Archive of Our Own ^beta

Unlike other nations, Sumeru winter’s are chilly, yes, but thankfully brief. Fontaine, Mondstat, Liyue, and Inazuma all experience some level of snow: powdery white to densely packed and locking people into their homes. Or so Alhaitham has heard. In Sumeru, it doesn’t snow. But it does rain. A lot. 

And when it rains, Kaveh complains. A lot. 

At first, it went in one ear and out the other. The rain doesn’t stop just because you dislike it, after all. Kaveh enjoyed trivial and ultimately futile pursuits, and it seemed like this was another one of those. 

“Don’t you hate it, too, Alhaitham?”

It was wet and cold, but what was he supposed to do about it?

“It’s so gray, Alhaitham…”

“God’s, I hate the rain, Alhaitham.”

But over the past year, he’s come to expect it. Today, the normally bright blue skies are cloud over, dreary and gray, and Alhaitham finds himself waiting.

Kaveh enters the kitchen only shortly after he does, still dressed in his loose, rumpled kurta and sleep in his eyes. This, too, is expected. Kaveh doesn’t dress until after he’s had his breakfast.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles as he pads barefoot to the gas stove. His voice is deeper in the morning, too. 

Alhaitham hums in response, peeking at him over the edge of his book from where he lounges on the divan as Kaveh reaches out to pour himself a small cup of chai. 

The cushions dip as he settles onto the other end, leaning against the opposite arm with his knees pressed to his chest. He blows, and takes a sip before the malai can form.

Their mornings are the quietest part of his day, so different from the bickering they will no doubt entertain as the day progresses. It’s comparable to the quiet of the archives; there is no vigilance. Kaveh is as predictable to him as his duties as a scribe are. 

Alhaitham continues his reading as Kaveh continues to rouse himself with every sip of chai until he eventually empties his cup. He pushes off the cushions, stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. Alhaitham eyes the little patch of skin at his hip distractedly, where the seam of the kurta ends.

“Make sure you wash that and the dallah,” Alhaitham says without lifting his eyes. 

“Make sure you wash that and the dallah,” Kaveh mimics under his breath before heading to the kitchen to do just that. 

Alhaitham makes a point to sigh at his back loudly. “Predictable.” 

Kaveh harps out a sharp, “What was that?” and Alhaitham’s pulse jumps, ever so slightly, hiding his smile behind his book.

“I’m just saying you’re predictable.”

“I’m predictable?” Kaveh huffs from in front of the sink as he scrubs at the dishes, a strand of blond hair falling over his eyes. “I was just waiting for you to say something. And you did! Predictably!”

Alhaitham’s eyes are trained on the page, unseeing. “Well maybe it’s because someone has a habit of leaving dirty dishes behind…”

“That was one time! You know what, this isn’t even worth it right now.” He turns the water off in annoyance. “It’s way too early for this, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham says nothing. If he’s honest, he was waiting for–

The brief silence was broken by his roommate’s long-suffering groan as he surveyed the street outside, hands on his hips, brows furrowed.

“I hate the rain,” he grumbles, before turning on his heel and walking back to his bedroom to get ready for the day. 

Predictable, Alhaitham thinks.

Alhaitham has long given up on trying to figure out why his brain works the way that it does. While he takes great care to ensure he doesn’t become neglectful, there’s just a lot that he's learned will simply persist, and so he builds his life around what he understands and what he makes peace with. 

He understands that he needs to spend his energy efficiently. Moderate energy input, while also maximizing beneficial outputs. For example: his job as the Scribe is fairly low energy, but it pays well, and so he leads a comfortable life. His efforts are efficient and all things considered, he lives a life that is fit for his needs. His job as Acting Grand Sage, on the other hand, is more hectic, but the long-term gains make the effort worth it.

He’s staunch on his decision to leave his work in the office, but there are times where he’s presented with a problem, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it even after he’s returned home. There are some problems that simply dig under his capability to leave things be. He’s made peace with his tendency to become absorbed in what he’s working on, if it strikes up a persistent itch. 

He understands that when he returns home, he usually likes to do nothing that requires more energy than he has available. Some days are easy in that he returns home with his battery half full, and other days he does not think there is a single thing more aggravating than being presented with something that requires thought. He has made peace with the fact that he needs to pick and choose his battles to the best of his ability, lest he dig himself in a mess where he’s miserable for the next few days. 

He understands that Kaveh does what he wants, when he wants to do it, with little prior notice. He understands that, despite this, Kaveh has stitched himself into the fabric of his life, and Alhaitham would like to keep it that way. 

He makes peace with the fact that he has made it into a game to find the patterns in his roommates behavior at home, and that it endlessly satisfies him to watch Kaveh in some familiar act. 

