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You’ve always had an excellent memory. It’s requisite for a job like yours. No matter how many meetings you skip and long lunches you take, your visual and auditory acuity only improve. You are a finely tuned scribing machine.
Today, you wish you weren’t. Today, the wind is strong and you forgot to latch the door properly and it slams open the way he used to. You swing around so quickly you get lightheaded. But of course, he isn’t there.
Some sounds linger in the heart: the sizzle of oil in a hot pan as he makes himself a midnight snack, the humming of a tune you profess to hate but will be humming along to in a few days, the slam of a cupboard door followed by a whispered “Sorry!”
You hope he comes back to you someday.
He is so infuriating, you think as you stare him down.
Kaveh has just brought you his idea to accompany Judar to the desert to redo the notes he took on the runes at the Dune of Magma. His translation is all wrong, which wouldn’t be so much trouble for you to redo, except that he transcribed them wrong at multiple points in multiple different ways, too. You’ve been arguing for a while, and frustrations start to boil over.
“You’d better not.”
“What are you, the lab manager? I was telling you, not asking for permission.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Okay, Alhaitham.”
You pretend he asked why. “Travel will be difficult for you now. You’re tired and physically weak.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“I mean it. You need to sleep and recover. And Judar needs to learn to do his own work, or he’ll be useless forever.”
“Why do you even care? You’re so eager to criticize me lately; you should be happy to see me leave.”
With this final accusation, the truth slips out.
“I don’t want you to go!” you say.
This has the intended effect of stopping him in his tracks, but it also makes you sound like a petulant child. His mouth agape, he stares at you like he’s offended.
“And why not?”
Because he’s killing himself to make up for people who will never make it. Because he’s too blinded by guilt to be making decisions. Because you’ve never spent this long without him since the day you met.
You love him too much to let him go.
He doesn’t come back.
Physically, he returns a few weeks later, as scheduled. But the Kaveh who arrives in Sumeru City dusty and dehydrated is not the same Kaveh who left. His first stop is not his own house, but the research laboratory. He stands at the front entrance with his head hung until one of the first-years yells “Alhaitham, the door!” and when you open it for him and his baggage, he rolls right past you into the next room. The red dirt on the shoulder of your new robe proves that he touched you as he brushed by, but you felt nothing.
More strange things occur. The first-years joke that the lab is haunted by the ghost of dropouts past, but you know this is the work of the apparition you love, beautiful even as a spirit. He goes there in the dead of night to scribble nonsense on the chalkboard, some runes even you can’t read, and in the morning when the students arrive they find their candles melted to the wick. You drag him outside to get sun on his face, but he still grows concerningly pallid, and soon he refuses to go with you anywhere.
You love him too much to let him go, but cling as you might, he slips out of your fingers, and the tighter you grasp, the more distant he gets. The very last argument is inevitable, but you didn’t need to have it to know the ending.
You still buy his favorite wine, and this is what leads to a chance encounter at the tavern with the ghost of the man who has been haunting you since your school days. He’s face-down on the counter, either drunk-passed-out or crying or both. You clear your throat as you pull out the barstool next to him and slide onto it, and by the end of the night you become a landlord.
Does it really count if the tenant has just as much claim to the property as you do?
It’s not a question you care to answer. You acclimate to his presence; you no longer allow the dishes to soak for more than a day. It’s inconvenient in every way. You argue over shower times and living room clutter. But over the next few months, a miracle happens. Sometimes, the two of you spend a quiet evening in, reading side-by-side. You run errands together without the city imploding. You help him repair Mehrak and try not to think too hard when your hands touch, and when he’s done, he thanks you.
Just as you’re getting along better, Kaveh is called away to a mystery location by a mystery client. You worry for him, especially with the current political climate in Sumeru, but he assures you there’s nothing dangerous and leaves in a hurry. You would investigate more, but said political situation comes to a head and you don’t have the time nor energy to think of anything else. When it’s all over, before you’ve even had an opportunity to catch your breath, you hear that he’s back in the city and he finds you in the House of Daena to pick a fight that’s apparently been brewing.
That night, you find him once again curled up with a sketchbook. His tongue sticks out a little when he makes his focused face. Your little spat from earlier apparently forgotten, he looks up and waves as you approach.
