Archive of Our Own

Alhaitham has never been partial to the way the desert wind blows sand around like it’s inviting itself into every single nook and cranny of his attire. It’s truly everywhere. His hair is coarse with it, his feet chafe against the insides of his boots because of it, it’s underneath his nails -- but he tries not to let that disrupt his concentration, however infuriating it is.

He’s not here on a social call after all. He’s been hired to do a job and he’s never been one to let personal discomforts prohibit him from performing well during work. Even if that means having to listen to Kaveh talk and talk on about things that don’t interest him in the slightest -- but, alas, as is the duty of a Scribe. To record. Not to judge or interpret.

It’s rarely ever the case that he genuinely cares about the things being said during the meetings he transcribes, and this time is no different. The case in question being:

The newest Akademiya funded research centre, commissioned by a rich, painfully mediocre student of a sage who’s bound to care more for the imposing show of the opening ceremony than for the actual purpose of the building he’s getting named after him. And to top it all off, the only people in the know on this project are the student herself, one ‘Kahara Dulazim’ (if he guessed the spelling correctly after hearing it by ear only), Kaveh and Alhaitham himself.

To make matters less fortunate, the project is to be revealed on the man’s birthday celebration, which is planned in about two weeks time, and only now are Kaveh and the commissioner able to actually visit their preferred building site and go over the details regarding the foundational structure, so to say Alhaitham’s pen has been roving across the pages of his notebook would be an understatement. The sheer amount of information tumbling from Kaveh’s lips is astounding, even to Alhaitham, who has never been one to struggle with large amounts of knowledge being dumped on him at once.

For once he counts himself lucky that he lives with the man, should he be tempted to ask for clarification on anything, because that’s the extent of his job: To record their conversations, their spur-of-the-moment ideas, their agreements and their plans for next meeting -- anything verbal that they don’t have the time to write down themselves. Unluckily for him, however, Kaveh is a very chaotic person in work and in life, so getting everything down is nigh-impossible.

Moreover, Kaveh and Kahara don’t seem nearly as bothered by their unpleasant surroundings, at least outwardly. Kaveh’s hair is actively escaping its clips and blowing in his face as he speaks but he doesn’t bother to pull it back at all, and Kahara grew up in the desert for a large part of her life, or so he’d heard, so the grains clinging to her long eyelashes are barely what a speck of dust would be to him.

“What about the gardens?” Kahara asks, eyeing the open, flat nook of sand with a slight arch to her eyebrow. “You said you knew a pretty good botanist, right?”

“The best,” Kaveh assures her, that enthusiastic edge to his voice that Alhaitham so hates to hear. “I’m not sure on his rates these days, but I’m sure he’d be agreeable considering it's a friend who’s asking. I guarantee you, the gardens will be nothing to worry about.”

Gardens, Chief F. W., Architect’ll use connections to get a discount, Alhaitham scribbles down, to put into more proper sentences later in the actual report.

“Right… Considering the conclusions of the soil report, the surrounding dunes and the weather map of the area, I’d dare say… it seems perfect.”

“Right?” Kaveh exclaims, tucking his pen behind his ear next to the feather that’s barely hanging on in the wind, using his clipboard-holding and free hand to gesture grandly to the open space. “Just- Imagine. A facade depicting the likenesses of the three God-Kings, crested by a central tower as high as the Sanctuary of Surasthana itself, with stained glass and all-”

“Glass?” Kahara asks incredulously, turning to him with wide eyes. Whether in shock at his hubris to even propose the idea or in wonder, Alhaitham finds it hard to tell. “What about the sun? Won’t it be a fire hazard?”

Com. doubts Arch.’s use of glass, brings up safety hazards

“That’s just the thing,” Kaveh says, “I’ve calculated all of the angles -- and calculated them again -- and if we angle the central window correctly to the South, the dunes should block the direct sun in all possible circumstances! Isn’t that so fascinating?”

“Really?” Kahara wonders, gaze wandering back to the open space, envisioning the structure in her head, “that’s quite amazing.”

Arch. thoroughly calculated angles of window and claims that sunlight is not a hazard in any circumstance. Com. is impressed.

“So… shall we put in the bid?” Kaveh asks, a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips, charmingly adorned with hairs stuck to his lip balm.

Kahara meets his eyes again and carefully returns his smile, a similar look of expectation and excitement behind her thoughtful expression.

“I think we should, shouldn’t we?”

Alhaitham can audibly imagine the sound that would have left Kaveh had he not been in a professional setting at that moment, the only sign of his relief visible in the clutch of his hand into a triumphant fist.

Late afternoon, sun cresting the horizon, agreement struck to put in a bid on the plot

Project ‘DRC’ officially starting first phases of construction

The sound of Kaveh’s hand clapping loudly into Kahara’s to seal the deal sends a twitch through Alhaitham’s hand, messing up his messy scrawl more than it already is.

As soon as the words are on paper, something heavy settles into his gut.

He won’t pretend to be oblivious as to its origins. The lightness in Kaveh’s entire posture, the lilt to his voice, the sheer relief that crashes through him like a wave, so clearly visible in everything that he does… It just solidifies the cruel reality that Alhaitham is fairly sure will come to pass later. Kaveh knows it too, but for some reason he chooses to ignore it, as he usually does.

And that cruel reality is that Kaveh is way in over his head. Already putting in a bid for a plot of land to build a project that hasn’t even been presented to the ultimate client yet, investing his time and his money and his personal health -- because neither of them is going to pretend Kaveh will be normal about this -- into something he has already coined his true Magnum opus… Alhaitham’s skin crawls at the prospect of the next few weeks to come. It’ll be hell for both of them, and Kaveh will insist on seeing it through, and they both know there’s a very real chance that he might burn himself to ashes by the end of it.

He’ll be more brittle than the sand he’s building all of these hopes and dreams upon, and there’ll be nothing Alhaitham can do about it because Kaveh never lets him.

Even as Kahara and Kaveh write down some final notes of their own and turn to hop into the caravan Alhaitham has been perched upon, Kaveh meets his eyes with a bold confidence that he has absolutely no right to have.

“Did you get all of that?” he asks, trying to glance at Alhaitham’s notes before Alhaitham pulls them away and snaps shut the notebook in front of his face.

“Every last word,” Alhaitham responds, somewhat exaggerating the quality of his work.

“Good. Could you have the report finished by Friday? I’d like to start including more people in the project by Monday if at all possible, and if not I could probably arrange for a few days of extension but considering the others we’ll have to hire to actually pitch in on the funds and all, I’d like to get ahead with it as soon as possible-”

“I’ll have it done,” Alhaitham cuts him off, refusing to match his enthusiasm. Kaveh does not need another source of false hope and delusions to boost his ego. Maybe some reluctance will prompt at least a bit of the concerns he should already be having.

However, considering Alhaitham is… well, Alhaitham, he’s not so very sure it’ll have any effect at all. The ease with which Kaveh has been brushing off his advice has reached record levels recently. Although maybe he’d just rediscovered the spark he’d fostered during their student days -- the one that had prompted him to build his first Magnum opus and land him in an immense financial crisis. The one that had driven them apart.

Alhaitham does hope he doesn’t take it quite that far this time.

“Thank you so much for your service, Scribe Alhaitham,” Kahara says, extending a hand to him that Alhaitham pretends not to notice until she pulls it back, fussing with his notebook and his satchel instead. “...We appreciate the effort.”

“Of course,” Alhaitham says, facing her once he establishes that it’s safe, “seeing as it's my occupation and you hired me, I’ll make sure the report is up to your standards.”

“Right,” Kahara responds, trying to smile but clearly not knowing how to handle his blunt response. She seems infinitely more comfortable when conversing with only Kaveh, and Alhaitham honestly doesn’t mind. “Well, thanks nonetheless.”

Kaveh nudges his foot in the same movement he sits down next to him and Alhaitham doesn’t pay it any mind. He instead sends Kahara a nod and leverages himself off the vehicle to take the reins of the Sumpterbeast in their service, starting to lead it across the sands and to the East at a slow pace.

The sand is still forcing itself into his shoes. Kaveh and Kahara are still sharing in each other's enthusiasm, chatting about their favorite foundational structures to use on sand. Alhaitham still can’t shake the feeling that this project will only lead Kaveh into further ruin.

---

Because it’s his job and not because he wants to encourage his roommate, Alhaitham finds himself asking after Kaveh’s plans one afternoon a few days later. He just needs some clarification on what kind of stone he plans to use, the height of the ceilings, the exact model of the foundational structure and how large exactly the plot they’re trying to procure is.

Kaveh, unfortunately, seems to take this as a sign that Alhaitham is fully into the plan as well. It should be fairly obvious that he wouldn’t be, because Alhaitham has never gone out of his way to praise or suck up to his senior sages, so why would he want to partake in such an atrociously overpriced birthday surprise for one of them? But Kaveh pulls out his plans and spreads them flat across the dinner table and Alhaitham knows he’s got at least an hour of talking to brace himself for.

“Alright so-” Kavehs starts, seeming lost in his own blueprints, scanning each paper frantically for what Alhaitham asked for. This expression, paired with his ‘weekend hair’ -- not brushed or pinned back but instead messily tucked behind his ears -- makes for quite the ‘mad architect’ archetype in front of him. “You wanted measurements, you said?”

“You don’t have to walk me through all the details. Just some plain numbers on paper are enough,” Alhaitham says, hoping to discourage the incoming rant.

Kaveh pulls a face that’s a mix between annoyed and pouty, shooting him a glance and fighting with his unruly hair once again.

“Don’t you need a little more insight than that to write well? Your report will be dry as sand without some explanations as to our choices.”

Alhaitham taps his pen against the side of his hand in a steady rhythm, feeling himself get a little impatient already, as irrational as it is.

“My job isn’t to write a novel detailing your designing adventures. All it needs to be is a report of the facts. If you want to give reasonings and stories behind every choice you made, you can do so when you pitch it to Sage Mahir,” he says.

“Are you kidding? Pitches need to be short, writing can be as long as we want,” Kaveh counters, pulling Alhaitham’s notebook out of his hands and flipping it to the first blank page to copy down some numbers with a sigh.

Alhaitham has to withhold himself from snatching it right back as Kaveh starts writing on a new page while there was clearly still space on the previous one.

Different styles of thinking, he has to remind himself. Be patient.

“Again, if you want to share your stories, you can do so yourself in a biography. My job concerns the facts only,” Alhaitham says, watching Kaveh’s every movement, the scrawl of his pen, how he holds it, the way his fingers already seem to be on the verge of cramping with every stroke of ink.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaveh mumbles, already giving up.

Perhaps that means he’s in a better mood than usual regarding Alhaitham’s opinions on his work. Maybe he can try, at least, to pitch some of his own takes to the man, without things escalating to a door slammed in his face and shower out of hot water when he wants to use it.

So he watches him, and waits for a moment to let him focus on the writing, and then, when Kaveh tucks his pen back behind his ear and slides back the notebook across the table with a short: “Here,” Alhaitham takes his chances and starts with:

“So how much money is on the line this time?”

The look Kaveh sends him is suspicious to say the least.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks, “This is not going where I think it’s going, is it?”

“It might be.”

“I know what I’m doing, Alhaitham. We’re going to work with many different benefactors, barely any of it is going to be directly from my pockets.”

“I vaguely recall you working with benefactors last time too, and then you went completely bankrupt.”