Kaveh’s dismay over the dreary weather is one such familiarity. Kaveh waiting until after his morning coffee to change into his day clothes is another.

Life, he has learned, is a game of patterns and recognition. Alhaitham likes to think he has gotten a pretty good grasp of this. 

Not to say that Kaveh – or their living together – is a game but–

Well.

There is comfort in familiarity.

It makes sense what he means, does it not?

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh calls out, somewhere on the other side of the house. 

Once safe in the relative silence of his room, Alhaitham finds himself leaning out of his door frame before he has the consciousness to register it. Kaveh stands at the end of the opposite hall, holding something large in his hands and seems to be struggling to keep a grip on it. When he glances up at Alhaitham’s movement, he beckons him to come closer with a jerk of his head. 

“Help me,” he says, winded. 

“What,” Alhaitham begins once he has his fingers curled under the rectangular box. He lifts it slightly, and Kaveh takes an audible breath of relief. “Are you doing?”

Kaveh is coiled with strong muscle hidden under loose clothing, but the balance was off and naturally, so was his grip. The box is holding something inside it. Without it open, Alhaitham doesn’t know what it is, but he can guess. 

He makes a quick scan of the hallway. 

Nothing else is out of the ordinary. His little trinkets are still in their spot in the glass cabinet against the wall. Kaveh’s shoes peek out from the corner between the hall and the front entrance. 

This is probably another painting, Alhaitham guesses, taking note of the size and the shape. It seems to match what Kaveh has brought home in the past. 

“Decorating,” Kaveh avoids looking at him, but Alhaitham is too busy indulging in the warmth behind his ribs at being right. Not that he would have minded regardless. He can’t remember the last time he’d actually stopped Kaveh from doing what he pleases with the space. Maybe in the beginning but… not anymore. “I think I’ve been doing a fine job of it so far, so I thought I’d continue.”

“Where’s Mehrak? Doesn’t she usually help you with tasks like this?”

Kaveh pouts suddenly, childishly, almost as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “Malfunctioning,” he sighs, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “I usually make minor repairs every now and again to make sure the core stays powered, but I think it’s been longer than I realized since I did it last.”

Alhaitham keeps the box steady as he carefully lays it flat on the floor. Kaveh lowers onto his knees as well so they’re both kneeling on the carpet, and uses the sharp edge of his keys to make little incisions in the adhesive along all four sides. “Did you read the article I told you about? About the prisms?”

Kaveh lowers his head, golden hair falling over his face.

He did not, Alhaitham concludes. 

“I did not,” Kaveh confirms sheepishly. “I haven’t had the time to.”

Alhaitham sighs, long and slightly exaggerated. Not that Kaveh had to know that. “Where is she?”

Kaveh pulls the top of the box off to reveal the painting underneath. Alhaitham could appreciate the importance of the arts to some, like Kaveh and Nilou, even if he didn’t have an eye for it himself. 

Kaveh traces over the ornate frame with his fingertips, satisfied with his purchase. “In the sitting room.”

Alhaitham pushes himself onto his feet and makes his way there.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Kaveh calls after him. “I’ll need help mounting this, you know. Unless you want splinters all over the floor when I eventually drop this…”

“I’m reprogramming Mehrak to run away with your blueprints when you need them most,” Alhaitham deadpans, finding the little creature against the cushions on the divan, as if Kaveh had put her there to be comfortable. 

“You’re so full of shit, Alhaitham, you don’t know anything about programming–”

Alhaitham ignores him in favour of sitting on the divan and pulling the briefcase onto his lap, one leg bent under him. Mehrak makes a warbled sound, as if she could feel the movement but was simply too sleepy to respond. 

“Mehrak,” he greets, “will you show me your core? I have something I think might help.”

There are a series of clicks somewhere deep inside the automated machinery, and her panels move aside to reveal the tiny compartment in the center, where the core is located. Alhaitham flexes his fingers as he tries to visualize the best course of action to take from here. He could use his own vision to fuse his mirrors togethers in a prism small enough to fit inside. Mehrak’s core was barely thicker than two of Alhaitham’s fingers, so he’d need to fit the mirrors at just the right angle to make sure the dendro energy could be amplified more efficiently. 

Kaveh is right; he doesn’t know much about programming, but considering his own dendro energy grew as it was reflected and concentrated, he could probably figure out how to do the same in this case. 

He sets to work, activating his vision to form tiny mirrors, fusing them around the core. He’s always careful around elemental energy, but he takes extra care as he manipulates Mehrak’s source of power. There is, after all, personal importance associated with the project, and Mehrak obviously helps Kaveh tremendously while he works. So, yes, he’s gentle. Very, very gentle. 

