Chapter Text
Kaveh has lived much of his life wearing a mask.
It is not a physical one; it is a smile he slips over tired eyes, it is rehearsed conversations in the mirror before a meeting, it’s adjusting his expression to mirror that of a client or friend. No one notices, because Kaveh has decades of practice, but he still feels the distance between himself and others, the sense that he is something different, something not meant to fit in.
He is not like Alhaitham. Alhaitham is comfortable outside of the crowd, comfortable not having a place within it. He does not bother with adjusting his expressions; to most, he seems to not have them, but Kaveh has learned over the years that they are simply subtle things instead.
Sometimes, Kaveh feels envious, but he could never imagine a life in which he does not belong with others. Even if he has to wear a metaphorical mask in public, even if there will always be that sense that he does not truly fit into the crowd
Kaveh is a mess, but he is a put-together mess.
Until he is drunk, and then he is spilling the truth all over the floor along with the remains of what little he had for dinner.
Kaveh is slightly tipsy right now, but he is not tipsy enough to have the truth forced out of him. Certainly, he is not tipsy enough to be reliving his Akademiya days, which is what he is having the misfortune of doing right now.
He, Alhaitham, Cyno, and Tighnari sit at Lambad’s, currently engaged in a discussion of Collei’s ongoing schooling over dwindling plates of food that have mostly been consumed by Kaveh.
“She’s struggling a lot with the longer lectures,” Tighnari says. “Honestly, I don’t know how any student can learn from three hours of staring at a chalkboard. Hands-on experience is infinitely more valuable if you were to ask me.”
Kaveh groans. His memories of those lectures are far from pleasant: the drone of the lecturer’s voice, the ever-present ticking of the clock on the wall, the way his pencil strayed away from note-taking and to drawing architectural models in the blank spaces of his notebook. “Don’t tell me they’re still practicing that form of torture. I could barely make it through those lectures myself.”
Next to him, Alhaitham snorts. Kaveh contemplates stepping on his foot. Not hard, of course – he isn’t mean – but enough to convey his irritation.
Alhaitham was fine during those lectures, the asshole. It was almost like he enjoyed them.
“I remember those,” Alhaitham chuckles, a note of amusement to his voice. “You continuously consumed large amounts of coffee and whatever sweet you had purchased earlier throughout the lecture. It seemed detrimental to your health.”
“Shut up!” Kaveh hisses, and this time he does step on Alhaitham’s foot. He hears a quiet very mature of you, senior as Tighnari begins speaking again.
“Now that you’ve brought that up–” Tighnari’s ears flicker; he leans forward on the table as he speaks, gaze directed at Kaveh. “I had been meaning to ask how difficult it was for you to access accommodations during your study at the Akademiya. It was easy for me to advocate for my own sensory issues, but I suspect that was on account of my large ears.”
Kaveh frowns. Accommodations? He’d never needed any.
“It was something I struggled with repeatedly,” Alhaitham says, crossing his legs. “There was little understanding of autism when I was at the Akademiya. I repeatedly was required to defend my ability to wear noise-cancelling earpieces in class. I had them turned down, of course, and they only filtered out background noise during a lecture, but several professors were rather incensed over it.”
“Of course they were!” Kaveh cries. “You always acted like you were too smart for the rest of us. They probably thought you weren’t listening.”
Cyno glances warily between them as Alhaitham huffs. “It’s hardly my fault that I was smarter than the majority of the student base. They had become too complacent with the advent of the Akasha, and unwilling to learn. I only talked to you because I could tell you were my intellectual equal.”
“I–” Kaveh opens his mouth, then closes it. He knows that despite their disagreements, Alhaitham regards Kaveh as his intellectual equal, but it still feels weird to hear him say it so plainly. “Oh. Well. Thank you.”
Cyno studies his food, expression neutral. “I did fine academically. However, I failed to connect with my fellow students and got the sense that they found me threatening. I couldn’t understand them and disliked their inability to communicate clearly or directly.”
