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Hanahaki disease, as an actual, grounded in reality thing, is not unheard of in the world.
With that being said, it’s not at all common either. Cases of the illness only tend to pop up every half a century at most. Before Kaveh had spat out those first few petals of a sumeru rose, the last case had been more than 70 years ago.
The people of Teyvat were vaguely aware of it’s existence, many of them thinking it a long-since eradicated disease that they had only learned of through a folktale in the first place. Kaveh thinks that maybe he too, had learned of it through a story his mother had told him
How King Deshret had loved the Goddess of Flowers so dearly that he embraced and embodied his feelings for her. But she had never given King Deshret and answer, never confirmed or denied that she felt the same, leaving the man to assume she did not reciprocate. And years later, when the Goddess of Flowers lay dying, a new seed planted itself within the King’s lungs, they began to grow literally within his chest. Deshret had already lived and breathed his love for her, and that did not change when she died, but King Deshret was not mortal, and while a god can survive flowers blooming in his lungs, humans cannot.
Looking back on it, Kaveh thinks it was meant to be a way to teach children that communication was important, a more literal way to tell them that you cannot bundle your feelings away in you chest forever, lest you choke on them.
And so when a seven year old Kaveh lost both his father and mother on the same day, in two different ways, a seed was planted.
That first petal is something Kaveh will always remember, even though he now struggles to recall even his mother’s face.
It had been four months since his father died, and Kaveh’s home had already reverted back to a house. No longer was it filled it warmth and laughter, now it was left cold and silent. Kaveh did his best to take care of his mother, even if she spent all day staring off into space, that was okay. Kaveh knew his mom would come back eventually, because his mother still loved him, as he did her.
But on that dark night, the wind howling felt louder than ever in the absence of the recent rains. Kaveh had tucked his mother into bed, and he headed back to the darkness of his own room, longing for what used to be.
He’d felt something seize in his throat, then. Similar to the year prior, when he’d gotten the flu and spent a week hacking up snot and mucus, his parents had both taken time off work to stay home and care for him. This time however, Kaveh was alone. In the cold of his room, Kaveh’s coughing seemed far too loud, leaving him choking on something as it rose in his throat.
With a shuddering wheeze it tumbled from his mouth, and Kaveh knew instantly that it was a sumeru rose, he’d recognize that tone of purple anywhere. It was his mother’s favorite flower, and the exact shade of the more expensive bouquets his father would bring home for her. The seven year old’s brow furrowed, it took him a minute but eventually he remembered a story of the king who’s feelings grew as flowers in his lungs.
Kaveh… well quite simply, Kaveh didn’t understand.
As far as he was aware, hanahaki was a fictional thing, or at the very least something that had long-since died out. Even if it wasn’t, Kaveh was pretty sure it was supposed to be the result of romantic love. Determined to look into it later, Kaveh found his fanciest handkerchief and folded the little petal into it. First thing tomorrow morning, Kaveh would go the House of Daena and begin researching.
And to the house of Daena he went.
While only students and staff of the Akademiya are allowed to borrow books, anyone is allowed in to read them, though it is a rare thing to see non-Akademics in the library.
That is to say, as an un-enrolled child in the vastness of Teyvat’s largest library, Kaveh looked quite out of place.
Many of the staff and students stared at Kaveh as he passed them, only one of them approached him, though. She was a kind looking woman, who introduced herself as Zaha Hadi, and she appeared to be in her 60s at the youngest. Apparently she was a lecturer for the Kshahrewar, and had taught his mother often, even met his father a few times too.
When she asked in a soft tone that was tinged with a bit of fire, what Kaveh was doing here, he had looked her right in the eyes, with the most determined look he could muster and said, “I’m here to research hanahaki disease.”
Had Kaveh been older, wiser, or even just a little more observant, the way Zaha’s lips quirked down while her eyes narrowed in familiarity would have been quite obvious. But Kaveh was not. He was a seven year old boy, who’s father had died recently and who’s mother seemed to be less aware by the day. Kaveh was just a boy who was coming to believe that his mother no longer loved him, and who wanted to understand what the possibility of roses growing in his lungs meant for him.
And Zaha Hadi, a women who knew his both his father, and even more so his mother only needed a glance at Kaveh’s face to realize there would be no changing his mind. Zaha understood that part, at least, like Kaveh and his mother, there was a stubbornness within her, as there was within most Kshahrewars. And she decided right then and there, that if nobody else would care for Kaveh - if his mother was so depressed that Kaveh was left to look into Hanahaki alone - then the least she could do was be there for the small boy.
