alhaitham attempts to divert his gaze (not his stuff, so not his business)... despite himself, his eyes fail to miss the stack of paper lounging from the desk. A collection of documents pertaining to Kaveh's commission, this day marking the last of its requests, agreed upon and signed by both parties–its contents are nothing new, still the same form he had validated from the Favonius headquarters during the first day of their stay.

Kaveh's commission… ridding the request of any suspicion…

His concern is not subtle in the slightest–from Kaveh instantly questioning his motivations for his short visit to the Knights of Favonius, a mailbox filled to the brim with letters from their friends back in Sumeru, and even the Akademiya could read the dissonance (according to their not-so-obvious chatter regarding his “unusual” filing for leave; amateur scholars insist on their incapacity to mind their own business, huh.)

The details are simple, both verified by Kaveh's copy of the contract and information kept within the Knights’ database: the commission concerns an old couple's request for the construction of a small rural cottage. Records of the couple indicate their large sums of wealth, though their histories provide evidence in their consistency for the last sixty years (no chance of acquisition of mora from dubious means, the claim further backed by the Knights’ anecdotes).

The same couple sponsored the entirety of Kaveh’s expenses–each passing day grants him a specified allowance. His commission fees remained untouched (no less!)–his salary even succeeded what's printed in their agreement–and not once did he overhear Kaveh complain over the commissioner's requests, nor did his drafts reach more than five iterations (which, according to Kaveh, was his usual minimum).

… suspicion . Nothing but suspicion writes itself within the contract’s pages. The contrary of what Kaveh expects of him, but precaution most often precedes preference.

The commission is assigned to none other than the Light of Kshahrewar, one of the most renowned architects in Sumeru. Point is, Kaveh is a high-profile candidate for a very meticulous project, one that might be handcrafted on purpose to put him at risk, especially outside the borders of their home.

Kaveh's safety was his utmost motivation in accompanying him for his trip. However, despite himself, Alhaitham refuses to phrase it in such a manner… in fear of invalidating the memories they made during their stay in Mondstadt. In Kaveh’s words, taking a trip together, exploring outside of Sumeru… makes it hardly a waste of their time. All he needs to confirm is for both of them to depart Mondstadt aliv–

“You’re concerned again?”

Alhaitham diverts his gaze once more, seeing Kaveh having already woken from the couch. He attempts to rid his blond hair of its chaos, resting his red hairclips atop the wooden table, his eyes briefly scanning the now-emptied room. 

Kaveh nods. “Impressive. Thank you, Haiyi. Thank you, Mehrak.”

A cheeky grin escapes his lips–Alhaitham is sure he has noticed the chaotic jigsaw puzzle most would refer to as their luggage . Despite this, he sees Mehrak shoot a prideful “smile” towards its owner, hovering close towards the sleepy architect, initiating its holographic module once more to carefully balance a cup of coffee towards the pacing Kaveh.

Their morning coffee had slipped through his mind, too–unlikely as it may seem, Alhaitham thanks Mehrak for its sincerity. His cup rests between his fingers once more, the heat already dissipated from its base. “The coffee has gone cold. You extended your slumber for about two and a half hours.”

Kaveh retrieves his mug, his expression still acknowledging the claim. “Thanks for your patience, then. And your coat. Perhaps you can make it less comfortable so I don't have to sleep too much again.”

Musing to himself once more, it seems. “Your compliments are just as bad as mine.”

“At least you know it's a compliment. Yours keeps me guessing if you're mocking or praising me.”

Having already emptied his cup of coffee, Alhaitham rests the mug back atop the wooden table, later crossing his arms at the thought of Kaveh’s remark. His eyes slightly narrow, a hint of comedic contempt evident in his stare, only to retort: “Either way, I care for you all the same.”

Kaveh scoffs, a smirk brewing from the edge of his lips. His gaze travels past Alhaitham’s figure, priding of his ability to read his mind. “Seeing you stare at that pile of documents is just enough proof, thank you.”

Alhaitham raises an arm, his hand matching the height of his ears. “Great. I appreciate your awareness.”

Both shrug at the other's absurdity, their motivations both clear and muddy against each other's reflections. Not that it’s a thought of utmost priority–much is to be accomplished for the time they have left within the borders of Mondstadt, most especially the last of Kaveh's concerns: time trails by to catch to his pace, warning him against his downtime.

A subtle sip of coffee. “And how much time do we have left?”

“An hour and a half before noon.”

