Chapter Text
Kaveh bursts through the elevator doors half an hour late and smelling faintly of mildew. Neither are facts that he is particularly proud of.
Because that isn't enough, today happens to be one of the few days where his boss miraculously grows a pair of legs and is capable of venturing outside the confines of his private office. In fact, on this particular day, he seems to have parked himself right by Kaveh's desk. His eyewear covers his expression, but the downward tilt of his mouth tells Kaveh everything he needs to know.
"Where were you?"
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Kaveh says as he scrambles to set down his things at his desk, briefcase thudding down with a heavy thump. His claw clip threatens to fall right out of his hair until he hastily reaches up to refasten it. "Did you get my email? I was—"
"No," Siraj spits the word like it's an insult, "I didn't get your email. I didn't get any emails this morning, because my secretary wasn't here to receive them for me."
"I—" Kaveh can't get a word out before Siraj is speaking over him again.
"I don't pay you to sleep in. I pay you to be here on time, do you understand?" Kaveh nods tersely. "I hope you aren't planning on making a habit of this behavior."
Not that Kaveh slept in. If Siraj would have read the email, he'd know that Kaveh was only late because of a 'property emergency.' Namely that he realized that his shower was infested with black mold, so he had to spend his morning frantically searching for the cheapest gym membership available in Sumeru City. You know, so he'd have access to running water. He'd left that part out of the email, though.
He's surprised that he was—by some miracle!—only half an hour late. Kaveh should aim to wake up earlier if this little inconvenience is gonna be a new, terrible part of his already-bloated morning routine...
In a just world, perhaps Kaveh would have expressed as much to his boss. As his life stands, he doesn't have that luxury. So he pushes it down and tries to appear appropriately remorseful as he grits out, "No, sir. It won't happen again, I promise."
"Thank you," Siraj says, all breathy and dramatic as if Kaveh were the unreasonable one. He throws his hands in the air for good measure, spooking an unsuspecting colleague. "This place is a shitshow!"
Bold sentiment, coming from him.
Frustration rears its ugly head as it always does, but as Siraj stalks off, Kaveh wills his defensiveness to settle into a reluctant acceptance. Siraj may be annoying and arrogant, but it cannot be easy running the firm by himself. And Kaveh is the one in the wrong for being late, despite the extraneous circumstances. He'd expected to be scolded. All he can do now is try his best to pull his weight for the rest of the day.
Kaveh's desk is situated by the entrance of the office floor, an elevated half-moon-shaped platform overlooking the cubicles of the designers. The space was as decorated as he could manage with Siraj breathing down his neck, little succulents and knicknacks littering the edges of his desk and the tops of his monitors. As he boots up his computer, Kaveh can't help but glance at his boss, who prowls up and down the cubicles like he's looking for an excuse to snap up one of his employees and drag them away to his lair... for a write-up. He shivers.
Today just isn't his day. Kaveh knew it wouldn't be his day when he woke up with another searing headache, just as he had the day before, and the day prior to that, too. If nothing else, he's glad to finally have a tangible explanation for his deteriorating health. Not that he can do anything about it. His landlord doesn't give a single shit about his crumbling apartment. He'll just have to figure something out until his lease is up…
God. Kaveh leans back in his chair, letting the current of stale, air-conditioned air wash over him. It does nothing but further dry his tired eyes. For a moment, he allows his mind to go blissfully blank, staring at the hypnotic circling of the Windows loading icon. The soft whirring of the PC fan does wonders to quiet his errant thoughts.
This is fine. It's fine. He'll be fine.
And it is then that the door to the office swings open, and in walks the subject of Kaveh's worst nightmares.
"Ah!" Siraj exclaims, immediately perking up and rushing over to the entrance to shake the newcomer's hand. So this is why he wasn't hiding in his office this morning, then. "Welcome, welcome. I'm so glad to finally meet you in person!"
Kaveh is frozen in place. No way. No way that this person is who Kaveh thinks he is. Absolutely not. But when the man opens his mouth to speak, a sickening wave of familiarity crashes over him.
"Likewise."
Siraj barrels onwards, unaware that Kaveh is losing his grip on reality a mere five feet away. "I'm sure you'll make a great addition to the team. Our operation could use a man of your caliber."
A hum, inscrutable. Perfectly neutral. Just like Kaveh remembers.
"Ah, I forget myself! Introductions are in order," Siraj says, chipper like he isn't sealing Kaveh's cataclysmic fate. "We're a rather small crew, so you'll make the rounds in no time! If you'd turn just so, this is my secretary and receptionist. He does a lot of the paperwork around here."
Time moves in slow motion. The man surely takes a thousand years to turn around, or at least it feels that way to Kaveh, who is stricken by the inexplicable urge to vomit all over his desk. Entirely unrelated to any potential black mold poisoning. Gooseflesh erupts down his skin as familiar dual-toned eyes meet horrified red ones.
"Please give a warm welcome to Alhaitham, our newest hire!"
…
Silence. The longest of Kaveh's life. And then, before Kaveh can even begin to formulate a thought, much less a full sentence, "What are you doing here?"
The question seems to shock Siraj out of his spiel, glancing between the two of them curiously. All it takes is that fragile, temporary silence, and suddenly the world fades into the background, until only Alhaitham and Kaveh remain in focus.
Kaveh tries not to sputter. He fails. "I work here?"
"Here?" Flat disbelief.
"Is that so strange?" Kaveh asks, mustering every ounce of self-control to keep himself from trembling. His voice comes out quieter than he'd like, shaky like he's seen a ghost.
If Alhaitham has an answer to that, he never gets to say, because Siraj recovers from his stupor. "Oh, so you two already know each other! That's great news!"
He attempts to redirect Alhaitham's attention with an arm around his shoulders, but Alhaitham sidesteps him. Siraj takes the rejection in stride, using the momentum to turn them around. "Now, as for the rest of the introductions…"
Alhaitham glances back at Kaveh as he's led away, eyes flashing. Kaveh is overcome with a very, very bad feeling that his job just got a whole lot harder.
