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Water is for the weak.
Being thirsty means that someone is working too hard. Possibly much more than they needed. Somehow the liquid in their body was quickly being used or exerted.
And sweating is nasty too. The stickiness drives Alhaitham crazy, so he doesn't do it. There isn't any need to when reading and writing in a cooled Akademiya library.
He really only drank during his morning coffee, or when a break in reading felt natural. But besides the alcohol and his daily coffee regimen, water seldom made it into his body.
Tea is…alright. At least it gave a little kick and was useful. But what did water do? It's simply for survival. But the fact that drinking water can be sourced from a sink irks him the wrong way.
Alhaitham and Kaveh shared that ideal, but Kaveh definitely drank way less water. Though Alhaitham wondered how their water bills always got so damn high. Paradoxical.
Another thing Alhaitham hates is soup. Goodness, another liquid. It is awfully inconvenient when he wants to read, and it may mess up the pages of the book he is reading. Just glorified meat tea with the occasional traffic of vegetables and mysterious things that made the concoction more viscous than water.
Alhaitham fixes his headphones to pull his hair back in a makeshift headband. He takes a rag and dabs at the sweat running down his face. The kitchen is a mess, there is steam coming from these sauteed vegetables that is coming up directly at his face, and his own throat was starting to get dry. Not cool.
Once they became translucent, he stirs in some herbs he arbitrarily plucked from the cabinet. It is a pretty color and smells nice, so he takes a quick taste for good measure. He smacks his lips and nods to himself. He really doesn't want to taste it again later down the line, but he is also worried the meal would be subpar.
He really shouldn't be worrying himself this much. Kaveh just had the flu, and this was just soup. But he is incredibly inexperienced. The last time he willingly had soup was when his grandmother made some, but after he voiced his criticisms about the dish, she never made it again.
And that was a long, long time ago.
Alhaitham sighs and grabs a deeper pot. The clashing of metal echoes in the kitchen as Alhaitham puts the vegetables haphazardly in the aforementioned pot and slides the pan in the sink. He cringes and hopes he didn't wake Kaveh.
Time for the broth.
Alhaitham grabs the jars of broth he purchased and pours them in along with the vegetables.
He allows the brew to boil, then simmer. Meanwhile, he takes a nice needed respite and reads with a handy timer by his side. He adjusts his noise cancelling headphones back to their normal position. If it were up to him, he would like to entirely forget about cooking this stupid soup, and he regrets not ordering takeout. But what he did or didn't unfortunately didn't matter now.
After about half an hour, the dreaded timer goes off, and he is forced to abandon his history of integrals.
Alhaitham gets up and stirs the soup. The assorted colors welcome him. Orange from carrots, green from peas, and some random mushrooms. There are other vegetables but he's not sure where they are. Or maybe they've sunk. And did the tomato paste not do anything to the color? Why is it still broth-looking?
Is…is this normal?
He feels like a witch with this wooden spoon and wicked cauldron. Or maybe wizard.
Eleka nahmen nahmen, ah tum a tum, eleka, eleka, ugh!
He coats a small spoon with the soup and licks it. He gags and fishes around the cabinets for a quick lick at the peanut butter, dropping the onion powder and everything bagel seasoning on the counter. While the peanut butter sticks to his tongue, it is undeniably better than the bland soup.
Then what was the point of seasoning earlier??
Alhaitham shoves the fallen objects back and sprinkles and spices and does whatever he can to add flavor to this wretched creation. He should've taken the hint at the light brown color it was earlier, rather than the deep red it should've been. Akin to how monarch butterflies have brightly colored wings to show toxicity and avoid predation. Sort of. Except this soup isn't poison and is meant to actually taste good.
No matter, Alhaitham has a sickly architect to tend to.
At last, after the color is added back and it smells edible again, he grabs a bowl and a ladle, plating the nice meal. He places it on a bed tray and adds some garnishes of something green on top. He's not really sure. It is on the picture of the recipe he is following.
Yes, he borrowed a recipe book from the Akademiya's House of Daena. Good thing he keeps library records away from prying eyes.
Carefully, the scribe puts a spoon atop a napkin and provides a side of fresh cut fruit and a glass of juice on the side. Huh, liquid with liquid.
He knows Kaveh isn't the type, but if he has to carry patient zero to the bathroom at any point today….
Alhaitham tucks his book under his armpit and grabs the tray, walking over to Kaveh's door.
"Kaveh, I'm coming in. You have to eat your lunch," Alhaitham said.
He looks down at the doorknob and sobs internally as he deadpans at the wood in front of him. He really doesn't want to bother Kaveh, but he realizes— albeit too late— that his hands are kinda occupied, with one wrist having a wet rag draped over it. The wetness is quickly seeping into his gloves. With a little will and shimmy, he holds the tray in one hand and turns the knob with the other.
Finally.
Alhaitham scrunches up his nose as he walks into the warm, humid room. It was like the desert two fold. That, along with the smell of sick.
"Kaveh, get up." Alhaitham puts the tray on his vanity and pulls the blanket halfway to his senior's hips.
His greeting is met with a groan from Kaveh, and Alhaitham sighs.
"I know you don't need my help. But the food is getting cold." Alhaitham helps Kaveh up and looks at the slumped figure.
The poor man had eye bags and tissues up his nose and his shirt was half on.
Alhaitham rubs the rag over Kaveh's droopy face, neck, and chest, and he finishes wiping his arms. Alhaitham then grabs some eucalyptus oil and lathers it on his roommate's chest and uses a sock to massage it into his feet. He remembers this was what his grandma used to do on the rare occasions he got sick. It wasn't because of his immune system, but he never really did go out and be around people. His grandmother's antibodies did just the job against his environment.
"Thank you," Kaveh replies, utterly congested.
Alhaitham says nothing immediately. Rather he puts the eucalyptus doused socks on Kaveh, unplugs his nose, and fixes the tray in front of him.
"You can thank me by drinking my soup."
He braids Kaveh's hair and goes to haul in a large trashcan and armfuls of tissue boxes.
"Your soup?" Kaveh questions and takes the spoon warily.
"Yes, now don't look at me like that."
"I didn't say anything."
"Drink."
Kaveh sniffles and drinks the soup, his eyes already lighting up. He opens his mouth as if he is to say something but instead picks up the bowl and slurps straight from the source.
"Wow, Haiyi, this is amazing." Kaveh dabs at his mouth with the provided napkin and eats some fruit.
"Is it really that good?" Alhaitham tries to hold back a smile, but this is honestly the most touched he felt since he offered to let Kaveh room with him.
Seeing Kaveh so happy is like seeing the sun after a cloudy day.
"Yeah! Want to try some?"
"I'll pass."
"Fine. More for me. Mmmmmmm…I didn't know you knew how to cook soup." Kaveh finishes up his soup and juice.
"…"
"You should cook more often—"
"Alright don't push it."
Alhaitham shuts him down and grabs the tray. Kaveh gives a small smile and puts the spoon back.
"Thanks again."
"… Get some rest."
Alhaitham almost whispers, and leaves the room, shutting the door with his elbow behind him.
He walks back to the kitchen and mentally prepares to wash the dishes. Archons, he hates cooking.
Alhaitham peeks back into the pot.
Kaveh better be happy with the same soup for dinner.
Alhaitham makes his headphone headband contraption, puts on the rubber gloves, and gets to work.
After a few scrubs, he feels his throat get all itchy, so he lets out a cough into his elbow.
Hopefully he didn't contract the Kaveh-disease, but instead is just thirsty.
He supposes some water might help.
But in the middle of washing dishes?
He can wait.