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Kaveh blinked at Lesser Lord Kusanali.
The Dendro Archon only smiled, unfazed by the silence that stretched between them.
“I’m sorry, Lesser Lord Kusanali,” Kaveh said, a small, incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “But could you repeat that?”
“I said,” she replied gently; “that the people of Sumeru and I have decided to reward you generously for your hard work. Defeating Dottore would not have been possible without your efforts—and Alhaitham’s, of course. After some discussion, the Sages and I have agreed to compensate you both handsomely in Mora.”
Kaveh blinked again, his gaze drifting to the chests of Mora gleaming quietly in the corner of the Sanctuary of Surasthana. Were all of those really for him?
“Alhaitham has declined his share,” Nahida said, as if she had heard his thoughts. “So all of that is now all yours, Kaveh.”
Then she quickly added, her tiny hand raised toward him, “And I won’t take no for an answer. You, of all people, deserve this.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “So please—accept my gratitude, and that of the people of Sumeru.”
He’d never held this much Mora in his entire life—not even at the peak of his career.
One might think Kaveh’s first stop would be Lambad’s tavern, buying out every bottle in stock. But instead, he went straight to settle his debts. Dori and the others were paid in full. And to his surprise, he still walked home with millions left over.
“Now that I have so much Mora,” he thought, scratching his chin as he approached the front door; “I could pay Alhaitham back for rent and still have enough left to finally move out—live on my own.”
His hand hovered over the doorknob.
Then stopped.
This was it. Finally.
No more living with that insufferable Alhaitham. No more being a burden. No more wondering if every shared meal came with unspoken pity.
It was no longer a distant dream—something years away. He could do this now—today, if he wanted.
And yet…
Why am I hesitating? Wasn't this what I always wanted?
He exhaled slowly.
“Did you forget something?” A deep, familiar voice jolted him from his thoughts. Kaveh spun around—
“A-Alhaitham!”
He was standing far too close—close enough that anyone passing by might mistake them for…
Kaveh shoved him before the thought could finish.
But as always, he could barely move him.
Feeble scribe my ass.
Alhaitham grunted softly, stepping back just before Kaveh could try again. “You're in the way.” He reached past him, sliding his key into the lock. “I'm heading inside my house. If you'll excuse me.”
My house.
The words struck Kaveh like a cold blade.
Right. He didn't belong here. He was never really wanted, just pitied. Taken in because Alhaitham happened to have a spare room and surprisingly, a conscience. And somewhere behind that stoic mask, Alhaitham was probably counting the days until Kaveh finally got back on his feet and left for good.
An exasperated sigh escaped him, the retort already forming on his lips when he was suddenly pulled inside. The door slammed shut behind them.
Kaveh stared at him, confused.
“Hm?” Alhaitham's hand was still wrapped around his arm—warm, firm, but not painful. “Didn't you say you didn't want people finding out you're living here?”
His hand lingered. It lingered in a way that felt like it didn't want to let go.
And somewhere deep in Kaveh's chest, he wished that were true. That Alhaitham wasn't just covering for appearances. That maybe—maybe—he didn't want Kaveh to go.
He bowed his head, hiding the heat rising to his cheeks, his entire awareness narrowing to the place where Alhaitham's fingers pressed against his sleeve.
Then Alhaitham let go.
He walked to the divan, slumped down in his usual spot, and opened a book.
“You seem to be having another internal dilemma,” he said, eyes already skimming the page in front of him. “I'll leave you to it. Let me know what you want to do about dinner.”
In an instant, every fragile feeling in Kaveh's chest evaporated, replaced by that unique, simmering irritation that only Alhaitham could provoke.
What an infuriating man.
Kaveh straightened himself, marched to the center of the living room, and planted himself directly in front of the scribe, fists on his hips.
“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes, deliberately pulling Alhaitham's gaze from the page. “Why can't you figure out what to do about dinner for once? Did you notice I just came home later than usual? Did that not signal to your big brain that I was busy with important matters?”
Alhaitham lowered his book. “I did, actually.” His voice was dry. “I'm also surprised you didn't come home drunk or lugging a crate of wine, considering you now have all that Mora from Lesser Lord Kusanali.”
Kaveh's eyes went wide. “W-Wait—you know about that?!” He lunged forward, caging Alhaitham against the divan. “Who—W-Who—”
“I heard you were summoned by the Dendro Archon.” Alhaitham set his book aside. “She called me in as well before you for the same reason. I refused the reward, in case she didn't tell you. Since the Mora was already given as thanks from the people, I doubt she'd return it to the donors, so she likely gave it all to you instead. Am I wrong?”
He was right. As always. And it gnawed at Kaveh for reasons he couldn't name.