For all intents and purposes, Kaveh is a grown adult. He might not have his life entirely together, but he's fully capable of dealing with the hand he's been dealt, regardless of how poor. The years have taught him that time spent wallowing is time wasted, and he's never been known to be petty, so there's no reason for him to waste precious time or mental energy worrying about what's become of his work life.
That said, even Kaveh has his moments of weakness.
"It cannot possibly be that bad," Tighnari says as they're sitting in a booth at Lambad's. The lights are low. Soft music floats through the speakers overhead. Kaveh is four drinks deep.
"He's my ex, Tighnari," Kaveh moans due to the aforementioned four drinks. His words come out slurred. "I haven't spoken to him in ten years."
Tighnari only shrugs. "Just be civil."
"I can't! Not with him!" Kaveh slams a hand down on the table, earning a glare from a nearby party. "He's… he's so irritating! He's exactly the same as he used to be! He just keeps… he keeps… bothering me!"
"Who's bothering you?" Cyno asks, having returned with the fifth round of drinks. Kaveh reaches for his before he can even set them down.
"Kaveh's new coworker is his ex from college," Tighnari explains, bringing his own cup to his lips with a gracious nod to Cyno. "He isn't coping well."
"Ex-cuse me!" Kaveh says, incensed. He gestures wildly at his friends, frighteningly close to spilling the burgundy contents of his glass all over them. "I'm coping as well as anybody could in my situation!"
Cyno and Tighnari share a look that Kaveh cannot possibly decipher in his drunken state. "Right."
"He's just so irritating—"
"So you've said," Tighnari tuts.
"— There's no way he's not doing it on purpose! He must get a sick sense of enjoyment out of— of torturing me or something!" Kaveh hiccups, flopping down on the sticky table. The alcohol impairs his self-preservation enough that he leans into the grime rather than recoiling.
A constant buzz rumbles through the base of his skull, senses dulling until all that's left to ground him to reality is the feeling of his hands grasping listlessly at the stem of his glass. His tongue weighs a hundred tons in his mouth. The ambient sounds of the tavern—whispered voices, clacking utensils—blend into an incomprehensible white noise.
"I'm sure that's not true," Tighnari says, but what does he know about— about… What was Kaveh talking about?
Oh, right. Alhaitham torturing him on purpose.
It has to be the case. How else could he explain all the times that Alhaitham has come up with blatant excuses to fork more work onto Kaveh's plate. He's barely been with the company for a few days, but it's been a constant, ceaseless stream of Kaveh, print this for me. Kaveh, revise this design brief. Kaveh, send out this email. Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh…!
"Kaveh!" He jolts.
"Wh…?"
Tighnari's frowning face swims into view, and woah. Since when did the world spin so fast? "I think you should slow down with the drinks a little, yeah?"
"I'm—" hiccup "—perfectly fine!"
He's sure that the night stretches on for longer, but most of Kaveh’s memories fade after that. Only bits and pieces remain of when his friends drag him out of the tavern, one body under each arm, and then he collapses in his bed some nebulous amount of time later.
His headache returns the next morning, as always. If he really thinks about it, this, too, is Alhaitham's fault.
Despite what Cyno and Tighnari may believe, Kaveh wasn't exaggerating his complaints in the slightest. The longer Alhaitham works at the office, the more obvious it becomes that every single little habit of his was deliberately crafted to get on Kaveh's nerves.
For lack of anything better to do, Kaveh has curated a convenient list. The following is that list:
- Alhaitham is the only employee to leave at precisely five o'clock. And Kaveh means fully out the door at five, not barely beginning to pack like everyone else. Admittedly, this is the least annoying quirk of his; Kaveh's worklife-balance (or lack thereof) leaves much to be desired, and Siraj is constantly insisting that designers pull more and longer hours of crunch time. Kaveh just can't find it within himself to leave first when everyone else is working so hard. Alhaitham's resistance to overtime would actually be quite admirable if Kaveh weren't sick and tired of him already.
- Alhaitham pretends that the noise-cancelling is active on his headphones even when it blatantly isn't, just to avoid conversing with his coworkers. What kind of asshole just blows off his colleagues like that!? This is a design firm! It's a collaborative environment!
- Alhaitham is the sole living being being on the premises who can get their boss to listen. Siraj has never been known to be a man with sensibility. He's petulant, lording over his employees like a spoiled child. Except for Alhaitham, whom he is deferential toward—to the point of insanity! Alhaitham could ask the man to jump and Siraj would ask, "how high?" What on earth is up with that!? Just who hired who here? What makes Alhaitham so special?
- Alhaitham almost exclusively wears turtlenecks that are a size too small. The fabric clings to his skin. It's tacky.
… Admittedly, some points on Kaveh's conveniently curated list are a little less sophisticated than others. But the shirts are genuinely distracting. Who the hell dressed this man?
Not that it matters. Kaveh is taking great pains to avoid being bothered by Alhaitham's presence in his workplace. Namely by resolving to ignore him whenever possible.
Aside from Alhaitham's first day, neither of them have ever shown any indication that they used to know one another. On Kaveh's end, this is done to preserve the waning remnants of his sanity. He can't imagine that Alhaitham is doing the same out of courtesy, but for lack of any better interpretation, Kaveh is content to leave his hypothetical explanation at that.
Although, it must be noted that Alhaitham has always had a knack for getting under Kaveh's skin, even when they're both dancing around the same proverbial elephant.
"… Hello," Kaveh says, tersely polite as Alhaitham walks up to his desk for the nth time that day. He purposely keeps his eyes glued to his monitor. "Was there an issue with the copies I printed?"
“No. I’m returning your highlighter.”
“I— Sorry?”
Alhaitham reaches into his pocket and produces a green highlighter, which he gingerly sets on Kaveh’s desk. The very same highlighter that Kaveh happened to notice was missing yesterday. The one that Alhaitham very much did not ask to borrow.
Kaveh snatches up the highlighter like it's a long-lost family heirloom, clutching it to his chest. “Are you kidding me?” he hisses. “I was looking all over for this. Do you know how expensive this highlighter even was? It’s an import. From Inazuma!”
“You have eight other identical highlighters. I happened to lose mine.”
