Chapter Text
The paved streets beneath his worn boots reflected many years of use, and silver locks of his hair brushed over his eyes as he stared at the ground.
Red brick from the walkway stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and he had stopped to pick it out of the sole of his boot, the constant jabbing becoming painful as he continued to walk. His patience had already been worn thin throughout the entirety of the morning, and although he knew it was irrational, his irritation only grew-- even if it was targeted at a mere pebble.
He picked it out with two of his fingers, studying it with disgust for a moment before flicking it away. Try as he might, his annoyance did not follow with the pebble as it flew across the ground, ready to wedge itself in some other poor person’s shoe. His thoughts were running quicker today, and he turned rather quickly in the direction of his house.
His headphones laid around his neck, dead, and the market around him seemed unearthly loud today. It was making his temper even shorter, and he prayed, ironically to the gods he didn’t even believe in, that he would not come across anyone he needed to keep his temper in check around.
He kept his eyes level with the ground in front of him, his chin tilted up in an aura of confidence, but downcast enough to not meet eye contact with anyone he didn’t feel the need to.
Which was, virtually, everyone. The morning had long blended into late afternoon, and yet his irritation from the morning’s events had only grown.
The sign outside of his office had strictly prohibited it-- and yet-- and yet! Every year when new students, barely twenty– the age their strings were finally revealed, were accepted into the Akademiya, he received hundreds of RSR-- Red String Requests.
Everyone with a functioning brain knew that the specific topic of life concerning ties with destiny itself was not to be given after simply asking for help; it was a deeply intimate and personal journey one had to travel through on their own. He found it morally wrong and quite frankly illogical; why turn to someone for help when they could just wait, or better yet, go out and search the world themselves?
And yet.
He still received requests for help, foretelling his entire morning to be filled with hundreds upon hundreds of meaningless forms. It was tedious, sorting through all the pointless calls for location, pleading for him to search in the database for their other halves.
“Any shred of information would do,” they wrote, the papers blurring together in one constant stream of unoriginality. “I beg of you, Scribe Alhaitham.”
He would not. Alhaitham denied every request. Not out of his own pettiness, but rather in the belief that people should put in the work to traverse their fate instead of leaning on him like a universal crutch.
He was sick of it, and though he did not usually grow angry at this out of his control, this particular subject caused annoyance to fester deep inside him.
Although he didn’t believe in such things, the thought that the universe was playing tricks on him joking crossed his mind as what seemed to be the thousandth thing wrong occurred during the day. It seemed like he was drowning in things out of his control, and he needed to take a minute to let his brain concentrate on something he could control before he snapped.
Alhaitham’s keys, a silver-plated key with tiny green gems engraved to the top, slid into the lock and promptly became stuck. His jaw tightened, and he let out a deep sigh before jiggling the handle. Finally, the door unlocked, and he closed it behind him with barely-contained annoyance. What a wasteful day.
He had lived in absence ever since he graduated and was offered the spot of the Scribe due to his “exceptional thesis and eye for research.” It was his greatest weakness, being able to go home to be greeted with blissful silence, and the fact that he was not to be greeted at all.
The house itself was a gift within a gift, with strings attached until they snapped- quite literally. It had been offered on the basis of an exceptional group project completion and partially as a congratulatory gift on his many academic feats, all from the Akademiya. It just so happened by chance that he found the end of his string while accomplishing this project…or, rather, the lack of one.
That string now hung loosely from the tip of his fourth finger, the end severed nastily, withering as if it had been dragged on concrete and set on fire multiple times.
A sign that his either his other half had died… or had cut it, effectively ‘rejecting’ him, as many of the younger scholars blandly called it.
Alhaitham didn’t mind, a sentence that described the many aspects of his life. Since he ruled on the basis of logicality rather than emotion, the panging loneliness described by the few rare cases of rejection did not haunt him as it did others.
He shoved it aside daily, going about his daily tasks as usual. Ironically, if it was the tie of fate, then he didn’t understand why people gave him sorry looks when they discovered his severed end.
His reply was always short. “Wasn’t it fate that it would be cut off?”
The sun dipped into the lowly clouds that bordered the horizon, visible from his front windows, and he frowned. There would be a storm, he assumed.