So Zaha did her best to suppress the sorrow she felt for Kaveh and instead offered the child her hand, led him through the mazes of books, then helped him pick a few that would be a good place to begin.
Kaveh’s eighth birthday came and went, he’s pretty sure that his mother forgot about it, which had left him coughing up more petals than he had been recently. That was okay though, just like he had told himself the day before, and the day before that, and the one before that, his mother would come back soon. Any day now and he’d come home to see her looking at him rather than staring at the wall. Any day now, Kaveh would tuck his mom into bed and tell her he loved her, and she’d respond with an ‘I love you too.’
The day after, Zaha Hadi had dropped by, and gave Kaveh a book on architecture. She told him it was one of her favorites, one of his mother’s favorites as well. The now eight-year-old Kaveh had hugged the book to his chest and asked Zaha if she wanted to come in.
She had agreed, and even though she was there for less than ten minutes, the fact that she took the time out of her day to come see Kaveh, give him a birthday present even, and be a familiar presence for his mom, it meant the world to Kaveh.
As the years passed ever so slowly, Kaveh did his best to care for his mother. He’d pick up odd jobs around town, or Zaha would help him find small things he could do to earn money. His mother had become nothing more than a body that watched, never responding to Kaveh, barely eating or drinking, and sleeping far too often.
Kaveh continued to tell himself that any day now, his mother would answer him with an ‘I love you too’ but he was aware that he was lying to himself now. He’d been coughing up full flowers (some of which had began to grow bloody) for nearly four years at this point.
Zaha helped the most, Kaveh thinks.
The woman had become more of a mother to him than his own mother had been in years. She’d stay with him on birthdays, and take care of him on nights when the flowers made it hard to breathe. She never asked Kaveh about removing the roses that grew in his lungs, the thorns that tore at his throat each time a flower was hacked up. Kaveh thinks she knew that it was an impossible decision. Familial hanahaki; to continue to wish for his mother’s love or to risk forgetting her entirely.
Kaveh’s 13th birthday, despite all odds, was a happy one.
He’d woken to Zaha making pancakes and they’d spent the day sifting through her old collection of books. She said he could keep any of the ones that caught his eye, in addition to the book she had gifted him that morning. They stopped for lunch part-way through and then after going through her remaining collection, she walked Kaveh through blueprints of some of the buildings she had designed and that still stood today.
The day after Kaveh’s 13th birthday was… really, very bad.
It had been the sixth birthday in a row that Kaveh’s mother had not even realized had passed. Kaveh had been taking a break after he had helped unload the cafe's newest delivery, he was standing atop the hill that overlooked the river north of Sumeru city and admiring the view when Kaveh felt his lungs clench and his throat constrict.
At first he wasn’t too panicked, he had expected it to just be another flower, but as he spat the first one out he felt another rearing it’s head. And then another, and another, and before Kaveh could really understand what was happening there was clots of blood being spat out with the flowers, much more than the usually very liquid streaks of crimson. Kaveh thought he had heard someone yelling before he collapsed, and unconsciousness met him in his fall.
When Kaveh next awoke, he had the strangest feeling that he was forgetting something.
Now usually, that wouldn’t be cause for concern. Typically, he’d brush the feeling off, confidant that he’d remember whatever he had forgotten soon.
This time however, he felt like he had forgotten something monumental. Something so inherently, intrinsically important that he felt like crying. That was when Zaha, who he hadn’t even noticed was beside him, realized he was awake. The fiery woman was now approaching her 70s yet she so quickly swept Kaveh into a hug. Tears really did spring to Kaveh’s eyes, then.
“Mamani,” Kaveh began, feeling his voice wobble, “I think I forgot something really important.”
He heard her sniffle, then she pulled back with her hands on Kaveh’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes with a sad smile. “Oh Kaveh dear, your heart is far too big.” Her own tears had began to roll down her cheeks then, and she’d pulled him back into her embrace and cradled him.
The doctor had come in some time after that, the woman had explained that while hanahaki disease was extremely rare, Kaveh’s case was the youngest anyone had seen in hundreds of years. He was told that he had a case of familial hanahaki, for his mother.
And it clicked, then, that Kaveh had forgotten his mother.