“Those don’t count! They’re different colors!” Kaveh argues. “And besides, that doesn’t mean you can just help yourself to my stationary!” Who the hell raised this man!? Well, actually, Kaveh knows the answer to that, and the better question would be how the hell Alhaitham ended up like this in spite of who raised him.
“If your office supplies are so important to you, perhaps you should keep better track of them,” Alhaitham says. Kaveh can’t help making a face at his back as he walks away.
If his intention is to keep bothering Kaveh in order to piss him off… Well, his plan is working. Unfortunately.
Alhaitham is not the sole patron of Kaveh's office space. Plenty of his coworkers stop by throughout the workday, and Kaveh is always happy to help with whatever they need! The issue specifically arises when it's Alhaitham coming up to him, every day, multiple times a day. At least everyone else has the decency to avoid hogging Kaveh's time and attention so blatantly!
(There was an occasion wherein a certain group of designers who often swing by Kaveh’s desk happened to wander up while Alhaitham was there. They asked him for help, as per usual, and he turned around to print out their papers, as per usual. By the time he turned back, Alhaitham was alone once again, blinking innocently up at Kaveh. He even offered to deliver the papers in Kaveh’s stead. None of those designers dared to visit his desk again. Kaveh still hasn’t the faintest clue what to make of it.)
Kaveh doesn't know how long he can keep doing this. Every nerve ending in his body is attuned to Alhaitham's slightest movement. His view from his elevated desk only heightens Kaveh's unease, an anxious little lapdog shaking in it's owner's arms. It's all he can do to keep from flinching whenever Alhaitham stands from his chair, cowlick suddlenly sprouting up behind the walls of his cubicle. Always a sign of imminent disaster, as far as Kaveh is concerned.
He's not safe on his breaks, either. Kaveh will beeline it to the coffee machine during his lunch, only to find it occupied by a certain gray-haired asshole who only brews one cup at a time. Unbelievable.
"You could— um. You could always make extra, so no one has to wait on you…"
"I bring my own coffee from home. Not interested in sharing it."
… Right. Breathe, Kaveh. Breathe.
Though he himself is intent on ignoring Alhaitham, the man sends shockwaves through the entire office ecosystem with his presence. His unfriendly demeanor earns him zero favor. The second he's out of earshot, their coworkers scurry to voice their grievances in hushed tones. How rude, they say. Where does he get off, looking at us like we're the bugs beneath his heel? He's impossible to work with! Almost as bad as Siraj! Kaveh can't even find it within himself to disagree. He just wishes he didn't have to keep hearing about it.
But whatever! Whatever. Kaveh keeps his head down, stubbornly intent on ignoring his little problem. If Alhaitham wants to make his life difficult, either incidentally or on purpose, then all Kaveh needs to do is live his best life and do his best work in spite of his efforts.
It'll be easy!
"You!"
Or not! Because Kaveh can't have anything nice in this goddamned office.
He plasters his most personable smile on his face. In a perfect world, a meteor would come and strike them all down where they stand right about now. "What can I do for you, Siraj?"
Siraj drops a hefty bundle of papers onto his desk, half of them stacked haphazardly and the other half in manila envelopes of mismatching colors. "These need to be transferred to records. They'll sort them out. Be a dear and show Mr. Alhaitham down?"
That painfully fake honey-sweet tone makes Kaveh want to blow his gasket. "Of course!" he chirps, already getting up.
He'll just have to make this quick.
"The elevator down to the basement floor is broken," Kaveh explains as he leads the way down a truly obnoxious amount of stairs. His voice echoes off the concrete walls. "So we have to take the fire-escape. We keep asking them to fix it, but… Well, you can guess how that's going," he finishes lamely.
A disinterested hum from behind him. Kaveh tries not to let it get to his head.
"Multiple offices share this building," he rattles on, mindlessly filling the silence. He's doesn't want to risk saying something he'd regret, even if it's to ease the grating tension between them, so work lesson it is. "But the storage space down here is shared, so there's an agreement to use the space for physical records and heavy equipment…"
It takes him a moment to realize that the vibrations of a second pair of footsteps are no longer following his own. He pauses, twisting to look up behind him.
Alhaitham has his face stuffed in the one manila envelope he generously offered to carry. (Kaveh has the rest, because he's far too benevolent for his own good.) His eyebrows are knit in concentration as he scans the contents, hair falling over his eyes just so. The sickly yellow lighting of the stairwell paints him particularly impenetrable.
Kaveh remembers how difficult it is to get through to Alhaitham when he gets like this, the whole world fading away as he focuses the full breadth of his fierce intellect on whatever it is that puzzles him. This raises a question, however, one that takes precedence in Kaveh's mind. What is on that paper that's got Alhaitham so enraptured?
Dress shoes squeak as Kaveh gingerly creeps up the stairs, shuffling behind Alhaitham to try and peek at the paper in his hands. Simple tax records. Huh.
Alhaitham snaps the manila folder closed, spinning around, and Kaveh frantically scrambles backward to keep a few steps worth of space between them. Literally.
Sharp teal eyes pin red. For the first time since he's started working here, Alhaitham has stolen Kaveh's full, undivided attention. "You act like you're scared of me."
Kaveh blinks. "Sorry?" He doesn't know if he's apologizing or asking for clarification.
"You're…" Alhaitham trails off, which is uncharacteristic of him. He's always so sure with his words. "Nevermind."
And then he's continuing down the stairs like he hadn't just casually spiked Kaveh's blood pressure. The nerve of him!
Kaveh catches up, suddenly incensed. "Listen," he says. "I know that we have a… history, but that doesn't mean that we can't be civil in the present."
"Is that what you want?" Alhaitham's voice is distant, monotone. "To remain civil?"
"Do you mean to imply that I've been anything but?"
"Not at all. I'm implying that you haven't said anything of substance to me in roughly a decade."
Kaveh overtakes Alhaitham, rushing down the final step before he can. Then, he spins, stubbornly glaring up at the nuisance before him. The very tall, silver-haired, distastefully dressed nuisance. "I don't know what your intentions are, but I'm not quitting any time soon. I'm here for the long haul. And this job is… difficult enough without your intervention."
"Choice words, Senior." The old nickname sends a shiver down Kaveh's spine.