“We’re not talking about last time, we’re talking about this time. I know what I’m doing.”

He doesn’t necessarily seem worked up yet but there’s something unpleasantly sharp in his tone -- a sense of ‘if you dare patronize me-’ -- so Alhaitham rephrases what he was about to say next.

“I don’t doubt that. I’m just wondering whether you should be betting so much time, effort and resources on a project that hasn’t even been green-lit yet. You just seem… a bit overly invested to me.”

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh starts, sounding quite patronizing himself, leaning across the table a little to emphasise his words in a way that ignites a reasonable amount of annoyance in Alhaitham. “I don’t think you understand quite how big this project really is. This could get me back on the map. This could end my financial problems. This could turn out to be everything.”

“Yes, and listen to yourself. It could. You’re always betting on the romantic possibilities while ignoring the other, less pleasant, possible outcomes,” Alhaitham counters.

“I’ve been working carefully on these plans for weeks,” Kaveh says, “and even if the project ends up falling through -- which it won’t -- I have not paid a single Mora out of my own pocket as of yet. What are you complaining about?”

“Again, listen to yourself,” Alhaitham says, leaning forward as well to come to meet him in a stare that’s quite loaded, “As of yet, you say. But you’re planning to. If that bid gets accepted, who’s going to have to pay in advance to lay claim on it until the benefactors can pay you back -- if you can even come to agreements with them at all? All I’m saying is that you’re starting down a dangerous path, Kaveh. Be careful.”

Kaveh regards him for a few moments and then sighs heavily, shaking his head and starting to roll up his blueprints again to keep his hands busy.

“Like I said, I think you just don’t understand the sheer scope of this project. This is important. No one’s ever gotten anywhere worthwhile in life by walking the safe path. I can’t help it that you don’t seem to trust in my abilities enough to see what we’re doing, Kahara and I.”

“Do you even trust in your abilities enough?” Alhaitham counters, standing up and folding his arms. “That’d be the first time I heard you praise yourself out loud.”

Kaveh stills at that and the look on his face tells Alhaitham that he’s just said something he shouldn’t have.

But it’s true isn’t it? Kaveh is constantly concerned about whether his work will meet certain standards, even during the most mundane of commissions. He’s insecure, deep down, and they both know it.

“What exactly are you insinuating?” Kaveh asks, straightening up to face him, frowning in a way that makes Alhaitham frown back automatically.

“I’m stating that you haven’t exactly been known for your self-praising attitude.”

“And with that you’re insinuating that I barely have skills worthy of praise.”

“I never said that.”

“But you- Alhaitham-” there’s that patronizing tone again, like Alhaitham doesn’t understand -- it’s infuriating, “-words have more meaning than just what’s listed in the dictionary, you should know this, you’re a linguist for Archon’s sake!”

“I’m well aware,” Alhaitham bites back, his voice low and controlled. “And you should know that the speaker of language influences the meaning just as much as the word choice. You know I’m not one to mince my words. I say what I mean and nothing more or less than that.”

Kaveh lets out one of those heavy sighs again and then huffs in frustration, gathering all of his supplies into his arms.

“Well, I’ve got no time for your semi-insults and doubts, alright? I’m busy with something that could change my life, so if you’ll excuse me and leave me alone until all of this is finished, I’d appreciate it.”

Alhaitham stays silent at that, not knowing exactly what to say without making things worse. He lets Kaveh leave and stands in the living room for a moment, sighing to himself.

There is simply no getting through to that man. And unfortunately, staying completely out of his way is a course of action that Alhaitham is neither inclined nor capable of taking, seeing as he’s the Scribe present at all official meetings. He’ll just have to hope Kaveh has mulled over his words somewhat by the next time they meet, and might just look past that little hurdle of who said them, to make a genuine attempt at understanding his viewpoint.

He’s not very hopeful, all things considered.

---

Alhaitham shouldn’t be surprised, but Kaveh seems to be back on his enthusiasm the very day after.

The moment he hears the post get delivered, his breakfast is left abandoned and he’s at the front door in seconds, snatching up the letters from the entrance mat and standing there for a moment, studying them.

There’s a hunch to his shoulders that Alhaitham recognises distinctly as the kind he gets when he spends over six hours consecutively bent over his desk, working. It doesn’t help his image that the coffee in his abandoned mug seems to be blacker than Alhaithams and that he’s only wearing one slipper, the other lost underneath the table somewhere.

Kaveh flips through all but the two upper envelopes with little to no care and then stumbles his way back to the table, studying the gold print on the envelopes in his hands in multiple angles of the light.

“Any for me?” Alhaitham asks, trying to sound gentle.

Kaveh just hums and drops the pile he’s less than interested in next to Alhaitham’s plate. Then, he also parts ways with one of the two envelopes still in his hands, although he seems quite reluctant about it.

The moment Alhaitham takes a good look at it, a flash of disgust curls through him.

So this is what their tax money is being spent on, huh? Real gold leaf on invitation envelopes to a party that’s bound to be drenched in liquor and diamonds from a man Alhaitham has never even spoken to.

It certainly tells him enough about what kind of man they’re ultimately working for. The kind who couldn’t care less who he invites around him, as long as all of the important figures are there to represent his status to outsiders. The kind of man who’d rather spend and spend endlessly to keep his prestige high instead of actually working for his position. That kind of man.

And naturally, Kaveh seems absolutely captivated by the idea of being invited to such an event.

It’s all in the way his eyes widen when he opens the letter and actually reads the swirling script addressed especially to him, the Light of Ksharewar and what an honour it would be to have him there.

One of the things Alhaitham feels fairly often these days is pity for the man. He can’t actually think they want him there because of that, can he? It’s obviously Kahara’s influences that got them their invitations, because she needs them to be there when she presents her gift to Sage Mahir. It has nothing to do with his skills or reputation, just as the Sage himself probably couldn’t care less whether the newly reinstated Scribe will be in attendance. Although Alhaitham does have a higher salary to flaunt, would he need to think of a reason, his title would barely be worth his presence.

Still, Kaveh immediately gripping onto any sort of hollow recognition from figures in power seems just a bit pitiable when presented with it like this, plain and clear on the opposite end of his breakfast table.

“We’ll be there to work, not to have fun,” Alhaitham warns him, trying to introduce his opinion on the matter in a neutral way.

“See, you’re exactly the type of person I would expect to say that,” Kaveh says, casually stuffing a bite of rice into his mouth as his eyes remain glued to the expensive paper. “Ev’r heard of doin’ both at the same time?”

“I’ve heard of it but I’ve never found it a reliable option to ensure good results. And I think you should find those results a little more important at this time than indulging in expensive drinks, considering what you told me yesterday.”

Kaveh shoots him a look that Alhaitham couldn’t figure out if he tries, a mix between annoyed and amused with maybe a little hint of pity towards Alhaitham reflected back at him. It’s a strange one, to be sure.

“Exactly my point,” Kaveh counters, “if you actually had a job you found fulfilling, you’d understand how much enjoyment one can get from getting good results alone. But I suppose with your dull, salary-focused mindset, you could suck the joy out of anything, hm?”

“I feel like you’re purposefully missing my point,” Alhaitham says, sighing.

“Alright, then what’s your point?” Kaveh asks calmly. Alhaitham challenges his tone with a complicated look of his own for a moment before non-verbally agreeing to engage in the discussion that’s to come.

“My point is that they didn’t invite you because you're a renowned Architect, but rather because Kahara needs your services. Nothing more. Half of the people there probably don’t even know your name, especially not the Sage himself. You shouldn’t get too emotionally invested in this.”

While Kaveh does look slightly hurt, he keeps his voice calm like before when he counters:

“I know that. And I know you think that, too, but remember what we talked about regarding ways of thinking and all? It’s just your way of thinking to instantly distance yourself from anything that could bring joy or excitement into your life -- Archon knows why -- but I’m not the same. That doesn’t mean I’ll lose my head in the glamour of it all and get so delusional I’ll think I’m the celebrity there. You don’t need to worry yourself about me embarrassing you.” The hurt in his voice is rawer now, and Alhaitham genuinely can’t tell if he brought it on or if Kaveh has somehow started spiralling on his own.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Alhaitham says.

“Then what is it?” Kaveh asks, raising his voice somewhat. “Are you worried I might actually be happy for once? Are you worried I’ll make a good memory or wear too fancy of a suit during a night out? Tell me, what makes you so eager to shut down any kind of excitement I show the second I show it? I’d like to know.”

“I’m worried that this project will end up with you in an even worse position than after the Palace of Alcazarzaray, and I’m worried that you don’t seem to share those concerns in the slightest,” Alhaitham says, raising his voice to match Kaveh’s volume. “I’m worried about you, Kaveh, because for some reason you refuse to look past those rose-tinted glasses and acknowledge the dangers of going all in on such an uncertain project.”

Kaveh stands up and places his hands firmly on the wooden surface of the table.

“Why do you keep insisting that’s what I’m doing?” he exclaims, “Do you really think I’m that delusional? To not even consider the ways in which this might ruin me? In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who has to live with myself and those past failures every day! I’m the one who knows what it’s like to lose everything and to have to deal with the consequences of those crushed ambitions, I know what that’s like!”

“Then why are you so willing to do it all again?” Alhaitham counters, failing to reign in his exasperation. “Why do you still take those risks if you know what might come of it? Help me understand.”

The unflattering grimace that settles over Kaveh’s lips reveals a certain amount of pity back to Alhaitham, an utter disconnect between them in that moment. When he speaks again, his voice is low, his volume back to where they started. He seems drained with a sadness that Alhaitham can’t understand the origin of if he tries.

“Fine. But I can’t guarantee you’ll get what I’m trying to say because you haven’t tried to listen before either. That, and I’m just not sure you’ll be able to relate.”

“What do you mean by that?” Alhaitham asks, unsure why the accusation makes him uncomfortable.

“I mean,” Kaveh sighs out deeply, “that you just don’t seem to understand hope and passion the same way I do. I could never stop trying, because taking on projects like this is what I love. Now you do your work because it pays and because it’s secure and that’s all fine and good, and yes -- you have a more comfortable life than me, I’m well aware -- but ever since I moved in with you, I’ve never seen you truly happy. Ever. I don’t think you’ve smiled once when telling me about your day, and that’s because, for some reason, you just don’t seem to care for things like that. You don’t care whether you love your work because you’re convinced all of it is about living some dull and safe routine. I’m simply not the same. Even if I mess up on this project somehow, I’ll still have spent my time the way I find it valuable. By making myself happy.”

“Even if the fall is all the more brutal when you inevitably fail?” Alhaitham asks.

He does understand. He just doesn’t agree.

It’s all about weighing what they find more valuable, and between them, that simply differs. And it’s not that Alhaitham wants Kaveh to fail or wants him to never try going after greatness again. It’s just that what makes Alhaitham happy is not bound to work or passion or anything of the sort.

What makes him happy…

Kaveh scoffs and shakes his head, stepping back and grabbing the backrest of his chair to close the distance between it and the table, leaving his food abandoned.

“If I end up failing then so be it,” he says, a sharp disdain in his voice that’s uncharacteristically cold, “but even if it might be hard on me, living without any hope for happiness in the future is simply not an option for me. It’s basically all I have. So I won’t let you stop me from enjoying this project, nor the ones that come after that, nor a stupid, shallow party.”