Panic reveals itself through Kaveh’s expression, though he is quick to dismiss the act. He returns a hesitant gaze against Alhaitham, only for him to retort with an expected reassurance–only speaking through stares, but its message received in its entirety, just as it has been ever since.

“The commissioner expects me in thirty minutes. That’s not a lot of time…” Kaveh discusses to himself, “since we're both heading on our way, I suppose I can let you meet them too.”

An… astute response. “Unless you plan to leave me in Mondstadt, I'll be glad to oblige.”

Kaveh attempts on a reply, only for his breath to be cut short. He tries once more, only to pace away then walk back forth. Flawless, Alhaitham thinks. “That's not what I tried to say, you know it.”

A nod. “I know. Go, the clock is ticking.”

Alhaitham watches him roll his eyes, later to witness his attempts to rummage through their clothing. Picking up both of their emptied mugs, Alhaitham departs from his seat, quick to muster a glance towards Mehrak's direction, finding no shame in thanking a toolbox for its efforts. 

The cabin rewards them with a long-overdue productive silence–thus, they finally find progress.

~•🌱•~

An hour before noon. Upon notice, Kaveh worries not of the time, distracting himself with everybody's gifts (as if their luggage hasn't already been in the most chaotic state one could muster). Too much to enumerate, but Alhaitham insists on an attempt:

One such gift hails from the “Spark Knight”: a hand-made keychain in the shape of a figure known as “Dodoco,” one painted red and the other green, both appropriately matching in design. Another wraps itself in gentle wool sheets: an astonishing assortment of Mondstadtian flowers, arranged gleefully by Flora herself. Kaeya and Childe shower them in souvenirs, from miniature wood carvings crafted in the image of Mondstadt's landmarks, to numerous books and guides granted lease from Miss Lisa.

Needless to say, their luggage has exceeded its expected capacity. Barely a few meters away from the city's bridge, he finds Kaveh already struggling to keep his own balance, the soil tempting his body to succumb to its comfort.

Alhaitham attempts to entertain him with his words. It succeeds for a bit, only to crumble halfway through their trip–perhaps Kaveh could no longer fabricate his sense of comfort. As their silhouettes momentarily pass through Windrise, they halt under the Symbol of Mondstadt's Hero, the architect mumbling aimlessly with regards to the lush fields kept within their view.

The wind whistles, time flows. About ten minutes before noon, both find themselves treading through their path once more, awaiting the sight of their destination emerging from the horizon.

An anti-climactic arrival. Not much has changed from their environment, though Kaveh insists that the ground that meets their feet is the proposed site of the project. He watches him summon Mehrak once more, overlaying its final draft over the empty field, the blueprint seamlessly interlocking within the area's dimensions. Albeit unexpected, Alhaitham finds comfort at being proven wrong.

Odd; the commissioners are nowhere near their sights. Running out of better ideas, they decide to patiently anticipate their arrival. Basking in little to no shade, the noontime sun shines brightly overhead, with Kaveh stuck in a loop of off-handedly mentioning how the heat intends to “roast” his face.

It is silent, nothing but the voice of the wind echoing through their ears. A second feels sluggish than ever before, the tension of a minute swallowing them whole.

… the clock strikes exactly noon. An hour past their agreed upon reservations, no sign of the commissioner within view. Alhaitham hears the sound of the soles of Kaveh's feet repeatedly hitting the ground, his lips slightly quavering, with Mehrak frantically switching from draft to draft, its holographic module blinking endlessly at Kaveh's command.

Alhaitham delivers another round of passive reassurance, hands interlocked while waiting for a figure to appear from afar. Kaveh only keeps his gaze towards the ground, still requesting Mehrak to switch through blueprints even if his eyes miss every piece.

… just as hope attempts to drain from their cores, a figure emerges from the distance. He lightly taps Kaveh's shoulder, his gaze fixated on the silhouette approaching their direction.

Kaveh stares back, though his eyebrows instead furrow. Upon inspection, both notice that the stranger does not, in fact, resemble his commissioner–perhaps too young for Kaveh's descriptions. However, the approaching woman does not stray from her path, her pace even quickening at the sight of the “familiar” architect, the sound of a clinking pouch and the folding of paper emitting from her panicked figure.

The stranger stops afront from where they stood, huffing from her short chase. She stammers, eyes drooping and hair messily forced into a bun, desperation evident in her steps. Bowing over and over, brimming in unexpected apologies, she speaks: 

“Ah… Mister Kaveh, correct…?”

