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Bickering and bantering in the house was normal for Kaveh and Alhaitham. They fought over things like who makes better dinner, who makes better coffee, whose books are piling on the living room table.
But bickering meant that you knew and understood each other in a way that nobody else does. Alhaitham knows his coffee is better because Kaveh always makes his own too sweet; he sometimes tries those fruit-infused kinds of coffee too, which of course, never works out. Kaveh knows his dinner tastes better because for one, Alhaitham can’t cook anything but the 5 meals he’s familiarized himself with over the years. Soup is an amazing dish, they’d always argue, because it’s flexible, easy to prepare, and easy to store for eating the next day.
Alhaitham doesn’t even argue with Kaveh on that matter—he just likes to rile him up. It’s both a stress reliever and a source of stress, as both men can be too absorbed in their own opinion, whatnot with their contrasting personalities.
Despite that, they always wake up the next morning pretending that everything is fine. Alhaitham would get started on coffee, and Kaveh would get started on breakfast. Bicker all they want, they live with each other—and in a way, they need each other too.
Until one day, after a rather strenuous argument they had last night, there is no smell of breakfast, and there’s no sign of Kaveh.
Alhaitham always wakes up at precisely 6 in the morning, with or without an alarm clock. Sleeping in wasn’t in his vocabulary, so more often than not, he would be the one to wake Kaveh up. He faintly registers the soft pitter-patter of the rain coming from outside. In this weather, the architect would only be more inclined to sleep in. But the architect had a deadline rolling in soon, so someone has to bring Kaveh back from his sweet slumber.
He briefly freshens up in the bathroom before finding himself standing in front of Kaveh’s bedroom. He gives the door a firm knock before speaking. “Kaveh, it’s your turn to make breakfast this morning.”
As expected, there is no immediate response. That’s normal for the first attempt, as Kaveh can be a heavy sleeper, especially if he’s had a rough night from working on a project without rest. So, the scribe knocks on the door again. “Kaveh, I know we had a disagreement last night, but we agreed that you would make breakfast on weekends,” he stated.
Alhaitham is met with silence. He likes silence, but this kind feels deafening. “Kaveh, I’m coming in,” he announced. He expected the doorknob to be locked, as the architect liked to keep it that way when he was pulling all-nighters. To Alhaitham’s surprise, it was unlocked.
Worry began to seep into his mind. Kaveh had stormed out last night, but surely he went home? Alhaitham was certain he kept the front door unlocked, he even put some pillows and a blanket on the couch in case Kaveh went out for a drink and came home drunk. Surely Kaveh came back?
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham called out, quickly swinging the door open and turning the lights on—only to find no sign of Kaveh anywhere. His heart sank, and the feeling only worsened when he spotted the cause of their fight last night: Mehrak.
Kaveh was pleading to Alhaitham to help him fix Mehrak, as he was too busy doing the finishing touches to a client’s order. The architect would need Mehrak come morning, but the companion device was broken, and he didn’t have the time to find out why.
Alhaitham begins to regret his actions when the memory of how he replied to Kaveh came. He had ignored the other’s request, saying that “It’s your device, you should know how to fix it best.”
The scribe retreated to his room after making that statement, and seconds later, he heard the front door open and slam shut. There was no sound of Kaveh for the rest of the night.
Alhaitham cursed himself for being able to sleep soundly, that he confidently believed Kaveh would return sooner than later and pretended that everything was fine—that’s how it always was. No matter how heated their fighting became, Kaveh would still be there.
But he wasn’t, and Alhaitham has never regretted something so much in his life. How could he make the same mistake again? How could he ignore Kaveh in his time of need? To let the architect be drowned in stress when he could’ve done something, anything to help him. What if Kaveh never comes back? What if this was the last straw, and Alhaitham will never have a chance to make things right again?
The scribe was never one to dwell on things that have already passed, but when he looks at Mehrak again, he remembers the sound of Kaveh’s exhausted voice, his eyebags that never seem to disappear, and the echo of the door slamming shut.
He runs to his room to retrieve his tools and a manual on fixing devices like Mehrak; although Mehrak was Kaveh’s unique creation, surely there would be something that the scribe could figure out.
Mehrak is the only hope he has that Kaveh will return—if he does, he doesn’t want to repeat the same mistake again.
As Alhaitham ran a final test on Mehrak, the front door had opened, along with the sound of shoes being taken off.
At first, the footsteps were faint, as if the person was tip-toeing. But Alhaitham has always been sensitive to sounds, and he recognized those footsteps right away. He grabbed Mehrak and went to the living room.