"What I mean to say is that whatever this is—" Kaveh gestures between the two of them "—I'm not interested. Save your mind games for someone who has the patience to deal with you. I just want to get through the workday and go home."
At Alhaitham's silence, Kaveh turns tail and practically runs into the storage room. It's not enough to escape Alhaitham's voice echoing from behind him, however.
"Interpret me however you'd like."
Kaveh doesn't deign that with a response.
They hand over the documentation in terse silence. The subsequent walk back, too, is agonizing. A cold stare prickles at the nape of Kaveh's neck the whole way. Kaveh keeps his mouth shut, if only to avoid the potential mortification of getting caught arguing—really, truly arguing—with Siraj's new favorite.
Back at the office, Kaveh throws himself into his paperwork. Hours upon hours of staring at a computer screen until he spends his nights dreaming of the Slack interface. Formatting documents, taking meeting minutes, and, whenever he's certain that Siraj is sequestered in his office, hastily opening his personal laptop to get some actual work done.
Days pass in a slog, broken only by the countless times Alhaitham invades Kaveh's peripheral vision. Seriously, is he trying to goad Kaveh into quitting? Even after their talk in the stairwell? Maybe that's it. Maybe he's lost any and all respect for Kaveh and just wants him to suffer. This is his evil plan to get rid of Kaveh once and for all.
Well, tough shit! Kaveh is here to stay! And nothing can break his ironclad tenacity! Nothing!
Okay, maybe some things can break his ironclad tenacity. Or at least bend it a little.
Kaveh's halfheartedly responding to an email when he feels a presence by the edge of his desk. He suppresses a sigh. Here comes the usual song and dance again. If it isn't Alhaitham, it's another of the designers, about to ask him for some banal task.
"Can I help you?" he says, barely concealing the displeasure in his voice.
"Yes, you can fucking help me!" Kaveh immediately straightens, whipping his head around to meet his boss's sour expression. The bottom half of it, anyway.
"Oh, Siraj?"
"Do you know what you can do for me? What would make me happiest?" Siraj asks, voice thick with insincere friendliness. "If you would get off that fucking phone and get back to work!"
Kaveh casts a tentative glance down at his phone, which sits hidden inside his briefcase on the floor. "What?" he asks, more confused than offended. He's never on his phone (because he's not interested in wasting his data, thank you), but he especially isn't when he knows Siraj is skulking around in a bad mood. And he certainly isn't on his phone right now.
This seems to be the wrong answer, because Siraj slams a hand down on his desk. "Do you think me stupid, Kaveh? I've had countless complaints about you over the past week. Constantly missing deadlines, always on your phone, ignoring guests when they come in. Do I pay you to just fuck around!?"
"No, sir." What? Kaveh's hands are shaking. What the fuck is he talking about? Missing deadlines? Did his calendar malfunction? Did he forget to turn something in? Did he miss a memo? Did he not notice someone important come in? Oh god, his coworkers are starting to look. "I— I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Siraj holds up a hand. "I didn't come here for you to give me excuses! This is unbelievable. You used to be my star employee! That ends—"
"Are you quite done?"
Both Siraj and Kaveh swerve toward whoever is brave enough to interrupt them. It's Alhaitham, naturally, because even in adulthood, he can't seem to keep himself out of trouble with that big mouth of his. Kaveh cringes internally at whatever is about to happen.
Siraj balks. "Can't this wait?"
"Not really," Alhaitham says, not even bothering to mask his blatant disinterest. He leafs through the stack of papers in his hands. "You asked me to collect this documentation for you, and I did. I believe this takes precedence considering that the customer reviews you were accidentally CC'd in were directed at Kabir, a receptionist next door. Not Kaveh."
A pause.
"How did you—"
"You asked to show me the files on your computer. Did you think I wouldn't notice what else you were looking at?"
And then Kaveh has the distinct pleasure of watching his boss turn bright red, puffing up like an outraged bird. "So it seems," he says through gritted teeth. "They're such similar names!" No, they're not. "I'll have to check the prescription on my goggles." The eyewear is purely decorative. He's told the whole office as much. He turns to Kaveh and offers the fakest, smarmiest smile he's ever seen. "Keep up the good work, then."
Siraj scuttles off with his tail between his legs, leaving Kaveh's anxious energy with nowhere to go. What the hell was that!?
He immediately rounds on Alhaitham. "What kind of dirt do you have on that man that he worships the ground you walk on?" he whispers urgently.
Alhaitham huffs a laugh, and Kaveh is confronted with the very reason why he'd tried his hardest to keep him in his peripheral. Taken in his entirety, Kaveh can't help but notice the way he's filled out since college, jawline growing more chiseled, those aggravatingly attractive dimples of his emerging when he smiles. It's sickening. "I have connections."
Kaveh squints his eyes. "I highly doubt that that's it."
Alhaitham shrugs. "Believe what you want," he says, and then he walks away.
The interaction leaves Kaveh reeling. Siraj has always been known to make examples out of poor performers, but what happened just now was utterly ridiculous. He couldn't even get Kaveh's name right! How long before he forgets it again? Kaveh isn't sure what he's supposed to feel. Indignance? Relief?
And what on earth is up with Alhaitham? Annoying one minute, then standing up for him the next? Is this some sort of practical joke at Kaveh's expense!?
Somewhere in the office, a phone rings. There's the whirr of the stale air conditioning. Dust coats the window panes. Post-it notes litter his monitors. All the familiar sights and sounds of the office bring Kaveh floating down to Teyvat.
He should get back to what he was doing. Everything else, he can agonize over while staring at the ceiling in bed later tonight. As one does.
Every gas station convenience store has the same layout. Baked goods by the entrance, energy drinks as you loop back toward the register, chips at the end. Kaveh knows this by heart because there are five different convenience stores that he stops by regularly. (He does this in the hopes that no one will notice that his visits are a bit too regular.)
If you stop in the middle of an aisle in the dead of night, the constant hum of the bright fluorescent lights becomes almost unbearable. It's little wonder, then, that Kaveh has never encountered a late-night employee without an earbud in. He'd be wearing one, too, if he could afford a pair.