The fact that he did not have a romantic partner did not affect his life in a grand, influential way. On the contrary, it gave him peace of mind. Journeys to the desert did not contain meaningless yearning through a pointless bond due to the separation of each other. Or any feelings, really, which he appreciated. Many thought he was an emotionless man, one who held high emotional intelligence and therefore kept his own cards at hand hidden.
Half of that statement proved to be true. He could read people quite easily. He just couldn’t read himself. The irony, being well-mannered in the art of emotion and rarely showing it merely from not knowing which emotions he should show. Social settings, after all, were not his forte.
Alhaitham slid off his shoes, put them neatly in a corner near the door, and trudged with heavy tiredness to the kitchen. He leaned both hands behind him against the counter after putting a steamer onto the burner, occasionally stirring the few tea bags he had dropped into the machine.
The sun gave little light into the house, and though he preferred natural lighting to the overhead fluorescents, he knew he would have to turn them on soon or face stumbling through the dark.
He poured his tea, tucked a book under his arm, and promptly left the kitchen to collapse onto the couch. The sounds of wind whistled outside, and the faint noises of rain pattering against his window panes.
The clouds had been bordering the horizon all day; he hadn’t thought it would actually rain.
Alhaitham opened his book and sipped his tea, losing himself into the familiar haze of literature. He liked to keep his life constant, and constantly leaving reality into a world of knowledge somehow grounded himself more into the reality around him, ironically.
He didn’t know how much time passed before he heard the banging on the door.
Usually, he would’ve had his headphones on, or would have ignored it anyways. But the rain had started to pick up, and he could at least hear this person out if they needed help.
The knock sounded again, and he groaned quietly to himself, standing and tucking his book under his arm. The lock stuck slightly, and he struggled for a second before tugging the door open.
“Yes?”
The rain poured much harder outside than he had assumed from hearing it inside, and it was clear when his eyes fell onto the soaked man in front of him. Tendrils of his hair stuck to his flushed face, his eyes bright with a hint of confusion.
He was...
He was familiar.
“Kaveh? What are you doing here?” Alhaitham asked incredulously, his usual snark lost for a moment of surprised silence.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” His lips moved slowly, as if he had thought through every single word before speaking them. His eyes stared straight into Alhaitham’s own, unwavering. “Can I come in?”
Wordlessly, Alhaitham moved to let him inside, biting back a comment about a mess on his floors. Kaveh stood as if he were unsure of himself, uncomfortable in his own body. His clothes hung in dripping messes around him, his blond hair that was normally pinned back so elegantly hanging loose in dark strands.
“I’ll assume you were passing by from the tavern?” Alhaitham finally said, grabbing his mug of tea from the living room side table and taking a long sip.
Kaveh nodded, the slowness of his movements so unlike his normally fast and electric nature. Well, it had been many months since Alhaitham had seen him last, but even he could tell that Kaveh was…off. Speaking and acting like he was at the point of a blade.
“Are you going to offer any sort of explanation on why you are in my house…?”
Kaveh took a breath, once again staring into Alhaitham eyes with unwavering resolve. “I’m sorry– I apologize for what I did in the Akademiya. When- well, I think you know when.”
Alhaitham stilled, his eyes narrowing. He placed the tea back onto the table, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Alright.”
“...that’s it?”
“Did you expect something else, Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s voice grew cold, and his slight scowl deepend. “Is that truly the only reason you’ve come here tonight? Reminiscing past memories after a few glasses of wine?”
“You–” Kaveh’s face contorted into anger for a split second, and then seemed to deflate in on himself. “I have…I’m in debt.” His words came out softer than Alhaitham had ever heard him, and he could only watch as Kaveh squirmed under the weight of his own failures– and, presumably, Alhaitham’s gaze.
“The renowned architect, beloved all over Sumeru…is in debt,” Alhaitham repeated, the corners of his lips tilting into a slight smirk. “You mentioned you have nowhere else to go. Does that correlate with the fact you’re standing in my house right now?”
“Technically I have property rights to this house. Technically,” Kaveh answered, his tone laced with annoyance.