“Tell me about it,” Tighnari huffs, ears flattened against his head in irritation. “Most of my classmates found me ‘weird’ as well, especially after I threatened to poison a few of them–”
Kaveh nearly chokes, doubling over and dropping his utensil. He still isn’t used to Tighnari’s casual threats, and isn’t sure if he really means them or not.
Quite honestly, he does not want to find out.
“Anyway,” Tighnari continues, as if nothing had happened, “Very few of my peers actually wanted the vast wealth of plant knowledge I would have liked to impart on them. This was unfortunate, and honestly? It was their loss. Kaveh, are you good?”
“I’m okay,” Kaveh says. He’s getting the distinct feeling that this is a conversation he is not meant to be a part of.
He has previously heard Alhaitham, Cyno, and Tighnari talk about their neurodivergence. There’s a sense of camaraderie there, that, even if their experiences are different – Cyno doesn’t struggle with noise as much as Alhaitham or Tighnari, and Tighnari enjoys socializing far more than Cyno or Alhaitham – there is this part of them that they share.
And as much as Kaveh relates to many of the experiences they discuss, it still feels wrong to intervene. Like walking in on an Amurta lecture when he has no knowledge of the subject, only a sense of affinity with the lecturer.
“You can continue,” Kaveh says, clearing his throat. “I’m– well, I’m not neurodivergent, so I don’t really have anything to add here.”
The mood around the table instantly shifts. Alhaitham and Cyno look puzzled, while Tighnari actually wheezes. “In what universe?” he asks. “I could have sworn you had a diagnosis.”
Kaveh shakes his head. When he was young, a family friend had suggested to his mother that Kaveh could be neurodivergent and recommended an evaluation. Kaveh’s mother had shrugged them off and said Kaveh was just ‘gifted.’ That he had never been a problem child, had never been… difficult.
(These days, Kaveh certainly doesn’t feel ‘gifted.’ He feels more like a flame that burned bright in his youth, leaving behind only dying embers now.)
The conversation moves on around him, but Kaveh still feels strangely unsettled.
Is it because Tighnari assumed he was neurodivergent? That Tighnari had seen something that may or may not exist? Though Kaveh knows he’s different, he’s always done a good job presenting as normal. He’s never needed accommodations like his friends talk about.
Sure, he’s struggled. A lot, some might suggest, were Kaveh to give them the full truth of his history. But all of Kaveh’s struggles have had one single thread in common, one origin: himself.
They are his burden to carry, and his alone. To ask for outside support would not be fair when Kaveh is the only one to blame for his faults. Even if he were neurodivergent, it would still not be right.
He’s left with the echo of a feeling, a half-memory half-emotion he doesn’t quite know how to place.
<><><>
After dinner, the cards are brought out, Cyno declaring a Genius Invocation TCG war against everyone at the table that he seems rather confident of his victory in. Given he’s been pitted against Kaveh, who is almost certainly tipsy and is only a decent TCG player when sober, the confidence seems warranted.
Alhaitham watches Tighnari, his opponent, study his hand. He’s never been particularly interested in winning. In his mind, losing presents the more valuable opportunity of getting to learn from one’s mistakes.
It doesn’t mean he intends to go easy on Tighnari, however.
“Going back to our earlier discussion,” Tighnari says, frowning as Alhaitham attacks his active card. “You’ve known Kaveh the longest. Do you think he’s neurotypical? I can’t see it. Also, your Yae Miko is dead now, sorry.”
Alhaitham hums. The loss of a card is frustrating and ruins several of his plans, but he’ll figure it out after answering Tighnari’s question. After all, it’s his turn until he chooses to act.
He turns to face Kaveh, who has paused his card battle with Cyno. For a long moment, Kaveh holds his gaze, an unspoken challenge in his eyes. Kaveh already looks defensive, ready to bite back, though Alhaitham has yet to say anything.
“Yes?” Kaveh asks, tone acidic. “I would love to know what you think about this. I’m sure you have quite the opinion.”