He can't afford to waste his hard-earned money on such frivolities right now, though, so instead he stands stock still in the ramen noodle aisle, scrunching his eyes closed and willing his headache to go away. His attempts are futile, of course. The ever-present throbbing in his head won't be curbed by sheer willpower. But he has no choice but to push through the discomfort when he has important business to get to, such as mustering up the emotional capacity to choose between Liyuen or Inazuman ramen for tonight.
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, great. The exact last person Kaveh wants to see during these trying times.
Kaveh blinks an eye open, taking in the bleary outline of Alhaitham's figure. He's wearing a thick overcoat and his signature pair of headphones. The sharp overhead lighting of the convenience store cuts stark shadows across his face, eyes barely visible beneath the jagged mess of his bangs. Despite Alhaitham’s daily routine consisting of bothering Kaveh and doing as little work as possible, Kaveh swears that his eyes are sunken, kohl and smudged red eyeliner only accentuating how tired he looks.
Funny. He looks every bit the creature of nightmares that Kaveh childishly pictures him as.
"Is this a new hobby of yours?" Kaveh asks flatly. "Showing up in my life and questioning the normal things I do? You act like it's out of the ordinary for someone to stop by the convenience store after work."
"It is for you," Alhaitham says. He gestures vaguely to the contents of the aisle. "You hate ramen. You always refused to try any of mine."
Kaveh rubs his temples, wishing he were anywhere else but here. "Maybe my preferences have changed."
"No, your preferences don't change that easily. They never have. You'd much rather cook something more nutritious than 'settle for this crap,'" says Alhaitham, quoting something that Kaveh can very distinctly remember telling him in college. Shit. "Is that what this is, then? You're settling?"
That last bit hits Kaveh like a shock of cold water. Who the fuck does this guy think he is!?
Settle? Settle!? Does he think Kaveh is content living like this? Does he have any idea how humiliating it is that he can't even find the energy to eat, much less cook on a regular basis? Where does he get off pointing out all the ways that Kaveh's become a shell of his former self!? As if he even has the right to make such an observation!
Perhaps it's because he's acutely aware that he's not on the clock anymore, or perhaps it's because the lights stabbing at his psyche have successfully fried all his neurons, but Kaveh is done keeping himself reigned in. He can't take this bullshit anymore.
He rounds Alhaitham. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he hisses.
Alhaitham merely blinks. "I struggle to imagine how you could've possibly misconstrued my words if this is how you're reacting."
"No, I mean in general!" Kaveh barrels on, counting on his fingers. "First, you show up at my job. Then, you keep pestering me. And now, this? Making judgmental comments about my life?"
"Kaveh." Every hair stands on end. He doesn't like that agitated tone. "Lashing out isn't productive."
"Who do you think you are to lecture me?"
It's only because Kaveh used to know Alhaitham exceedingly well that he catches this next bit. It should be imperceptible, the way Alhaitham spends too long on a breath when he'd usually persist without a hitch. But Kaveh recognizes it as what it is: hesitation.
"No one in particular. And I'm not interested in lecturing you. Or judging you, for that matter. I'm merely stating the obvious, since you seem to need it said."
Kaveh can't figure out what to make of him. "You're an asshole," he bites.
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. "And you aren't?"
"Wh—? Excuse you!" Kaveh juts a finger directly into the infuriatingly firm chest in front of him. "I am a delight! Don't you raise your eyebrows at me, Alhaitham, I am! A pleasure to work with by all accounts except yours!"
"I'm sure," Ahaitham says. "With the way you bend over backwards for both clients and coworkers."
"Not interested in 'judging' me, huh?" Kaveh says coldly. "Right, right. Not that your opinion holds any value here. You've never been accommodating to anyone a day in your life."
This time, when Alhaitham doesn't respond for a moment, it's not hesitation. His eyes flash with something that Kaveh makes no effort to decipher. He gets the distinct sense that Alhaitham sees right through him, and that's all he has to know.
When Alhaitham finally speaks, Kaveh almost wishes he hadn't. "I've never seen you act so… meek. What happened to you?"
And that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? What did happen to Kaveh?
… Nothing that he's willing to discuss with his ex-boyfriend on a random Tuesday evening, that's for sure.
Kaveh turns away first. "My work habits are none of your concern," he mutters. "And neither are my personal ones. I don't know if you remember, but you lost the right to interfere a long time ago."
And that's that.
He reaches for the closest ramen packet within his reach, not even bothering to check the label. This conversation has been a colossal waste of his time. He isn't sure what his goal even was in confronting Alhaitham, famously the least reasonable man on earth. Whatever. If he hurries, he can make it to the bus stop before the route frequency changes to once per hour…
He makes it two steps away before Alhaitham pipes up again.
"That brand? Really?"
Kaveh stops, looks down at the ramen in his hand. It's purple. Pork flavored. Seems innocuous enough. He glances back at Alhaitham. "What?"
Alhaitham crosses his arms. "Out of the whole selection available to you, you decide to go with that?"
"What are you insinuating!?"
"I'm surprised, is all. You used to be so particular. That's the cheapest, worst quality ramen on the market."
Kaveh feels like he's losing his mind. "Oh, so when I buy cheap ramen it's a problem, but when you seem to be an expert on it suddenly it's not an issue?"
"It was never an issue to begin with. I'm merely questioning your taste."
"My taste!? You're questioning my taste?"
From there, it's devastatingly easy to fall into an inane argument with Alhaitham.
They go back and forth in the middle of the aisle, loud enough that the cashier sends a couple concerned glances their way. Kaveh privately thanks Lord Kusunali that they're the only two people in the store, because he'd never be able to live down the embarrassment of such a passionate debate about ramen (of all things!) being publicized. Flavor, brand, noodle type, preparation style, they bicker about every possible point of contention in depth, until Alhaitham starts walking away, and of course, Kaveh follows him, because he's not done with his incredibly salient point about the influence of packaging on consumer metrics, because it's a legitimate art form, and hey, hey, don't just pretend not to hear me, Alhaitham, Alhaitham!
