Work Text:
The warm, humid air of Sumeru’s dawn—rich with the smell of spice—breathes through
the window, announcing morning. The thin white curtains flutter along with the breeze,
filling the room with the sound of rustling fabric. Until, however, a soft groan accompanies them. Shifting up from a pile of papers, Kaveh raises his head, blinking
blearily.
He fell asleep drafting again.
He blinks his eyes—crusted with sleep—and rubs his aching forehead, which had been
pressed against the harsh wood of his writing desk. The refreshing dawn breeze
sweeps across his bird's nest of blond hair, urging him to wake up fully.
With a creaky groan, he rises from his desk—slips—and ends up knocking over all of his late-night work. Just great. With still another annoyed moan, he bends over, restacking them all.
This hadn’t been an uncommon occurrence as of late. His newest client was picky, to
say the least, and never seemed satisfied with his ideas for her commission. He had
tried again and again to draft a door to her liking, but always ended up with his drafts
scribbled over in an angry red pen. But because money is especially tight at the
moment, he can’t afford to drop her commission, and has to work overnight to get the appropriate amount of drafts to present—only to likely be brutally sent back to the drawing board, of course.
Once all the half-legible drafts were organized, he stumbles over to the kitchen. His steps were stiff and slow, like a zombie, and he trips on the floorboards more than once.
By some miracle of his sleep-deprived state, he manages to start brewing a cup of
coffee; the beans were somehow, blessedly, laid out and all ready to be pressed. The
bitter smell of coffee rose in the air, and
Kaveh allowed himself to slouch on the counter, relaxing slightly now that he knew his usual pick-me-up was almost ready. Of course, his lifting mood quickly soured at the sound of footsteps.
Alhaitham emerged into the room with a yawn and a stretch, still hazy with sleep, but
performing astronomically better than his counterpart. When his yawning mouth
snapped shut, he observed the room: the scribbled, stacked papers and Kaveh,
slouched half-dead on the counter.
“Another late night, hmm?” Alhaitham probed, approaching his sluggish companion.
Kaveh grumbles something unclear, leaning over to pour his freshly brewed cup. He
then took a long, languid sip, savoring the bitter liquid as it brought some light into his
eyes. After yet another sip, he actually replies.
“What’s it to you?” He grouses, now nursing his forehead with his free hand.
“What’s it to me?” Alhaitham replies, his eyebrow sharply raising. “Perhaps I don’t want a zombie as a roommate. It makes you rather slow with the chores.”
Kaveh’s hazy eyes narrowed, teetering dangerously between annoyance and contempt. He hated when the pragmatic man got into his personal business. Bickering was a common part of his morning routine; some deep part of him enjoyed the familiar banter,
the other part was immensely frustrated.
“Look, Haitham.” Alhaitham hated that nickname, but for some reason always tolerated it when Kaveh got worked up in arguments.
“I was simply getting some extra work done. So unless you fancy the
next rent payment being late, I suggest you stick your nose somewhere else.” He
emphasized his point with a haughty huff, almost proud of his argument.
Alhaitham just pushed past, infuriatingly unfazed by Kaveh’s prodding. For a long while Kaveh waits for his rebuttal, but the stoic man simply makes his own coffee, drinks in unperturbed silence, finishes, and then begins to plod back to his room. Right before completely disappearing however, he turns his head over his shoulder—the faintest
trace of a smirk twitching on his lips—and deadpans: “Alright then.”
A wave of frustration washes over Kaveh at the simple response the man had somehow
gotten him to wait for—and he fell for it like a fool. Alhaitham had an uncanny ability to
‘win’ arguments with cheap tricks like that.
He opens his mouth to deliver a (hopefully)
scathing retort, but Alhaitham had already disappeared into his room, likely readying
himself for work. Knowing that chasing the argument will only bring him shame, he
drops it—not without his eye twitching a few more times, of course.
He festers there for a while, sipping his coffee. It was fully morning now, the bright sun beams in through the windows, accompanied by the sound of waking bird calls and the shouting advertisements of distant vendors. Right when he almost achieves peace however, Alhaitham emerges
again, looking much more put together.
His silver hair was sleek and well-kempt, and he had traded his loose pajamas for his polished scribe outfit. It made Kaveh feel nearly slobbish.
“I’m off to work,” the man announced, seeming so cold now that it made Kaveh wonder if the early argument was just a dream. “Don’t burn down the house, and remember, rent is due at the end of the day. Oh, and don’t forget to eat lunch today. Something tells me you’ll forget.” With that, he was out the door before Kaveh could even snark back.
