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“Great, just great,” Alhaitham mumbles.
Kaveh is heavy. He’s probably all the heavier thanks to the little metal embellishments all over his clothes. Alhaitham doesn’t catch the words embedded in Kaveh’s dramatic groan, but it’s too illegible to be anything of substance, and so Alhaitham doesn’t pay attention.
That’s on him, honestly. What was he thinking, inviting a man he had last talked to in person a bit under a decade ago to live with him?
“Put me down!” Kaveh finally manages to string syllables into proper words and even makes an attempt at an authoritative tone.
Would be cute if it weren’t an entire grown-up man holding his seniority over Alhaitham’s head like a merit of achievement. One could've only hoped that this stage had ended when they'd known each other.
“Do you, like, not—hic—comprehend Teyvat common?” Kaveh demands, flailing his arm. “Hey! I’m talking to you, put me down!”
“I will,” Alhaihtam says, barely avoiding a particularly enthusiastic sway. “Believe me when I say that tucking thirty-year-old men into bed while they’re throwing an inebriated tantrum is hardly my preferred leisure activity.”
Ah. There’s the guest bedroom, finally.
“You don’t have any business being this overbearing,” Kaveh half-complains, half-bargains, finally managing to land a light shove at Alhaitham’s side in time with the final word of his slurred sentence, almost like a full stop. “Be a gracious host and let your guest sleep wherever the fuck they want!”
“Feel free to search for accommodation that’s more up to your standards,” Alhaitham accentuates his words with a full stop of his own, trying to lay Kaveh onto the bed, but accidentally dropping him as Kaveh makes another attempt to push him.
Alhaitham catches his breath. This man is impossible. Impossible.
“See if I care,” Alhaitham adds, right before announcing his leave with a slammed door.
He runs his fingers through his hair. Did he have to say that?
***
Alhaitham turns the key, but instead of a soft ‘click’, it stops. He isn’t sure which of the two possible explanations he likes less: the prospect of Kaveh having left in the morning and forgetting to lock the door, or the one of him being home, which means that tonight’s menu has another conversation about house safety that is bound to go about as well as any conversation with Kaveh does.
He decides he’d rather have dealt with the former scenario the second he sees Kaveh’s key in the tray and his pair of shoes on the shelf. Alas, Kaveh’s home.
Kaveh’s home, sprawled on the divan. The air smells vaguely of that particular blend of sweetness and tang that can only come from wine, and his slender fingers are clenched around the culprit—a tall, dark-green bottle.
“Ugh,” Kaveh scowls, seeing Alhaitham.
What a wishful thought, to hope to rest once you’re back from work. This may as well be his second shift.
“Greetings to you too,” Alhaitham sighs as he removes his cape. “What’s the joyous occasion?”
“As if you care,” Kaveh drags. “Another deal is off. I’ve been doing revisions for a month, and I barely got any Mora out of it.”
Alhaitham hums. It’s not like he’d never told Kaveh he could protect himself from that kind of thing, but Kaveh not listening to anything Alhaitham has to say is hardly news.
“That’s all you have to offer?” Kaveh pushes himself up on his elbows, fiery eyes narrowed. “So much for support.”
“My advice has hardly changed from the last time we had this conversation.”
Dinner. Alhaitham has to start dinner. What he doesn’t have to do is stand here in futile hopes that any of his words will ever reach the intended recipient’s ears.
“Yeah, whatever.” Kaveh’s voice is bitter and even. “You know what the worst part is? The asshole has copies of blueprints and can just use my project if he so wishes.”
“Stop giving away blueprints and valuable advice for free, and the situation may improve.”
“So easy for you, huh? You just don’t get it.”
What is there to say? It’s a pointless back-and-forth; scratching his floorboards with a teaspoon, hoping to make a tunnel all the way to the Chasm, may prove to be a more valuable endeavour.
“Go to bed, Kaveh.”
“It’s barely five in the evening!” Kaveh whines. “It’s no time to be in bed.”
“Neither is it to be wasted.”
Kaveh tsks. He must be this difficult; Alhaitham won’t bother with interrogative forms. Of course, there’s a yelp followed by a colourful, slurred rant as Alhaitham picks him up; the lesson about trying to throw hands has been learnt, thankfully, and the trip to the bedroom is relatively smooth. Kaveh huffs as Alhaitham lowers him on the bed and rubs his cheek against the pillow.
