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It was a Saturday morning, and Kaveh was already close to ripping his own hair out.
The plant—a pot of elegant white lilies that Cyno had gifted them both the previous week for some inscrutable, deadpan reason—sat on the windowsill like a wilting accusation. Kaveh crouched in front of it, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, studying the thing with the intensity of a man examining architectural blueprints for a collapsing bridge.
One petal drooped at a tragic forty-five-degree angle. The edges of the leaves had started turning a suspicious brownish-yellow, like old parchment left too long in the sun. The soil looked... off. Dry? Too wet? Kaveh honestly couldn’t tell anymore.
"What did he do to you?" Kaveh whispered, horrified. He reached out and gently touched a leaf. It felt oddly stiff under his fingers.
From the couch, where Alhaitham was sprawled with a thick philosophical tome balanced on his chest, came a low, unimpressed voice.
" If you keep staring at it like that, it’s going to wilt from performance anxiety alone."
Kaveh whirled around, eyes narrowing. "Don’t you dare. This is your fault. I told you yesterday not to put it right under the air vent! Lilies are delicate creatures. They need tenderness. Care. Not your indifferent attitude blowing cold air at them every few hours."
Alhaitham didn’t even glance up from his book. He turned a page with deliberate calm. "The vent is four feet away. The only thing delicate here is your sense of proportion. It’s a plant, Kaveh. Not one of your clients who needs their ego stroked every five minutes."
Kaveh gasped, hand flying to his chest as if mortally wounded. "Excuse me? I’m the one who’s been checking on it every morning! You just walk past it like it’s another piece of ugly furniture you pretend not to notice."
Alhaitham finally lowered the book slightly, teal eyes flicking toward the sad lily with mild disinterest." I notice it. I also notice that you’re one dramatic monologue away from writing it an elegy."
Sunday passed in tense negotiations.
Kaveh spent the better part of the morning at the market, returning with specialized soil mix, a delicate watering can with a long spout, and a small spray bottle labeled "Gentle Mist for Sensitive Blooms." He repotted the plant with the focus of an artist restoring a masterpiece.
Alhaitham watched from the kitchen table, sipping coffee. "You’re overwatering it. The instructions on the fertilizer packet said once every three days."
"Instructions are guidelines," Kaveh huffed, patting the fresh soil lovingly. "Not rules. This poor thing needs nurturing. Emotional investment. Something you clearly lack."
"Emotional investment in vegetation," Alhaitham repeated slowly, as if tasting the absurdity. "Fascinating. Tell me, does it respond better to your complaints or your architectural lectures?"
Kaveh shot him a withering glare. "Mock me all you want. At least I’m trying."
By Monday afternoon, two more petals had fallen. They lay on the windowsill like tiny white surrender flags.
Kaveh discovered them when he came back from a meeting with a client. He picked one up between thumb and forefinger, holding it out like damning evidence as Alhaitham entered the room.
"See this? This is what your neglect looks like."
Alhaitham set down his bag with a sigh. "Or it’s the natural life cycle. Plants shed. It’s not a tragedy, it's basic biology."
"Biology doesn’t explain why it looks sadder every day!" Kaveh gestured wildly. "I sang to it this morning! What did you do? Gave it a logical assessment of its condition and moved on?"
Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. "You sang to it."
"Yes! And it appreciated the effort. Unlike some people."
Alhaitham walked over, peering at the plant critically. He poked the soil once. "It’s still damp from your ‘gentle mist’ this morning. You’re going to rot the roots."
"Don’t touch it with your pessimistic fingers!"
Tuesday evening brought the Naming Ceremony.
Kaveh had spent the day drafting building plans but kept getting distracted, glancing over at the increasingly pathetic lily. After dinner—during which they’d argued about whether direct sunlight or filtered light was better—he finally snapped.
"This plant needs an identity. Something to give it purpose. It can’t just be 'the dying gift from Cyno.'"
Alhaitham, reading yet another book by lamplight, hummed noncommittally. "Call it whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to participate in your theatrics."
Kaveh ignored him, kneeling dramatically in front of the pot. "You deserve better than this slow decline. You need a name worthy of your... noble suffering." He tilted his head, considering." Lord Leafington. Yes. That fits. Regal. A bit tragic. Perfect."
A long pause.
Alhaitham lowered his book. "Lord Leafington."
"Exactly." Kaveh nodded firmly, refusing to back down even as his ears turned pink. "Look at that stem. It has dignity. Like a lord facing adversity."
To Kaveh’s surprise, Alhaitham didn’t immediately mock him into oblivion. Instead, the scribe exhaled slowly and said, "Fine. Lord Leafington. At least it’s more creative than 'Plant.'"