Alhaitham wordlessly held up his pinky, where the battered red strand hung, a reminder of a project gone so terribly wrong. He raised an eyebrow. “You forfeited any technicalities when you–”
“Look, I just need one night. Then I can go and stay with Tighnari,” Kaveh cut in, his face red with something that looked scarily close to shame. “One night is all I ask.”
A hundred reasons to deny him ran through Alhaitham’s head. A hundred on why he should say no. A hundred degrading Kaveh’s poor choices. A hundred and then some, yet the only thing he could do was sigh.
“One night.”
Kaveh’s shoulders instantly lost tension, his chest exhaling in a relieving sigh. “Thank you.”
“Thanks is pointless. You of all people should know that,” Alhaitham replied, grabbing his book and mug, his tea long since grown cold. “The spare room is on the right. I’d suggest taking a shower, I’ll grab you some of my old clothes.”
Kaveh hesitated as if to argue, then nodded, shrugging his dripping cape off of his shoulders and headed in the direction of the spare room. He stayed silent, as if his brain was having trouble comprehending the world around him.
Alhaitham assumed it was partially from the wine he had so clearly drank, and the other part from the sheer unwillingness of the situation he had put himself in.
He didn’t know which was worse.
Alhaitham glanced at the remaining tea in his cup before walking to the kitchen, pouring it down the drain and placing the now-empty mug in the sink. He was beginning to come to terms with the fact that his entire day was filled with nothing but wastefulness.
Picking through his clothes, he eventually pulled out a soft pair of sweatpants he usually wore to sleep in and a plain, loose-hanging t-shirt. He picked up Kaveh’s cloak from where it hung on the door and tossed it into the dryer, setting the cycle to delicates.
Distantly, he wondered if Kaveh had eaten at the tavern or not, but his consious quickly reminded him that it was not his problem if Kaveh had eaten or not. Rather, if Kaveh was hungry, he would approach Alhaitham and ask. Alhaitham had no obligation to check on him if he could so clearly do it himself.
The shower was already running when Alhaitham stepped into the guest room, cleared out except for a bed tucked into the middle of the room and a couple of boxes he had never cared to unpack. A few books laid here and there, and the entire room smelled of emptiness.
On the bed sat Kaveh’s few belongings; his duly shimmering dendro vision, an unfamiliar key, and some random items he did not recognize at first glance, probably something kept in his pockets due to sentimental value.
Alhaitham raised a hand to tap on the bathroom door, but stopped when he heard something other than the noise of water running.
He could only imagine him, shaking under the shower’s stream, but trembling not from the cold. His blond hair hanging over his shoulders as he wept, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep from anyone from hearing– as if that was working to any avail.
His chest heaving as sobs wracked through his body, his eyes tightly closed as if he couldn’t bear to look at his own body for shame, his arms wrapping around himself as he had no one else to hold in a way he so needily craved.
Alhaitham left the clothes in a neat pile on the bed and walked out of the room, the air already feeling suffocating, as if his chest was constricting from the air quality. Or perhaps it was the sheer dynamic change, walking from his well-lived room to…that.
He seemed unsure of himself when he walked into his own room, closing the door behind him. With the fact that there was someone else in his house, someone he knew so painfully well, he doubted he would get much sleep tonight.
It would be unsettling, tossing in his sheets while the sound of Kaveh’s muted weeping echoed in his ears.
It was not that it made him uncomfortable. It was the fact that he didn’t know what to do in order to fix it. He was well educated in many subjects, but when confronted with a situation like this, where emotions fluctuate on a wavelink of inconsistency, he seemed so utterly helpless.
His hands suddenly seemed too heavy, his thoughts racing and somehow not moving at all. It was so confusing, and he didn’t know how people made rational thoughts when the wavelinks of their minds were so jumbled. It was why he advocated against emotional-based decisions rather than rationality, something Kaveh despised in him.
Alhaitham pulled off his shirt and cloak, slipping into a looser, more comfortable one and grabbing a pair of sweatpants of his own. Although nights in Sumeru were hardly uncomfortably cold, he prefered to keep his house well conditioned, as it helped him think through all the material he was constantly reading.
The shower turned off from the other room when he slipped into the covers, and beyond that, he heard nothing, even though the spare room was right next to his own.