“Archons, Alhaitham, you’d think someone with your sensitivities would care about thread count,” he complains.
Having Kaveh at home is like expecting a feral cat to have the manners and attitude of a domestic one.
“You must know where to purchase bedsheets of your preferred quality if it’s that important. I won’t stop you.”
Kaveh makes a face. Of course he does.
It’s been a cold couple of weeks here in Sumeru City, especially at night. This man is disastrous enough when he’s healthy; Alhaitham won’t even entertain the idea of dealing with him when he’s sick—that’s why he pulls a blanket over Kaveh.
***
Two pans on the stove weren’t there this morning. Alhaitham washes his hands, eyeing them.
He removes the lid to see a pot of pomegranate lamb stew cooked down enough that it doesn’t swim in sauce, and there’s plenty of rice in the second pot to absorb whatever liquid remains.
It’s too much for one. Kaveh doesn’t like reheated food as much as he doesn’t like his sauce to be ‘too thick’. Alhaitham skips a breath and goes back to the living room.
“You didn’t eat.”
Is Kaveh upset? Alhaitham purses his lips, trying to ignore that weird feeling in his chest.
“I will if it is meant to be shared.”
“For someone fluent in twenty-odd languages, you’re hilariously bad at deciphering clear messages in your mother tongue.” Kaveh turns to his side and slides a hand under his cheek to support himself on his elbow.
There’s that little smile. Alhaitham was starting to think it was one of those things that disappeared in the sands of time, just like Kaveh’s habit of humming the tune they often used to hear in Aaru village during their research trips as students.
Whatever. He’s drunk, that’s all.
“I simply needed a confirmation. Thank you. Shall I fix you a plate?”
“No,” Kaveh’s tongue contemplatively drags the ‘n’.
“Oh?” Alhaitham leans back to look at the divan that Kaveh seems to gravitate to. “A master refusing to experience their own masterpiece? Is khoresh poisoned?”
“I’ve turned Bazaar up and down and then had spent hours cooking because you look like death warmed over these days, and this is the thanks I get?” Alhaitham can’t see from this far, but he bets Kaveh’s eyes are narrowed.
“I thought I did say ‘thank you’,” Alhaitham corrects, and Kaveh falls back on the divan with a groan, dismissively waving his hand.
“Yeah, right. I had a few bites when I was cooking anyway.” He starts and then adds in a quieter voice. “And I’m dizzy.”
Alhaitham puts his bowl down. Kaveh can be dramatic at times, but what if he isn’t now?
“Yeah,” Kaveh mutters to himself with an exhilarated sigh. “I just… Need to sleep this off, I guess.”
“Not on the divan.”
“Seriously? No, seriously, even now?”
“I have house rules. Not that many of them, either. We’ve been here enough times already for the vivacity of your reactions to tone down.”
Kaveh stubbornly stares at him. There’s not as much challenge as there was the first time, no ‘try me’ written on his face. He makes no effort to move, though. Alhaitham huffs out, crossing his arms on his chest.
“You’re not trying to make it a thing, are you?”
Kaveh doesn’t respond. The shadow of laughter stifled in the back of his throat, as evident from the way his nose scrunches, does. Technically, Alhaitham shouldn’t play along, but he doesn’t want to be hissed at in his own house if he decides to use the bathroom at midnight, or to have to wash decorative pillows because there’s saliva on them. So he lifts Kaveh and tries not to think of the way his cheek presses against his chest—he probably can’t tell that Alhaitham’s heartbeat is quickened—and places him on the bed, and makes sure he’s tucked well enough.
Kaveh shuffles around as Alhaitham stares at his earrings. If he truly has a headache, there’s no way these things don’t make it worse. Alhaitham reaches, unclasping both of them. He isn’t sure where Kaveh stores his jewellery, so he just keeps them on the nightstand. The room is so quiet that Kaveh may as well be fast asleep, and it only takes a peek to confirm that his eyes are closed.
His breathing doesn’t sound this deep when he usually sleeps, though. Must have something to do with him not feeling well, Alhaitham guesses. He could check on Kaveh after he’s had dinner.
