Chapter Text
When there’s a knock on his door early in the morning, Alhaitham catches himself hoping that it’s Kaveh. The other has been gone for too long for his comfort. Kaveh did mention it being a big project in a difficult terrain but, still, it’s almost a full month and Alhaitham is starting to get restless about it. So, when there’s a knock on his door so early in the morning, Alhaitham jumps to a (premature and illogical) conclusion that it’s Kaveh.
“Haitham,” Cyno, who is most definitely not Kaveh, greets Alhaitham instead.
Disappointment washes over Alhaitham’s body, making his shoulders sag a bit. “Cyno,” he greets back.
“So you’re alive,” Cyno says, sounding slightly too harsh. “I believe you can take the day off and head to Gandharva Ville with me?”
Alhaitham notices that Cyno is standing a bit too straight and staring at him a bit too aggressively. It is as if Alhaitham is committing a crime right in front of the General Mahamatra. Cannot comprehend what’s happening, Alhaitham asks, “What for?”
It’s the wrong question, apparently, because Cyno is looking even more pissed at Alhaitham. “I want to believe that you’re not this heartless, Alhaitham, and you’re making it hard. Your housemate is rotting away and you don’t have even a consideration to visit?”
Alhaitham pales. His housemate is what?
“Tighnari got the physical injury covered but the bigger hit he has taken is not physical. He’s barely eating, barely talking, barely living.”
“Injury— What injury, Cyno?” Alhaitham demands, feeling his stomach churn.
Cyno stared at Alhaitham, studying his eyes, his face, his expression. After a few seconds, his shoulders drop and he closes his eyes. Realization and desperation flood his entire composure. “He hasn’t really been talking with you, has he?”
“No. What injury, Cyno?” Alhaitham asks again with more urge.
“A broken arm and several broken fingers. He said he talked to you. Gods, we were under the impression that you guys were corresponding every day and wondered what on earth held you up from visiting.”
Alhaitham feels sick. He closes the door behind him, locks it, and hits the road. “Let’s go.”
At Gandharva Ville, Cyno makes it clear that they need to see Tighnari first before Alhaitham can check on Kaveh. Tighnari looks agitated upon seeing Alhaitham, but Cyno is quick to update him on the latest fact that he has.
“That man, really,” Tighnari sighs. Then, he fully focuses on Alhaitham, “Okay, first, the injuries are under control. I think it will heal enough in two or three weeks. If he rests well, eats well, and cares for the wound as I told him, he should be home already. He’s just… refusing to do any of it well enough at the moment, as well as refusing all kinds of help being offered.”
Alhaitham nods. The first part sounds good and the second part sounds like Kaveh. He braces for the next thing Tighnari is about to say.
“However,” Tighnari continues, “His motor skills might be forever impacted. He’ll have difficulties doing some things and need to relearn it. With exercise, it will slowly come back to him. But I can’t guarantee a full recovery. He might forever… find difficulties in holding and navigating… smaller things. Like pencils.”
Alhaitham winces internally. Kaveh not being able to hold a pencil is unimaginable before. Even now. Alhaitham nods, showing that he understands the situation. “Where’s he?”
“I’ll show you the way,” Tighnari stands up. Before he starts, he turns his head to Alhaitham once again. “He’s a mess, Haitham. He really refuses all kinds of help. If you can’t get through to him too, at least don’t break him further, okay?”
Alhaitham nods.
They find Kaveh outside of his hut, sitting on a tree branch, feet dangling in the air, eyes staring at nothing. He’s pale and thinner than Alhaitham remembers. His hair is a mess and missing the red hairpins. His right arm is propped and secured close to his heart.
Alhaitham’s chest tightened.
Tighnari quietly retreats. Cyno pats Alhaitham’s shoulder once and follows Tighnari closely. The next thing he knows, Alhaitham is left alone with Kaveh.
Alhaitham slowly approaches Kaveh so as to not startle the man. When he’s close enough, he grabs Kaveh’s shoulder securely and softly says, “It’s me.”
Kaveh, as predicted, jolts in surprise. Alhaitham’s hold prevents him from toppling from the branch down to the ground. Kaveh stares at Alhaitham for a second, then looks and scoots away, forcing Alhaitham to release his hold. Quietly, he says, “I tried my best to prevent them from bothering you too, you know.”
“’m not bothered,” Alhaitham says, settling right next to Kaveh. He’s about to say that he believes both Cyno and Tighnari are not bothered too, but he keeps it for another time. He mulls over what to say, then decides that the simplest one might be best, “How are you?”
Kaveh scoffs. “I’m marvelous,” he says, rather sarcastically. He looks down, then, a ghost of regret and embarrassment on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be that harsh. But, really, I’m… okay.”
Alhaitham knows it’s a lie. Kaveh is everything but okay. Physically, the deliberate neglect seems to affect Kaveh more than the injuries itself. Mentally, Alhaitham doesn’t even want to imagine how the prospect of not going to be able to hold a pencil again might affect Kaveh. He wonders when the last time Kaveh ate and if he had taken his medicine already, but he knows nagging wouldn’t get him anywhere. Rather, he drives to another topic. “I burnt your pot,” he says, looking at the sky ahead, the same way as Kaveh.
Kaveh looks at Alhaitham. Incredulous. Then, he scoffs again, with a brighter tone this time. “So you’re here to confess your sin? Anyway, that’s your pot.”
Alhaitham shrugs. It is Kaveh’s in his mind; the one Kaveh uses to brew his herbs and flowers to make tea. “I couldn’t find my pot,” he says, referring to the one he defaults to because the other one is decidedly Kaveh’s.
“Have you checked the back of the top cupboard?” Kaveh says, mentally scanning their kitchen in his head.
“That’s not where pots are supposed to be,” Alhaitham states. He notes that Kaveh has started to sway his feet at a slow, comfortable rhythm, and so he joins in.
“It is,” Kaveh says. “Ever since you bought that hideous new set of coffee cups, one of the pots needs to be moved to make space. So it is where it’s supposed to be. If only you’d listen to me when I tell you things.”
Alhaitham just shrugs. “I listened,” he says because he always listens when it’s Kaveh speaking, “I guess I just don’t remember.”
“Take notes then, Scribe,” Kaveh says with a ghost of a smile on his face.
Alhaitham looks at Kaveh, taking in how the other has started to relax. In turn, he relaxes too. Always a mirror of Kaveh is what he is. “Why should I, when I can always ask you?”
“Now you should know that I am, in fact, not always gonna be around. You should really start taking those notes, Scribe.”
“It’s okay, I can always wait,” Alhaitham says, softly. I can always wait for you is what he meant and he hopes it reaches through without being let out in the open. He feels that it’s too tender, yet too heavy to be let out now, when Kaveh is vulnerable and burdened. Then, he stands up and extends his hand towards Kaveh. “Let’s go home, now? There might be some other things that happened in the house during your absence and I think the home needs you.”
What Alhaitham means is I need you and, even unspoken, it is heard by Kaveh’s heart. It soothes his fear, even when it’s not entirely. The fear of being rendered useless. The fear of being a dead weight. The fear of being unwanted.
Kaveh takes Alhaitham’s hand. They’re going home.