He was aware that he had to have one, after all, everybody is born somehow. But all he could really recall of her was a blurry silhouette, the quiet humming of some old lullaby he could no longer remember, and the love Kaveh’s father had for his wife.
Kaveh had turned to Zaha, then, searching for confirmation that this wasn’t just the words of a doctor, and was, in fact, true. She gave him a single, solemn nod, but Kaveh found that he didn’t really mind all that much. To be fair - how could he mourn the loss of something he did not remember?
The good news, at least, was that cases of hanahaki were so few and far between, and along with the fact there has never been record of someone having hanahaki twice, it was now something that he could put behind himself and move on from.
Faranak, the woman Kaveh had been told was his mother was moved to a care home in Fontaine shortly after. Kaveh hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, he had the feeling it would only make him sad and he knew he knew wouldn’t be able to understand why.
On Kaveh’s 14th birthday, Zaha gifted him another architecture book, as per tradition, and they spent the day filling out his application papers for the Akademiya.
He was accepted easily, and after so many years of wandering the halls with Zaha, the Akademiya quickly became his second home. (Though that was likely helped by the fact that Zaha was his first home, and she was often found within the Akademiya during the day)
Naturally, Kaveh chose Kshahrewar as his Darshan. While he had been told his mother was also a Kshahrewar graduate, and an architect as well, Kaveh had grown to love the Kshahrewar studies because of Zaha, and when he’d told her as much he’d been met with yet another of her sad smiles.
A few months after Kaveh turned 17, and now that he was well and truly settled with his place as a student, Zaha had asked Kaveh if he’d mind her going to Mondstadt for a while. Because even if it was increasingly rare for anyone to commission Zaha, she still loved to learn about architecture. Kaveh knew he would miss her, because Zaha was his mother-figure, even if the term Mamani meant grandmother, but he agreed regardless.
They wrote to each other often, Kaveh revived letters from her monthly, and the tradition of birthday books continued, even if they were delayed by mail. Zaha had decided she would be staying in Mond for the next few years, they needed help repairing and updating quite a lot of buildings in the city, and while Kaveh missed her, he knew Zaha would come back no matter how long it took, because at the end of the day, they were family.
.
Not long after Kaveh’s 18th birthday, he began to hear rumors of a new Haravatat student.
People would whisper in the halls about the audacity of a silver-haired man who would often challenge teachers, took classes from every Darshan, and would sometimes skip them as well. Kaveh hadn’t given the rumors much thought, but not a month later he had a run in with the subject of them himself.
Alhaitham, he learned was the man’s name.
He was tall, especially for someone two years Kaveh’s junior. His face was flat, lacking any surface-level emotions that Kaveh could recognize, and his voice was near monotone. But there was something about Alhaitham that Kaveh couldn’t quite pinpoint, it left his brain itching to know more.
Kaveh had been on his way down to the river north of the city. Not only was it a nice view, but slimes and whopper flowers were common there, and they were a good way for Kaveh to practice his skill with his claymore as well as refine his vision usage.
Once every two weeks, like clockwork, Kaveh would trek the path down towards the river bank, and in all his years of walking it, he had never seen another person past the start of the hill’s decline. It seemed people didn’t ever leave the city to come out here, and Kaveh found he quite liked the quiet of being alone.
Yet that day he was not alone.
Kaveh’s feet stuttered to a stop as he spotted someone, a man, by the looks of it sheathing a sword. Indignation welled up in Kaveh’s throat, because that was his spot to practice his combat skills, yet this silver-haired fool had just cleaned the area of monsters!
With what was probably a very affronted expression, Kaveh marched right up them, in a very Kshahrewar manner. The stranger had turned as he approached, and Kaveh demanded answers, “Just what do you think you are doing?” Kaveh poked a finger into the stranger’s chest, “This is my place to practice blade wielding, find your own!”
Calculating teal eyes with a rust colored ring glanced over Kaveh, before they flicked up to his face. The man’s lips parted from their sealed line, “I was not aware you were the owner of the land that belongs to the city,” he said flatly.
Eyes narrowing, Kaveh huffed, “That is not the point, I’ve been using this spot for years, and now you suddenly show up and steal it out of the blue? Just who do you think you are?”
“Alhaitham.” with that, the man passed Kaveh, their shoulders brushing as he did so and began the walk back to the city.