He does have his own opinions on Kaveh’s neurodivergence. Opinions that happened to be well-informed and well-researched, for that matter. Alhaitham had always assumed Kaveh was aware of the fact that there was little chance he was neurotypical as well, simply unwilling to make accommodations for himself out of pride.
“As someone who has known Kaveh for a while–” He hesitates, keeping track of Kaveh’s expressions. One of Kaveh’s eyebrows twitches upwards in what might be curiosity, but more likely is annoyance. He waits for Kaveh to tell him to shut up.
Kaveh remains silent.
“I have observed,” Alhaitham continues, “symptoms that could be attributed to autism and ADHD. However, I am not a professional psychologist. I had assumed Kaveh had a diagnosis already, but clearly I was mistaken.”
Tighnari nods. “Kaveh, you know, an evaluation might be helpful. I never really cared much about that– er, I always sort of thought everyone around me was just boring– but Cyno said that getting an evaluation and diagnosis really helped him understand himself. There was a pun in there too, but I’ll spare you and not repeat it.”
“I–” Kaveh pauses to compose himself, hands twitching in his lap. “I don’t think I need an evaluation. I mean, I’m an adult. I don’t need accommodations."
I don’t need you to pick me up from Lambad’s.
I don’t need you to offer me a room or your pity.
I don’t need you to care.
Kaveh has said all of these, and more. Each time, Alhaitham has ignored it. Continued to pick him up from Lambad’s, continued to offer him a room, continued to care – even if Kaveh couldn’t see it – because if Alhaitham does not offer his hand first, Kaveh will never take it.
Motes of dust settle across the tavern, illuminated by the setting rays of the sun. Alhaitham’s breathing is slow, his hand hovering over the cord of his headphones like he was about to adjust it. He can’t remember if he was, or if it was just automatic. The game of TCG has been forgotten, cards and dice strewn around the remains of their dinner.
“You're still allowed to ask for them,” he says. “An evaluation wouldn’t hurt.”
“You’re missing the point,” Kaveh huffs, exasperated. “Even if you’re right and I am neurodivergent, I’ve never needed accommodations and it would feel childish to ask for them now. I already understand myself just fine. Too well, in fact! I’m an idealistic alcoholic with a guilt complex and poor control over my emotions.” As if to prove his point, he drains the rest of his glass, slamming it down on the table afterwards. “There! That’s it! I don’t need some– I don’t know– I don’t need someone I’ve never met to ask me a bunch of questions and assign me an acronym.”
The table is quiet for a moment, and Kaveh uses the silence to roll and reroll his elemental dice. His eyes still dart nervously around the room, as if he expects one of them to deliver some verbal attack.
“Accomadations can–” Alhaitham begins, only to be shushed when Tighnari shoots him a look. Not now, he mouths.
Alhaitham frowns. Then when?
<><><>
Later that night, back in Alhaitham’s house, Kaveh sits down atop the table in front of Alhaitham, who rests on the divan, already buried in a book. His mind is still racing, a nervous energy building in his chest and humming into anxious fingers he drums across his thigh.
“I want you to be honest,” Kaveh says, forcing his hands to be still. “Do you really think I might not be neurotypical?”
Alhaitham only offers a level stare, followed by a shrug. “You tell me.”
“Not an answer,” Kaveh huffs. “You seem perfectly happy inserting your opinion in places where it isn’t fucking needed all the time, but now that I actually ask for it, you’re silent?”
“No,” Alhaitham admits. “I don’t think I would be able to tolerate your presence if you were. There’s been plenty of evidence I’ve noticed over the years, but it isn’t my place to provide you with a diagnosis.”
Kaveh groans. Frustrating, unhelpful, annoying. Alhaitham is even going back to his book now, like their conversation never even happened.
“You’re forgetting I don’t have the money for an evaluation, Alhaitham.”
Alhaitham looks up, for the briefest of moments. “They’re free.”
And then he returns once more to his book.
The familiar urge to step on Alhaitham’s foot returns as Kaveh folds his arms against his chest. “Since when was getting an evaluation free?”