Kaveh turns and before Alhaitham can try to respond, the ever-familiar sound of a bedroom door slamming shut cuts through the silence and leaves him quiet.

And he does understand. He does.

But the date penned on the invitation in his hands reads more like a sentencing to him than a blessing. It’s only a matter of time before the chandeliers illuminating Kaveh’s foolish hopes come crashing down and crush him beneath their weight, and the man in question has rendered Alhaitham basically powerless to do anything about it.

---

Somehow they always end up like this.

No matter what had happened during the week, on what grounds they stand with each other, whether they’re even on speaking terms… Somehow, they always end up in Lambad’s on a saturday night, sharing a bottle of wine or three with Tighnari and Cyno.

The humid air is uncomfortably warm against the nape of Alhaitham’s neck, the sheer volume of the voices around him already toned down by his headphones and somehow still too loud, and his hand cramps very much like Kaveh’s when he picks up his goblet.

Needless to say, it’s not his favorite kind of outing. It usually isn’t, but he still joins. Something about happiness, he supposes, and the way it’s not tied to his work, so then it must be tied to everything outside of that, right? Like companionship or good food and drink or free time. Except for the fact that Alhaitham rarely looks forward to the actual taste of the wine, he’d rather spend his free time in his own living room, and he never initiated these friendships to begin with, so that must not be it.

And yet, he’s here, and he’s listening to them talk and talk and talk, like he always does.

“Sage who?”

“Sage Mahir,” Kaveh repeats, absentmindedly staring at the swirling wine in his glass, “he was instated after Sage Khajeh was exiled. Been there for about a year now.”

“Oh,” Tighnari says, pulling up a lip in disdain, “that would explain it. I try to stay out of that man’s way as much as I can so I never heard much about it. He’s Haravatat, you say?”

“Hm hm, and he’s filthy rich at that,” Kaveh says somewhat miserably, “I hope my formal wear is even up to his standards.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Tighnari says, “last time I saw you in formal wear I felt like I had to get my eyes checked because I couldn’t believe that was you. I think you’re good.”

“Alhaitham on the other hand,” Cyno brings up, shooting Alhaitham a somewhat mischievous smile. While Alhaitham can appreciate the effort to include him in the conversation, the topic of Alhaitham’s invitation has been somewhat of an awkward subject since it was announced and he makes sure to keep an eye on Kaveh’s reaction because of it.

“I won’t even have to speak to the man. I’ll be fine,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“We’ll see about that,” Kaveh says, shooting him a non-threatening glare, “don’t think I’m going to let you accompany me without putting in even a little bit of effort.”

Alhaitham looks at him somewhat annoyedly for a moment, not because he’s mad but because it’s what Kaveh would expect, and then quirks an eyebrow.

“As long as you don’t spend a fortune on it…”

The ‘too’ is purposefully left out, but the two of them still hear it loud and clear.

Still, the smallest start of a smile pulls at Kaveh’s lips and Alhaitham is glad he didn’t start a confrontation at that moment.

“That almost sounds like you accept,” Kaveh says, and for some reason he sounds hopeful of all things. The inconsistency of this man…

Alhaitham supposes that’s exactly what landed them in this tension-filled predicament in the first place, so he should have come to expect it, like Kaveh expects him to be the same at any time.

Alhaitham leaves Kaveh’s question for what it is, neither confirming nor denying, and watching something settle in Kaveh’s eyes that looks suspiciously like a bit of that happiness he was talking about.

“Don’t go too hard on me when you see me there,” Cyno says, “I’ll be there, but I’ll be working so my attire won’t be very extravagant.”

Kaveh sighs dramatically and sags back in his chair, eyeing Cyno critically for a moment.

“Now that’s a waste. A frame like yours would look fantastic in a cape. Have you ever tried one? If not you can borrow one of mine, I’m sure no one would mind if you joined the festivities for a bit.”

“Thanks, but I’m afraid my occupation doesn’t lend well to garments like that. They’re somewhat impractical. Also, I’m not sure red would really suit me,” Cyno says.

“I don’t know, I think it could work,” Tighnari teases, leaning a little closer to Kaveh as if sharing a secret and looking over at Cyno as if leaving him out of it. “If you have a persimmon shade or something, that’d go well with his eyes, right?”

“Oh, it definitely would,” Kaveh says, “But I’m thinking about using that one myself. I have more than just red, you know? How about emerald?”

Alhaitham can’t pretend the conversation isn’t amusing, with the way Tighnari reacts with obviously put-on enthusiasm, just to bait Cyno into reacting, but Alhaitham never pitches in on the jokes. The General stays stone-faced until the moment he suddenly seems to come up with a clever play on words and even then, when Tighnari and Kaveh both glare daggers at him for daring to voice it, Alhaitham watches.

He’s not in any position or right to join in at the moment. No one would expect it of him anyway. And frankly… he doesn’t know how he would fit into this puzzle at all if Kaveh didn’t invite him there every week.

But he supposes it all boils down to what he was told in the living room over breakfast two days ago. Taking risks is something everybody does and everybody should do, sometimes, when the time and place for it is right.

For Kaveh, that’s gambling with his health and livelihood, apparently, and for Alhaitham, that’s leaving his own comfort zone and at least trying to be friendly towards people who treat him much better than they should, even when he doesn’t feel like it.

It’s been this way for so long, with the four of them having this seemingly unimportant tradition, that Alhaitham rarely thinks about his own involvement anymore beyond questioning whether he should pay for the drinks this time or let one of the others do it. But when he really thinks about it, every single time he comes out here he’s taking a risk and doing something that might hurt him in the end, because he doesn’t exactly know how to fit into this group.

But somehow he does.

They might decide they’re sick of his silence at any time and stop inviting him the next week, but it hasn’t happened as of yet and they’ve been doing this for years.

It’s fascinating as much as it is confronting.

So when the bill is paid, goodbyes are exchanged, and the streets are quiet with the gentle warmth of the night, Alhaitham is still stuck on it.

He doesn’t consciously think about the route they’re taking and just lets his feet carry him across the gold-lit stones towards their house, silent as he’s been all evening. He barely even registers that Kaveh is talking to him when he speaks, but then realizes there’s no one else around.

“I knew you were a quiet drunk, but even I’m starting to get suspicious at this point,” Kaveh says, the looseness of the wine clear in his voice. “What are you thinking about in there?”

He sounds unbothered once again. Like he somehow always does.

Alhaitham regards him from the side for a moment, and wonders how he can look so at ease while intoxicated out on the street in the middle of the night. It’s a good thing Alhaitham only had two glasses. The most he’s feeling is a warmth to his cheeks. He supposes he should be the responsible one once again and gets out his keys in advance to fiddle with them in his hands.

“Nothing of importance, “ he says, even though that might be a lie. For some reason, it feels of fairly significant importance. Also, he’s not sure he wants to have any kind of prolonged conversation with Kaveh right now, as he’d hate to turn the sweet night sour.

“Ahh, that’s not right,” Kaveh drawls, nearly tripping over his own feet but righting himself quickly. “You only think about important stuff.”

“Such as?” Alhaitham asks, trying to sound amused.

“Such as…” Kaveh repeats, thinking hard for a long moment, “... finances. And…quillsss…”

“Quills?” Alhaitham repeats, raising an eyebrow at the way even Kaveh grimaces at the uncertainty in his voice. “Is that what you think I think about all the time? What I’ll use to write?”

“Isn’t it? I thought work was so very important to you…” Kaveh mumbles, turning his head away to stare wistfully up at the stars and maybe also to avoid eye contact.

Alhaitham stays silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

“... Well, that was not it,” he settles on, changing the subject. “Guess again.”

“You could just tell me,” Kaveh pouts, “but nooo, you always gotta be mysterious and… ugh-”

“Words failing you?” Alhaitham asks, now genuinely amused.

He receives a soft hit to the shoulder for it, and a huff of breath that Kaveh expels, taking some of his energy with it.

They lapse into a steady rhythm for a while without much to say, turning into Treasures street with a leisurely pace.

“Was it something I said?” Kaveh suddenly asks, his voice soft but still clear in the silent night. Kaveh meets his gaze for a moment, seemingly a little more sober, or at least a little more genuine.

“Hm?” Alhaitham responds, not sure what he’s suddenly getting at.

“The reason you’re so quiet,” Kaveh elaborates.

“Oh. I suppose… you could say that, yes.”

“Hm… Sorry.”

Alhaitham nearly stops in his step but withholds himself from doing so at the last moment. Still, his thoughts halt for just a second.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah,” Kaveh says, staring at his feet now, hands in his pockets to ward off a chill that’s not there. “I know I’ve been a bit… easily agitated. It’s just- This project really means a lot to me so I’ve been quite stressed about it and you calling me out on all the reasons I should be stressed was really not helping…”

“Ah.”

“Also… It feels really shitty to have you doubt me.” Alhaitham suspects the alcohol is doing half of the talking, but that Kaveh has been thinking about it as much as he has ever since. “I… It frustrates me when you say things that make sense and that I can’t refute, because I did really mean what I said. So often, we just don’t understand each other, and I just want to make you see that I’m also right sometimes, and that you should listen to me sometimes instead of the other way around but the more you said the more I realised that I really might be out of my league again and I-”

“Kaveh.”

Kaveh’s mouth snaps shut with a clack of his teeth and his attention is immediately on Alhaitham in a way that makes the words he’d planned to say disappear from his mind for a moment. Luckily it never takes long to get them back.

“I don’t think you’re out of your league.”

Kaveh stares at him dumbstruck, like he’d just started singing in the middle of the street.

“Huh?” he exclaims softly. “You- Then what-”

“I don’t think this project is too much for you to handle, nor do I think you’re underqualified. I just want you to be careful. I want you to be wise about it.”

“... And being wise about it… that would be… what would you suggest I do then?” Kaveh asks, still as if his mind is working overtime to process the conversation he’s having and to convince him that it’s really Alhaitham next to him. As strange as it may seem, it genuinely is.

“Well, for starters, do not spend a single coin on it from now on until Sage Mahir himself has approved it,” Alhaitham says, and Kaveh nods silently. “Also, keep your boundaries tight. Don’t work over hours. Don’t move too fast. You have nothing to prove to them.”

To Alhaitham’s intense relief, Kaveh seems to be drinking up his words like another goblet of wine, savoring their taste and trying to decide which parts of them he likes and which he doesn’t.

“Lastly… don’t let yourself get intimidated by the man,” Alhaitham says. “He might be rich, but his opinion on architecture cannot trump yours. He’s a linguist. I can speak from experience when I say that we generally know absolutely nothing of the topic, so stand your ground on your ideas.”

“... easy as that, huh?” Kaveh mumbles, coming to a stop next to Alhaitham, in front of their front door.

Alhaitham easily slips in the golden key, twists it and pushes the door open to step into their dark entrance hall, relishing in the cool air from inside for a moment, and Kaveh quietly follows him.

Even when they’ve toed off their shoes and hung up their outerwear, he hasn’t said much, so Alhaitham takes the initiative to end off their conversation.

“Just… consider it, at least. The things you’ll remember in the morning, that is.”

That earns a soft laugh from Kaveh, who nods thoughtfully.

“Hm,” he starts, standing across from him somewhat awkwardly. Alhaitham understands. It’s not often they see eye to eye like this during a conversation. “I’ll see about it, I guess…”

They leave it at that.