“And knowing you,” Alhaitham continued; “the first thing you did was walk across Sumeru City paying off your debts.”
Then something shifted in his eyes. Something unreadable, but Kaveh caught it. A flicker of something almost like… hurt? Disapproval? Did Alhaitham resent that he'd paid everyone else first before him? Before the man who opened his home up to him when Kaveh had nowhere else to go?
Kaveh shook the thought away. It didn't sound like Alhaitham. But it wasn't impossible, either.
“How did you—”
Alhaitham's lips curved. Just slightly. A small, almost imperceptible smile that Kaveh would have missed had they not been this close.
“After living with you for years,” he said, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual edge; “I'd like to think I know you pretty well, Kaveh.”
Then he placed a hand on Kaveh's shoulder.
Kaveh braced for a push, a shove, a dismissal.
But Alhaitham's hand just… stayed.
And had Kaveh turned to meet his gaze, he would have seen it—the quiet, aching yearning the scribe had carried since their Akademiya days, hidden behind every dry remark. Every slammed door. Every time he offered his home without being asked.
Alhaitham had known exactly what he was doing when he turned down that Mora.
And it had terrified him the moment Lesser Lord Kusanali first explained her plan.
He had no need for Mora nor did he want it. So he refused without thinking and realized too late what he'd done.
Of course the Archon would offer his share to Kaveh. Of course Kaveh would now have more than enough to pay his debts, pack his things, and walk out that door for good.
Why did he always lose all foresight when it came to Kaveh?
Now he sat here, hand on Kaveh's shoulder, fingers slowly curling into the fabric of his shirt. Torn between asking him to stay and staying silent until Kaveh announced his departure.
Because some part of him already knew which hurt less.
“Pft.” Kaveh pulled away, and Alhaitham's hand fell limply into his own lap. “If you think you know me that well, then…”
Would you let me stay?
The words caught in his throat. What came out instead was—
“You probably already know what I'm about to do with my Mora, don't you?”
Alhaitham went still. His eyes snapped up to meet Kaveh's.
Then, slowly, he rose to his feet.
This is it.
For the first time, Kaveh saw it—panic, raw and unmistakable, flickering across that usually impassive face.
“Is now really the best time to discuss that?” Alhaitham's voice strained for neutrality and missed. He turned towards the kitchen, desperate to flee the conversation. “I'm going to make dinner.”
Kaveh watched him go—watched the great scribe fumble with pans, drop one with a clatter, curse under his breath when the stove wouldn't light.
Is he… panicking?
A small, incredulous smile tugged at Kaveh's lips. He followed Alhaitham into the kitchen and sat across from him as they ate, another shared meal in a house that had somehow always felt like home.
Every time Kaveh tried to broach the subject of moving out, Alhaitham deflected. His cheeks flushed. His words tangled. His composure—that infuriating, unshakable composure—began to fray at the edges.
For the first time in years, Kaveh felt like he had the upper hand. Something he could secretly tease his beloved junior about.
And Alhaitham mentally chastised himself with every fumbled sentence. He was acting pathetic—less than his brilliant self—constantly and desperately steering the conversation away from the one thing he dreaded most.
When Alhaitham came home one afternoon a few days later, he knew something was wrong the moment he stepped inside.
The divan sat undisturbed. But other things—small things, vital things—had vanished from their usual places. Kaveh's easel. His box of inks. The scattered sketches that were always strewn across the dining table. Alhaitham couldn't name everything that was missing, but the absence was enough to make the hollowness echo.
He stood in the middle of the room, hands hanging uselessly at his sides. The silence pressed in on him—not the comfortable quiet of an empty house, but something sharper. Painful. As if someone had carved a piece out of him without warning.
He had thought he would have more time. That Kaveh wouldn't actually leave. That tomorrow morning, Alhaitham would wake to find him in the kitchen with Mehrak, coffee brewing, complaints about clients spilling out between sips.
But Kaveh was gone.
And Alhaitham bolted.
He ran through the city streets—to Lambad's Tavern, to Puspa Café, to the House of Daena, even to the Adventurer's Guild. But nothing. There was no sign of Kaveh anywhere.
His feet finally carried him to Treasure Street. He stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his temples.
Then he saw him.
“Kaveh!”
He jogged toward the blond, who stood browsing a stall. Kaveh turned, surprise flickering across his face.
“Alhaitham? What are you doing here? Did something happen at home?” Concern crept into his voice.
Alhaitham bent over, hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. This was the first time he had ever let Kaveh see him like this—disheveled, desperate, barely holding himself together. Embarrassment burned beneath his skin. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was about to make it worse.