“Kaveh,” the scribe called out, relief washing over him as he saw the architect standing in the entry way. Then, his heart sank once more as he saw Kaveh drenched in rain from head to toe, droplets of water trailing his path.
“Archons—” Kaveh gasped, putting a hand over his chest. “You scared me, Alhaitham. Didn’t you lock the door last night?” he chuckled, trying to ease the obvious tension in the room.
When Alhaitham only continues to stare at him, Kaveh awkwardly shifts in place. “Ah, sorry for getting the floor wet. I didn’t know it would rain when I left last night, I just came back to get Mehrak and get it fixed so—”
“No need,” Alhaitham interrupted him. “I… fixed it. It’ll reboot in 5 minutes,” he said, offering Mehrak to it’s owner.
Kaveh looked at him wide-eyed, hesitating to accept the device that he previously thought was broken. “You… fixed Mehrak?” he repeated, sounding confused. “But, last night you—”
“I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve helped you,” Alhaitham was unable to look Kaveh in the eye.
The architect lets out another nervous chuckle. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault for dumping my problems on you. It wasn’t my place,” he said.
Alhaitham dares to look up at him, and his heart burns a little as he sees the look of solace on the architect’s face; Mehrak’s light was slowly blinking, and so did the light in Kaveh’s eyes slowly return.
“Still, thank you for fixing him. I promise this will never happen again—”
“No, let it happen,” Alhaitham said. He shakes his head, rethinking his words. “I mean, please ask me if you ever need help again. It was rude of me to not help you when you were clearly stressed.”
Kaveh blinked, caught off guard by Alhaitham’s words. For a moment, silence settled between them, the soft patter of rain outside filling the gaps. "Alhaitham, that’s…" the architect started, his voice softening, but he trailed off as if searching for the right response. His hands curled around Mehrak out of nervousness at the sight of his roommate suddenly showing vulnerability. "You don’t need to feel responsible for everything. I’ve… I’ve been a burden, I know that. You have your own things to worry about."
Alhaitham’s eyes flickered with resolve, catching the other off-guard as he suddenly grabbed Kaveh’s wrist. "You’re not a burden," he said, his voice low but firm. "You’re—" he hesitated. ‘You’re everything to me,’ he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring it in himself to confess yet. "You shouldn’t have to carry everything alone. I was wrong not to help sooner."
Kaveh looked down at Mehrak, then at the hand on his wrist—Alhaitham’s sudden display of concern were a little too much to process all at once. The architect shifted his weight from one foot to the other, droplets of rainwater still clinging to his clothes and falling to the wooden floor; Alhaitham didn’t move away, even though he would normally scold him in this situation, much less touch him.
"I’m not used to hearing that from you," Kaveh admitted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "You’ve always been so… distant."
Alhaitham’s grip faltered. "I’m not good with words, Kaveh. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care."
Kaveh’s breath caught for a moment, his grip tightening on Mehrak as if the device gave him something solid to hold onto amidst the swirl of emotions. "Alhaitham…" he trailed off, leading to silence once more.
For a split second, neither of them moved. Then, in a rare act of vulnerability, Alhaitham’s hand that was on his wrist had moved to brush a strand of wet hair from Kaveh’s face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. That gesture alone meant a lot to both of them: to Kaveh who always made the first move, to Alhaitham who always kept everyone at arm’s length. It felt like a step over a line neither of them had dared to cross before.
Kaveh’s eyes widened slightly at the touch, a furious blush spreading across his face, but he didn’t pull away; neither of them did. The architect averted his gaze, trying to muster the courage to speak. "Maybe," Kaveh murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "We could try… being a little less distant."
Under the sound of the gentle rain, Kaveh hears Alhaitham’s breath hitch. And as if one surprise after another, the scribe actually smiled at him—in a way that Kaveh has never seen him smile in all his years of knowing him.
Alhaitham’s gaze lingered on Kaveh’s face before he gave a slight nod, his hand retreating back to his side. "Maybe we could," he agreed, his voice quiet yet sincere.
For a moment, everything felt still, as if the rain had slowed just for them. Then, with a slight chuckle, Kaveh finally lifted Mehrak, holding it close to his chest. "Let’s start with you fixing things a bit earlier next time," Kaveh said, grinning now, his usual playful tone returning as he tried to ease the heaviness that had settled in the room.
Alhaitham’s lips quirked, just barely. "Well, we could start by getting you cleaned up."