It only takes him a few minutes while Kaveh moves the rest of the box out of their way for when he gets onto lifting the painting, and when he finishes, he comes into the living room. 

He takes one look at Mehrak’s open components and balks. “Alhaitham–”

Alhaitham fits the core back into its spot, adjusting the faces of the prism as he presses it in so it all slides into place. “It’s done.”

Kaveh approaches him and takes a seat next to him, bending forward to inspect Alhaitham’s work. He’d know more about the technicalities as a Kshahrewar graduate, but with Alhaitham’s basic skills, it should be functional. 

Alhaitham glances at his roommate from the corner of his eye and finds him deep in thought. Head cocked slightly to the side, no doubt filtering through his own understanding of prisms and energy refraction. 

“The prism would concentrate the energy,” he murmurs, glancing up at Alhaitham. “Right? Low power input, higher power output?”

He should look away, but a small part of him swells when Kaveh doesn’t shy away from his gaze. “Close. Low power input, higher frequency output.” 

Kaveh’s head tilts some more, calculating. Alhaitham gives him ten seconds until he puts it together. 

“Temperature,” Kaveh says suddenly, exactly ten seconds later. “The prism will get warmer, which will increase the frequency, which will increase energy.” 

He glances at Alhaitham for confirmation. 

Alhaitham holds Mehrak out. “Power her up,” he says in lieu of agreement. 

Kaveh uses his own vision to feed energy into the core, and the elemental energy bounces in the prism, getting marginally brighter, before shooting out to power the other parts of the case. Mehrak jolts, as if receiving a shock. 

“I didn’t use as much as I normally would,” Kaveh smiles as Mehrak makes herself presentable, letting out a pleased little tune. “Who knew the Scribe could be good with physics?”

Alhaitham stands, feeling the back of his neck warm slightly. “You can figure out how to keep her from overheating yourself.”

Kaveh’s smile drops. “Hey, that’s not fair, you can’t just solve one problem and also create another one! That’s not actually helping. What if Mehrak explodes? Hey, come back–!”

“You’re the architect who makes his own materials. I’m just a Scribe, ” Alhaitham echos, lip quirking when he turns around. “Remember?” 

In a last ditch effort to rope him into work, he blurts, “What about the painting!”

“Mehrak will be able to do all the heavy lifting now that she’s super powered,” Alhaitham reminds him, peeking around his doorframe for one last glimpse of Kaveh, baffled and right where he left him. “Do keep the noise to a minimum. Goodnight.”

Sunrays break through the chilly morning to cast coloured shadows over their living room. Alhaitham sticks his hand under a patch of green and yellow, letting the light warm his fingers. He’s content: the house is quiet and the book he’s working through is the right amount of challenging and easy. Kaveh lounges in a patch of sunlight, dozing off peacefully. 

Before Kaveh came to live with him, Alhaitham did everything for one. 

Coffee for one. Lunch for one on the weekends. Dinner for one on most days. He cleaned because he simply had to, because otherwise the house would deteriorate.

They’ve established this routine without meaning to. Now, he makes a few cups extra in the morning. He takes over lunch on the weekends, popping his head into their joint study to ask what Kaveh wants, since it’ll be easier to clean if he just cooked it all together. “Otherwise, dishes would pile up.”

He says it in jest, looking for a reaction, and Kaveh always delivers. In truth, Alhaitham doesn’t mind. It’s familiar, and he’s always been better at looking after two, anyways.

Maybe Kaveh feels some sort of obligation to return the favour, because when Alhaitham wakes up from his mid-afternoon nap, the air is spicy and he can hear Kaveh humming some unrecognizable tune in the kitchen. But there are days where Alhaitham is awake before dinnertime, and on the days he can really observe Kaveh, to find clues as to why he goes out of his way, he finds that his roommate looks content as he works. So, he surmises that, on some level, Kaveh enjoys cooking for two as much as he does. 

In any case, their meals are covered. 

And he does clean, for the record. He’s not uncouth; they say a clean space is a happy space. And where there is order and cleanliness, there is a happy Kaveh, too. It’s the logical and desirable outcome.

The poets his grandmother used to read would have described this little arrangement they have going on like it were some fundamental, unavoidable truth. Something about cohabitation and companionship. Their lives fitting around each other, shifting, making space for something new, correcting bad habits, incorporating better ones. 

Nowadays, when he reads, his eyes find these words easier than before. Companionship. Company. Home. Almost as if he subconsciously seeks them out. 

Alhaitham reads. Kaveh naps. They are both in their kurta’s for the weekend, relaxed. Green, yellow, and white light washes over them both, painting them onto the same canvas with the same colours. 