He follows Alhaitham through the whole store, not noticing that they've done a full loop until Alhaitham stops by the ramen aisle again, stuffing a ridiculous assortment of ramen into the basket he'd grabbed on the way. Which sets Kaveh off again, because really? Really? After your point on consumerism bastardizing food, you're gonna be a hypocrite and buy one of everything on the shelf? Seriously? So he keeps following Alhaitham all the way to the self-checkout, bickering the whole way, until suddenly they're standing outside the store and Alhaitham is shoving a plastic bag into his hands.
"What's this?" Kaveh stutters, caught off guard.
"I came here to pay for gas," Alhaitham says. "You can taste test these and see if you still disagree so vehemently afterwards. See ya."
Before Kaveh can even find it within himself to protest, he's sauntering off toward the unassuming black car parked beside gas pump Three. Of course. Because it's cheaper to pay with cash…
Kaveh stares down at the plastic bag in his hands, dumbfounded. Alhaitham grabbed all this for him? Why? What possible machinations could he be plotting that involved buying Kaveh twelve different packets of ramen noodles?
He heaves a long, heavy sigh. When the breakup was still fresh, Kaveh made a promise to himself to quit trying to work out the enigma that was Alhaitham's inscrutable thought process. That proved to be an easy enough task when he wasn't around, but now…
Whatever. At least Kaveh didn't have to pay for this.
Their little rendezvous at the convenience store gives Kaveh the courage to do something that he's been wanting to do for a while now.
The moment Alhaitham shows up at his desk, form in hand, Kaveh promptly stands from his chair. He descends from his elevated cubicle, beckoning him to follow.
Kaveh leads them toward the back wall of the office, where two perfectly pristine, functional photocopy machines sit, untouched by their useless ass colleagues. Kaveh smacks the top of one.
"You see this? This is a printer," he says, sounding out the syllables like he's speaking to a toddler. "You can use it to make copies. You don't have to come to me every time you need to scan a goddamn paper."
Alhaitham stares at him blankly. "I don't like these ones," he finally says.
"What do you mean you don't like these ones?" Kaveh hisses. "They work just fine!"
"Yours is the only colored printer in the office. These can only do black and white."
"Oh, as if you care about that," Kaveh waves him off. "Just use the damn printer. I'm sick of you breathing down my neck after every form you fill out!"
Alhaitham maintains eye contact as he slowly, ever so slowly, inches toward the printer. He presses the On button.
In an ideal world, this would be where the printer putters to life, ready to scan documents or print files or whatever else Alhaitham needs to be done during his shifts. Unfortunately, they do not live in an ideal world, so Kaveh and Alhaitham stand there as the printer sputters, buzzes, whirrs, and promptly starts smoking.
"When was the last time this thing was dusted?" Alhaitham asks.
As if that's the most pressing issue right now!?
"You know what?" Kaveh says, defeat coloring his voice. "Don't even worry about it."
It's not uncommon for Kaveh to be the last to leave the office floor. If he doesn't go around flicking all the lights off, no one else will, not even the janitors that clean the building at night. Really, was no one taught basic sustainability tactics? 'Lights off when you leave the room' and things of that nature?
He leaves the main lights half-on for himself, dim but not disruptively so.
His incessant overtime isn't purely the fault of a stalwart work ethic. After hours at the office are a great time to get some of his real work done, after all. His cramped studio apartment barely has room for a dining table, much less a desk, so this is one opportunity to spread out, drafts littering every available surface of his workstation. When AutoCAD freezes, he sighs, leaning back in his chair. Time to figure out a chore that can sufficiently distract him for at least five to ten minutes.
Truthfully, he just doesn't want to go back to his apartment. Although it seemed wise to go for the option with cheapest available rent at the time, now he regrets it. Mold, mildew, constant appliance failure, practically no room, terrible area… It's far easier to get work done here than it is there.
Or, at least that’s true for the most part. Kaveh does also have to fight for his life against the shitty office wi-fi whenever he’s here. Seriously, how does anyone manage to get anything done with service this bad? It’s a miracle that this building is still operational.
Kaveh gets up at last, stretching his arms above his head as he stands. Then he rolls his shoulders, then his wrists, then his neck, until something pops and he pretends that that's probably normal. The usual routine.
He reserves himself to doing a bit of dusting. That incident with the printer has been plaguing his mind ever since it happened. No wonder everyone comes to him for such menial tasks. Does nobody think to check over the office equipment?
Or, maybe nobody can, because the janitor's closet is locked. Great. Kaveh wanted to avoid relying on the break room paper towels for this, but it seems he has no choice.
As he retraces his steps, heels clicking across linoleum, he checks his watch. Half past nine. Beyond the large glass windows of the office building, the sky has darkened, Sumeru City alit by a sea of neon signs and LEDs. Somewhere beyond that, the stars in the sky hide behind a veil of light pollution. Pity. There's supposed to be a rare constellation out tonight.
He walks right into someone.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Kaveh starts. "I wasn't looking where I was— Alhaitham!?"
Lo and behold, the most aggravating man alive stands before him, blinking at Kaveh owlishly. He's halfway through the door to Siraj's private office. "You're still here?"
"Some of us are diligent enough to finish our work before clocking out for the day," Kaveh says, because it's easier to lie than to admit that he has nowhere else to go. He continues on suspiciously, "What are you doing here?"
"I forgot my house keys at the office," Alhaitham says. In the low light, he comes across a little softer, younger. "I'd been out, so I only just noticed. I stopped by to pick them up."
"Well, you're lucky I'm still here, then," Kaveh huffs. "I lock up after I leave."
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. "Since when is that your responsibility?"
"It's the responsibility of whoever is the last to leave, actually. And tonight, that just so happens to be yours truly." Which happens to be the case every other night, too, but Alhaitham doesn't need to know that.
"Right." Just like every other time he's shamelessly brushed off a conversation he finds troublesome, Alhaitham employs his tried and true tactic of walking away. But Kaveh stops him with a hand on his shoulder before he can get very far.
"I'll be gracious enough to believe your little story, but I'm still not clear on why you're coming out of our boss' office."
"Lost and found," Alhaitham says, like that makes any sense.