He wondered if Kaveh, being a usually eccentric person, was being consciously quiet. Now that fact would make him uncomfortable; if Kaveh somehow felt guilty or indebted to him, he would truly feel this entire situation start to spiral out of his control. A pleading, fuming, or annoyed Kaveh he could handle, but he always despised the parts of Kaveh that felt as if he had to please everyone.
Well, perhaps despise was too strong of a word to think of in that context. He didn’t despise that part of Kaveh– he didn’t despise Kaveh at all. It just felt entirely too pointless to him. Kaveh was going to waste his life away trying to push the standards of everyone around him to what they saw fit, therefore crumbling under the weight of the standards himself. He was playing a losing hand this way.
As expected, Alhaitham could do nothing but lay quietly in the sheets, unmoving, but without sleep. His throat suddenly seemed all too dry, and he groaned quietly to himself as he trudged out of the bed. His door opened with a small creak, and he flicked on the hallway light as he made his way to the kitchen.
To his surprise, Kaveh stood there, his locks of blond hair darker from the shower, only half dry, standing in the clothes Alhaitham had given him and a cup of water in his hand. He stared into the water unmoving, a blank look on his face, his eyes unfocused.
“Kaveh?” Alhaitham murmured tentatively, reaching up into one of the cupboards to grab a cup to fill with water himself.
“Hmm?” Kaveh glanced up, his red-rimmed eyes widening slightly, as if he had just noticed Alhaitham’s presence. “Oh. Sorry, I got thirsty.”
“Clearly,” Alhaitham mused, leaning up against the counter, facing him. He took a long sip, his eyes skimming over Kaveh’s appearance. He seemed more gaunt than the last time Alhaitham had seen him, passing by him in the tavern a few weeks ago. Or maybe he had always been like that; he wasn’t too sure at this point.
“I appreciate the clothes,” Kaveh shifted against the counter, almost looking uncomfortable, quickly speaking before Alhaitham could even open his mouth. “I know you dislike thanks, but I’m in no position for debate or criticism, so I wanted to make sure you knew that I genuinely appreciate what you have done to help.”
“Help? You mean the bare minimum? Anyone would have taken you in for a night when it’s pouring outside, and you’re half drunk.”
“Yes, but you’re not exactly anyone, now are you?” Kaveh’s voice took on a slight edge, his eyes narrowing. Then, as if realizing his tone, he stopped, sighed, and bit the inside of his cheek. “Anyway. I think it’s best if we both get some sleep.”
A moment passed, a moment of silence except for the rain pouring against the windows.
“Why did you burn it, Kaveh?” Alhaitham suddenly blurred. It wasn’t like him– he thought things through before saying them.
But perhaps it was the nighttime hours, the fact his day had been so awful, or hearing Kaveh’s sobs in the shower. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe it was none. But he couldn’t take back the words now, so he just stared, judging Kaveh’s reaction.
Kaveh’s jaw tightened, and he refused to meet Alhaitham’s eyes. “Must we talk about this subject at…” He glanced at the clock above the sink, hesitating. “One in the morning?”
“It was to be brought up at some point.”
A long, tired sigh brushed past Kaveh’s lips, and he glanced up through his lashes to meet Alhaitham’s eyes with unsettling resolve. “The Akademiya gave–”
“I wasn’t asking about what happened with the Akademiya. I was asking about your choice.”
“I thought you knew what my choice was.”
“I wasn’t asking the contents of it. I was asking the motivation.”
Kaveh’s jaw clenched, and he let out a frustrated huff, the flare of emotion Alhaitham had come to recognize sparking in his eyes. “I don’t know. The heat of the project. The fact it was you on the other end. The thought that I might possibly not live up to your expectations, Alhaitham.”
Kaveh placed his now-empty cup on the kitchen counter and turned out of the room, disappearing into the hallway. The click of a latch was the only tell that he had gone back to the room, leaving Alhaitham in an air of silence.
Alhaitham refused to let those words process in his mind. He refused. He would not think about what Kaveh had undoubtedly said in, ironically, another spur of the moment situation until he had gotten a few hours of sleep. He would remember, but he would not react.
The two cups clattered in the sink where he placed him, the floorboards shifting under his bare feet, the rain steadily pounding against the walls. And when he finally drifted off, his thoughts forcing down the echo of Kaveh’s voice, his dreams were nothing but darkness.