Kaveh, on his belly and his arms crossed under his pillow, turns his face towards him on the cushions across the room, soundly asleep. Alhaitham finds himself oddly endeared with the way his two front teeth poke out from behind his lips, gently parted as he breathes. There is so much to notice about him. 

Yes, indeed, there does seem to be something poetic about their coming together.

Alhaitham’s feet echo in the Sanctuary as he approaches the platform. Lord Kusanali sits on her knees on the table at the center of the room, fiddling with a block of wood. In front of her seems to be a flat board with alternating light and dark squares. There are differently sized pieces on the board set at seemingly random positions. 

“Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham greets, stopping at the bottom of the decline. He bows at the waist. 

The Archon looks up at him, green eyes shining. “Alhaitham, you made it!” She gestures to the seat on the other side of the table and he takes a seat.

It is a summons from our Archon, Alhaitham thinks. It would be unwise to decline your invitation.

Lord Kusanali is a bit of a wrench in his carefully practiced understanding of the world. He never really thought he would be granted access to the Dendro Archon herself. Most people could only dream of meeting a god, so he never put much thought into what he would do if he saw the Archon in front of him. It has gotten better over the past few months since he’s accepted the role of Acting Grand Sage, sure, as they often work closely in the revival of Sumeru, but he still finds himself a bit on edge as he looks for the patterns he so ardently relies on. The thing about gods, however, is that they are, at the end of the day, gods, and therefore not human. And since she is not human, his understanding of human patterns doesn't really hold true here.

Alhaitham, though, believes all should be treated fairly and he includes his Archon in that statement, and does his best to remain normal during their encounters.

“Of course.”

“I appreciate it.” She smiles and sets her block of wood down. Now that he’s closer, he notices the pieces on the board have distinct shapes aside from their sizes. The one closest to him is taller than the others, and resembles an orb nestled in twined branches and overlooking the other pieces on the board. 

She notices his inquisitive glance and explains, “I have been working on a game of sorts. Or maybe a puzzle? Honestly, I am still in the process of deciding. It feels like it will be a mix of both, but I can’t be sure until I finish.”

“A puzzle?” Alhaitham asks, curious despite himself. 

“You can say it’s a hobby of mine. I do this quite often.”

“What is the objective?”

Lord Kusanali shifts, visibly excited at his interest. “Use the best strategy to win. This one–” She gestures to the tall piece. “–should be the last one standing, with the help of its comrades.”

Alhaitham nods, listening and absorbing. “I would assume you need a partner to play this game?”

“Correct,” She smiles again, albeit a bit more sadly. “All my games are meant to be played with a partner.” She sighs suddenly, and with a wave of her hands, the materials around them disappear. “Speaking of partners, I was wondering if I could ask for your assistance on a …personal matter of sorts?”

Now, he is especially intrigued. “I can try my best.”

“Good,” she says, “As you know, I have spent almost my entire life in this Sanctuary. While I appreciate what it has provided me up until now–” 

She is being nicer than is warranted given the truth about her stay in the Sanctuary. 

“--I can’t help but feel… stuck, with the way things are right now.”

Alhaitham understands. Five hundred years is a long time to be imprisoned, and it’d be difficult to make it feel like a home after all of that. 

Her eyes dim, as if she is recalling some distant memory. “I have spent a lot of time thinking about it and I’ve come to the conclusion that I would like to remake this temple. Sumeru has entered a new era, and it only seems fitting that this temple also evolves.” She meets his eyes, and that distinct sensation of being examined inside and out returns. “I would like it to feel like home. That’s not possible with the memories I have made here. Do you understand what I mean to say?”

Alhaitham nods silently, watching. 

She nods in approval. “With all that said, I would need assistance in redesigning this place. As I recall, you live with an architect. Kaveh?”

All of a sudden the pieces fall into place and Alhaitham realizes with an invisible jolt up his spine what this is about. Kaveh, the architect. Kaveh, the Light of Kshahrewar. Kaveh, his roommate. The space behind his ribs grows ever so slightly, spreading through his chest. He feels an odd sense of accomplishment on Kaveh’s behalf.

“Kaveh,” he confirms. “He is renowned in his line of work for his skill and passion.” 

Lord Kusanali nods as if he had proved one of her silent queries. “I was hoping he would lend me a hand with this project,”

“I’m sure he would be honored,” he says earnestly.

She smiles, cheeks dimpling. “Do you really think so?” 

Alhaitham smiles back, small, easy. “I know him quite well. Although, and I am wondering why you have called for me instead of him?”

“People have a tendency to be nervous in my presence,” Lord Kusanali says sheepishly. 

Kaveh is more nervous than the average person. 

“I see…”

“But, if it’s okay with you both–” She leans forward on her hands eagerly. “–I would like to visit the two of you to discuss this further with him.”