The door rattled against the frame, and then the house settled into relative silence
again.
The blond finishes his coffee—grumbling all the while—and then goes to his own room
to prepare himself for his day, trying to not let the earlier ‘argument’ ruin the entire
morning. He instead focuses on dressing himself up, taking pride in his extravagant
appearance.
He adjusts his perfectly pressed white blouse, as well as all its additional
trimmings. He spends at least 20 minutes flipping and brushing his blond bangs, but
gives up towards the back and simply pins it with red barrettes. He then fusses with his
dripping golden earrings—a vital part of his routine. Finally, tossing on his flourishing red
cape and pinning a pristine blue feather into his hair; his signature look was complete.
He observes himself in the mirror for a long while, though he feels it is deserved after
nearly an hour of prep. The only thing that draws a frown to his face are the very clear
eyebags under his eyes. No matter how much makeup he used, they seem to be getting darker by the day.
Perhaps Alhaitham is right. He immediately stops his train of thinking before he could accidentally validate Alhaitham’s opinion—his dignity simply could not
handle the idea.
Instead, he pushes both Alhaitham and the troublesome eyebags out of his mind and
wrenches his gaze away from the mirror, making his way to his workdesk. The messy
pile of scribbled drafts looks up accusingly at him; with a huff he shoves them into his
bag.
Sliding on his shoes, he makes his way out the house. His now forgotten set of keys
jangle by the door as it shuts.
_
The streets of Sumeru have hit their prime at this time: scholars commuting, citizens
shopping, and children playing in the streets. It was always a lively affair, and the humid
breeze carries bird calls and the smell of spices—mostly the feeling of home.
As it whips across Kaveh’s face, his encroaching nerves begin to settle. He was still not too enthusiastic about meeting up with the client however, already running through whatever brutal rejections she lined up. He needed mora by tonight.
After a rather brutal climb up Sumeru’s swirling walkways, he finally arrives at his
client’s abode. It was a rather affluent house with grand windows framed by elaborate
overhangs, surrounded by well manicured grounds and cascading floral vines. It was
picturesque, peaceful, and elegant—everything its owner was not.
The client was a wealthy Haravatat scholar, with a violently critical eye. She was
incredibly rich and needed everything to go exactly as she envisioned—hence Kaveh’s
struggles working with her for the past few weeks. Combine that with the fact that she
commissioned him for only a door (which wasn’t quite his forte), she easily trumps his
worst client list.
Normally he wouldn’t take such a client, but money is especially tight at the moment, and she promised handsome compensation.
A servant guides Kaveh into the house, the interior was just as opulent as the outside.
The walls are lined with pinned bugs and enormous, swirling paintings that made
Kaveh’s heart moan for a place of his own to display such treasures. However,
Alhaitham didn’t take kindly to Kaveh redecorating—especially with something so
abstract.
Passing through equally decorative grand halls, he’s led to the room where he’s already
been rejected countless times. He lowers himself into a luxurious adhigama wood chair, rummaging through his bag to draw out his blueprints—and trying to ignore the piercing gaze of his client on the other side of the desk. Her name is Aaliyah, and she seems sour as ever.
“My time is money, architect. I am becoming tired of the underwhelming scrawls you’ve
been producing as of late—considering I am paying for the supposed Light of
Kshahrewar. I would like to wrap this up as soon as possible and begin construction, so
please tell me you poured your utmost into this next batch.”
Her shrewd tirade causes an already growing bundle of anxiety in Kaveh’s chest to
squeeze painfully. He lays out each blueprint, explaining each design’s attributes—though not fully listening to himself speak. In his head, he is simply praying that she will finally pick one and give him his much needed pay.
When he’s finished his pitch, he allows Aaliyah to look through each draft individually; the only sounds in the room was her rustling through the papers, and the painful thud of his own heart.
He distracts himself with the view of a window just behind her chair, providing a glimpse into the extravagant garden. Perched on the tree closest to the window was a small yellow songbird, singing merrily and collecting twigs for its nest in a nearby bough.
Kaveh nearly envies the small bird as it flutters merrily outside, absolutely and totally
free. What he finds odd, however, is that like with the bird settling into its nest, he finds
himself majorly envious at its ability to fly home whenever it pleases. Something that—despite all his grumblings of his roommate—he seems to long for most of all.
He’s snapped out of his bird-watching stupor by the sound of Aaliyah slamming a draft
onto the table.