“Since I became the Acting Grand Sage,” Alhaitham says casually. “Studies show that individuals with a diagnosis are more likely to have their needs met. I doubt I would have done as well as I did academically if my grandmother hadn’t recognized my need for noise-cancelling earpieces.”
“Flaunt your academic success, why don’t you?” Kaveh hisses. Alhaitham is well aware of how much Kaveh struggled at school. “You’re being a prick again. As usual.”
Alhaitham sighs, flipping the page of his book. “Have you connected the dots here yet, or am I going to have to wait?”
What is he talking about?
“There are no dots to connect here, Alhaitham!” Kaveh nearly shouts, flinging his arm out. He stands up to pace, moving between the divans, occasionally shooting a glare in his roommate’s direction. “I’m not even in the Akademiya anymore, so a diagnosis wouldn’t do anything for me! And even then, I didn’t need support!”
“As we discussed earlier, you required coffee and baklava before every class. I recall you spending a great deal of mora on it.”
“That–” Kaveh pauses, pinches the bridge of his nose, sucks in a breath. “That was just to help me focus, okay? That’s what caffeine and sugar does. It was a trick my mom taught me.”
“And what about your tendency to forget about the existence of a project until the very last minute, and then keep me up all night while you stress about finishing it? Or to absorb yourself so completely in your work that you forget to take care of your own needs?”
Kaveh frowns. Really, what is Alhaitham talking about?
He never forgets about his projects! He just… loses track of time. And okay, maybe he forgets dinner every now and then while he’s working, but Kaveh is sure everyone does that.
Alhaitham clearly isn’t done, crossing his legs as he continues to speak. “I can name other examples. Your interest in architecture is much more intense than it is for most in your field, and you have a tendency to fixate on the tiniest details of a project. Should I go on?”
“Hey!” Kaveh cries. “Don’t– don’t insult me!”
“I’m not insulting you,” Alhaitham says, tone bereft of the usual teasing lilt he often takes with Kaveh. “I’m making an impartial observation. If I were to add my opinion, it would be that these traits make you an incredibly good architect.”
“Are you being genuine or not?” Kaveh asks. “I can never tell.”
Alhaitham folds the corner of the page – something that always bothers Kaveh, because can’t he use a bookmark like a normal person and not leave creases in the pages? – and closes his book, looking up at Kaveh with one of his indecipherable expressions. Alhaitham’s facial expressions are a subtle language Kaveh used to be fluent in, back when they were closer. Now, the twitch of his lips and half-raise of his eyebrows read as a foreign script.
“All of my compliments have been genuine,” he says quietly. “Even if they are said in a teasing manner, I never say something I don’t mean.”
Kaveh is far too tired and a bit too tipsy to figure out exactly what that means. Either way, Alhaitham is clearly returning to his book, and so Kaveh stalks off to his room soon after. He is not entertaining any more of this nonsense.
<><><>
It occurs to Alhaitham that Kaveh’s reluctance to accept the possibility he may be neurodivergent likely has much to do with his inability to accept help.
However, sharing this realization with Kaveh seems unproductive and likely to start a fight, and so he keeps it to himself. Alhaitham has lived much of his life having curated his environment to adjust for his autism; given the allistic world seems to regard it as a great offense that one might not enjoy meaningless conversation, constant loud noises, or unexpected schedule changes, Alhaitham has made changes for himself.
The first and most simple was to not interact with others as much, and to establish a reputation of being unapproachable and distant. Forced social interaction drains Alhaitham’s energy more than anything else, and the majority of Sumeru tends to communicate unclearly and gets frustrated when Alhaitham does not do something they had not even asked him to do.
Which is fine with Alhaitham, since it means they’re less likely to ask him for things in the future. He had no intention of doing whatever it was they had not asked in the first place, anyway.
(Of course, he’s spent long enough puzzling out the mechanics of how people interact with each other to know what they really want when they casually inform him something must be done, but fail to specify it must be done by him. If they have not specifically told him to do anything, he is under no compulsion to do so.)