With less hard feelings than they’ve had the entire week, Kaveh drags himself into his bedroom on quiet, sock clad feet, and Alhaitham retreats into his own chambers, still thinking, still silent.

Now, for once he actually hopes for something, and that is to keep this delicate truce standing at least until the night of the event itself.

---

The evening is once again tepid and mellow, fireflies hovering above the stone railings like a part of the extensive decorations that span across the entire Akademiya pathway leading up to the entrance. The perfect temperature to make use of some expertly placed, gold-rimmed cut-outs in clothing -- a fact Kaveh gladly makes use of.

They’re standing in line about halfway down the path and his roommate has put down Mehrak for a moment to lift his hair out of his neck and swat at himself for a hint of cool breeze, the low drape of the cape strung to his shoulders revealing an open backed blouse even lower than it would usually be. There’s a rim of crystals along the hem of the crimson fabric and Alhaitham can’t help but let his eyes linger on it for just a moment.

“Need me to carry anything?” he proposes, eyeing the materials by Kaveh’s feet.

Kaveh huffs and drops his hair again, scooping up Mehrak in the process and clutching her close to his chest.

“No way I’m letting you hold these,” he says, referring to his papers.

“They’re safely encased in metal, what could I possibly do to them?” Alhaitham counters, finding himself in better spirits than he’d imagined he would be approaching an evening very much to his distastes.

“Archon knows, but you’ll see that when I open her they’ll be crumpled in all the wrong ways suddenly.”

“Hm, suit yourself.”

“I will,” Kaveh says, chin held high. Even this, the simple act of holding his papers, he connects so much importance too, Alhaitham can’t imagine how exhausting it must be to be Kaveh right now.

For the past three days, he’s been nothing but a jittery mess about this. On Tuesday Alhaitham got home from work to a deep forest green suit laid out on the dinner table, with gold buttons and a trail of black satin running along one shoulder -- perfectly extravagant as Kaveh would like to see it. On Wednesday, Kaveh refused the money Alhaitham offered him to pay him back for it, and claimed he’d be satisfied if Alhaitham just wore the thing without altering too much, brushing him off to continue writing the script of his pitch. On Thursday, he’d barely eaten anything for dinner, simply because the nerves filling him up stole all of his appetite.

Alhaitham had only been to three project meetings since the one out in the desert, but even then he’d already gotten a fine idea of where the project stood.

They have four more people in on it for now. One Miss Tulya, who’d paid Kaveh back about a quarter of the deposit money that they put on the plot, landing him in just a slightly better position (Alhaitham suspects this was good enough a reason for Kaveh to splurge on the suit). Mister Hanim, a local glassworker who seemed as enthusiastic about the window idea as Kaveh. A tradeswoman who’s name Alhaitham had missed but who has many solid connections to any kind of material supply Kaveh could ever need, who’d also pitched in a little on the funds. And finally a desert-specialized architect named Tulyazi who Kaveh had put down a solid plan with regarding the foundation of the structure.

So all in all, things are moving along at a slow and steady pace, just as Alhaitham had suggested.

This might be one of the reasons he’s more at ease than he thought he would be, approaching what feels like Kaveh’s sentencing. His roommate has actually been taking his advice fairly well, if he disregards the spending on frivolous things and the amount of lamp oil he’s burned through these past three nights.

Still, the moment they approach the guards out front, checking invitations, not a hint of any of it is visible on Kaveh’s face. He’d expertly blended away the darkness beneath his eyes and had smiled to himself in the mirror so many times it seemed stuck on his face now, like a defense mechanism to being perceived.

Alhaitham quietly hands the matra next to him his invitation and doesn’t bother with small talk, instead trying to scan the crowd inside for a familiar headdress, but he doesn’t find it.

The grand hall of the Akademiya feels shockingly mundane to him, even with all of its glitter and gold. Not even the richest of audiences can transform this into anything other than his workplace, it seems. Somewhat of a shame, really. Although it puts him more at ease, a part of him had hoped he would at least feel somewhat intimidated by Sage Mahir’s presence, just to understand Kaveh a little better, but it seems he’s on his own for the evening.

Alhaitham can’t bring himself to care nor respect anything expensive or self-important in the place.

It does seem larger, somehow, than it usually does, the central fountain just a small coin in the palm of a large hand, nearly hidden behind the many colorful robes and voices already inside.

Alhaitham reaches up to dial down the noise somewhat, and as soon as Kaveh’s inside and sees his hand by his ear, he taps on Alhaitham’s shoulder and motions a familiar sign.

‘Ok?’

Alhaitham merely returns it.

‘Ok.’

Kaveh nods and an understanding settles between them, based on their glances alone.

Kaveh will go find Kahara and enter the line to speak personally with Sage Mahir, who’s perched on a grand chair near the walkway leading to the House of Daena, and Alhaitham will bide his time privately until Kaveh mentions for him to come over and transcribe the interaction. And that’s it. With dual nods and a pat to Kaveh’s shoulder for good luck, the two separate and disappear into the moving crowds, one towards the crown jewel and the other towards the sparkling drinks.

---

Alhaitham purposefully keeps his face sharp and somewhat unfriendly, just to ward off most of the people looking to ‘network’ with the former Acting Grand Sage. As necessary as it had been back then, the fact that he’d ever carried that title at all still irks him to this day, because no one seems to want to forget.

He’s just a Scribe, nothing more, but in the public eye he’s got all the inside knowledge, all the power, and all the connections one looking to climb the Akademiya ladder would ever need.

So he scowls and keeps a half-eye on Kaveh, easily tracking him by the incessant shine of the diamond-studded clips in his hair, while he takes his time sipping on a glass of water that he’s sure Sage Mahir vouched to charge the attendants separately for if he could have.

There’s one person he should have expected to disregard his attempts at intimidation, though.

Cyno is suddenly next to him, hair pulled back neatly underneath his Mahamatra headdress, staff in hand, eyeing him with a slight judgement in his eyes.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t matra,” he says, keeping his eyes tightly fixed on the crowd.

“An astute observation,” Alhaitham says back, keeping his voice as flat as Cyno’s.

“So why are you acting like one?”

“I’m not,” Alhaitham says simply.

“You’re keeping a sharp eye on the crowd, you’re making yourself unapproachable and keeping to the side… You look like you’d rather drag some people out by the ear if you could but you know you’re not allowed to.”

“Huh…” Alhaitham says, pondering, “more astute observations, I suppose.”

“So why? Things still rough between you and Kaveh?”

“Hm? What gave you that impression?” Alhaitham asks, turning to face him.

Cyno shrugs and only shoots him a glance, quickly back on his hawk-eyed scan of the crowds.

“We’ve learned your tells,” he says, “or- well, Tighnari has, and he shares them with me. You seemed tense last Saturday. Did you have a fight?”

“Not recently,” Alhaitham says, and for once it’s true. If recently counted only up to about a week.

“Does something else have you angry, then?”

“I’m not angry,” Alhaitham says, sighing, “just… vigilant.”

“You know that’s what I’m here for,” Cyno counters.

“Not in that sense that you’re thinking of,” Alhaitham says. “I’m vigilant on Kaveh’s behalf, since he refuses to be.”

“Still about that project?”

“He’s going to reveal it soon. I don’t trust the Sage to be as enthusiastic about it as he is,” Alhaitham says, keeping his voice low, just between them.

“I see… Do you think he should be?”

Alhaitham knows Cyno isn’t asking about the quality of the design, really. He’s already sure it’s up to standard, he’s just asking whether it’s exceptional or just very good.

Alhaitham is all too aware of the gravity his words hold when he praises Kaveh, and the design he’s drawn up wholeheartedly deserves it.

“Yes. I personally think any criticisms he might have would be shallow and unfounded. Merely a means to establish dominance, because he knows everyone would agree with him and hold him up on his towering ego.”

“It’s that good?” Cyno asks.

“It’s better than the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Kaveh made sure it is. He’s letting everything depend on this project like a fool.”

Cyno just hums and joins Alhaitham’s gaze at the back of Kaveh’s head, who’s talking animatedly with Kahara near the front of the line, only a handful of people bearing gifts in front of them.

“Do you want me to stick close by during the conversation?” Cyno then proposes, reading Alhaitham’s tone surprisingly well.

It’s not that Alhaitham thinks Cyno will need to intervene in any way, but knowing the General of the guards is close by to hear everything might encourage the man to keep the conversation kind and professional.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind,” Alhaitham says.

The two exchange a glance and then Cyno nods, a silent agreement made between them.

The line of gift presenters shuffles slightly to the front and Alhaitham takes that as his que. He takes his notebook out of the folds of his jacket and trusts Cyno to make his way over in his own way.

---

Sage stays unreactive. Arch. moving on to greenhouse expl., Alhaitham scribbles down as he stands off to the side, watching Kaveh gesture to an area on the map Kahara is holding up with a strained smile.

“And for the greenhouse and the gardens, I have a personal contact who’d gladly provide the space with a lush and vibrant palette to offset the heat,” Kaveh says proudly, not a hint of nerves present in his voice.

It’s moments like these when Alhaitham admittedly feels a deep respect for the man, foolish as he is to conform to his own, strict, professional standards. And also a certain fondness, he supposes, because of the fact that apparently, despite all of their differences, Kaveh doesn’t feel the need at all to be so fake around him. The image of ‘weekend haired’, single-slipper-clad Kaveh on the opposite side of his breakfast table juxtaposed to this tells him enough.

Arch. suggests general theme of mourning flowers for patio, already in the process of procuring Natlanese Chrysanthemum to line high garden walls

“How about Kalpalata Lotuses?” Sage Mahir asks, his weathered voice grainy and gruff to the ears.

Alhaitham immediately transcribes the exact quote, because this is the first thing the Sage has suggested since Kaveh started speaking.

“Well, those would definitely be an option for inside the greenhouse, since we could work on a system of elementally regulated weather conditions to keep everything healthy and alive, but on the garden wall, I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult. I’ve been told they need quite a bit of rain, you see?” Kaveh explains calmly, confidence never faltering. He even seems quite proud to be able to relay what Tighnari had told him during their first discussion about the topic of the Forest Watcher’s involvement in the project.

“I see,” the Sage mumbles, “and that would inflate the price even more, I presume?”

Sage concerned about price?? Alhaitham writes down, feeling petty enough to include a snippet of his own personal reaction on the paper, knowing he has to ignore it for later reference.

“Ah, well, yes, it unfortunately would,” Kaveh says, smiling sheepishly. “We’d have to commission some custom technology from a team of Spantamad and Haravatat freelancers, and we all know how steep their rates can get,” Kaveh laughs, slightly too loudly for the situation, falling on completely deaf ears. He clears his throat and recenters himself. “But that’s why we’ve come up with multiple alternatives already from which you could choose, which would keep the project well within the originally proposed price range-”

“Are you nearly done?” the Sage interrupts him, and Kaveh falls quiet at once.

Alhaitham looks up from his notebook.

Kahara’s arms falter while holding up the paper somewhat, resulting in an objectively pathetic display of disappointment.

Cyno, who’s standing next to the slightly raised stage, lets his sharp gaze drift over to the four of them.

Kaveh clears his throat again and keeps his chin up when he asks a careful: “Sorry?”

His voice doesn’t sound much different from before, but Alhaitham distinctly recognises the sound of Kaveh’s hurt when he hears it.