“H-Hey.” Kaveh leaned down slightly toward him. “What's wrong?”
The proximity made Alhaitham's cheeks flush. Slowly, he straightened his back and lifted his head to meet Kaveh's gaze.
“Alhaitham?” Kaveh tilted his head, curious.
Alhaitham held his gaze, bracing himself for what he was about to say.
Kaveh froze.
Then he saw it—the rare, unmistakable redness dusting his roommate's cheeks. He bit back a smile, suddenly aware of the curious looks they were drawing from passers-by.
“Mr. Alhaitham?” Nilou's voice rang out, tinged with genuine concern. “Are you alright?”
The pair turned their heads. Nilou was walking toward them, followed by a few members of the Zubayr Theater.
Kaveh moved quickly, stepping between them and blocking Nilou's view of Alhaitham. “He's fine!” He forced a smile, a little too bright. “Just a little out of breath.” He placed a hand on Alhaitham's back and spun him around, steering him firmly away. “We're running late—Akademiya matters—so bye for now!” He began walking, pushing Alhaitham forward with a hand between his shoulder blades. “Thanks for your concern!”
Nilou and the others exchanged puzzled glances as the two men disappeared around the corner.
When the two of them were back inside the house, Kaveh burst out laughing.
“That's the first time I've ever seen you out of breath like that,” he said, clearly delighted. He slumped onto the divan, legs crossed, looking entirely at home for someone who had supposedly just moved out.
Alhaitham turned his face away, but the flush on his cheeks was already visible from the side. And Kaveh was thoroughly enjoying it.
The scribe grumbled something incoherent. Kaveh waved it off and leaned forward. “Now then: what urgent matter sent you sprinting all the way to the bazaar looking for me?”
Alhaitham faced him, an almost accusatory look in his eyes. “Why did you drag me back here?” he shot back, sharper than intended. “Sitting on my divan like you still live here? We could’ve had this conversation elsewhere, you know.”
The words hung in the air. Even Alhaitham seemed surprised by them—this was not like him. He didn't instigate. He didn't lash out. But his feelings were scattered, and Kaveh had always been the exception to every rule.
Kaveh raised an eyebrow. “Like I still live here?” He rose to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about, Alhaitham? Of course I still live here!” He swept a hand toward the paintings on the wall, the trinkets on the shelves, the small pieces of furniture that were unmistakably his—details Alhaitham, in his panic, had somehow overlooked entirely an hour ago. “If I didn't still live here—” he jabbed a finger into Alhaitham's chest “—this hole you call a home would be completely and utterly devoid of beauty and art!” He huffed and rolled his eyes.
Alhaitham went quiet. The realization settled over him slowly, embarrassingly.
“But,” he began, voice dropping; “your easel. Your inks. Your sketches. They’re gone. Where are they?”
Kaveh crossed his arms. “My tools? I left them at a client's office temporarily for work reasons.”
Alhaitham drifted to Kaveh's bedroom door and pushed it open. The architect's belongings were still there—untouched, unmoved, entirely present.
So I imagined it all.
He returned to the living room to find Kaveh watching him with a puzzled frown.
“You've been acting weird lately, you know that?” Kaveh said. “Ever since I came home with millions of Mora from Lesser Lord Kusanali. Is that it? Did you change your mind about your share? Because if you want, I could—”
Alhaitham caught his wrist gently and shook his head.
“No,” he said softly. “It's not that.”
His earnest gaze drew Kaveh in.
And deep down, Kaveh already knew what this was about.
But he didn't want to be the one to say it. He didn't want to be wrong.
He wanted Alhaitham to say it.
“Then what is it?” Kaveh's voice softened to match his. His eyes pleaded quietly for the truth.
Alhaitham took a slow, steadying breath. He braced himself once more.
He had to say it. Who knew if he'd wake up tomorrow to an empty house?
Kaveh had every means to leave now. Alhaitham could no longer hide behind deflections and hope.
He needed to give Kaveh a reason to stay.
And he prayed that his reason would be enough.
“Kaveh.” His gaze never wavered. “Don't leave.” His grip on Kaveh's wrist tightened—just slightly, just enough to ground himself. “Please stay. Stay with me.”
Kaveh's lips curved into a smile—warm, tender, relieved.
He pulled his hand free, only to take Alhaitham's instead, threading their fingers together.
The gesture alone turned Alhaitham's face crimson. His mind went blank. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. They stood there in warm silence, the world shrinking to the space between their joined hands.
When the silence absurdly stretched into minutes, Kaveh could no longer hold back his laugh.
And Alhaitham, desperate to silence him once and for all, to say everything he couldn't put into words, did the only thing that came to mind.
He captured Kaveh’s lips in a claiming kiss.