The second are his earpieces and cassette player. They allow him to maintain his peace outside of the comfort of his home, blocking noises that could cause unnecessary stress like the clamor of the Grand Bazaar or the irritated voices of the sages after Alhaitham has told them his office is closed for the day.
They also help with noises within his home, such as the sound of Kaveh’s tools at some horrendous hour of the night.
The third change he has made for his comfort is to take extended periods of time to himself as soon as his workday is over, something Kaveh seems frustrated by in a way that feels somewhat envious.
Alhaitham is well aware of his own needs. If he isn’t able to take that time – for example, like today, when his schedule had been rearranged without his prior knowledge or consent and filled with entirely too many meetings – he starts to shut down, and for that, he has a specific box of tools.
The box was originally put together by his grandmother, though Alhaitham has replaced or added items over the years. Currently, it contains a weighted blanket Alhaitham is able to heat up, several of his favorite articles on language, a few essential oils with calming scents – something Alhaitham has not touched in a while, as he does not always enjoy intense smells – and the oldest, a worn stuffed fungus his grandmother gave Alhaitham to squeeze as a kid.
Currently, Alhaitham is taking the box out, earpieces and cassette player set to the side as he sorts through the items.
To make his already frustrating day worse, the cassette player had broken at some point on Alhaitham’s way home, replacing the usual music in his earpieces with a rather unpleasant crackling sound, and that combined with a day full of meetings has left Alhaitham with very little energy. Kaveh is going to have to live without the groceries he had asked Alhaitham to pick up on his way home from the Akademiya.
Despite his mastery of language, Alhaitham has never been good at translating his feelings to words. There isn’t a good way to describe how a shutdown feels.
It is closer to a lack of feeling, a sense of being shut out of one’s brain.
Once the irritation of the malfunction with his earpieces leaves, all that’s left is a draining exhaustion, an emptiness. Alhaitham’s hand drags forwards over the weighted blanket, coming to rest on the cool surface. He does not lift it.
For Alhaitham, his brain has always been his most valuable asset. The way it fails him in times like these leaves him frustrated, helpless.
His fingers twitch. His hand remains fallen.
Alhaitham flinches when he hears the rattle of Kaveh’s keys in the door, bracing himself for some angry words on the lack of groceries he will be too tired to come up with a retort for.
Infuriating Kaveh is a common and all too easy game of his, but it will have to wait for later.
“What happened?” Kaveh asks. His footsteps grow closer, and Alhaitham wishes his headphones were still working. Now, even that small noise feels like too much. “You were supposed to be out getting groceries – hold on, why are you not wearing your headphones?”
Alhaitham opens his mouth, closes it, reaches for an answer buried in his mind.
“Cassette player broke,” he manages. Speaking feels precarious, like balancing in the high branches of a tree. Too many words and something will snap.
Kaveh picks up the player and turns it over in his hands. Mehrak inspects it with him, whirring as she runs a scan of the device. “Er… might be a damaged part. It’s probably going to be easy enough to replace.”
“Mm.”
There’s a moment of silence, in which Kaveh seems to register the full extent of Alhaitham’s current state. Alhaitham is not Alhaitham right now, and Kaveh has picked up on it.
There’s a shift in his tone, a softening of sorts, as he next speaks.
“Do you want me to heat up your blanket?” Kaveh asks. “I can fix your cassette player if you want. I know you probably can do it yourself once you’re feeling better, but… well, you probably want to rest right now.”
Alhaitham nods. He nudges the box towards Kaveh, who removes Alhaitham’s hand from the blanket before removing the blanket itself.
Normally, Alhaitham dislikes touch. While overwhelmed, he practically abhors it. Yet Kaveh’s touch is calming, his hands gentle and warm as he guides Alhaitham onto the bed.
And normally, Kaveh would not get this close. This kind of intimacy is only reserved for when Kaveh is drunk or when Alhaitham is overwhelmed, when it’s easy enough to use stress or the stupor of alcohol to excuse the longing to move closer to the other.