“Are you nearly done?” the Sage repeats simply, “your spiel is turning out to be a waste of my time. There are more people to get to, you know?”

Kaveh stands there for a moment, still as a statue, perhaps not even breathing. Then he snaps out of his own mind and huffs out an awkward laugh again, clapping his hands together in a disconcertingly friendly gesture.

“Right,” he starts, “of course. My apologies. I can assure you I’m nearly done, just-”

“Next, please,” Sage Mahir calls out past Kaveh, gesturing a bony hand lazily through the air to beckon a set of doe-eyed students closer, eyeing the gifts in their hands.

Kahara looks unsure of what to do, but since Kaveh doesn’t seem to plan on moving, she unsurely reaches out for his arm and gives it a gentle tug, letting the blueprint drop all the way.

Alhaitham writes down what he needs to, but doesn’t really look at the paper at all. For all he cares, it’ll all be illegible by the time he gets home. He doubts he’ll forget this interaction if he tries.

Kaveh stumbles slightly, eyes unseeing as he follows Kahara’s lead, leaving Mehrak on the ground by where he stood, but then he resists.

He pulls his arm away and turns to face the Sage, a brave look in his eyes, visibly swallowing away his own feelings for a moment.

“Excuse me,” he softly tells the students who’d stepped up, taking their place again carefully and facing the man. “With all my respect, Sage Mahir, I think you’d be making a mistake turning down a project like this. It’s well within your means to support and it’ll be incredibly significant for the furthering of Akedemiya-led education amongst the desert-”

The Sage sighs loudly to cut him off and furrows his brow as if looking at a child who’d refused to listen to their scolding and is now turning into a nuisance.

“What was your name again, Architect?”

Kaveh could have just as well received a slap to the face.

“Kaveh,” he answers, sounding breathless.

“Kaveh,” the Sage repeats, gesturing to Alhaitham, “Could you note that down in a personal address to me, Scribe?”

The color drains from Kaveh’s face and Alhaitham has to resist the urge to simply pull him away and lead him outside where this vile man can’t see him.

“Why would I do that?” Alhaitham challenges, keeping his voice straight, his tone professional but cold.

“That is your job, is it not?” Sage Mahir returns, equally annoyed as he’d sounded speaking to Kaveh. “To blacklist this Architect from approaching me again with his unreasonable demands, of course. And get his last name too, if you would.”

“Blacklist?” Kaveh exclaims, perhaps a little less composed than he meant to sound. “Sir-”

“I won’t be doing that,” Alhaitham states, keeping a level gaze on the man. The Sage looks very much like he’s not used to getting such a blunt refusal presented to him. “For that’s not included in the role I was hired for.”

“You’d outright refuse to write a single name on a piece of paper for me?” Sage Mahir asks, scoffing, “why, it’s a wonder you were ever hired at all.”

“Seeing as my role is to document the project’s process for my client here, Architect Kaveh, I believe it would be inappropriate for me to aid in hindering the project so drastically. Now, if you’d be willing to hear him out.”

The look Kaveh is sending him is equal parts disturbed and grateful, somehow, and once he realizes Alhaitham’s given him the floor once again he seems to panic internally for just a moment.

He turns to the Sage, blows out a calming breath, and tries again with impressive resolve.

“I truly believe both you and the institution you work for will benefit enormously from this project, sir. As a Sage, your heart must lie with the education of the new generation, isn’t that right? Please, sir, if you could reconsider the proposal-”

“I think I see where we are misunderstanding each other now,” the Sage says, standing up from his chair and stepping down from the podium to face Kaveh eye to eye. Kaveh in turn takes a step back, however involuntarily.

In order to not be interrupted again, Kaveh lets his eyes speak in question.

“You think of me as one of the Akademiya’s six pawns, correct?” the man asks, “A man of high status, plentiful wealth and a proper bit of power within the institution. The perfect target to propel yourself up the ladder from where you started, a mediocre Ksharewar student, out of his depths out in the real world. Architecture is not such a comfortable field once you actually have to put it into practice, hm?”

Kaveh takes a step back to lessen the uncomfortably close distance at which the man is standing, and in turn the Sage follows suit approaching him.

“You think, just because you got your hands on an invitation, that you’re welcome to hold your sales pitches here, young man? The disrespect of the very notion is enough to make me want to decline, nevermind the quality of your work.”

Alhaitham’s hand burns with the words he’s writing down but he tries to get it all on paper as close to what he says as possible. Documenting is crucial at moments like these, no matter how painful. Because this man is giving him proof that cannot go to waste or many other students and alumni will live under his hypocritical judgement for years to come. Because Archon knows that if a majority of the Sages agrees to keep him on -- which they will -- they will get their way. Such corruption happened once, and it can happen again. But not if Alhaitham transcribes. And so he does.

“Tell me, who came up with this grand strategy?” the Sage asks.

A heavy silence falls for a moment, and Alhaitham only belatedly realizes that the crowd close by has also tuned into the exchange, falling quiet themselves and staring at Kaveh and the man in front of him in worried curiosity.

Kaveh exchanges a single look with Kahara, who’s clutching the rolled-up blueprint with trembling hands and who nearly startles at the eye contact.

Alhaitham sees him make a decision right then.

She’d have to endure at least another two years of this if Sage Mahir learned it was her idea. Kaveh is not the kind of person to curse another for his own wellbeing. The foolish, compassionate man.

“I came up with the idea for the project, sir, but I can assure you-” Kaveh starts, but he cuts himself off this time as he hurries another step back when Sage Mahir attempts to get closer.

Alhaitham sees Cyno clutching his polearm with a white-knuckled grip, carefully observing the situation as a silent force. He knows Cyno can’t act rashly against this person, considering he’s one of the Six Sages -- not unless some kind of physical altercation were to break out, so as long as it’s only verbal, he’s not within his legal rights to do anything.

He wants to, though. Alhaitham sees the exact same anger in his eyes as what burns in his own chest.

But he keeps writing.

“Let me tell you something, Architect,” Sage Mahir says.

The crowd is dead quiet at this point, and carefully dispersed so as to not get involved in the situation in any way, but they’re watching. They’re all watching. And Kaveh knows it.

He keeps his head held high, but his posture is so tense he might crack and break into pieces if the man as much as lays a single finger on him.

“You seem to have a bad case of delusion if you think my personal celebration is a business opportunity for you. Not only do you ask me to fund a project I never personally commissioned, but you outrageously inflate the costs to wring me dry in the process and you dare to deliver such an amateurish excuse of a blueprint? And you genuinely expect me to praise you for it? Don’t make me laugh.”

Sage Mahir brings up a single finger and presses it into the center of Kaveh’s chest.

“Leave, Architect. And don’t show yourself to me again,” he says, prodding him once, then twice, at each accentuated word that leaves his mouth.

Then he turns on his heel and marches back to his chair, fully convinced of his own power as he looks out over the scene he’d just left in the middle of the hall.

Kaveh stands. And stares. And blinks.

The breath he inhales is unstable, but his seemingly calm composure never falters. He’s all too aware of the shocked onlookers boring their eyes into every inch of him, taking in his glitter and shine and coming to the conclusion that it’s all fake, which to a certain extent it is.

The Light of Ksharewar dims in their eyes, and its wick is left smoking fragile ringlets in complete silence.

Then Kaveh turns and exits the hall with large and determined strides, his shattered dignity at least reflecting as brightly as he once burned.

When the tall double doors close and the crowd breaks out in whispers, Alhaitham is faced with an impossible choice.

There are two things he must do, both of significant importance, but he knows which one takes priority.

So he snaps his notebook shut with a snap and unkindly pushes past attendees to get outside and follow Kaveh.

---

The man is halfway down the first ramp leading down from the terrace when Alhaitham pushes himself through the heavy doors, not bothering to open them all the way. The short-lived sliver of light spilling out of the hall catches on Kaveh’s glittering frame strikingly and Alhaitham rushes to approach him, not caring for the confused matra standing guard by the door.

“Kaveh,” he calls out, hard-heeled shoes loud on the stone in the quiet of the outside.

Kaveh doesn’t stop for him, and perhaps only quickens his pace. So Alhaitham sprints the last few steps that separate them and catches Kaveh by the wrist, trying to keep his grip gentle but trying to stop him at the same time.

The Kaveh that whirls around to face him is in complete dissonance with who he’d been inside. A single smudge of coal runs down the length of his left cheek and a small bead of blood catches the light on his lip -- one of the first things Alhaitham notices with a flare of alarm.

But Kaveh pulls away before Alhaitham can do anything else and glares at him with raw and utter disappointment.

“Not now,” he says, his voice thick with everything he’s trying to hold back. “Whatever you have to say… Please, just not now.”

Alhaitham pauses for a moment, genuinely unsure of what to do -- respect Kaveh’s request against his better instincts or try to talk him down from his misery regardless. They stand there, breathing, trying to take it all in and get enough oxygen at the same time -- a task Kaveh seems to be struggling with.

Then, after a moment too long, Kaveh turns again and starts walking-

Only for Alhaitham to reach out and grab his hand, pressing his house keys, warm from his own heat, into his palm.

“Remember my words,” Alhaitham says, holding on for a second Kaveh seems to find uncomfortable. The Architect pulls his fingers out of his grasp, curling them tightly around the keys and meeting his eyes with a horrible sort of dullness behind them.

“I remember them,” he says softly. “All of them. And the worst part of it is that you were right. About everything, you were right. The fact that you still need me to acknowledge that-”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t talk over me,” Kaveh says, a sudden anger in his voice barely constrained. His brow furrows like he’s in genuine, physical pain, and he stares up at Alhaitham like he was the one to prod a finger in his chest and spit on his legacy. “If you have any respect for me at all… Just leave me be.”

Alhaitham blinks and lets out a shallow breath, standing back.

He leaves Kaveh be.

Kaveh turns and walks away, less graceful than he’d held himself inside, and less purposeful too. A shadow in the night, left falling through gaps and creases to try and get where it belongs in the darkness it longs for.

Alhaitham stays near the railing of the terrace and tries to look down to see whether Kaveh at least reaches their door alright, just a few lanes down.

Once all of him has disappeared into the pitch black of the entrance hallway and the oak door falls closed, he straightens, and turns to the shining double doors that house the remains of the scene that had occurred.

To say he has words left unsaid would be a disgusting understatement.

---

Alhaitham can’t help but still the moment he steps back inside.

It’s like nothing ever happened.

The crowd is once again equally dispersed. A new line has formed to speak with Sage Mahir, who’s smiling when he glances over to see Alhaitham enter. Kahara is nowhere to be seen and even Mehrak, who Alhaitham knows had been left standing on the ground, is gone.

He makes that his first priority, to find her and make sure she’s not damaged in any way -- only to be intercepted by Cyno the moment he starts to move.

The General is holding out the briefcase to him, not a scratch on her, and Alhaitham once again finds himself questioning how he ever distrusted the man.

“Did you manage to catch him?” Cyno asks as Alhaitham takes Mehrak and loops one of the decorative chains trailing from his hip around her handle to keep her by his side.

“Not really,” Alhaitham says, “Just long enough to give him the keys. He didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Damn it,” Cyno mutters under his breath, glancing at the glass doors in conflict.

“He wants to be alone, Cyno,” Alhaitham discourages him, “Besides, you’re on duty. You can’t just leave.”