“This one!” She exclaims, snatching the paper closest to Kaveh—who is sitting there
with the most baffled face. She continues. “Finally, this is the one I need, and we can
finish this transaction. Your pay, architect.”
She deposits a hefty bag of jangling mora onto the table, then goes back to scrutinizing
every detail of the draft with an unfamiliar look of wonderment on her face. Kaveh sits
there, his mouth gaping open like a trout.
He suffered weeks of sleepless nights, growing anxiety, and brutal rejections, only for her to finally settle on one of his simpler
scrawls; she was now so engrossed that it seemed she no longer registered he was still
in the room.
Recovering from his bewilderment, Kaveh pushes out of his chair and grabs the heavy
bag—the jingling of mora inside was a heavenly sound. He quickly counts to make sure he has been given the proper commission, and when everything checks out he says his profuse ‘goodbyes’ and ‘thank yous’ to Aaliyah (who was too distracted ogling the draft to listen).
Clutching the bag, Kaveh exits the house, his eyes set straight ahead instead of their
usual drifting to the vanities that decorated the lavish halls.
The confusion from earlier dissipates and instead a warm, bubbling excitement rose up in his chest. Finally this rough patch would be over; the newfound lightness of freedom rose far above the weight of the bag in his hands.
When Kaveh exited his client’s dwelling, the sun had already sunk to a deep dusky
orange. The city of Sumeru had eased into an afternoon lull as the cooler winds of
evening-time swept in. Kaveh inhaled deep lungfuls of the crisp air, feeling giddy with
his new liberty.
Before he could fully walk away, a small chirping sound materialized nearby, and he swept his head over to see.
It was the small yellow songbird he had been watching before; the rich orange of the
afternoon sun having done full justice to its glittering golden feathers. It chirps and
warbles its song, still engrossed in its task of collecting sticks and shiny baubles for its
nest.
As it flitted about, Kaveh realized he no longer envied it for its freedom. Instead,
he nearly pitied it, as he noticed it had no feathery companion with it—and the thought
of an empty nest, even with all of its glittering treasures, fills him with a strange, unfamiliar melancholy...
–
Kaveh enjoys a lavish late lunch—a rarity in his recent chaotic days where mora was
tight, time was tighter, and his organizational skills left something to be desired.
He decided to splurge slightly with his small new wealth, ordering himself a generous
plating of shawarma and a side of baklava from one of his favorite street carts. He takes a deep bite into the savory, juicy wrap and nearly moans.
He had forgotten how hungry he was, as he had neglected to make breakfast again. At the very least he was proving Alhaitham’s earlier tease wrong: that he would forget to feed himself lunch.
He devours the first shawarma quite ravenously, and with a now quelled stomach, he moves on to savoring the second one. The earthy, rich spices fill his mouth as he eats in
relative silence—having chosen a shady spot in a grassy plot, away from the main
roads.
His giddy mood starts to dissolve into the calm evening air, and he finds the
silence rather awkward, as even his chaotic thoughts had dissipated.
The idea of going home seemed to fill him with more warmth than he would like to
admit, so he cut his meal short. Too full for his side of baklava, Kaveh has it wrapped in
a waxy paper by the stall vendor—perhaps Alhaitham would want it. Then, with his
bag of mora and parcel of baklava safely tucked away, he sets off towards home.
He’s wiping the greasy remains of shawarma off his hands when an appealing shine
produced from a nearby vendor’s cart catches his eye. He’s no longer in the mood for distractions, especially since he had only just taken a few steps into his journey
homeward, but the shine was irresistible.
Pocketing the napkin, he approaches the
glittering article, and soon discovers what it is.
It was the most beautiful scarf he had ever seen.
The fabric was smooth and shimmering, reflecting the sunlight like iridescent fish
scales. It had a deep turquoise hue, and was lined with golden thread; it made the
whole article look like a manifestation of an aureate sun setting over water.
The absolute resplendence took Kaveh’s breath away…but so did the price tag.
Even with his payment, there was no way Kaveh would be able to afford both this scarf
and the rent. He also couldn’t afford to push paying his rent back any farther—considering he’s already had to do that twice this past week.
He’ll have to do with simply ogling it, his homeward journey temporarily postponed.
It’s when Kaveh allowed his hand to slide across the scarf’s glossy surface that he feels a tingle at the back of his neck—the raising of goosebumps that only happens when someone is staring a hole into your skull.