Alhaitham looks back at him, anticipating his response. Kaveh is the one to return a blank stare instead, clueless of the woman’s motivations. The blond blinks. “How may I help you?”

“I came here on behalf of my parents, your commissioners.” Her lips curl into a frown, making multiple attempts to catch her breath. However, judging by Kaveh’s gaze, the woman appears to suppress herself, unable to phrase her circumstances. A demeanor echoing of regret and loneliness, that Alhaitham–and anyone, as a matter of fact–could notice. “I apologize. I really do.”

Kaveh lets go of his hand, raising an arm in inquiry. “... are you alright, miss?”

The woman insists on her silence, though her hands rummage through her pockets, another round of desperation leaking through her expressions. She shivers amidst the dry sun, her skin drained of both color and energy– alas , she finds the stamina to proceed through her search.

A defeated sigh, an envelope, and a bag of mora. All of which is passed towards Kaveh, leaving a bewildered architect searching for motivations behind her behavior.

“I–I’m sorry, what–?”

The woman frantically shakes her head. She breathes heavily, her words too fast for their ears: “Thank you for your service and your time. I'm so sorry we've bothered you all the way from Sumeru. I–I promise, that's not the last of our attempts to repay you for your efforts…”

“Wait, slow down,” Kaveh insists, waving his hands amidst the anxious woman in an attempt to calm her down. “What are you implying, miss? Are you okay?”

The woman falls silent once more. Her hands wipe through her eyes, once again suppressing what's left of her mind. Her hesitation gets worse, her arms wrapped tighter around herself, enforcing the last of her sanity. “M–May the winds guide them in their journey to a faraway land. I'm sorry they had to leave this way. They loved your work, truly. I–it's too much to take in…”

Despite only listening in to the conversation, Alhaitham adversely reacts to her response.

Her choice of words. Her overanxious nature. A matter that concerns Kaveh's commissioner, the only person to ever retreat to the site being their daughter. Her lonesome sighs and numerous attempts to wipe tears from her face. A desperate attempt to repay Kaveh for his efforts.

Kaveh walks forward, reluctant in his words. “They…”

“... passed away.”

The woman chokes in her speech, further backing away from where they stood. She faces the other direction, visibly begging herself to deviate from a thought endlessly plaguing her mind. Her breathing slows, however, but her gaze does not retire from the soil–a demeanor full of apologies but also of gratitude, a sight way past his expectations from hearing of Kaveh's commission.

She leaves in a rush. Kaveh further extends his arm out, eyes furrowed while calling for her return, his feet tempting him to chase after her–Alhaitham stops him before his thoughts could take over.

The scribe's initial suspicion wears off, though equally replaced by a rather peculiar void. His expectations both warranted and deviating from the project's results, but either assures him of Kaveh's safety–succeeding from defending him against literal manifestations of trouble, though unguarded against the hole it slices through his heart…

Kaveh is one to fall into silence this time. He sees him examine the letter, its content barely visible from his perspective. The clinking of mora within the pouch only tosses him into exasperation, a dose of empathy only driving him towards an undeserving guilt…

A second away from inquiring about the letter, only interrupted by Kaveh's panic encouraging his intuition to flee. Alhaitham takes no time to react, only halted by the weight of their belongings.

His figure almost fades amidst the tall grass, tailed by a concerned Scribe and a hovering toolbox.

~•🌱•~

Mondstadt's distances are not as tedious as Sumeru's–the land of freedom's unbounded expanse of grassy plains hardly compares to the limitless depths of the desert. A brisk walk from Windrise to the sharpest edge of Starsnatch Cliff–a trip barely taking ten minutes of one's time, given his physique–leaves him unlikely to falter despite the tilted plane.

… that is, if one were to not take into account the load that tempts to rip his shoulders apart–a consolidation of his and Kaveh's belongings, considering the blond had already ran past by himself–and the soles of his feet hardly latching on against the moist ground.

Coupled by the sun's melting heat, but a thunderstorm brewing from afar–the warmth piercing through his skin but the air damp and chilly–a flavorful mix of temperatures threatens him towards a dispirited cold. 

But, he insists, his demeanor needs no mention–for who knows what motivates Kaveh to witness the astonishing view from Starsnatch Cliff once more. The letter his husband keeps in his hands evades Alhaitham's sight, though the expression Kaveh maintains is enough to convince him of the strings it tugs from his heart. He watches him settle across the edge, a little further from his usual stop, his figure meeting stone and soil combined.