Alhaitham can’t help but raise a brow. The Dendro Archon in their home… 

“He may be a bit overwhelmed in your presence,” Alhaitham replies honestly, “But he will welcome this request with open arms all the same. You are welcome in our home whenever you wish, Lord Kusanali.” He thinks over his next words carefully. “Kaveh has a knack for making houses into homes. Your commission, should he accept, will be in good hands.”

Lord Kusanali’s eyes twinkle like dewdrops on leaves in the morning sun. She regards him for a moment before moving closer with a little scoot on her knees. 

“I see,” she says breezily. “In that case, I am glad that you know him so well. It certainly makes my job easier. Shall we set a date?”

Later that evening, Kaveh takes a seat in front of his desk, swooping down with his cape fluttering around him and the distinct song of his jewelry. He sets Mehrak upright on the desk between them and leans back in the chair, directly across from Alhaitham, and crosses his arms over his chest. Alhaitham glances up from the desert puzzle he’d agreed to decode for Dehya, and slowly mirrors his stance. Mehrak makes a sound of greeting.

“I read the paper. On the prisms.”

“Did you now,” Alhaitham said, pleased. “And what did you think?”

Kaveh blows his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s exactly what Mehrak has been missing,” he acquiesces. “There were a few things that didn’t quite make sense to me, probably new evidence since I graduated, so I’ll have to explore it some more on my own, but for all intents and purposes, the overall concept of it is relevant. Seriously, how did you manage to find it?”

Alhaitham thinks about the time he spends reading research from different disciplines, and the notes he has made on his desk at work, about all the ones that may potentially spark a conversation with Kaveh, much like the one they are having now. 

“I’m the Acting Grand Sage,” Alhaitham reminds him. “All research must come back to me before being approved for publication. I read quite a lot.”

Kaveh cocks his head to the side, glancing at his toolbox. He runs a finger over the details on the face of the device. “Still. Thank you for fixing Mehrak. I modified some of the components of the core so they won’t overheat as easily now that you’ve put the prism inside, and added some more ventilation, too. See?” He turns Mehrak so her thinner side faces Alhaitham, pointing at the little gaps in the material covered by metal meshing. “There’s six of them. Overall, I think she’ll function a bit better now.”

Mehrak waits until Kaveh finishes pointing out her vents before floating into the air around his head. Her digital face smiles at Alhaitham and she warbles out some warm, affectionate tune. 

“That was fast,” Alhaitham says, impressed. “It’s only been two days.”

Kaveh huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well you didn’t exactly give me time, you know? I was worried that if I left it off until I was a bit more free, she’d have some sort of accident on a worksite and then it’d be too late.” He follows Mehrak with fond eyes as she floats around him. “I need her.”

Alhaitham hums, easing a bit more against his chair. A blanket of silence covers them, interrupted by Mehrak’s chirps and whirring. Kaveh is illuminated by the warm light from the window behind him, dripping in liquid gold as the sun slips under the horizon. 

It’s so… being around Kaveh can be so conflicting. His presence fulfills him, yet also plants a niggling need for something else.

“By the way, Lord Kusanali would like to see you,” Alhaitham says, because he still has to tell Kaveh and also because the feeling in his chest threatens to disarm him completely. “She would like to meet you here in two days' time.”

“Mmm,” Kaveh murmurs, distracted by Mehrak. “Okay. It should be fine, I think I should be home, so–” He pauses suddenly, stilling like a statue. Ruby-eyes whip to his own, wide and disbelieving. “I’m sorry, did you say Lord Kusanali?”

Alhaitham nods. “I did.”

Another silence. 

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh says seriously, gripping the armrests of his chair. “Are you playing a joke on me? Please tell me you’re joking.”

When Alhaitham doesn’t reply, Kaveh launches into movement. 

“Lord Kusanali,” he starts, springing to his feet, planting his hands firmly on the desk, “wants to see me? You’re serious?”

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, “Why would I lie about this? This is the Dendro Archon.”

“The Dendro Archon…” Kaveh repeats faintly, eyes wide. “Archons, Alhaitham. You’re serious about this? Truthfully?” He sinks into the chair again, as if he can’t find the strength to stay on his legs. “She wants to see me? Why?”

Alhaitham feels like his words are coming from his brain and stopping in a pool of honey on their way to his mouth, because when they come out, they are lathered in endearment. “She’s heard about your work and would like to commission you.”

Kaveh stares at him like he’s grown another head. “I don’t believe you.”

Alhaitham quirks an eyebrow. “And what have I done to ever deserve that?” 

Kaveh continues staring. “Would you like a list?”