“What are you working on?”
“Something a little self-indulgent.” He holds it up so you can see. “My dream design studio, if I had a dedicated space for it.”
It’s covered in stained glass from floor to ceiling. The colors would surely look magnificent in any light.
“It looks good,” you say.
“Doesn’t mean much, coming from Mr. Ugly Furniture.” But he’s amused, and he continues drawing, showing off occasionally when he adds a feature he thinks you’ll find interesting.
This is the life you fought the Akademiya for, you realize. The art you nearly got taken hostage for. Was it worth it?
Without a doubt.
From what you’ve pieced together of his angry rambles the past few days, he and the Traveler busted a scam by one of his most respected seniors. He hasn’t stopped talking about it since, and this evening is no exception.
This again, you think, a little exasperated, but the crescendo of his voice still makes you smile. He gets up from the dinner table, starts to pace back and forth.
“—Just awful, I never knew a person could be so shamelessly, grotesquely selfish, and I knew him pretty well! I guess it just goes to show…”
When he’s mad like this, he talks with his hands, waving them around and slamming his fist on his palm.
“—Really had me fooled, thinking he’d come up with a good solution to the Akademiya’s admissions problem. I mean, how many times have you heard me talk about the burden of genius, the value of ordinary hard work, when all along this guy is exploiting people’s fears after they’ve been knocked down by the academic system!”
He’s really getting worked up now. Someone with a sense of justice as strong as his is bound to be upset over things like this, but for his own sake, you wish you could help him relax, just for tonight.
“Hey! Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course.”
You look up at him with a cheeky grin, and when he goes to shove you, you tug him toward you, pulling him off balance. He falls forward, landing right in your lap, like a picture.
After a beat, he kisses you, then pulls back breathlessly, looking alarmed as his mouth falls open. But you smile, cup his face in your hands, and kiss him for as long as he’ll let you.
The longer he stays, the more you fall into old habits. Just like back then, you only meet in this liminal space between “good friends” and “everything, forever.” Except it’s more complicated than that, because some days you aren’t sure you’re friends at all. Today was one of those days; Kaveh has been ill-tempered from the moment he woke and even when he crawled into your bed.
Even in his bad mood, he lies on your chest for nightly pillow talk before going to sleep. In moments like these, you wish you could freeze time, voices soft as you murmur about your days and your plans.
The conversation drifts to the future. For whatever reason, Kaveh is too stressed to think beyond the next few weeks. When you ask what he wants, he only says to finish his current batch of commissions and ban this round of clients for good.
“That all has to do with other people. Haven’t you thought about what you want? I could take care of you,” you say plainly. “You could build that studio you designed, take on apprentices.”
He only looks at you with narrowed eyes, so you continue. “We could have children. I would retire from the Akademiya to look after them until they’re old enough to attend. You could join us for lunch between meetings.”
You have to admit you’re teasing; you don’t exactly expect him to react well to this. But you aren’t being disingenuous. What you’ve just outlined is your ideal life, so far-fetched you only allude to it in jokes, in passing.
“Alhaitham!” he exclaims.
“Yes?”
“You’re being such an ass. That’s not funny!”
You hold his gaze without smiling. He frowns and twists out of your arms, grabs his shirt from the ground and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, and leaves without another word.
It’s quieter in the house when he avoids you, but too charged with tension for you to enjoy. Finally, while you’re eating dinner one day, he approaches you.
“Haitham, can we chat?”
You’ve been waiting for him to tell you.
“I was offered a position at the Akademiya.”
You already know—you approved the offer letter. “Lecturer?”
“No, professor. Somehow they’re starting me at associate. I don’t have the experience, but…”
He doesn’t have to say it out loud. His portfolio speaks for itself. They aren’t going to make the Light of Kshahrewar jump through hoops for his own office the way they do for fresh-faced all-but-dissertation 20-somethings.
“That’s excellent. Congratulations. You’re going to be exactly what Kshahrewar needs right now.”
Kaveh doesn’t accept the praise. “There’s a woman in Spantamad who’s starting her sabbatical soon,” he says instead of thank you.
This, too, you already knew. You stamped Zinat’s leave form; she told you she was going to Inazuma to study some kind of dangerous contamination on one of the islands. But what does Kaveh have to do with her?