Kaveh cannot believe this man. "Don't tell me you were snooping around in there!? You could get into serious trouble for that!" Even with the way Siraj seems to cower from Alhaitham, this is something he could press charges for. And, well, Kaveh doesn't like Alhaitham very much right now, but he still doesn't want him to get sued…
"Worried about my wellbeing, Senior?" If only Alhaitham couldn't read him so well.
"As if!" Kaveh says, turning his head away. "Siraj could press charges for all I care. His money to waste, not mine!"
"It is yours, technically," Alhaitham says. "Maybe he'd deduct the legal fees from your wages."
"Don't even joke like that," Kaveh grumbles. Then, quieter, more to himself, "He'd do it, too."
They settle into an awkward standstill. Kaveh takes a step backward, putting some distance between them. He should probably return to what he was doing before this.
"You don't seem to have a very high opinion of the man," Alhaitham points out belatedly. "But you keep it to yourself."
Kaveh levels a flat glare at him. "Gee, what brought on such an astute observation? What's next, you're gonna point out that I think this marble wallpaper is tacky?"
Alhaitham only looks at him. Evidently, that's as clear of an answer as Kaveh's gonna get out of him tonight.
Alright, he's had enough of this. Kaveh sidesteps Alhaitham to return to his desk. "You have ten minutes before I lock you in here with your stupid keys," he calls. A faint hum is the only indication that Alhaitham heard him at all.
Fifteen minutes later finds them in the elevator down to the parking garage, shoulders brushing. Every hair on Kaveh's arm stands on end. He can't recall the last time he was forced in such close proximity to Alhaitham. It's not good for his cortisol levels.
He marches right out of the elevator as soon as he can, shoulders hunched. Just when he thinks he's off scot-free, Alhaitham calls after him.
"Did you not park here?"
Dammit. Kaveh stops, but stubbornly refuses to turn around. "No, I don't have a car. I take the bus."
"At this time of night?" What kind of question is that? It's barely past nine o'clock. That's not a strange time to be commuting! No time is, really.
Kaveh finally turns around, driven by pure incredulity. Alhaitham still wears that same inscrutable expression he always does. "All you've done since you walked back into my life is ask me stupid questions."
"And all you've done is dodge them," Alhaitham remarks.
"Like I said, I don't owe you an explanation." Kaveh turns around and sticks his nose up in the air. "Goodnight, Alhaitham."
He trudges onwards down the street, away from his office building.
Sumeru City never rests, the hustle and bustle merely migrates to different parts of the city throughout the day. On a weeknight like tonight, the streets of the business district are fairly empty, with only a few shops and eateries remaining open. Somewhere in the distance, the raucous laughter of bar-hoppers fills the air, echoing through the winding rows of buildings.
When he makes it far enough away that it feels easier to breathe again, Kaveh slows his gait. The air is crisp tonight, a sign of the incoming fall season. Not that it ever gets very cold in the tropics. He bundles himself in his suit jacket as he lets his eyes wander.
The one upside of commuting to work is that Sumeru City is a boundless source of eye candy. Kaveh often finds himself transfixed by the way the streetlamps reflect on a certain door's intricate tilework, or the warm light that leaks through the stained glass windows of a residential home, or the latticework adorning a humble shrine, or, well. He could go on. He never tires of the view.
It's these little things that remind Kaveh that everything is going to be okay, even if he can't find it within himself to believe in that for very long.
He makes it to his bus stop in less than fifteen minutes, leaning against the exterior glass of the bus shelter. Inside, a gaggle of young women are chatting excitedly amongst themselves. A middle-aged man is dressed for the gym, pacing back-and-forth. The usual old lady is there with her dog.
Kaveh checks his watch. He usually does some calculations before he leaves for the bus stop to save himself from waiting too long, but since a certain someone disrupted his schedule tonight, he got here early. Yay for forty five minutes of idle waiting.
A presence makes itself known beside him. You've got to be kidding.
"I thought I told you goodnight, Alhaitham."
Alhaitham pulls out a book and an itty bitty clip-on book light. Kaveh glares sidelong at him, judgmental and confused in equal measure. "That you did."
"So what are you still doing here?"
"Keeping you company," Alhaitham states, like that's something he just does. "There are all sorts of unscrupulous characters roaming the streets this time of night. I figured you'd feel better if someone were staying with you."
"Well, you figured wrong," Kaveh deadpans. He glances pointedly toward the handful of other people at the bus stop, none of whom appear particularly intimidating, and all of whom are at least a head shorter than both of them. "I'm a grown man, Alhaitham. I can handle myself."
Alhaitham flips to the next page. "I choose to keep my opinion to myself regarding that matter."
Kaveh barely resists the urge to smack him. Barely. "I don't want to talk to you."
"I never said you had to."
And so, Kaveh doesn't.
They stand there in silence, with Alhaitham reading his book, faintly illuminated by his dumb little book light, and Kaveh staring into space. He can't help himself from glancing at Alhaitham periodically, but the man seems perfectly content to read quietly without acknowledging Kaveh, as if he didn't follow Kaveh here like a lost puppy.
Kaveh just doesn't get it. Alhaitham isn't like this. He doesn't go out of his way to wedge himself into someone else's life. Once he loses a connection, he lets it fade. What he's doing with Kaveh now goes against his nature.
Contrary to what Alhaitham would probably say, Kaveh isn't stupid. He can recognize an olive branch when he sees one… he's just not sure what to do with it.
Alhaitham's side profile is haloed by the soft light of a nearby streetlamp. The familiar curve of his nose almost makes Kaveh nostalgic. How long did he spend admiring that curve up close, doodling it in his notebook alongside unfairly long eyelashes and a charmingly unruly mop of hair? Not something he wants to think about.
Their history is… complicated. A decade ago, Kaveh would've considered Alhaitham his best and closest friend. They came as a set. Alhaitham was his other half, his missing piece. His mirror image in both body and mind.
It only took one night to evaporate that connection entirely.
Still… the memory of what they had haunts Kaveh until this very day. It's embarrassing, really. In the scant few brushes he's had with romance during the past ten years, nothing else has ever measured up.