As Kaveh leaves to heat up the weighted blanket, Alhaitham closes his eyes, listening to the faint shuffle of Kaveh moving about the house, his footsteps moving away and then back again as warmth is draped over his shoulders, the comforting weight of the blanket holding him down. Kaveh doesn’t speak, though Alhaitham knows he wants to. Silence isn’t comfortable for Kaveh the way it is for Alhaitham.
Wordlessly, Alhaitham leans into Kaveh, feeling the way the other man’s arms wrap around him hesitantly, the awkward circles Kaveh rubs into his back. Kaveh’s breath is warm and unsteady against the bare shell of Alhaitham’s ear, each inhale catching in his throat.
Were the roles reversed, were Kaveh the one in this position, he would go to the bar and refuse any form of comfort and support until he was too drunk to be dishonest.
But here, he’s patient, giving Alhaitham the space and care he refuses to allow himself.
“What do you need?” Kaveh asks, voice barely a whisper.
For Kaveh to be here, next to him. For the silence to only be broken by their quiet breaths. Alhaitham has never needed much, never held grand ambitions. For him, this is enough.
“Stay,” he forces himself to say. And Kaveh does.
Alhaitham presses himself further into Kaveh, allowing himself this temporary moment of closeness, knowing that it won’t need to mean anything later.
<><><>
When Kaveh realizes that Alhaitham has fallen asleep against him, his first reaction is confusion. Yes, they are friendlier around each other these days, but this still feels strange. Alhaitham shouldn’t be this comfortable with him yet. Or at all.
He used to be. At the Akademiya, Alhaitham would frequently lean on Kaveh’s shoulder, sometimes even fall asleep there when Kaveh stayed up too late studying.
Kaveh always felt bad about it afterwards – Alhaitham had usually been trying to make sure he fell asleep somewhere comfortable, after all, and now was stuck sleeping on Kaveh’s shoulder that he frequently had complained was ‘too bony’.
He sighs. The cassette is still in his hands, the issue fixed by now. Honestly, Kaveh probably spent a little too long fixing it, eager to get a closer look at the inner workings of the device.
Clearly, Alhaitham had put his talents from his Kshahrewar electives to good use.
He turns his attention to Alhaitham’s toolbox, trying not to disturb Alhaitham’s dead weight against him. Archons, the man is heavy. Right now, he probably couldn’t move if he tried.
Whispering for Mehrak, he has her lift the box off the floor and place it in front of him. He sometimes sees the box on the rare occasions Alhaitham’s earpieces malfunction or his day is exceptionally busy, but he’s never actually been able to look inside. It fascinates him, to be able to see more of Alhaitham’s quiet world. Despite their similarities, Alhaitham’s mind is so different from his.
Or maybe, despite their differences, Alhaitham and Kaveh are similar. Alhaitham once told Kaveh he felt they were mirrors to each other, two sides of the same coin. In a way, looking into Alhaitham’s mind feels like gaining a sideways glimpse into his own.
A lot of these things look like items Kaveh would select, if he were to make a box of his own. Someday, Kaveh is going to have to ask to steal the weighted blanket, but for now, he goes through each essential oil, smelling each one and rubbing a few of them onto his skin when the smell isn’t evident enough from uncapping the bottle. They’re mostly full, which makes sense – Alhaitham has never liked heavy perfumes, always preferring more subtle fragrances.
Kaveh scans the articles, too, which feel like a very Alhaitham item to include. Several notations are made in a sloppier version of Alhaitham’s handwriting, various corrections or comments.
The plush fungus, however, does not feel Alhaitham. It feels out of place in the box, a stranger among the other items. Yet it is worn-down and clearly worn and loved in a way the other items are not. It seems evident the fungus had a place in the box that had been established long before the other items made their way there.
Kaveh frowns, picking up the fungus and giving it an experimental squish. Unfortunately, Alhaitham chooses this moment to open his eyes, looking slightly puzzled at both Kaveh’s continued presence and the plush fungus in his hands.
“You went through my box.”