Kaveh had been too baffled by the man’s, or rather, Alhaitham’s audacity to even consider following him until silver hair had long since vanished around the corner up the hill.
The next time they meet, is two months later, and Kaveh is in a wonderful mood.
Kaveh had gotten the top score on a project in a class that even students three years his senior would struggle with. As he was practically skipping through the halls, he had passed Alhaitham, who was openly starting at Kaveh as he had neared. Initially, Kaveh paid him no mind, would have continued on his way past Alhaitham and back to his dorms to write to Zaha about his newly graded project.
But something gave him pause. Kaveh wasn’t sure if it was the way Alhaitham was watching him, not even attempting to hide his stare as every other person always did. Maybe it was the expression on the man’s face, something not quite neutral, but more an imitation of it.
Slowing to a stop, Kaveh tried to lessen his grin as made up his mind. He turned on his heel and stalked straight towards Alhaitham.
Now that he was paying attention, Kaveh had no problem registering how the Haravatat student’s eyes widened ever so slightly, yet the man remained rooted in place as Kaveh came to a stop before him and held out his hand.
“Hello,” Kaveh’s other hand brushed a bit of loose hair behind his ear, “I’m Kaveh. I know we got of on the wrong foot last time, but I don’t like leaving things on such sour notes.”
Alhaitham’s gaze flicked down to Kaveh’s hand briefly before back up to his expression, the teal eyes watching him had turned inquisitive, curious, “Alhaitham. Did you need something?” he did not shake Kaveh’s hand.
Kaveh’s reaction was to be offended, but he pushed that down and let his hand fall, “Nope, just wanted to stop and say hello. Have a good rest of your day, Haravatat!”
And then he continued on his way, resisting the urge to check over his shoulder. The happiness from his grade set aside for later, for when he wrote to Zaha. But for now, Kaveh wondered about Alhaitham, wondered why something about the man made Kaveh’s brain itch the way it did.
It is after that second meeting that they begin to interact more. Anytime Kaveh spots his junior (who is quite easy to find thanks to his tall height and silver hair), he makes a point to stop and say hello. Kaveh is quite sure that Alhaitham thinks he has an ulterior motive, which he may, if Kaveh’s unrelenting curiosity counts.
The House of Daena is where they have their first real sort-of-conversation, or at least something that is more then a hello and a goodbye.
Most of the tables had been filled, cram season was coming up so it wasn’t a big surprise. What was a bit of surprise though, was that the six person table Alhaitham was sitting at remained completely empty save for the student himself. When so many people were in the library, it was quite common for people to share tables with strangers, rivals, or even someone they really quite hated. Kaveh thinks it was based mostly on the fact that no matter who you are and who the person next to you is, if you’re in the Akademiya, then your grades are important to you, and sitting with a stranger, or holding a temporary truce, is more than worth the rushed learning.
Kaveh, however, saw no reason that Alhaitham should get a table to himself, when many people were already sitting on the floor. So, being the stubborn man that he is, Kaveh took a seat right across from Alhaitham and pulled out his own research material and got to work.
Alhaitham’s eyes burned into his forehead, but Kaveh refused to look up and meet his gaze. If Alhaitham had a problem, he could voice it.
A solid four minutes and 12 seconds after Kaveh sat down (not that he was counting), his fellow table mate cleared his throat.
Kaveh glanced up, only half paying attention as Alhaitham spoke. “What,” the man began in the flattest voice Kaveh had heard yet, “Are you doing?”
His response came in the form of a noncommittal hum and a shrug. Kaveh set his pencil down then, and focused on his junior in front of him, “I’m studying, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“But you-” Alhaitham’s mouth shut, then opened, then shut again, “Why this table?” Kaveh swore he could almost hear the up tilt of a question, rather than just the flatness of a statement.
His head dropped back to his papers and Kaveh picked his pencil back up as he replied, “There were plenty of free seats here, so I took one.”
It caught him off guard when he threw a curious look up toward Alhaitham, who sat there silently watching him, seeing the Haravatat student with that slight furrow in his brow, a subtly questioning gaze, the downward quirk of his lips. Kaveh had to quickly stifle a laugh, it came out as a slight cough. As the first proper emotion Kaveh had seen on his junior’s face (Kaveh would treasure it in the future), but it currently looked so foreign, to see confusion in those teal eyes - well, Kaveh could keep his giddy smile to himself.