Alhaitham takes his seat close by. He rests their luggage to his side, careful not to allow each compartment to effortlessly slide along the slope of the mountain. Finally, Kaveh grants him a better view of the letter, his arms tapping the envelope against his palm.

He keeps a steady rhythm, a sense of anticipation present in his silhouette despite the deafening silence. The letter hardly budges, its appearance insisting on its emptiness, its sound too mellow for their ears–

… a seed drops from its corners. Another droops past his palms. A parade of dandelion seeds pour into his hands, little in count though overflowing in its memories and faded anecdotes. Preserved as though ripely picked from its roots, an airy breath observable from the seeds’ appearance, freshly relayed from its sender as the last of its goodbyes…

Alhaitham only listens in. The purpose of the seeds is none of his business–although such a fact might apply likewise for Kaveh, too. The request lies beyond the scope of the commission–but with no commissioner to refer to, the rule rids itself of its validity, their act only but an ode out of respect.

The seeds empty themselves from the container. A brief pause occurs before a piece of parchment finally unveils itself, untucked from the now-barren envelope, traces of blank ink in formal penmanship bleeding from its back page. Perhaps they've both assumed wrong–it is hardly a letter of farewells, but rather of… plea…?

“Kind architect, to whom I owe my home,” Kaveh reads, choking in his words, almost dropping the rest of the seeds from his hands in the midst of skimming through the letter, “you sketch the layers of our souls in a manner that others can comprehend… you paint a picture of our lives… much time has passed, but we have you to thank for making our dreams come true…”

Kaveh's gaze directs itself to the skies, seemingly bothered by his incapacity to pace through the message without adversely reacting. His eyebrows furrow, though with Alhaitham shifting slightly in his seat, he looks back as though instantly ridding himself of his melancholy.

He stifles a laugh. “Don't get me wrong, I'm taking this seriously.”

Doubt reveals itself through his expressions, Alhaitham noticing it most from the tone of his voice. Kaveh must be berating himself of his hesitation, a response illogical according to his objective mind…

“That fact was quite obvious, Kaveh.”

He attempts to console him against his skepticism. Though he hardly believes his attempts would inspire any change, better an attempt than leaving them both in the dark. A response well-accepted by the other, if it were a valid observation based on Kaveh's smile, the thundering skies almost fading against the flickering glow of the blond's disposition.

Following his own smile, Kaveh nods, his face now darted towards Alhaitham’s direction. The lonesome depths of their circumstances entirely withers away, with none other but themselves looking back towards the horizon, their problems momentarily bygone. “Thank you for following me here.”

He’d warn him of the ignorance, though the issue is of a kind that cannot be readily changed. Instead, he settles on another thought: Alhaitham lets out a sigh, puzzled by the implications of Kaveh's response. 

A stare digging deep into Kaveh’s eyes. “Why wouldn't I?”

Kaveh's smile grows wider. Relief spreads through Alhaitham’s expression, almost unreadable but, of course, hardly evading his husband's senses. The wind picks up from within the scene, the skies erupting with fog and dust, though both make no effort to depart from their woes. 

“Thank you, again.” Kaveh sighs, his gaze once more making its attempts to read through the peculiar letter. However, his hands shake amidst the cold. “I… I don't think I can…”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “Give it some time.”

“No, I want to know. It's just that…”

An unrivaled insistence, a fruitful bounty from the depths of Kaveh’s empathetic reflections. The piece of his soul he constantly needs to remind him of, a piece that everyone else is quick to use to their advantage. Finding guilt and fault despite the least of his involvement… an admirable conscience, but one that leads him through the thinnest tightrope.

Kaveh is not one to back down from his words, however. Knowing this, Alhaitham offers a hand, its direction pointing towards the letter caved within his gentle hands. Just as anticipated, the blond surrenders the sheet, its corners crumpled and letters fading from his grip.

Alhaitham briefly scans the page, his sight enough to reveal his intrigue, his analytical mind scouring through an endless string of cursive letters. “Understood. If you insist.”

The letter is largely figurative, its choice of words relatively unorthodox compared to common Teyvat language–still decipherable, but too heavy on metaphors, a detriment against communicating its intended message. Alas, both can still analyze what's meant through the words, hidden treasure buried in-between strokes of black ink trailing off in a perceived rush.

He clears his throat, having already perceived most of what's written. His hands position the sheet tightly in his hands, insisting on its stability despite the catching winds. A momentary skim through the first sentence, followed by a sigh, thus does his voice echo through the void:

“I hope this letter still finds you well, even if we can no longer traverse through this world.”