Nostalgia is a fragile, exploitable thing, but Kaveh sees the value in it just as any artist does. The question is, does he value nostalgia enough to extend his own olive branch back toward the man who ripped his heart in two and stomped all over the pieces?
Apparently yes, because he breaks the silence. "Okay. How about a compromise?"
Alhaitham turns toward him, eyes expectant. He lowers his book. "Oh?"
"I'll answer one of your burning questions, but only if you'll answer one of mine," Kaveh says. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "It's only fair."
"I'm surprised that you'd be interested in me," Alhaitham says.
Kaveh rolls his eyes. "Please. You've been acting all mysterious since the day you walked into the office building. I'm bound to get curious."
"Bound to get nosy, more like." This time, Kaveh really does smack him.
"I get to ask first," Kaveh starts before Alhaitham can retaliate, "because I'm sure I already know what you're gonna ask, anyway."
"Fine by me."
And suddenly, it occurs to Kaveh that maybe he should've thought of something before he suggested this. There are a million questions he wants to ask Alhaitham. How did he come to start working at Kaveh's shitty dead-end corporate job? Why does Siraj suck up to him so heavily? Better yet, what on earth was he doing snooping through Siraj's office!?
What ends up escaping his mouth is far more embarrassing than any of those.
"How have you been faring?"
They've spent so long apart, but Kaveh can still clearly pinpoint the very moment that his words register, the moment Alhaitham's eyes widen in minute shock. Ouch. Is that really such a strange thing to ask? He studies Kaveh, for just long enough that Kaveh has time to wish for the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole, before finally answering.
"I have been… well," he says, voice a touch softer than before. God, Kaveh hasn't heard this tone in a decade. "After graduating, I got a job at the Akademiya. Ended up moving into a house just off campus."
"Oh, really? That area is crazy expensive…" Kaveh fiddles with his hands for lack of anything more useful to do with them.
"It wasn't too bad with my salary. I left that job behind, though." Alhaitham gives Kaveh a pointed look. "A better opportunity arose."
Kaveh chuckles, forcing himself to relax a little. Normal conversation. This is a normal conversation he's having with someone he hasn't seen in a long time. Nothing unusual about it. "I know you're not talking about our humble little design firm. What were you even brought on for?"
"Product assessment, mainly. It's more of an administrative role," Alhaitham says.
"And you're qualified for that position?"
"Oh, absolutely not."
Kaveh balks. "This setup is making less and less sense the longer you keep talking."
"There's not much to make sense of," Alhaitham says, shrugging. He pauses for a moment, considering his words. "The job I'm doing now was offered to me by one of Siraj's higher-ups. They were impressed by my resume and wanted me on board for a project."
Okay, several questionable things in that statement, but mainly, "Siraj has higher-ups? I thought he said he was the CEO."
At that, Alhaitham's face scrunches up adorably, and Kaveh has to remind himself to breathe. He had forgotten how much he missed this sight.
Ack! Not that he— well!— it doesn't matter. Back on topic!
"He tells his employees that he's the CEO? What a pointless thing to lie about."
"Professional life favors immaturity, I suppose," Kaveh sighs. "Siraj is— well, I don't mean to be rude, but—"
Alhaitham puts it succinctly. "He's an intelligent man, but arrogant and emotionally fragile. His ego holds him back."
"He needs his subordinates to worship his authority, yeah. That blatant insecurity makes him a terrible leader," Kaveh grumbles. Now that the dam is broken, he can't help the flood of criticisms in his brain. That pretentious asshole! He retracts every excuse he's ever made for his boss' shitty behavior. "I can't believe that someone hired him for his position! On what possible merit...?"
"Which brings me to my question."
Oh, yeah, that. Kaveh steels himself.
Alhaitham crosses his arms, tucking his book under his elbow, long forgotten. He raises his chin, just a little, just enough to be annoying.
"You don't need me to tell you that your position at the office isn't particularly glamorous. You're a glorified paper-pusher. Your boss is a tyrant who can't even be bothered to remember your name. Your colleagues spend their time ogling you from the safety of their cubicles. There's little chance for you to progress your career from this point. You're not even employed as a designer, despite being twice as skilled as everyone in that building combined.
"The last that anyone heard about Kaveh, the Light of Kshahrewar, was that he was taking a temporary leave after the completion of the grand Palace of Alcazarzaray. He was lauded as a genius, an inspiration, a historic visionary. An idealist whose work will be remembered for generations to come. How did that man end up sitting behind a desk as a mere receptionist?"
Oof. When he lays it out plainly like that, it really does seem pathetic, doesn't it?
Kaveh pushes off from the glass, walking forward to rest his hands on the railing that separates the bus stop from the road. The move is a transparent effort to keep Alhaitham from seeing the cloudy expression on his face. It's laughable that he's even trying, since it's clear by now that Alhaitham can see right through him.
He did promise to answer Alhaitham's question, but, "I don't want to tell you."
Somewhere in the nearby underbrush, cicadas are chirping. In the sanctuary of the bus shelter, the group of young women are still chatting away, old lady cooing tenderly at her dog, middle-aged gym rat air-boxing in the corner. Alhaitham is silent.
"I'm sure you've realized by now that I'm not in this position by choice," Kaveh mutters. His grip tightens on the railing, rusty metal chafing against warm skin. "And… I'll tell you eventually, I think. But I'm not ready right now."
He finally gathers the courage to turn around, not knowing what to expect. Perhaps Alhaitham is disappointed. Perhaps he's mad. Perhaps this was Kaveh's only shot at accepting the olive branch and he threw it away.
To his surprise, Alhaitham is none of those things. His expression is as carefully neutral as it always is, but that's… not necessarily a bad thing.
"I'm sorry," Kaveh feels compelled to say. He's not even sure why.
"What for?" Alhaitham says. He settles, closing his eyes. "You answered my question. I don't need anything else."
Kaveh's heart does a traitorous little flip inside his chest. The evening hour has made him soft, surely. He quietly reclaims his spot by the glass beside Alhaitham.
"I hope you realize that I'm not trying to antagonize you," Alhaitham whispers after some time.
"I know," Kaveh whispers back.
By the time the bus arrives, he feels as though they've reached some sort of truce.