“I’ve arranged to rent from her.”
Now this—this takes you by surprise. “Oh” is all you manage to say.
“Her house is far away, next to the bridge out of the city. It’s going to be one hell of a commute.”
“Indeed.”
You’re at a loss for words. It’s terrible news, and you try your best to keep the shock and disappointment off your face, tamp down your instinct to protest. You want to tell him he’s making a huge mistake by being so impulsive. He should have run it by you first so you could tell him no. But he’s suffering for staying with you. Kaveh has never been good at accepting help, never wanted to owe anyone anything, least of all you. And after the fight you had about his future … maybe this is his way of wresting back control of his life.
In the end, you love him, so you let him go.
“I’m happy for you. I hope you enjoy your new job and your new house.”
“Thanks.” He smiles, but it’s small, and it doesn’t read as genuine.
You help him move out, of course. He acts like he’s allergic to packing, so you are the one to gather his belongings and do all the heavy lifting while he sits on the divan and stares at his feet glumly.
“Give me a hand with this,” you sigh.
He finally looks up and gasps. “Put that down!”
“What?” You look at the dutar in your hands. “Do you not want to bring it with you?”
“No, you’re manhandling it! Can’t you be gentler with my things?”
You roll your eyes. “He who refuses to pack forfeits the right to complain.”
“I still have a day to do it.”
“A day? For the state of your bedroom, a week wouldn’t be enough.”
Kaveh’s spirits seem to rise. You bicker all throughout packing and during moving day, too. When the last rope is untied, causing the last box to fall from the sumpter beast, he drops his key—sans lion keychain—in your cupped hand.
“I might miss you,” he jokes. You blink away tears.
The first week is the hardest. You’ve gotten so used to the benign noise of another person in your space at night that you find yourself having trouble sleeping without it. The creak of floorboards at midnight, the squeak of your old rusty taps as the water turns on, gentle snores as he finally, mercifully, goes to bed.
The worst part, though, is how busy Kaveh is as he settles into his new job. You find every excuse to pass by his office, but there’s always a line of students out the door champing at the bit to meet with him, or if not, the lights are out and the door is locked—a trick you taught him. You imagine him sitting on the floor with Mehrak, using her display as a tiny flashlight. Hiding away like this is the only way to get any real work done in the Akademiya.
Instinctively, you reach into your pocket to pull out your keys. They’re lighter than usual, as they have been every single day this month. You sigh and make the trek back to your office.
It’s another month before Kaveh comes up for air, or, more accurately, is forced to take a breather. Tighnari insists that you don’t put off the celebratory dinner any longer, so Saturday night, you are once again gathered in the tavern. There’s more than enough good wine, thanks to the General Mahamatra’s paycheck. Cyno makes you all play a round of Genius Invokation TCG before he lets you drink.
(“It’s a completely different game when you three are drunk,” he explains. “Even stone-cold sober, you’re not very good. One real round, that’s all I’m asking for.”)
You indulge him. He sweeps the floor with you. The wine starts to flow.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” Kaveh says suddenly, getting up.
“Don’t break the seal!” Tighnari calls after him.
Kaveh thoroughly ignores him, so he turns to you.
“Why did you let him leave?” he asks without preamble.
“What would you have me do, cuff him to the bedposts?”
Cyno chokes on his drink.
“That’s—cut it out! Just tell him you never wanted him to move out. If you made a declaration like that, he would leave that dusty old house in the middle of nowhere and come back to us right away.”
Before you can argue back, Cyno clears his throat, and you both look at him.
“They need this,” he says with unearned sagacity. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that. Splitting up now will have them back together much faster than if they danced around their feelings for a few more years.” He takes another sip and smiles impishly. “It’s a canon event, Tighnari. We can’t interrupt them.”
Tighnari makes the sourest face you’ve ever seen and pins his ears back. The two of you can’t help but laugh, and it’s at this moment that Kaveh returns, sliding back into his seat.
“What has you two so giggly? I always manage to miss these things,” he laments.
“We were just talking about you,” you say, and when he makes the exact same face as Tighnari, Cyno bursts into laughter again, raucous enough to make the tables next to you glance over.
“I swear,” Kaveh mutters, but the corners of his mouth quirk up.