Kaveh flinches at the statement. He looks back at him, only for Kaveh to shrug and motion him to continue. Alhaitham nods, eyes darted back at the page:

“You sketch the layers of our souls in a way others can comprehend, your skills might even outlast what's left of the strings of time. We apologize for having to depart in this manner, nor to request you of a project that has always been doomed to fail–likewise, we thank you for fulfilling our requests, so much so that we've assumed you are deserving of this letter making its way to you.”

The piece is lengthy, bordering on the commissioners’ history and what they had hoped to achieve during their stay in Mondstadt. Well past the scope of the commission, perhaps too much information willingly divulged–but, knowing Kaveh, that much must be the usual.

Seconds pass. His gaze finally meets the end of the letter, pausing at the sight of its final metaphor. Alhaitham's eyes twitch in exasperation–it is but the only line that offers a hint of relevance towards Kaveh's state…

Kaveh anticipates the response, noticing his abrupt pause. Alhaitham stares back at him, burying the letter right back into his arms–following a sigh, he continues:

“.. thank you. We hope you find the time to sketch the pages of your canvas, too.”

Silence. A most deafening silence.

Both had hardly moved since Alhaitham’s attempts to read through the letter–still, their present circumstances manage to rival the tension from moments prior. The air has sunken into its lowest, as though the breeze from Dragonspine came for a visit towards the next highest peak within the region.

He lacks the power to thoroughly read his mind, but given his stance, both find themselves on the same page: the letter bids more than just its farewells. A letter dedicated not only to the architect to which the commission is assigned, but to the rest of their family and the whole of Mondstadt to reach for the skies–to find that all the roads one treads are but a canvas that muddies itself with both the brightest and muddiest colors, of both jagged and smooth sketches, an artform that perseveres through the tests of time–

Language conquers all, or so he fears. Another of his mindless ramblings, metaphors attempt to hide what lies true inside, to hope that one breaks the rules of uncertainty from masking it with words of undulating rhyme.

“There's a poem attached to the end of this letter.” Alhaitham off towards the distance this time, his tone moreso matter-of-factly. “I assume you'd want to read it yourself?”

Albeit a moment of hesitation, Kaveh nods. He reads through the letter once more, carefully picking through its words, a glaze of hope making its return to his senses. The fact still having not slipped from his mind, Kaveh presses dandelion seeds to his face, whispering just as he had done before.

He waits. To pass the time, Alhaitham indulges in an overanalysis once more… only to be shortly interrupted by a familiar gaze shooting past him. Rather quick in his task, he sees Kaveh musing to himself again, him being the subject of his amusement once more. A soft grin, a gaze that has successfully unfolded the context of his past plans…

Alhaitham returns a puzzled expression; this only encourages Kaveh’s cheeky smile. Not that it matters–all of his findings are for Kaveh to keep.

“Did you accompany me just to protect me? The whole trip, I mean.”

A blink. And two. “Initially.”

In playful joy, Kaveh rolls his eyes, though his accompanying laughter insists of this result lying within his expectations. His stare persists, and still does Alhaitham not look back, but the notion makes it clear: the trip had definitely been worth the trouble.

“Not that it matters anymore.” He keeps an assertive tone, but careful not to blur his intentions. “Figuratively, abiding by the context of the letter... I'm here to pick up the brushes you've lent to me.”

The whole of their trip bottles down to this very moment, to witness their sketches within a canvas be a worthy conclusion despite the dawn of bad luck catching up to their pace. An exchange of senses from one life to another, to still witness a glimmer of light despite loss–to find each other again, wiping through their thickened pages; to overlay a better tomorrow.

A soft chuckle. Dandelion seeds surrendering themselves to the winds.

“Then… let me rephrase this poem for you.”

~•🌱🏛️•~

[The wind whistles, waters flow, birds flock to the skies above…]

[A muddy rhythm, a quiet heartbeat… and a whisper…]

A ticking clock buried in a prism

Piece by piece, our journey refracts

Our tales, memories–a foggy draft

The clock that of which is our shared craft

 

Our chosen vessel is that of the breeze

Winding mountains and gentle streams

Strangers scaling a foreign land

But a prism to make meaning of all we had

 

Yet he laughs to himself

Wondering if it really mattered

He smiles yet again and thinks:

 

From the plains of Sumeru to the winds of Mondstadt… 

where we are must not matter, for home is a place where I am with you.

fin.