“Sometimes I wish we still wore Akasha’s,” Cyno grumbles, “then we could at least ask Tighnari to come over and talk to him. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“It doesn’t sit any better with me than it does with you,” Alhaitham says, turning his attention to the Sage perched on his throne. “But there’s nothing words will solve for him right now. I trust you’ll be my witness when reporting all of this to the Grand Sage and Lesser Lord Kusanali?”

Cyno looks shocked for a moment at the change of subject, but quickly nods to agree.

“Of course. But what about now?”

“Now, the Sage deserves a taste of his own attitude,” Alhaitham says darkly, fishing out his notebook from inside of his jacket and striding into the proverbial battlefield of attendees in his way, leaving Cyno by the doors, concerned.

“Wait- Alhaitham-” he attempts to call after him, but Alhaitham doesn’t care to respond.

Within seconds, he’s at the front of the line, inserting himself in between the front-most guests and the podium.

When the guests he cut off start their indignant exclamations of injustice, Alhaitham sends them a single glare and they both shut up.

When he turns back to address the Sage, he finds the old man rolling his eyes, nothing more than annoyed at his return.

It’s exactly the kind of oxygen Alhaitham needs to fuel his temporary bout of recklessness.

“Ah, Scribe,” Sage Mahir drawls, “you’re back.”

Alhaitham holds up his notebook with a sharp gesture, leaving the man to study it for a moment in silence.

“Know what this is?” he asks, making sure to keep his tone properly condescending. Like the Sage should know all too well, a simple exchange between individuals is not against the law, no matter the tone used.

“Your notes, I would presume,” the Sage counters, skillfully playing his cards so as to seem bored.

“That’s right,” Alhaitham says. “And with that, the only thing I need to get you dismissed from your position as a Sage.”

Sage Mahir chokes out an offensively loud laugh and eyes the notebook as if it's a weathered children’s toy.

“That?” he starts, “Don’t be disillusioned, young man, but some scribbled field notes could hardly count as proper grounds for something like that. Besides, what is there to charge me for? I do recall a simple sharing of opinions to be perfectly legal, am I wrong?”

“A sharing of words may be, but you made it physical,” Alhaitham says, an unkind smile to his lips, “You touched the Architect, and we all saw it. Physical intimidation is against the law.”

The Sage hesitates to fire back for a moment and that’s all the time Alhaitham needs to let his smile turn more satisfied than anything. Got him.

“Moreover,” he continues, “it might have escaped your attention but the Haravatat Darshan recently held a meeting to discuss whether or not verbal abuse and threats should be considered grounds for expulsion or dismissal, and all present agreed. I should know. I transcribed it. It’s all in here,” Alhaitham says, shaking the book tauntingly in the air.

The self-satisfied grimace has completely faded off the Sage’s face and he stands, approaching Alhaitham like he had Kaveh, only Alhaitham doesn’t step away and simply lets him come closer.

The moment he steps off the stage, he holds out a veiny hand, beckoning Alhaitham to obey his command of: “Give that to me.”

Alhaitham does nothing of the sort and just tilts his head a bit in defiance.

“Why would I do that?” he asks.

“You may have graduated already but I am the Sage of your very Darshan. You will listen to me,” the Sage seethes, making a grab for the book that Alhaitham pulls out of his reach.

“I might not be recording everything now, but I wrote down every single word you spoke to the Architect,” Alhaitham taunts him, keeping his arm back to make it impossible for the Sage to reach without physically moving him somehow.

Alhaitham shares a short look with Cyno, who’s keeping watch of the situation, vigilant and eager as always off by the side of the podium. He tries to not let too many of his actual thoughts shine through, though, lest he try to intervene early by calling out in some way.

The key to this is to let it escalate.

“Scribe,” the Sage hisses.

“Sage,” Alhaitham counters.

“I suggest you give me that notebook right this instant if you want to keep your job.”

“First of all, I do believe that is a threat,” Alhaitham says smugly, “which we just established is against guidelines. Second, I doubt you’ll even have the authority to fire me after tonight. Your position is as good as lost, and with it, your hold over me, the Architect, or anyone else.”

The Sage seems to think rapidly to get to a counter argument of sorts, but his fists shake by his sides in a way that just seems pathetic now more than intimidating.

“So if I were you, I’d relish this night of celebration while you can, because this will most likely be the last time anyone’s got enough respect for you to actually show up.”

And there it is-

Alhaitham reels back at the fist that connects harshly with the side of his jaw, a flash of blinding white flashing across his vision as the hit lands harder than he’d anticipated.

And yet, as he stumbles back and brings a hand up to cup his tender skin, he can’t help but let out a huff of a winded laugh.

Cyno is onto the Sage in seconds, stepping in between him and the Scribe he’d just punched, polearm a shield between them.

Alhaitham only sees after a few blinks that he’d dropped his notebook -- thankfully out of Sage Mahir’s reach -- and snatches it up as he straightens. He takes a single step to the side to regain his balance and immediately finds a firm hand on his arm, keeping him steady.

With a flash of a grateful look and a mumbled thanks to Cyno, he stands of his own accord and gestures for Cyno to wait just a moment before stating the man’s warnings.

He flips open his notebook to the right page, clears his throat -- tasting a hint of blood against his teeth, but that’s something for later -- and starts reading.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali formally signs the renewed Akademiya guidelines as valid and active on the late morning of the day proceeding the ‘in-lecture abuse incident’ involving one Professor Gurizam. The Professor will stand trial on the base of these newly altered rules regarding section 5.4 of the Guidelines labelled ‘Abuse and intimidation’ which now includes the prosecution of the following:

Verbal abuse including insults with intended harm, the use of inappropriate and discriminatory language, and verbal threats.

Physical intimidation such as the unwilling approaching, touching or moving of another person.

And violence, intended and unintended, of any kind.”

Alhaitham makes sure to draw out the last words he says to make them sink in, and truly, cruelly enjoys the way the color drains from Sage Mahir’s face.

“You have performed all of these actions tonight, Sage Mahir,” Cyno says calmly, but darkly. “We are all the Scribe’s witnesses.”

Alhaitham wishes Kaveh was here to see the look on the Sage’s face as he realizes what exactly he’d just done, staring at the fist that had punched Alhaitham, knuckles already starting to bruise.

There’s no denying it now. Come morning, the Haravatat Darshan will have to start their search for yet another Sage to lead them.

Alhaitham just furiously hopes he’ll be spared from the ‘acting’ position this time around.

---

The house is dark when he steps inside. Dark and completely silent.

Kaveh hadn’t even tried to make himself feel better.

Only one of his shiny dress shoes lays on its side somewhere close to the shoe rack, but the other is nowhere to be found so Alhaitham deduces Kaveh probably didn’t have the patience to properly untie his laces. He picks up the discarded one and studies it for scratches for a moment.

They were once a gift from his mother, custom ordered from a Fontainian boutique. A dull scuff mark scars the side in a way that makes Alhaitham frown. To go so far, all because of the words of some boorish fool who’d just happened to be bored and much too entitled on a useless, fateful night that Kaveh had been so excited about…

Alhaitham puts it down softly on the rack next to where he parks his own boots and pads inside on sock-clad feet, sighing at the way not even a speck of light shines from beneath Kaveh’s bedroom door.

His first order of business, rather than approaching his roommate, is to prepare some soul-soothing offerings. This is not just because he’s got no clue what to say to him and is concerned Kaveh will just tell him to leave immediately… but that is a large part of the reason. Like this, at least he won’t have to worry about seemingly trivial, but surprisingly tiring things like making food for himself.

It’s nothing fancy -- nothing even remotely close to what was being served at the banquet -- but maybe that’s for the better. He takes ten minutes to make what Kaveh had made for him when he’d shared the news of his promotion to Acting Grand Sage (because Kaveh insisted that it was something to be celebrated, to Alhaitham’s chagrin). Alhaitham had made this in return for Kaveh’s 27th birthday and Kaveh, again in turn, had made it for Alhaitham’s 26th.

A simple baba ganoush with whatever leftover breads they had had somehow become a staple for celebration. Something of a ‘congratulations’, without actually having to say it.

This project is not something to remember under the title of ‘failure’. It is very much worthy of celebration, contrary to what the Sage might have to say.

So Alhaitham swiftly prepares the spread, heating up some pita’s in a pan and boiling water for a cup of tea (because as much as he might crave it, alcohol is not going to help Kaveh tonight), and while he waits for it all to be done, in the meantime, he flits around the living room silently to light lamp after lamp, making sure to announce to Kaveh that he’s home and that he’s free to come out if he wants to.

That there’s still some light left to be shone tonight, and not just those all-devouring shadows.

With a tray in hand, he knocks on the door and says a soft: “Kaveh?”

He gets no response.

“I’m coming in,” he announces, but before he actually does he gives him a full minute to object.

When he pushes the door open, he’s met with a scene that nearly makes him drop the food. It’s like a burglar had snuck in and uprooted Kaveh’s room in search of valuables. Only Alhaitham knows it was Kaveh himself, and he knows all he saw were insults to his very livelihood and nothing of value.

Papers litter the floor. Some torn, others less so. Blueprints and pages of a sketchbook and even photographs. Kaveh’s smiling face is still visible in the darkness, and Alhaitham can’t help but feel that -- perhaps uncalled for -- pity again.

Because the real one sits against the wall underneath the windowsill, feet planted steadily on the ground and knees unevenly drawn up, with his hands pressed tightly against his forehead, once-neatly-coiffed hair in tangles between his fingers.

To go so far…

Alhaitham steps inside and places the tray next to Kaveh’s feet in the hopes of him noticing without Alhaitham having to explain himself. Then he stays crouched down low and starts shuffling the papers on the ground together, picking up picture after paper after blueprint and depositing them all on Kaveh’s large working desk, one by one.

After a couple of minutes of loaded silence, Kaveh mumbles something under his breath that Alhaitham can barely make out, the man’s voice completely shot.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“How can I, Kaveh?” Alhaitham responds simply, trying to match his volume. “You didn’t even bother to turn on the light.”

Kaveh scoffs and lets out a shuddering sigh.

“Right, didn’t bother… Get out, please.”

Alhaitham looks up and stares at him for a moment, wondering with a hint of frustration whether he’s even going to acknowledge the food cooling off right next to him.

When he stays idle for a moment too long, Kaveh uncovers his eyes and lets them shine in the faint light of the living room that’s spilling inside, meeting Alhaitham’s.

“Get out,” he repeats.

“I made you food,” Alhaitham mentions, flitting his gaze down to the tray. It’s not like he wants any praise for it but Kaveh should at least be aware that it’s there or he might knock over the tea and burn himself.

Kaveh glances down and his tight frown softens for just a split second, before curling into something Alhaitham can only describe as hurt. But still different than back at the banquet. This is the kind of hurt Alhaitham suspects only he is able to draw out.

Kaveh scoffs and glares back at him.

“Take it back with you if you’re worried about wasting it,” he says darkly.

Alhaitham takes a moment to register what Kaveh had said.

“I made you food,” he repeats. “You should eat. Don’t be stubborn.”

“And you think making me baba ganoush is going to help?” Kaveh exclaims, suddenly much louder, laced with genuine anger. “Are you trying to mock me?”

“What are you talking about?” Alhaitham asks, annoyance creeping into his own voice. “You like the dish. What’s there to be picky about?”