Kaveh beamed. "See? Even you agree he has presence."
"Don’t push it."
Wednesday was the Great Sunlight Migration.
Kaveh insisted on moving Lord Leafington to the east window for gentle morning rays. By noon, he worried it was too bright and shifted it to the shaded corner near the bookshelf. Alhaitham, returning from the library, found the pot in yet another new location and sighed.
"You’re giving it whiplash."
"It needs optimal conditions!" Kaveh protested. "You’re the one who left it in that harsh afternoon glare yesterday. Look at these brown tips! That’s sunburn, Alhaitham. Sunburn!"
Alhaitham crossed his arms. "Photosynthesis requires actual light. Not whatever filtered fairy glow you think is 'gentle.'"
They spent twenty minutes shuffling the pot back and forth across the living room, bickering like an old married couple over furniture placement. At one point, Kaveh caught Alhaitham alone with the plant while he was supposed to be fetching water.
"What exactly are you doing with Lord Leafington?" Kaveh asked suspiciously.
"Monitoring the pH of the soil. It's only expected that you neglected to do so, being so wrapped up in buying broken humidifiers."
"That was one time!"
"More than enough to convince me of your inability to take care of a mere plant."
"Lord Leafington is not a mere plant, you heartless—"
Thursday and Friday blurred into a series of smaller crises.
Kaveh bought yet another (but thankfully intact) humidifier shaped like a frog and placed it nearby, filling the room with soft mist. Alhaitham turned it off when it got too humid, claiming it was "creating a swamp."
By the second Saturday, Lord Leafington looked like a battlefield casualty. More than half the leaves were brown and crispy. The remaining flowers hung limply, petals curling inward as if trying to hide from existence.
Kaveh sat on the floor in front of it for nearly an hour, poking half-heartedly at the soil. "I’m sorry, Your Lordship. We’ve failed you."
Alhaitham leaned against the doorway, watching with an unreadable expression. For once, he didn’t tease. "It’s just a plant."
"But it was a gift," Kaveh said quietly. "From Cyno, of all people. And we can’t even keep this alive. What does that say about us?"
Alhaitham was silent for a long moment. "Your excessive anxiety was the cause of this."
"What!?" Kaveh whirled around, "If anything, it's your negligence that killed Lord Leafington!"
"I fail to see my presence being a vital factor in its survival." Alhaitham replied. "I also recall you blaming my so called 'pessimistic fingers'."
Kaveh groaned. "I should've known you would be incapable of taking care of a pot of lilies. You can't even take care of yourself properly."
"Please," the scribe scoffed. "And you do it better? I wasn't the one who neglected sleep for a week just to keep my clients happy."
"You—!"
The breaking point came during their usual group hangout at Lambad’s Tavern the following week.
Kaveh carried the pot in like a sacred relic (or evidence in a murder trial), setting it down on the table with a heavy thud. Alhaitham trailed behind, arms crossed, looking thoroughly done with the entire situation.
Cyno, Tighnari, and Collei were already seated. Tighnari took one glance at the skeletal remains of Lord Leafington and froze, ears twitching.
"...What in the name of the Archons is that?"
"Lord Leafington," Kaveh announced dramatically. "Our shared responsibility. Cyno, what kind of cursed lily did you give us? We’ve tried everything—watering it, giving it fertilizers—It's dying!"
Cyno blinked slowly, expression neutral as ever. "It was meant to be a simple gift."
Tighnari pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. He reached over, plucked one of the remaining stiff "leaves," and crushed it between his fingers. It crumbled into dry flakes like cheap enchanted paper.
"That," Tighnari said, voice dripping with exasperation, "is not a real plant. It’s a Fool’s Lily. One of the Amurta department’s oldest prank creations. They look perfectly alive for about a month, then dramatically decline to mess with people. I specifically told Cyno not to use them on you two."
The table fell silent.
Kaveh’s jaw dropped. Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed slightly in realization.
Collei covered her mouth, trying not to giggle. Cyno shrugged, completely unrepentant." It was... a commentary on cohabitation. You two fight over everything. I thought it would be humorous."
Kaveh buried his face in his hands, "I can't believe this."
"I think you mean you can't be-leaf this." Cyno added unhelpfully.
Silence.
"I can't believe you two are considered geniuses when you can't even spot the difference between a fake plant and a real one." Tighnari sighed, shaking his head. "You even named it, for goodness sake."
"I think Lord Leafington is pretty good name." Collei grinned.
"I knew it was a great name! Take that, Alhaitham." Kaveh said proudly.
"I never objected to it."