Work Text:
The Feline Variable
Chapter 1- The (Cat)alyst
The rain has been falling since morning.
It’s not the usual soft drizzle that winds through the arches of Sumeru City like a song — no, this is the kind of rain that swallows sound and makes the stone beneath your feet feel ancient and endlessly cold. The kind that makes even Alhaitham close his window a little tighter and turn the reading lamp warmer.
Kaveh doesn’t come home on time.
This, Alhaitham tells himself, is hardly cause for concern. Kaveh is routinely late; sidetracked by clients, swept up in “creative emergencies,” or simply too stubborn to carry an umbrella. He's made a habit out of arriving like the final act of a play: soaked, dramatic, louder than necessary.
Still, Alhaitham checks the clock twice. Then again. He doesn’t wonder, not really, but he listens for the door all the same.
When it finally swings open, it does so with the hesitant weight of someone on the brink of catastrophe.
And in walks Kaveh — dripping, shivering, curls plastered to his forehead — with something swaddled against his chest like contraband.
“Close the door,” Alhaitham says without looking up from his book.
The door shuts with a quiet click, and then:
“Before you say anything,” Kaveh says, rainwater dripping from his curls, “this wasn’t my fault. Technically.”
Alhaitham bookmarks his page. “That sentence never precedes anything rational.”
Kaveh stomps farther in, boots squelching, soaked layers clinging to him like second skin.
“You say that like logic was an option. I was ambushed.”
Alhaitham glances up. “By a towel?”
“By fate,” Kaveh hisses, and peels back the damp fabric to reveal what he’s cradling.
It’s… small. Drenched. Pathetic.
A cat, little more than fur and bone, blinks up at Alhaitham with eyes far too large for its face. One ear folds in at the tip like it’s been stepped on, and its tail curls close, half-tucked like an afterthought. The fur is soaked through, clinging in stringy patches, the color somewhere between desert sand and old parchment — hard to tell under all the rain and grime. Its ribs show when it breathes, quick and shallow, like it’s not convinced it’s safe yet.
It sneezes.
Audibly.
Kaveh immediately adjusts the towel like it’s royalty and not a scruffy, waterlogged street cat.
“Dear Archons,” Alhaitham mutters. “You brought a disease vector into the house.”
Kaveh gasps. “He’s a baby! He needs warmth and safety and maybe a little unconditional love, which you clearly know nothing about.”
“I know that you’re dripping on the floor.”
“I had to carry him,” Kaveh says, defiant. “What was I supposed to do? Leave him to die behind a pile of rotting flower crates? Maybe he wandered down from Pardis Dhyai. Or followed the spice trails in the Bazaar.”
“That’s what the Forest Rangers at Gandharva Ville are for.”
“They’d euthanize him.”
“Not necessarily—”
“You don’t know that.”
The cat sneezes again. Kaveh flinches like it’s a gunshot and immediately adjusts the towel more securely.
Alhaitham pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Keep it here. Overnight. One night.”
Kaveh freezes, eyes wide. “Wait. Really?”
Alhaitham sighs. “I’ll need to observe it.”
Kaveh blinks. “Observe—what?”
“I’ve been cataloging non-human cognitive behavior in urban environments,” Alhaitham says as if it’s the most natural sentence in the world. “This is an ideal opportunity. Data gathered from proximity interactions could provide useful insight.”
Kaveh stares at him like he’s just offered to adopt an infant to test gravity.
“You’re turning him into a research subject.”
“You turned him into a roommate.”
“By fate,” Kaveh hisses
By nightfall, the cat has been bathed, fed, and gently coaxed into a cardboard box padded with a precision-cut layer of thermal fabric. Kaveh had used it in his second-year Desert of Hadramaveth housing model; a design praised for both efficiency and elegance. Now it serves as a bed, because no guest of his will sleep cold. Kaveh crouches beside it like a sentry, whispering to it in hushed tones as if the wrong decibel might undo all their progress.
Alhaitham doesn’t enter the room. He stands just outside, watching. For observation, he tells himself—purely that.
He doesn’t interrupt. Just watches — not the cat, but Kaveh.
He’s observed Ruin Drakes with less scrutiny, but somehow this feels more precarious.
There’s a strange quiet about him now. Not silent, Kaveh is incapable of true silence, but softened. The usual storm of his expression has cleared. The curve of his mouth, the crease of his brow, even the way his fingers move — all of it is careful. Tender.
Alhaitham watches him brush the cat’s damp fur with precise, reverent strokes. He watches the rise and fall of Kaveh’s chest as he hums something half-remembered under his breath.
He watches, and for the first time that day, forgets the page he’d meant to return to.
Eventually, he retreats to his study, opens a fresh notebook, and writes:
Subject A: Feline Domesticus
Species: Undetermined
Condition: Malnourished, waterlogged, possibly orphaned.
Behavioral note: Cohabitation appears to significantly stabilize emotional output in Kaveh.
Additional note: Interaction with Kaveh appears to prompt observable softening of tone and touch. Possible link to long-term emotional behavior.
-To investigate further.
In the morning, Alhaitham enters the kitchen to find two things:
His favorite mug full of cold tea.
The cat asleep on Kaveh’s pillow.
Kaveh is beside it, curled on his side, blanket kicked halfway off the bed. He isn’t snoring, for once. His hand is resting near the cat’s side, fingers barely curled. The scene looks... peaceful.
The cat’s small body rises and falls with each breath. At some point, it must’ve crawled into the hollow of Kaveh’s chest like it was made to fit there.
Alhaitham stands there longer than necessary, until his tea cools in his hands.
He doesn’t know what he’s looking at. Or why his chest feels oddly heavy.
But he leaves a fresh cup of tea on the nightstand before he goes.
By evening, they’re arguing again. Predictably.
“He needs a name,” Kaveh says, arms crossed as he stares at the cat sleeping in a sunbeam.
“He needs a flea bath.”
Kaveh huffs. “Nima.”
“It means ‘blessing’ in Persian,” he adds. “Because he’s an unexpected gift.”
“He bit my ankle.”
Kaveh smirks, eyes crinkling. “Blessings are mysterious.”
They fall into silence. The cat stretches, utterly uninterested in the discussion it has brought about.
Kaveh crosses his arms, but his posture has relaxed.
“You could just say you like him.”
“I don’t dislike him.”
“Close enough,” Kaveh says, smiling without teeth, but softer than usual.
The cat purrs, and Alhaitham exhales slowly.
“I’ll monitor his behavior,” he murmurs.
“Of course you will,” Kaveh says, voice amused. “Just don’t forget to monitor your own.”
Another beat passes. The cat lets out a soft chirp and pads across the floor — right up to Alhaitham.
It bumps its head gently against his ankle.
And then again.
Alhaitham glances down. The fur is cleaner now. Softer. The eyes brighter. The cat looks up at him like it’s choosing him.
Kaveh watches from across the room, arms slowly lowering. Something in his gaze flickers — amusement, maybe. Hope. Something warmer.
Alhaitham exhales through his nose.
“I’ll document the interaction.”
Kaveh's smile curves, slow and knowing. “Of course you will.”