“Not on a night like this!” Kaveh yells, stumbling to his feet in order to meet Alhaitham’s height. “I swear to God, Alhaitham, the day you grow a single situationally-aware bone in your body is the day I apply to be Sage!”

“I thought it would make you feel better,” Alhaitham says calmly, honestly, hoping Kaveh might match his tone again and calm down.

“You thought making a celebratory dish would make me feel better when I just got my dreams shattered? Just like I’m sure you thought standing there and penning away to immortalize all of my misery into that stupid notebook of yours would make me feel better too? You didn’t even pretend you wanted to stop him, you just-” Kaveh sucks in a deep breath and stops himself mid-sentence. When he speaks again, his voice is low and dangerously close to tears. “I need you to get out of my space, right now.”

“Kaveh, what you’re doing is dangerous,” Alhaitham counters, trying to keep his voice even despite the stab of hurt that shoots through his chest. “I can’t in good conscience leave you alone when you’re like this.”

Kaveh hesitates for a moment and then stomps towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around, pushing him unkindly out the door.

It slams shut in his face the moment he recovers from his stumble and is not only locked, but also, by the sound of it, barred by Kaveh’s heavy desk.

Alhaitham is left standing in his own little pocket of darkness, backlit by the oil lamp on the dinner table, casting his shadow on the door, looming and invasive.

A soft tap of something small hits his foot, and when he glances down, Alhaitham almost convinces himself that it might be a tear, only he’s not crying and the spot is a dark red.

A hand shoots up to his face and comes away with blood on his fingers, and only now does he register the sticky liquid dripping across his upper lip from his nose.

“Shit,” he softly curses to himself, keeping a hand up by his chin to catch the blood and turning to make his way to the bathroom.

He spends a good hour staring at himself in the mirror, after getting the bleeding to stop.

Trying to understand.

There’s tiny dots of diluted blood beneath his fingers, gripping the sink, that didn’t fully wash away with the water, and his skin is rubbed red in some places and starting to bruise purple in others.

He wonders if he should use some of Kaveh’s cosmetics to try and cover it up or if he should show himself to his roommate like this and let him come to the conclusions himself.

A tiny, selfish part of him wants Kaveh to see him like this -- wants to see how his eyes widen at the sight of him and how his first instinct might be to reach out and cup the sore spot on his jaw to study it-

Alhaitham puts on some cream-thing approximately the color of his skin and hopes it matches well enough.

He doesn’t need to worry about sleeping it off that night, because he doesn’t get any sleep at all.

---

The entire night and following morning, Kaveh doesn’t leave his room.

Alhaitham wonders whether he’s eaten any of the food and hopes he at least drank the tea because letting himself get dehydrated over his stubbornness will just make him feel more miserable.

Technically, he knows he shouldn’t be surprised. This isn’t the first time Kaveh has hidden himself away after a rejection and it won’t be the last, which is exactly why Alhaitham was trying to make the point he was stating before. Once again, Kaveh gave his entire being to something as trivial as a work-project and now he’s left an empty shell, with the sole task of trying to rebuild himself from the ground up and try again.

He supposes that’s the point Kaveh was trying to make. He’ll rebuild himself regardless, so it doesn’t matter how often he shatters. These projects are more to him than just work, something Alhaitham still struggles to understand. But he supposes, if they’re really that important to him -- to the point of him willingly letting this happen to himself to a degree…

Then Alhaitham does understand. He doesn’t agree, but he does understand.

Everyone strives for different things after all. For Kaveh that might be the recognition and validation of others. For Alhaitham, that’s an assurance of safety and comfort for himself. The two just clash, simple as that.

Alhaitham waits it out for one day.

He makes another plate of food and leaves it in front of Kaveh’s door, retreating after simply knocking and saying nothing more.

He does the same for breakfast and sees last night’s dinner still there, untouched.

On the one hand, he’d break down the door and try to forcibly shake Kaveh out of his depression if he could, but on the other, he recognises that Kaveh is a grown man -- older and, according to himself, wiser than Alhaitham -- and that it’s entirely his own decision if he wants to indulge in his dark-spell for a while.

He’ll come out eventually. He’s got a supply of drinks, alcoholic and not, stored away in his room so he won’t go too thirsty by himself, Alhaitham hopes.

He leaves for work, because he can’t afford to skip another day without notice or valid reason, and when he comes back-

The door to Kaveh’s room is wide open.

A pang of raw and painful hurt shoots through Alhaitham at the sight.

He wasn’t just sulking because of the project.

It was Alhaitham’s presence that kept him inside. He’d loathe to face him so much that he couldn’t stand to even open the door and accept the food left outside.

The only thing he needed was for Alhaitham to leave and he finally took the initiative to take care of himself.

There are used dishes in the sink that Alhaitham didn’t leave there. Two of their collection of waterskins are gone from the drawer beneath the sink. His singular dress shoe has been taken somewhere else and his regular pair is gone too.

Alhaitham finds a note on Kaveh’s work desk, which still stands crookedly in the middle of the room.

Gone for a day or 2. I’ll be back, so don’t follow me. -K

Surely he has to know that this would read as an invitation rather than a threat to stay away.

It isn’t difficult to figure out where Kaveh would have gone either. In a low moment, melancholy about his failed project, taking two waterskins with him.

Alhaitham fills up two of his own and sets out for the building site North of Aaru village, where surely, the mastermind behind a structure that will never be sits and waits for his heartache to be burned away by the sun.

---

Alhaitham is starting to feel the fact that he’s gotten only six hours of sleep over the course of what’s coming up to be three days now. A headache throbs behind his eyes and unkindly winds its way down along his jaw where his bruised skin whines with every beat of his heart, but he’s almost there.

They’d taken a cart for ease before, and because Kaveh wanted to make sure his commissioner was in the best possible spirits she could be while working with him, but Alhaitham hadn’t thought it necessary to spend money on another when he set out.

Turns out, even he can make misjudgments when it comes to his spending. He should have really rented one.

But, he finally crests the last dune he knows he needs before laying eyes on a small figure dressed in red and white on top of the next one over, and the sun is only just starting to lower a little, so he made relatively good time all things considered.

Kaveh doesn’t hear him as he approaches, somehow. He startles when Alhaitham voices his presence, standing next to him and pretending not to be bothered by the way his heels dig uncomfortably into the sand.

“You’re a damn fool, Kaveh,” is what he leads with. Not his best opener, he knows, but he’s trying too hard to not sound too out of breath to think about much else and it gets the job done.

It gets him acknowledged and it gets him a response, something he hasn’t gotten in days.

Kaveh whirls around so fast he nearly loses his balance where he sits and gapes up at Alhaitham, at first in shock and then in annoyance.

“You- Did you turn illiterate overnight?” he exclaims, “I told you not to follow me! That’s the one thing I asked of you!”

Alhaitham can’t help but notice that Kaveh’s usual mask is as fragile as himself right now. It’s not fooling him in the slightest. Usually, he’d emerge from his room looking like hell, shuffle into the bathroom and somehow come out half an hour later looking like the refined man he likes everyone else to see. This time, there’s clearly been an effort, but the darkness beneath his eyes didn’t hide away underneath that cream like it usually does and the very shape of his face looks different. Just slightly more sharp -- gaunt.

“You didn’t actually expect me to leave you be out in the desert when you’ve barely eaten for the past two days? Are you really that impulsive, or did it genuinely not cross your mind that you might faint out here?” Alhaitham asks, taking a step to stabilize himself on the unsteady sands.

Kaveh regards him with a glare for a moment but then stills, staring at his face, the dip of his eyebrows faltering to become more of a concerned slant.

“Hey, you’re-” he starts, and then cuts himself off when Alhaitham nearly loses his balance and gets his arm caught for support. “Woah! Hey,” Kaveh exclaims, tugging on his sleeve to lower him into a sitting position as well.

Alhaitham tugs his sleeve right back and mumbles:

“Don’t overreact.”

“Alhaitham, you’re bleeding,” Kaveh says sternly, fumbling with his pocket for a moment before fishing out a handkerchief and pressing it up against Alhaitham’s nose in a way that makes him scrunch it up in surprise.

It’s not exactly the scene he’d had in mind but he supposes it does the trick at opening up the conversation they were bound to have.

“Oh,” is his only response as he takes over holding the fabric against his face, frowning. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.”

Kaveh scoffs and sits back.

“Don’t worry, he says,” he drawls, ”So you just came out here to prove how much of a hypocrite you are, huh? I’m sorry to tell you, I already knew that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alhaitham counters, frowning at him.

“You call me a fool for disregarding my health and coming into the desert anyway and then you start bleeding! What do you mean ‘what’s that supposed to mean’?”

“That’s different,” Alhaitham says. “At least I ate.”

“Okay, so what didn’t you do, then? To suddenly get a nosebleed? Did someone finally get fed up enough with your nonsense they took it out on you personally? Huh?”

“That, and a lack of sleep, I suppose,” Alhaitham says, knowing exactly what kind of reaction to expect and looking out for it over the fabric in his hands.

“Of course it’s-” Kaveh starts, stopping abruptly. “Wait, what? Really?”

His voice has changed completely and Alhaitham realizes then just how much he missed Kaveh sounding even remotely normal. That raw edge is gone and he sounds concerned -- something Alhaitham had feared for a moment he would never with regards to him, after making it so abundantly clear that he didn’t want Alhaitham near him.

But he does, and as he studies Alhaitham’s face a little closer, he brings up that hand and cups it around that jaw and rubs a thumb across his skin rather harshly to wipe away his shoddy attempt at covering up the bruise -- which by this point is an ugly shade of plum, he supposes, with a bit of sickly yellow at the edges.

“Alhaitham-” Kaveh exclaims, meeting his eyes, “What on earth happened? Who-”

“Sage Mahir,” Alhaitham says softly. Kaveh’s hand stills mid-air and then he draws it back somewhat self-consciously.

“... the Sage did that to you?” Kaveh asks somewhat breathlessly. “Why?”

“I got him fired,” Alhaitham says. “... I wasn’t writing because I didn’t want to help you. I was writing so I could do exactly that. I recorded everything he said and confronted him about it.”

“You-” Kaveh starts, but he sounds at a complete loss for words, just blinking with those wide-eyes, darting back and forth between Alhaitham’s. “The Grand Sage wouldn’t fire someone just for being rude, would he? Even if you got everything he said down onto paper, that would at most expel him for a few months.”

“Sure, but I figured he would be the kind of man who’d rather spend his time mindlessly signing away legal papers rather than actually reading what's on them. And I was right. He wasn’t aware of the recent rule change regarding verbal abuse, and because I called him out on that, he was also reckless enough to engage in the physical kind because he was angry. All I had to do was make sure Cyno saw it.”

“You provoked him into hitting you?” Kaveh asks incredulously, “Tsk, and you accuse me of being a fool.”

“You are a fool,” Alhaitham says. “But I guess I can be argued to be one as well… if you’re so adamant about it.”

That actually draws a laugh out of Kaveh, although short, and Alhaitham already considers part of his mission accomplished at that. There’s still a lot left to go, though.

“Still,” he continues, “why did you even come here? Was it so unbearable to stay at home that you had to risk it out here?”

“No, I… I guess I just wanted to relish in it for a moment longer,” Kaveh says, turning his gaze towards the open plot of land between the dunes, silent and stately like the building that was supposed to grace its sands. “Put on my rose tinted glasses one last time and pretend the project’s only starting… I’m sorry.”