He whips his head around, peering into the
crowd for the mysterious offender, but in the bustle of students heading home, he can’t
quite catch a single thing. He searches for a while longer but comes up with nothing,
and instead chalks it up to a small hallucination caused by his recent sleep deprivation.
Which reminds him, now that he has his rent taken care of, he should likely stay more
on top of his health, at the very least to keep Alhaitham from constantly teasing and
nagging.
He reluctantly removes his hands from the scarf. Still a little freaked out, he makes his
way back home with more haste than necessary.
-
The sun was almost completely set, a dusky purple enveloping the skies as a peppering
of stars begin to make their appearance for the night.
Fresh moonbeams illuminate Alhaitham’s residence—and the blond who had been sitting on the front steps for a while now. He had arrived home nearly an hour ago but soon realized he had forgotten
his keys. Again. Until Alhaitham arrived, he was firmly locked out.
He sulks on the steps, his mind drifting about with thoughts of the tantalizing scarf, and
how he really ought to start taking better care of himself if he actually had reached a
hallucinatory stage of sleep deprivation.
He was about to cut his losses and attempt to squeeze through the window when he heard unmistakably familiar footsteps.
Two perfectly polished boot-tips, shining in the moonlight, appear in his vision.
Kaveh’s eyes trace up the familiar man’s leg to his face, where Alhaitham’s emerald eyes are sparkling with both pity and smug amusement—though his mouth is firm set as ever.
In his right hand he holds a set of keys, complete with a small plush lion keychain
indicating the set was indeed Kaveh’s. His left hand was strangely hidden behind his
back.
“Again?” The scribe simply asks, voice twisted with teasing mirth. “What if someone
sees you squatting at my front door?”
“I would have come up with an excuse,” The architect grumbles, standing up and
dusting himself off. When he first arrived home, he didn’t quite feel that warm spark that he had been looking for, the one that chased away even the excitement of getting his due mora.
However—strangely enough—he now feels it bubbling up in his chest. He continues. “What’s that you’ve got hidden behind your back? Don’t even bother lying, I know that you never fold your arm back like that.”
Alhaitham simply huffed, producing the object that he had been hiding.
It was the scarf.
Kaveh was baffled, his eyes tracing along every groove of the fabric as it shimmered in
absolute splendor; its hue was even richer now in the deep violet of the sky.
There was no denying it, it was the exact same scarf as before—it even had a small,
shawarma-scented grease stain from when he had handled it earlier.
“Where— how did you—?” Kaveh sputtered, hesitantly reaching out for the textile.
“A coworker gifted it to me. I can’t quite remember why,” Alhaitham explained as he
thrust the scarf into Kaveh’s hands. “I certainly have no need for it. I figured you would get better use out of it.”
It was such a huge coincidence; Kaveh could hardly believe it. Somehow, someway, a
coworker of Alhaitham’s had gone to buy the exact same scarf Kaveh had been ogling—just minutes after Kaveh had left. There was simply no way.
Unless—
That feeling of being watched—
Kaveh’s lips twitched into a small smile, nearly a smirk, as he reverently slid the scarf
on. The fabric was smooth and moved like liquid, already warming up his neck from the evening’s cold nip. Alhaitham was such a terrible liar, really.
“Well, tell your ‘coworker’ I appreciate it greatly.” Kaveh smiles, putting extra emphasis on the word ‘coworker’.
If Alhaitham caught on, he certainly did a good job at not showing it. His eyes traced the silky scarf wrapped around Kaveh’s neck, then up to the architect’s head, until their
gazes were briefly caught. Then he looks away.
“It looks good on you,” he comments bluntly. It was said so naturally and so smoothly
that one could almost mistake it for the man’s usual manner. “Would you move now? It’s chilly out, and I want to get inside.”
Kaveh laughs, even as a faint flush emerges on his neck. For now, he’ll pretend that it’s
from the warm scarf.
“Sure, sure, I’ve been dying to get in too. Oh, I brought baklava, you want some?” He
rummages for the parcel in his possession, revealing several rather cold and stiff
pastries.
Alhiatham grunts as he opens the door, hanging the keys and their accompanying
keychain back on the hook inside—perhaps staring at the little lion keychain a beat too
long. “Sure, I suppose we could share.”
-
Between a session of banter and baklava, Kaveh leaves the heavy bag of mora—his
rent payment—on the counter.
He goes quickly back to the current activities, which consisted of bickering with Alhaitham about the origins of baklava whilst he idly plays with his new scarf’s folds. He finds himself not missing the mora for a second. Why would he?
After all, he’s got everything he needs right here.