.
Some nights, when Kaveh is overwhelmed by the chaos of the Akademiya, bothered by the bustle of the city streets, or even just too tired to force himself to be social, he will make the trek down to the rivers north of the city.
Kaveh understands why all those years ago, the sumeru roses chose this place to bloom.
It is a peaceful place, the calm kind of quiet that is hard to find almost anywhere. Monsters don’t ever seem to be here anymore, Kaveh thinks that between both him and Alhaitham, they’ve learned the only thing that will await them here is death.
So when his mind too loud, or people become to much, Kaveh spends the nights he can’t sleep sitting on the bank of the river, sketching the lunar lotuses.
Beautiful little things like this, Kaveh thinks, are small parts of what makes life worth living. That night, Kaveh spends his hours by the river using his charcoals to sketch out fever dreams of giant lunar lotuses, umbrellas made of petals, and in one self-deprecating instance, a poor victim of hanahaki. Some non-corporeal body floating in ethereal waters, with a lunar lotus blooming from their mouth and obscuring the face of the now-dead soul.
Time blurs past and Kaveh nearly forgets to write his monthly letter to Zaha for three months in a row. He thinks he may be getting a bit lonely, but that was okay, Kaveh knew he could handle it. Zaha loved him and he loved her, and that was enough.
Kaveh is just happy that this time he is not lying to himself when he says that his family loves him back. That at the very least, he knew for a fact that Zaha really did love him.
Without even noticing it, though, Alhaitham begins to fill in the cracks that form in Kaveh’s life. Kaveh thinks they might even be friends now, and it leaves a strange sort of happiness bubbling up in his chest.
People have always liked Kaveh, but he thinks it’s always been in the way that someone likes seeing a casual acquaintance smile at them from over a crowd. Nobody besides Zaha truly knows Kaveh, not in any way that is meaningful. And that seems to be changing.
Kaveh has always had a reputation. He is one of the best students currently studying in Kshahrewar, he is known for taking classes that should be many years too advanced for him, and beating out his senior’s scores. Kaveh is known as the kind but quiet man who will do his best to point you in the right direction, yet try his hardest to keep to himself. He’s yet to graduate and Kaveh has already revolutionized parts of the architecture industry altogether, he is no stranger to hearing people whisper about him as he walks through the halls. But now that he’s getting closer to Alhaitham, people have began to whisper their names together.
The genius of Haravatat and the brightest of the Kshahrewar.
Alhaitham is just as aware as Kaveh is that their dynamic baffles everyone around them. Though they are not particularly close yet, they have reached a stage where they often walk together, quietly debating amongst one another. Kaveh thinks it’s most confusing for onlookers because Kaveh and Alhaitham have never once properly agreed on anything. They have such opposing view points of the world, such different ideals, that they can’t help but clash.
Alhaitham is known for his quiet demeanor, his tendency to correct teachers and skip classes that he will learn nothing from, he is known to not bother talking to people, often finding socializing a waste of time.
Kaveh is known for his kindness and helpfulness, and how it contrasts his refusal to become close to anybody. Spend too much time around Kaveh and he will inevitably begin to avoid you.
Not only do Kaveh and Alhaitham’s ideals, personalities, and goals contradict each other, they have also become the sole exceptions to one another’s rules.
And yet-
Alhaitham will go out of his way to socialize with Kaveh, he will speak more often and attend any classes he has in common with Kaveh, regardless of if he thinks it will teach him anything.
Kaveh will be stubborn and snark him - a new dimension of his personality that exists only with Alhaitham. He actively seeks out his silver haired junior, and has gone out of his way to spend time with Alhaitham, which is quite the opposite of avoiding him after spending so much time together.
While Kaveh does not know how Alhaitham feels about all the gossip, Kaveh has never been able to ignore his too-loud thoughts this well in years. So he pays no mind to the whispers that follow him when Alhaitham is by his side.
Whether it’s them studying in the House of Daena, focusing on completely different things yet still somehow managing to bicker as they work. Or in the food hall, forcing each other to eat and ensuring they don’t neglect their self-care. Even just the bumping of elbows in shared classed as they write their notes.
Kaveh can’t remember the last time he felt this happy.
But happiness is fleeting, as all emotions are. And even though it’s been months since Kaveh last had a bout of insomnia this bad, he finds he does not mind.