Alhaitham hasn’t stopped looking at Kaveh, and blinks in surprise at the saddened look on his face.

“I was… really awful to you,” he continues. “I just- didn’t have it in me to see the best in people for a second and… I think I just needed someone to take it out on who I knew could take it. Not that it even really upset you, probably, but just in case. I’m… sorry.”

“It did upset me,” Alhaitham says honestly, drawing Kaveh’s eyes back to him. “I was upset. But I understand now.”

“You didn’t before?” Kaveh asks, not with any judgement in his voice, but just as gently as the rest of this conversation has gone, somehow.

Alhaitham shakes his head a little.

“Not fully. I couldn’t see how someone could willingly allow themselves to get so hurt to the point of… well, becoming how you were. But I suppose it all has to do with happiness, in the end. It just means something different to me than it does to you.”

“...That’s what I was trying to say,” Kaveh says, a faint smile ghosting over his lips “You got it. So… does happiness really just mean routine and stability to you? Because I just can’t imagine it… I guess I still don’t fully understand. You’re ahead of me.”

“It’s a little more nuanced than that, just is any definition of a word.”

“So? Tell me.”

“Does it matter? We’re talking about you right now, not me.”

“We’re talking about us both,” Kaveh says, “I want to know.”

Alhaitham hesitates for a moment at that, thinking.

“I care about safety and stability, sure. But I also want that for the people I care for, and it’s hard to achieve that when they’re so stubborn about being the exact opposite.”

Now it’s Kaveh’s turn to hesitate for a moment.

“And with ‘people you care for’ you mean, Cyno, Tighnari and-”

“You.”

It might just be the setting sun, or the fact that he’s been out here for a while, but a slightly flush of embarrassment seems to have settled over Kaveh’s nose and cheeks, and he turns his head away again, self-conscious.

“Right,” he concludes, “obviously…”

“I wasn’t just upset because you fell out with me, Kaveh. I was upset on your behalf. It might not seem like it, but I actually do feel things like that, even if you always accuse me of being unable to.”

“I know,” Kaveh says, “I thought you knew that I don’t mean it when I say that. It’s just an expression.”

“I know.”

“Guess we’ve reached a bit better of an understanding then. That’s good.”

“It is, and it would seem so.”

For a moment, things stay silent.

Then Kaveh swats Alhaitham’s arm and exclaims:

“Archons, you have a knack for turning emotional moments awkward, you know that?”

“All I did was agree with you,” Alhaitham answers plainly.

“Yes, but- you know what, never mind… thanks for coming to find me.”

“Of course.”

“I’d appreciate it if you listened to me next time though. I might not have been so rude to you back then if you hadn’t shown up anyway after I told you not to. And now you’re here again.”

“It’s almost like I want to make sure you’re alright,” Alhaitham says flatly.

Kaveh huffs out a laugh and swats him again.

“A humorous remark? From you? I think Sage Mahir knocked something loose in there.”

Alhaitham doesn’t laugh, but even he can recognise that that was a good counter-quip. But the topic of conversation calls for a bit more serious of an attitude.

“Speaking of him,” he starts, but Kaveh interrupts him before he can finish.

“Ugh, can we not? Way to ruin a nice moment…”

“Don’t you want to know about what’s in store for the future?”

“He gets fired, okay, that’s good, but that doesn’t change the fact that no one in the entirety of Sumeru will ever take a commission from me again,” Kaveh says bitterly. “My career is as good as over because of him.”

“Everyone saw his abuse first-hand, though. You don’t think they’ll doubt his judgement after that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Kaveh mutters. “People like Mora a lot more than integrity, it seems.”

“He might not have known you, but keep in mind he also didn’t recognise me as more than a Scribe. I was the Acting Grand Sage for half a year. Barely anyone I speak to on a daily basis has let that rest yet, and yet somehow he didn’t know.”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly trying to let anyone but himself have the upperhand either. Maybe he did know and he just ignored it because it was no longer the case and he wanted to feel more powerful than you.”

“I don’t think so,” Alhaitham says. “Even in the private words we exchanged when I went back inside, he addressed me as Scribe. He would have tried to use my fall from power against me as a weapon if he’d known.”

“Alright, so he didn’t know who you were. So what?”

“So,” Alhaitham continues, “He didn’t know that he was talking to the Light of Ksharewar either. People don’t just earn a nickname like that without having anything to show for it, Kaveh. And I can assure you, everyone else did know.”

“You can’t know that,” Kaveh mumbles halfheartedly. He’s fidgeting with the end of his sleeve now, seeming tired more than anything.

“I watched you,” Alhaitham says, drawing up Kaveh’s gaze and meeting a slight face of disgust.

“That sounds really creepy, you know that?”

“I had to,” Alhaitham says simply, “I was looking out for your cue. But in the meantime, I got a chance to scan the crowds. Not a single guest left you undiscussed amongst themselves. Some of them nearly did a double-take when you walked by.”

“I know what you’re trying to do but this is just making me more self-conscious.”

“My point is,” Alhaitham says, “that everyone there knew how talented you are. They looked up to you. Once the news of Sage Mahir’s dismissal spreads, everyone is going to sympathise with you. Your career is far from over.”

“I don’t want people to work with me because they pity me,” Kaveh mumbles.

“You want them to recognise your hard work and be impressed by what you make, right?”

“Obviously.”

“And if you could, you’d still want to build this Research Centre?”

That earns him a frown and a grimace.

“You’re heading into insensitive territory again,” Kaveh says, “you know I can’t, you don’t need to remind me.”

“Hypothetically,” Alhaitham poses.

“Hypothetically, obviously yes,” Kaveh relents.

“Then I think you’ll be happy to hear that I bought it.”

Absolute silence. Not even the wind disturbs the air or forces them to move.

“What?” Kaveh breathes, voice barely louder than the gasp that follows it. “You-”

“I bought the design.”

“Why- I mean- Why on earth would you do that? All by yourself? It’s worth millions!”

“Then I suppose you’re finally seeing the benefits of my stable salary now, hm?”

“That’s- insane, Alhaitham. Are you serious?”

“I am.”

And the smile that breaks across Kaveh’s face like the sun at dawn makes it all worth it, every last coin.

“Why?” he asks, his voice breathy and much too full of hope again at the flip of a switch. It should concern Alhaitham, but it doesn’t. Because as long as the project’s in his own hands, he’ll make sure Kaveh has no reason to shatter again.

“Because I think it’s an important investment to make, and I have the means for it. Not to mention the fact that the structural design is masterfully done. It would be a waste to let it go unmade.”

A laugh tumbles past Kaveh’s lips, light and joyful, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. And he probably can’t. Alhaitham would’t blame him. He hadn’t fully expected himself to go through with it, and yet somehow the project approval is currently signed under his name, by his pen, and a large chunk of his savings has already been used to complete the funds needed, besides what the benefactors already supplied.

He supposes a repair on those Fontainian shoes will have to wait for a while, until he’s gained enough of a buffer again.

It’s worth it, though. It’s so worth it.

Alhaitham doesn’t often smile openly and fully. He doesn’t often feel the need to, and people always act like the expression is alien on his face, so he’d rather avoid it and avoid anyone commenting on it.

But as Kaveh swings both of his arms around his neck and presses into a tight hug, Alhaitham can’t help but smile into the open air.

What makes him happy… he supposes this has a significant amount to do with it. Kaveh’s hair tickling the side of his cheek. The warmth of his laughter and his skin, so close to him that he can physically feel it.

A certain hope for the future that he supposes they all strive for in one way or another.

---

“I was honored to be contacted for this project, really. Education is generally very important to me, and to know I was able to take part in the creation of a study-center like this, however trivial my part, brings me great pride. That’s why I was incredibly glad when I heard the project was back on the rails.”

“... Go on.”

“That’s all it says. After that it cuts to Alhaitham.”

“What?” Tighnari leaps up from his seat underneath Pardis Dhyai’s ornate pergola to stomp past the table full of snacks and snatches the newspaper out of Kaveh’s hands, scanning the lines for himself. Kaveh and Cyno can’t help but huff out laughs at Tighnari’s change in expression, and Alhaitham just quirks the corner of his lip. “But that’s not all I said! They cut me off!”

“I wonder why…” Kaveh drawls, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“No- that scumbag deserves to read exactly what I have to say about him,” Tighnari fumes, “This is abuse of censorship.”

“I’m guessing they’re not allowed to print curses in the public newspaper,” Cyno says, picking up a cracker and loading it with hummus, then passing it to Tighnari.

Tighnari does take it, and stuffs it in his mouth as well, but not without the necessary noises of discontentment.

“Also, I don’t think someone like him reads the newspaper,” Alhaitham adds. “He certainly didn’t care to keep up with recent developments when we interacted with him. He didn’t even know who we were.”

Tighnari scoffs angrily, folding his arms and plopping down beside Cyno again.

“Unbelievable. If you ever find out his address, please do pass it to me.”

“Sure thing, as long as you keep it to strongly worded letters?” Kaveh proposes.

“Hmpf,” is Tighnari’s reluctant response, “he’s the one that turned to violence first. It’s only fair karma comes for him one of these days.”

“And with karma, you mean you?” Cyno asks, grabbing one of Tighnari’s hands mindlessly to stop it from clenching into such a tight fist, instead slotting his own fingers in between his.

“I wouldn’t mind if you joined me,” Tighnari says.

“I’m supposed to protect the law, Tighnari…” Cyno says, not sounding quite like he means it.

Before they can hatch any further plans to disrupt the man’s life, Kaveh continues with:

“Ahem, shall I continue?”

A chorus of agreement sounds and Kaveh raises the newspaper again, giving Alhaitham the perfect view of the black and white photo printed largely in the right corner.

A group photo, taken on opening day. The entire team who’d been involved, Kaveh, Tighnari and himself center-stage.

He doesn’t mind the fact that he can study it all he wants while Kaveh speaks.

“From the moment I was recruited on the project, I could tell the Architect certainly knew what he was doing -- why thank you,” Kaveh interjects with a proud smile, “Uh… ah yes- I transcribed the project meetings in detail and got to know the design on an intimate level, inside and out. Once it got rejected by its original head-benefactor, I knew it was something that couldn’t simply be left by the wayside…”

As Kaveh reads the words Alhaitham had supplied the reporter with, Alhaitham’s eyes drift down to a smaller photograph on the bottom of the page.

Kaveh is holding a framed document with both of their signatures on it proudly up to show the Kamera. Alhaitham is merely standing next to him, a single hand on his shoulder.

The Research Centre looms tall behind them, stained windows and curved spires and all. It’s more than a building now. It’s a token.

Of progress, for the children of the desert.

Of perseverance, for the onlooking Akademiya scholars who could learn a thing or two about passion for their work.

Of pride, to the architect that managed to build it. His true Magnum Opus.

And of happiness, to a man who would never have taken a gamble on a project like this if he wasn’t entirely sure it was worth it. And just like the Architect told him back then, somehow, working on the project itself was enough to inspire it. He understands now, how it feels.

Because his heart might not have soared at the intricate details of the tracery on the windows or finally figuring out the foundational stability needed to work on sand, but it certainly had at something else.

So yes, the architect is a fool to be so willing to shatter himself for the sake of just a drop of that feeling, but he supposes that’s the point of it all.

The prospect of that singular drop is simply too precious to give up.