Alhaitham continues as if he hadn’t heard him. “Shall I tell her you’re not interested then? It would be a shame. She knew you by name and personally requested your services.” He sighs, dramatically, for effect. “I wonder if she will ask another Kshahrewar graduate.” He slants an eye towards his roommate, and finds his shoulders bunched up at his ears. “Maybe Alkami will be up for the job?”

Kaveh looks horrified. “Alkami? That cheat? He would disgrace our Archon’s presence simply by existing in the same room as her! What does he know about the essence of our nation? About true wisdom? No. No, it cannot be Alkami, Alhaitham, swear to me you will prevent that from happening at any cost–”

Mehrak flashes red in anger and floats in staggered movements as he leans further and further over the desk, eyes frenzied, hands gripping the edge of the desk. The rose oil he dabs on his wrists and under his jaw suddenly slam into Alhaitham with full force. 

Alhaitham wills neutrality with all of his being. “So you’ll take the commission then?”

“Yes,” Kaveh breathes, “Yes, I will take the commission if it means someone like Alkami does not.”

Alhaitham tuts with a cock of his head, lips stretching into a small, triumphant smile. “I didn’t take you to be so competitive, senior.” 

The title slips out of him unknowingly, and it takes a few seconds while a blush creeps up Kaveh’s neck and face, for him to fully register what it is that he said. And when it does, it all comes to a head. It’s been years since he teased Kaveh with this nickname. They are no longer in the Akademiya as students, so it holds no relevance now. For all the dogma of the institution, once its students graduate and are released into the real world, things like age hold no value. But the reference, for them, for him, in their Alhaitham-Kaveh joint universe, has history. Has memories that even he, somehow, had forgotten. A lamp burning at low light in the House of Daena. Messages exchanged in the margins of a textbook. Kaveh’s hair growing longer and longer. Kaveh’s hair, over Alhaitham’s shoulder, as he dozes off mid-research session.

For a stark moment, time stills, something changes, comes alive. Or maybe, something lays down to finally rest, and invites something new to take its spot. Alhaitham’s own ears feel warm, and he’s grateful, suddenly, for the earpieces he wears. 

“I-” Kaveh splutters, plopping back down onto the cushions. He glares, feebly, like a kitten. “That’s not what this is about. It’s… it’s about respect and… and the arts– stop laughing at me, Alhaitham, you know I’m right!”

It takes a great deal more effort than he thought to compose his expression. “I shall tell her we will welcome her in two days time, like proposed.” He tilts his head to the side, and Mehrak chimes out an excited song. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Kaveh huffs, raising to his feet for a final time to head for the door, gold jewelry swaying and jingling. “Yes, you sly scribe. We will host the Dendro Archon in our home in two days time. Of course we will. Ask her if she has a favourite dish, please.”

“I will,” Alhaitham promises, grinning now that Kaveh has his back turned. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted with your response.”

He breaks from his normal routine the next day by heading up to the Sanctuary of Surasthana first and foremost. It’s chilly–the air not yet warmed by the sun, which is still in the process of rising. Morning birds call out to each other, and there is dew on the leaves and railings of the path up to the Archon’s abode. 

The doors open for him without him having to push them open, and when he steps inside, Lord Kusanali sits on her knees in front of the large console at the center of the room. Holographic flowers float around her head, and images of familiar faces flash around her before dissolving. The Traveler, Paimon, someone–round faced and mischievous– with an ostentatiously large hat. He is barely a few steps into the Sanctuary before the images disintegrate.

“Alhaitham!” Lord Kusanali says, turning her face towards him. She seems surprised to see him there, although nothing in the Sanctuary is permitted in nor out without her explicit consent. 

By the time he makes his way to her, she stands and comes closer, her footsteps accompanied by ringing bells. 

He will not ask about what she was doing earlier. An Archon’s business is an Archon’s business. And she has not kicked him out yet, so all is well. 

“Lord Kusanali,” he bows respectfully, and the Archon acknowledges him with a dip in her little chin. “I hope you are well. I spoke to Kaveh.”

She brightens instantly. “You did? What did he say?”

“He accepts the commission and we would both be honored to host you in our home,” he replies, and Lord Kusanali smiles ever wider. 

“I’m glad,” she hums in approval. “I was really hoping he would agree.”

Kaveh would be insufferable if he knew this, he thinks to himself.

“I’m sure he would be happy to know that,” he says. Somewhat awkwardly, he adds, “He also asks if you have a favourite dish.” 

Lord Kusanali brightens, the little sprout on her head standing straight up with enthusiasm. “Oh, will he be cooking? Hm. To be honest, I really like candied ajilenakh nut! Do you think he’d be okay with making it?”

“He’ll try his best,” Alhaitham promises, “I will let him know to make preparations for it, then.”