He does mind, however, being left alone with his thoughts as he makes the forever familiar trek down to the north river in the moonlight.
He wishes Alhaitham were here.
And with that thought, Kaveh can no longer get his mind off of Alhaitham. For as long as Kaveh has considered Alhaitham his friend, he is still unsure if Alhaitham would ever call Kaveh as such. Tonight, what Kaveh blocks out in rough greys of well-loved charcoal is Alhaitham.
Every angle of his junior’s face - every little micro expression Kaveh has come to learn to read from his friend is drawn out with loving care. Right in the middle of Kaveh’s small spread, surrounded by all the emotions of Alhaitham is a larger, more stoic Alhaitham. The drawing looks out at Kaveh with his near expressionless face, save for the slight curiosity in the man’s eyes. Kaveh hesitates, but as he looks up at all of the night-blooming flowers before him, he adds one final touch, a beautiful blossom of a lunar lotus, floating in bloom just above Alhaitham’s head.
For whatever reason, Kaveh can’t seem to get his mind off the lunar lotuses lately.
There’s a tickle in Kaveh’s throat and he wheezes, something about the sound strikes him as oddly familiar, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he opts to shut his sketchbook and lay on his back to watch the stars.
At some point, Kaveh must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knows he wakes to Alhaitham hovering over him with a mild look of concern on his face.
Kaveh bolts upright, smacking his forehead into Alhaitham’s chin, causing both of them to curse quietly.
“Alhaitham?” Kaveh hopes his complete and utter confusion makes it into his voice, hopes it will prompt Alhaitham to explain in more depth than his usual answers give, “What in Teyvat are you doing here?”
The man filters through several micro expressions, and had Kaveh not come to know Alhaitham as well as he does, he would assume his juniors face had remained a blank as usual. But he does know Alhaitham now, and he is able to identify how that concern shifts to worry, to thought, to stubbornness, and then Alhaitham’s best attempt at neutral.
“You missed our technology class. I know you are less interested in that aspect of the Kshahrewar, but it’s still not like you to skip.” Alhaitham’s glaze slides away, “I was-” he hesitates, “I was the smallest bit worried, so I came looking for you.”
For whatever reason, Kaveh feels his chest constrict, but a smile makes it’s way onto his face despite that.
“Ah, of course,” Kaveh forces himself to sound more smug to hide the happy bubbles in his chest, “Are you sure you just didn’t want to continue our debate about symbology in architecture?”
Alhaitham’s mouth quirks into the slightest smile, and he elbows Kaveh. “Come on senior, lets go get some lunch.”
.
Kaveh’s 19th birthday had passed while he was still somewhat new to his maybe friendship with Alhaitham, but now, two weeks after Alhaitham had found Kaveh by the river, Kaveh was celebrating 20th his birthday, and he was with someone for the first time in three years, since Zaha had left.
The July heat, along with the busy bodies of the Akademiya had been too much for Kaveh, so that morning he’d told Alhaitham he was going to take the day off, and not to wait up for him in class.
Alhaitham’s brow furrowed and when he asked why, Kaveh made some offhanded comment about how Zaha’s birthday book had arrived and he wanted to read it in peace. He’d missed how Alhaitham’s eyes had widened slightly as Kaveh had hurried off, all too ready to get away from the too-loud Akademiya.
Maybe a fifth into reading his new book from Zaha by the river side, Kaveh heard the crunch of gravel as someone approached his forever favorite spot.
Inwardly, Kaveh groaned, he really didn’t want to have to look for somewhere else to read, and he did not have the energy to deal with people today.
“I thought I might find you here.” said a very familiar voice.
Kaveh’s head snapped around and he broke into a grin at the sight of Alhaitham.
Even if it would only be for a while, Kaveh was glad Alhaitham was taking the time out of his day to spend of time with Kaveh.
Taking a seat next to Kaveh, Alhaitham reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden tube, handing it over to Kaveh with a smaller smile of his own.
“It’s not much, but happy birthday, Kaveh.” the smile in Alhaitham’s voice was audible.
With trembling hands, Kaveh reach out to take the tube, the smile he had moments before replaced by shock-wide eyes and a bright flush on his cheeks. In a disbelieving silence, Kaveh popped the cap off the tube and a bright blue peacock feathered quill fell into his hands.
“This is beautiful,” Kaveh breathed, looking at his friend in awe, “I- Thank you, Haitham, really.”