***
“My ride to bed is here!” Kaveh announces in an upbeat voice.
His scarf flies into Alhaitham’s face; Alhaitham manages to catch it seconds before a golden detail at the end blinds him.
It’s the sight not usual, but familiar: the divan, the wine bottle, the smoke from the incense curled before Kaveh. Kaveh lifts his leg to unclasp the thigh chain and throws it, too—his wrists are finicky on his best days and are particularly clumsy when he’s had as little as a drop of alcohol, so the throw isn’t nearly as dangerous.
“Say what?” Alhaitham knows he’s failed to conceal his amusement as he watches Kaveh’s ministrations on the new victim, which happens to be his belt.
“Well! I’ve had a day, and, naturally, I drank, and you’ll make a scene because I can’t sleep on the divan, so there we are. You’re my ride to bed!”
“I see. And what you’re doing right now must be...?” Alhaitham prompts.
“Taking off my outside clothes, because for all the concern you claim to have about sleeping hygiene, never once have you considered that I’d feel uncomfortable about sleeping in them. All that metal, not to mention all the microbes!”
“That’s some valuable criticism. Though I’m baffled you’d even use the term “sleeping hygiene”, as someone who doesn’t appear to understand the importance of having dedicated spaces for sleeping.”
“How about your afternoon naps?”
Touche.
“How about walking yourself to your bedroom without using me as a glorified vehicle if you have your wits about you enough to participate in a relatively coherent argument?” Alhaitham crosses his arms on his chest.
Kaveh turns away with a scoff, fumbling with his blouse for a second before giving up.
“...Just to be clear,” Alhaitham starts a few minutes later as he pulls the blackout curtains in Kaveh’s bedroom shut, “I still am vehemently against you normalising this ritual. One of these days, I’m going to quit playing along with your petulance.”
He doesn’t get a verbal response. The exaggerated snoring speaks volumes, anyway. Alhaitham watches Kaveh for a minute in case it’s just an attempt to buy time, but when it’s clear that the conversation is definitely over, all he can do is ruffle Kaveh’s hair and exit.
Kaveh might have waited for two seconds before starting to move around, for the sake of theatrics if nothing else.
***
Following exams in the Akademiya, Kaveh would return to the dorms, take his shoes off and fall asleep right on top of the decorative bed cover. He’d be so tired that he wouldn’t even stir when Alhaitham returned from the classes and sat at the edge of the bed, trying to make Kaveh more comfortable by removing the elaborate arrangement of pins from his hair.
Alhaitham would pick them out carefully, one by one, and comb through Kaveh’s hair.
Kaveh’s always had soft hair. Limited resources, debt, and studenthood never deterred him from taking care of his physical appearance like it was the only thing that mattered.
Alhaitham is not surprised that even now, Kaveh has the softest hair.
There’s the tiniest of clumps in the strand usually pinned right under his braid, and the brush stops as it meets resistance.
“Be more gentle, would you?” Kaveh flinches.
It’s whiny, and Alhaitham knows this couldn’t have hurt, but he picks the strand anyway and works it in increasingly long sections. The pins are placed on the nightstand. Alhaitham sits at the edge of the bed. If he closes his eyes and thinks of another room with too much light and too little space not to bump into each other, and pretends nothing’s ever happened, it almost feels like he’s back in the world that doesn’t exist anymore.
It’s like a punch under his ribs and yet something he can’t walk away from. If he brushes his fingers through the locs spread on the pillowcase, and if his touch is as feather-light as possible, Kaveh won’t know. If Alhaitham messes up and Kaveh does know, he may play it off as a byproduct of Kaveh’s drunken imagination in the morning.
Kaveh is not asleep. They’re always bickering when Alhaitham puts him to bed. Why isn’t he saying anything now? Why isn’t Alhaitham saying anything now?
Alhaitham twirls a loc around his finger and watches a single hair out of place glitter under soft greenish light. He only lets it go because he needs to leave. If he stays second longer, he may do something he’ll regret for years again.
***
One day, Kaveh decides that Alhaitham’s extent of responsibilities must expand.
“Do remind me when I signed up to be your entertainer,” Alhaitham demands, as soon as the dumbstruck paralysis melts away.