“I’m excited to finally meet him, you know. I’ve heard so much about him. It seems like he really is a genius!” She plays with the end of her ponytail, directing her wide eyes in his direction. “Is he much like yourself?”

The answer is wholeheartedly no, even to the two of them themselves. Kaveh is sensitive and easily moved by those around him. He prioritizes others over himself, often to his own detriment. His emotions overwhelm him yet he refuses to deal with them until they reach their breaking point and he either falls ill or can no longer contain them. He is worthy of the title of genius, and he is, without a doubt, the best in his field. An idealist. An artist. His mirror. 

Alhaitham, on the other hand, finds it difficult to be moved by those he has no personal affiliation with. His goal in life has always been to find peace with his life, which means choosing himself. His emotions, on the other hand, rarely ever boil over. He focuses less on changing others and more on what is in his control. An egoist. A logic-seeker. 

It's no secret that the two have their differences. The entirety of the Akademiya knows this. Their differences are what led to their fallout in the first place. Alhaitham’s dedicated quest to understand the world around him was Kaveh’s unrequested, hard dealt lesson.

It’s been a few seconds too long. Alhaitham clears his throat. “We do not always see eye-to-eye,” he admits. “But we understand each other regardless. We respect each other.”

“Mmm,” Lord Kusanali hums thoughtfully. “You’ve always struck me as someone who looks to constantly learn new things so this does make sense. It’s hard to learn when you’re surrounded by like minded people. Sometimes difference is needed.” 

He hums softly in agreement. That is after all one of the reasons he’d offered his house to Kaveh.

They are so fundamentally different, but also, somehow, the only ones truly capable of understanding the other. Alhaitham is set in his ways, but it has only ever been Kaveh who has made him stop and consider. A genius’s input, and worthy of contemplation. Who else would understand a genius’ need to learn something new, than another genius? And sure, they may rarely land on the same page, but he often finds himself challenged nonetheless. Speculative. 

Even back when they were in school, years younger. The hungry part of him, thirsting for knowledge, to understand beyond what made up the lines of a textbook, was similarly reflected in Kaveh. Emotionally-driven, kindness-seeking Kaveh, who finally left behind a life of heartbreak, and was desperately in search of something to wholeheartedly love again. Something permanent. Something that could be his. Something that was bigger than the peer-reviewed texts at their fingertips.

His chest seizes with sharpness, drilling between his ribs. He breathes through it and lets it go, stepping back until it’s far enough to be inspectable without all the surrounding prickliness of the past. 

He finds a name for the feeling. Pins it down. 

There are so few things that he has ever felt regret over. His actions reflect his intentions: he never speaks without meaning what he says. After all, if one acts in accordance with their true motivations, there is no room for regret. 

But, as with all things related to Kaveh, he finds his philosophies challenged. 

His bones ache with the weight of it, even at a distance. Even after apologizing. But it’s his burden to bear, not Kaveh’s, so Alhaitham does his best to forgive himself. Does his best to understand Kaveh a bit better, so it doesn’t happen again. 

Lord Kusanali is silent beside him, almost in wait, as he comes out of his inner experience.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than he realises. “Discourse is the foundation of discovery.”

“It is,” Lord Kusanali nods, and her ponytail swishes. “I am sure that, despite your differences, there is a reason why you both have made a home together.” Dendro energy sparkles into the room, combining to form a swing in front of the Archon. Lord Kusanali takes a seat and kicks off, swaying back and forth. “It’s hard to live with someone you truly dislike.”

And, well, she is right, isn’t she? For all the complicated ins and outs of their relationship, there must be something worthwhile too, to have them kept together for so long. To have Kaveh with him still, despite being able to leave at any moment and find some other living arrangement. He thinks of the other night, Kaveh in the chair opposite to him, reacting so pleasantly to his old nickname. 

There existed a lifetime of struggle between them. There would be, without a doubt, years of bickering to follow, simply because they are the people that they are. But maybe, there is something budding right under their noses, too. A flower grown years ago and finally flourishing under the right circumstances. 

He tends to it very carefully these days, mindful of the mistakes of his past. Sometimes, it feels like Kaveh tends to it in secret, too. Time does smooth over jagged edges. They continue to choose to live together everyday.

And, yes, he decides. Lord Kusanali is correct. It’s hard to live with someone you truly dislike.

It’s been a long day. Alhaitham wants nothing more than to go home, back to his comforts. Kaveh, lined with gold, is waiting for him when he opens the front door. 

“Did you ask her?” Kaveh blurts, hovering around him anxiously as he slips his shoes off and drapes his cloak over the arm of one of the divan’s. Kaveh flutters around him like an agitated bird, wringing his hands. “About her favourite food?”