The man himself blinked a little at the new nickname, and looked away to try and hide his own rapidly heating face. “I’m sorry that it’s not much, I was unaware that today was your birthday.”
Kaveh shook is head rapidly, “No, no! This is perfect, really.” the smile from earlier returned, accompanied by tears that Kaveh did his best to blink away, which had the opposite effect, pressing them out of his eyes and sending the tears rolling down his cheeks.
With a gentle hand, Alhaitham brushed them away, leaving his palm to cup Kaveh’s cheek. Leaning into the touch, Kaveh was struck by the sudden urge to kiss Alhaitham. It seemed that Alhaitham could feel it too, teal eyes drifting down to Kaveh’s lips.
A wheezing breath tore through Kaveh then, and the moment was broken. He doubled over coughing, feeling his chest constrict as Alhaitham’s hand moved away from his cheek to Kaveh’s back.
As soon as Kaveh caught his breath, his smile returned, though Alhaitham’s seemed dimmed with worry.
Not wanting the moment to be completely lost however, Kaveh took his new quill, set it in Alhaitham’s hand, and took his junior’s wrist to guide the feather toward his head. Alhaitham got the hint, and tucked the quill into Kaveh’s hair behind his ear.
“Thank you, Alhaitham, I’ll bring it with me always.”
They had stayed by the river side until the sun set, Kaveh was a little surprised that Alhaitham did not return for afternoon classes, yet found himself immensely grateful he had stayed.
After Kaveh had weaseled Alhaitham’s birth date out of him, and promised to get Alhaitham something when his turn came around, they spent the rest of their time talking.
Talking with Alhaitham, Kaveh decided, was a different sort of feeling to debating with Alhaitham.
So many of their conversations had been soft spoken arguments, along with the occasional heated debate, it seemed whenever they spoke they did so to contradict one another, or point out something the other was lacking. Even when they baited each other into eating and taking care of themselves, they did so in a way that - should it come from anyone else - their words would sound borderline condescending. Yet Kaveh knew Alhaitham cared (and he suspected that Alhaitham knew Kaveh cared for him as well).
Today though, they just talked. They talked about everything and nothing at the same time, Kaveh was fairly sure Alhaitham had the same motive he did, that being just hearing the other’s voice.
Today they were not Haravatat and Kshahrewar, they were not the genius scribe-to-be and the revolutionary almost-architect, they were not the silver-haired and golden-blonde students that were rarely seen apart, they were not even the exception to each others rules.
Today, they were just Alhaitham and Kaveh, and that was the best part.
.
It is nearly a month later, and Kaveh and Alhaitham are closer than ever. Kaveh’s itch to know more about Alhaitham has been completely and utterly replaced with the urge to be around him. Be it a brushing of shoulders as they walk to classes, or the casual touch when studying together, even just covering Alhaitham’s ears with his hands when things got too loud for his junior. Kaveh wanted to be in Alhaitham’s presence.
Kaveh was not so big a fool that he did not understand what that meant. The want to kiss Alhaitham lingered in Kaveh’s mind, the instinct to pull him into an embrace became more frequent. Longing for his junior at the river side became common.
An average of three nights a week now, Kaveh would make the trek down to the river bank and spend hours filling his sketch book with Alhaitham, or tinkering with the ear pieces he was using his Kshahrewar technology skills to build for the man.
Back when Kaveh was 15 and still unsure if it was okay for him to like other men, he had asked Zaha about it. His Mamani had sat him down and talked to Kaveh about all the different shapes and sizes love could come in. When Kaveh asked what shape her love took, she had paused, trying to figure out how to best word it for Kaveh to understand, because love is always hard to explain.
“I don’t love anybody romantically,” she had began, “I never have, and I never will, but I don’t see it as a bad thing. My love will never be the shape of kisses or flowers or rings. My love takes the shape of family and friends, smiles to show I care, and spending time with the people I love. I have never needed more than that, and some people never do.”
And that had made sense to Kaveh, he had seen other examples of love being different shapes, and it made sense that he had a couple different shapes of his own.
Kaveh had shapes of family, for Mamani, he had shapes of dreams, the love for his passion in architecture, and a undefined shape that had been yet to be given a color or size. One that he could tell a man might one day fill, but Kaveh decided not to worry over if that day would ever come.