“I–” Kaveh feels the heat rush to his face; he quickly puts the fungus back. “You had me trapped here, you know!! I needed something to do while you got your beauty sleep! Anyway, I’m sure you’ve gone through my things before, too.”
“Hmm.”
Alhaitham pushes himself away from Kaveh, adjusting the now-cool weighted blanket around his shoulders. “Do you want something similar?”
“Why?” Kaveh asks. “So I’ll stay out of your belongings?”
“For when you’re overwhelmed,” Alhaitham says, inspecting the repaired cassette player. “Logic stands to reason you would need something like this more than me, given your stress level on a day-to-day basis. It would be better than drinking yourself into oblivion, anyway.”
Kaveh seethes. “You– argh! Stop judging my habits! You don’t have to deal with half the frustrating clients I do! Besides, it wouldn’t feel right. I’m not– I don’t need–”
Alhaitham waits.
“I’m not like you,” Kaveh finishes quietly. “I don’t need earpieces. I can– I can socialize just fine! It would feel too much like taking resources from someone who needed them more. Don’t treat me like I’m some– like–”
What is he trying to say? Kaveh doesn’t get overwhelmed the way Alhaitham does.
But he does, undeniably, get overwhelmed. To the point where it feels like he’s drowning, where the world is pressed in around him, crushing his airways and pinning him down. When his day has been filled with aggravating, entitled clients who ask too much of him, when he can’t draw and feels like a failure, when the weather is too hot and suffocating, when–
“I don’t need help,” Kaveh whispers.
(In the end, it’s all still his fault, so does he really deserve it in the first place?)
“We talked about this,” Alhaitham sighs. He sounds weary. “A shutdown isn’t something I’m able to control. It’s hardly shameful to ask for help.”
Kaveh bites his lip until he tastes blood. His fingers curl against the edge of his blouse. It is shameful, he thinks. Because I’ve managed just fine without accommodations. “I’m an adult,” he says, voice scratching the inside of his throat. “I’ve lived like this my whole life. I’m fine. You got a diagnosis when you were young. It’s… different.”
“You’re worried that a diagnosis would lead to you having to reconsider your life within the context of a disability.”
“Yes!” Kaveh blurts out before he can stop himself. The word disability pricks at him, leaves him feeling cornered and caged. Because he’s not–
He’s fine. He’s fine.
Disability would mean requiring help. Requiring help means being a burden.
Kaveh is already enough of a burden on those around him, Alhaitham especially. He could never ask Alhaitham to sit with him like he’s doing now, to be patient and gentle and soft around Kaveh’s messes and sharp tongue.
“My diagnosis helped me a great deal,” Alhaitham points out. “I had struggled to understand why other children were so different from me. I never stressed about this difference, but I did want to know the reason. It also helped my grandmother understand my needs, which aided in securing future accommodations. It’s the reason I have this box.”
“I–” Kaveh tastes blood in his mouth again. Hadn’t he spent his life wondering the same? Asking why he felt so out of place in the crowd he longed to belong within?
He forces back the thought. “Do you think of your autism as a disability?”
Alhaitham frowns. “It is. What you just saw is the result of a large number of meetings, several schedule changes, and the breaking of my headphones. These would be minor inconveniences for most people. For me, they require a large period of quiet to recover from.”
“So it’s just– what? A burden on you?”
The look Alhaitham gives him leaves it very clear that he knows exactly what Kaveh is getting at by burden. “No,” he says. “It has both advantages and disadvantages. My memory and the depth of knowledge on the subjects I was interested in were always better than my classmates. Many of the Akademiya’s most accomplished scholars would also be considered autistic, though they used the words ‘eccentric’ or ‘hard to understand’ in those days. Less favorable ones, on occasion.”
Kaveh exhales, forcing air through gritted teeth. He still doesn’t know what to think. “Okay. Thanks for telling me this.”
“Are you going to consider an evaluation?”
The room is quiet as Kaveh pulls a loose thread from the edge of his blouse. When he swallows, he can still taste blood. “I don’t know.”