The rest of the night is enjoyable. As you watch Tighnari and Cyno justify, excuse, and stir each other up about how much they can afford to drink with their early morning obligations, you realize your chest feels warm. You’re so relaxed, you could fall asleep, even in this noisy tavern. It’s the same contented feeling you have when you and Kaveh would lie on the divan, your head resting in his lap as he ran his hands through your hair.
Peace.
It’s peace.
You hide your satisfied smile in your wine glass.
Cyno and Tighnari file out ahead of you. You hesitate at the tavern door. The road to Kaveh’s house is long, and he is too drunk to walk it alone.
“Stay the night with me. It’s much closer.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“I insist.”
“Really, I’m okay.”
You take his shoulders and look him squarely in the eye.
“I’m asking. Please, stay the night.”
“Ugh, always so bossy. Fine, since you insist.”
The way home is familiar, and so is the smell of his sugared bulle fruit shampoo as he holds your arm. You watch him take off his shoes and carefully stack them on the shoe rack, which has gone unused since his absence (your boots are a tripping hazard at the front door).
“You can have my room,” you offer.
“Don’t be so formal.”
It takes him no time at all to offer to share your bed. You wonder if he missed you as much as you missed him, but you don’t dare to hope.
As you pass Kaveh’s old room, he stops, opens the door, and peeks in.
“It’s empty,” he says.
“Clearly.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“This room wasn’t empty when I moved in. You were using it as another office. Don’t you remember how messy it was? When I tripped over your piles of junk and broke my nose and bled all over your nice rug? I just assumed you would do something with it when I left.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, finally organize your books and make a proper library? Turn it into a den of debauchery?”
“That doesn’t sound particularly appealing.”
“Well, you shouldn’t waste all this space. You should convert it. I can help, if you want.”
“No.”
Kaveh tilts his head, deciding whether to be offended.
“I may have need of it someday,” you say.
“Of an empty room?”
He looks at you questioningly again, and then his brow unfurrows in understanding.
“Well,” he says. There is an awkward pause. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Oh, Haitham.”
You don’t hold him that night like you might have two months ago, before you let him go, but sleeping side-by-side, feeling the rise and fall of his chest in the dead of night, is enough to give you the best night of sleep you’ve had since he left.
He returns to the house after that. At first, it’s just after TCG nights, when it’s too much trouble to go all the way to Zinat’s house at the edge of the city. Then it morphs into “I have a 7 a.m. class tomorrow; can I come over?” and “It’s raining; can I come with you when my meeting is done?” Soon, you find yourself walking home together from the Akademiya nearly every day. His toothbrush makes its way back to your bathroom counter. When he left, you had to unlearn the habit of making two cups of coffee each morning. You get into the habit again.
“I don’t think it makes sense for me to keep paying rent to Zinat,” he says one night. A sliver of moonlight illuminates the hope on his face.
“You should find a subletter,” you reply.
He caresses your cheek, and you fall asleep.
You flick through the pages of your newspaper. The headlines haven’t changed much from last week, and neither has this rehashed argument.
“You know I only want two things: a laid-back job and a house near it. You’re asking me to give up one of my two pillars of life.”
Kaveh grimaces. “I know, but there are no office spaces available for rent, and zoning restrictions have gotten so complicated, I can’t think of a way to convince the board that any of the houses in the outskirts of the city could actually be commercial. At least this house used to be a research lab. It could easily be converted again. Besides…”
He gives you his most pitiable pleading face.
“This house is too small.”
“It is not. A few measly months at Zinat’s family house and you suddenly have a taste for the finer things in life? You may as well build another palace, then.”
Kaveh shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
You pause, waiting for him to explain, but the explanation never comes. When you frown at him, he blushes.
“What?” you demand.
Then you put the pieces together.
“How much more space … do you think we need?”
He lights up, eyes crinkling with an enormous smile.
“The house I’ve been looking at has four bedrooms. One of them would make a good office. How does that sound?”
Your heart swells.
“You’re not just saying that so you can get your way?”
“I would never!”
He tackles you. Your head hits the pillow with a thud—ouch, you’re too old for this—but you don’t have time to dwell on it before he’s kissing you badly, his teeth knocking against yours as laughter spills out. The sound of it fills your home.