But now, thinking about Alhaitham, Kaveh could see how perfectly the shape had morphed to fit the man, how it was already starting to grow to fill itself with hallway bickering, and soft-toned caring debates, how it was slowly coloring in with the shade of teal Kaveh associates with Alhaitham, and feels like the bubbly happiness that his junior brought to Kaveh.
When Kaveh imagined the shapes of Alhaitham’s love, he thought it would be much, much closer to Zaha’s. And it hurt, of course it did. But Kaveh didn’t mind so much, because even if he didn’t have Alhaitham in all the ways he wanted, Kaveh would never pressure Haitham for more than he gave.
In the light of the moon and in the company of quiet waters, Kaveh’s breath heaves.
Heavy, uneven coughs wrack Kaveh’s body and he feels something forcing his way up his throat. Saliva pools in Kaveh’s mouth and with one last burning cough, something is left in his mouth.
He spits it out.
Two ever so small petals, attached and held together by a few stamen, and crowned with small tuft of wet pollen sit in Kaveh’s hand.
Hanahaki welcomes Kaveh back like an old friend with open arms.
Kaveh stares in shock at the petals, a color lighter than molten starsilver, quite similar to the shade of Alhaitham’s hair, and he looks up at the golden lunar lotuses waving softly in the river’s waters.
A silver lunar lotus was being grown with his love, how fitting.
And then Kaveh is laughing. He laughs and laughs, because it is a very sad thing.
Never, in the history of the already rare disease has a person caught hanahaki twice. Prior to Kaveh contracting it at age seven, the last case had been 73 years ago, the one before that had been another 68 years.
Most people don’t even know hanahaki is real, seeing it as a fictional thing, a lesson to teach children. Although it seems this is one lesson Kaveh never learned as a child.
According to the research Kaveh had done in his years after his first case of hanahaki, the disease was theorized to be so rare because you had to love a person so deeply, so truly and completely that you lived and breathed your love for them - that the love grew in your chest literally rather than metaphorically. That was how the flowers took root. And while most people carve out spaces in their life for love, they do not become it.
Kaveh recalls the first words the Zaha had said to Kaveh after he woke up without his memories of his mother. She had told Kaveh that his heart was far too big. And as always, it seems that Zaha was right yet again.
He laughs. Kaveh laughs until he cries and then he cries until he chokes again. The other half of the flower makes itself known and Kaveh smiles because he knows this will soon become misery.
Kaveh lays down then, he lays and watches the sky, and he thinks.
He thinks of all the nights he’d been woken from sleep to vomit the flowers grown via his love directly into the trash - and hadn’t that hurt? To see the embodiment of his care for his mother, ejected from his body and coughed up straight into the garbage as he sobbed alone on the floor of his room.
Kaveh thinks about how it had felt to wake up in the aftermath and know that there was something so monumental missing from his life, even if he couldn’t remember what. He thinks about how he just kept telling himself, one more day - because that is a part he can remember. Told himself to just have hope, this won’t last forever. And he thinks about how sad it had made Zaha to watch him die slowly. He thinks about his love for Alhaitham.
Kaveh makes four decisions in that moment.
First, he will not allow himself to hope for Alhaitham to love him back. Kaveh is quite sure that romance is not the kind of shape Alhaitham’s love takes, so Kaveh will not lead himself along, he will not give himself false hope again.
Second, he will not tell Zaha about his new plant, at most he will mention that he has taken up gardening. He hopes that if he dies before Zaha returns, she is not too blind-sided by his passing.
Third, he cannot let Alhaitham find out about this, ever. Alhaitham may not love Kaveh in the way Kaveh loves him, but he knows that Alhaitham cares, and Kaveh absolutely refuses to let Alhaitham suffer on Kaveh’s behalf.
Most importantly, fourth, under no circumstances will Kaveh allow his new flowers to be removed.
Waking up once and knowing something was missing was more than enough for Kaveh. Besides, he thinks it would be worse for Alhaitham to understand once Kaveh forgets him, why he did so. He thinks being around to remind Alhaitham of that would be cruel of him.
That, and the idea of parting with his treasured thoughts, cherished feelings, and happy memories of Alhaitham would hurt more than anything else Kaveh can imagine.
Kaveh will take his love and his flowers and they will go with him to his grave.
Closing his eyes, Kaveh allows sleep to wash over him, the silver lotus drifts away on a stray breeze, and leave Kaveh alone to dream in peace.