Kaveh rolls his eyes. It’s odd: the bottle has been emptied by the time Alhaitham returns home; Kaveh is as clumsy as ever; his voice has the cadence it gains when he’s drunk. Nothing’s fake. Alhaitham’s overthinking. That’s right.
“Read me a poem,” Kaveh repeats.
“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
Kaveh’s eyes are too sharp to be incapable of walking a few meters. But then again, aren’t they always? Alhaitham hoists Kaveh up: it’s all the learned motions. Get Kaveh to bed; take off his jewellery and clothes; brush his hair.
Alhaitham’s had a rough week. Something has been going on in the Akademiya. The quicker this is over, the faster he’ll go to bed and, hopefully, replenish enough energy for whatever nonsense the following day has in store.
“Do you think I’m that easy to get rid of?” Kaveh muses.
Alhaitham really wishes he were in good enough spirits to find humour in this, too.
“I wouldn’t dare hope.”
“Then read me a poem. Read me a poem, Alhaitham, read—”
“Stop acting like a child. We’re not students anymore.” Frankly, sometimes Alhaitham needs that reminder, too.
“Big deal.”
Alhaitham sits at the edge of Kaveh’s bed. There’s something expectant in Kaveh’s posture; tense, like a spiral squeezed between two fingers.
What can he say? He clears his throat and starts, making the first pass with the hairbrush.
“...In our midst, like a candle brightly shone
Where hence, alas, without us where hence?...”
If he’s lucky, he’ll manage to keep the sound of his voice quiet enough to fade into a mere background hum, something as illegible as the sound of bristles threading through silky smooth hair.
“...Although is with others, is our very own
From us has flown, where to? Where hence?...”
Unfortunately, Alhaitham has too much life experience to rely on luck. A bitter aftertaste lingers on his tongue as he recites the last refrain.
Kaveh isn’t any less tense.
“A new one,” He says very carefully after a silence that could have been filled with at least three more poems of the same length.
“You used to like this poet. Interesting how he has something for every occasion.”
“Occasion? Did someone die and leave you?” Kaveh sounds equal parts carefree and choked up.
“The aftermath of someone leaving isn’t always that different from death. I’d know.” Alhaitham places the hairbrush back on the nightstand. “I satisfied your request. Goodnight, Kaveh.”
It rains that night. It’s too loud for Alhaitham to be sure he hears something akin to a muffled sniffle from the other room as he drifts to sleep. He may ask Kaveh about that in the morning if he doesn’t forget.
***
It’s so late in the evening that Kaveh’s already snoring softly on the couch. Alhaitham hovers above the divan and snakes his palm between Kaveh’s shoulder blades, watching his lashes flutter like a butterfly’s wings, casting long shadows on his freckled cheeks. The crimson eyes are hazy for a second before they focus on Alhaitham’s face.
“...Haitham,” Kaveh whispers, voice gruff.
Alhaitham would have smelled the alcohol if any of the wine from that empty bottle standing on the floor was inside his system.
“What time is it?” He asks before Alhaitham has a chance to comment.
“It’s almost nine. You have even less excuse to sleep on a divan if you’re absolutely sober,” He can’t help but add when Kaveh wraps his arms around Alhaitham’s back.
What does he think he’s doing?
“So late.”
“Yes, I know. Sages have been weird.” It’s not just the Sages. “Do you think you could actually use your feet to get to your bed?”
Kaveh huffs, pressing the bridge of his nose against Alhaitham’s cheek. Alhaitham stares down the wall, patiently waiting for the moment to pass. Drunk or sleepy, who’d want their vulnerable moments read as calls to action?
“I miss you,” Kaveh says, and he’s too close for this to be an odd trick of Alhaitham’s mind. There’s the clear voice, and the featherlight movement of the air against the shell of Alhaitham’s ear, and the little vibration against his palm as he speaks.
And, frankly, Alhaitham doesn’t think he should stoop so low as to insult his own intelligence. There's evidence to support Kaveh’s words gathered in the back of his mind throughout these past few months. He kisses Kaveh’s forehead: it’s better if they have the full conversation when Kaveh isn’t half-asleep or pretending to be drunk to get crumbs of affection.