Alhaitham sighs, long and drawn out, exaggerated. He gives him a flat look, and Kaveh bristles under his eyes, body winding tight like a coil ready to spring at any moment. “Candied ajilenakh nut,” he answers when he feels he’s tortured Kaveh long enough, and Kaveh swats at his arm with the back of his hand.

“Why’d you have to put on the dramatics!” he chastises, visibly deflating. “I thought she had second thoughts.”

The tension of the day slips away as they settle into each other's spaces.

“I don’t think Archon’s get those,” Alhaitham muses out loud. “She was sure yesterday, and she was sure today. We can go to the bazaar tomorrow morning and grab things we need.”

Kaveh’s shoulders relax even more. “Right...” His hands rest in fists over his hips, and he taps his foot on the ground a few times. His ruby eyes slant towards the floor, molten lava in the setting sun, and his lip catches between his teeth. 

Alhaitham leans against the arm of the divan, watching, waiting, for him to decide whether or not he trusts him. 

Kaveh takes a deep breath. “Right.” He straightens his spine and turns that haughty expression, the one where he’s being coy and slightly overconfident to disguise his nerves, onto Alhaitham, nose high in the air.

Alhaitham’s chest burns at the sight of it. There are one hundred and one things to note about him right now, that will agonize him no doubt agonize him later. He makes the list in his head. 

“Well, since we’re going to the bazaar, we might as well look for a new rug while we’re there.”

“What?” Alhaitham sharply looks at the rug in question, under their coffee table. It was a perfectly fine rug; solid green. No fussiness to it. Simple and functional. “There’s nothing wrong with the rug.”

“The fact that you knew exactly which rug I was talking about tells me all I need to know!” Kaveh turns away, and without his red cape over his shoulders, the strong lines of his back are visible. Alhaitham’s list turns into one hundred and two things. “It has no character.”

“It’s a rug, Kaveh. Objects don’t have personality.”

“And that, dear Scribe, is where you are always, without fail, wrong.” Kaveh walks towards the kitchen, giving him a look over his shoulder. “But you know this already, and you said that simply because you want to argue with me, isn’t that right, Alhaitham?”

“You think everything is about you, don’t you?” Alhaitham drawls, following behind him. The sun must be inside their home. Actually, it must sit behind his ribs, with the way he feels so pleasantly warm all over. 

“Ha!” Kaveh grabs dishes for two from the cupboards and presses them into his hands, fixing him with that entirely self-important, entirely self-absorbed, entirely smug expression. “Tell that to yourself. You know, if you want to talk to me so badly, you can just say so–”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, away from Kaveh’s gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself, senior. I’m still wearing my headphones for a reason.” 

“Headphones that are off–”

“And can very easily be turned back on.” He sets the table, placing a bowl, plate, and spoon in front of two opposite chairs. Kaveh joins him a second later, carrying two stacked glasses balanced on top of one of two copper pots. Alhaitham comes to his aid, taking a pot and setting it on the tabletop. 

“Then turn them on,” Kaveh taunts. 

“Just plate your dinner, Kshahrewar.”

Kaveh laughs again, gleeful, and Alhaitham ducks his head to hide his smile.

Morning comes and with it a fine layer of mist over Sumeru City. Kaveh shivers beside him despite the heavy winter shawl around his shoulders. Alhaitham ducks his chin into the collar of his jacket, hoping to warm himself up. The streets are still quiet, which means the bazaar will likely be blissfully empty. They make quick work of grabbing everything they need, but even then, Kaveh is abnormally quiet throughout their whole trip. 

It is nerves. Every fiber of Kaveh’s being is lined with it, from the set of his shoulders to the stiffness of his back. Knowing him, it wouldn’t be a surprise if he’d only caught a few hours of sleep, at best.

Alhaitham doesn’t feel uncomfortable often. But now, in the presence of his subdued roommate, he can’t help but feel on edge. The Kaveh he knows is usually animated and loud, his every emotion written clearly on his face. The Kaveh before him is tense and shuttered away behind distant eyes. He doesn’t know how he can coax him back into the open. Part of him is afraid of using the wrong approach.

Things are undeniably different between them. They are no longer the Kaveh and Alhaitham of their school days, nor are they even the same Kaveh and Alhaitham of their stilted reunion. This dynamic of theirs is new; familiar in some ways, but ultimately untraversed territory. Alhaitham has no guide, and so he watches, and learns this new side of Kaveh, like he has learned all the past ones. 

They buy the ingredients for their dessert. They buy the new rug (which is still unnecessary in his opinion, but Kaveh has never really listened to him regarding matters such as this, and today, he does not feel like vexing him). It’s not too busy of a pattern, delicate red flowers sitting between a strong, green border. 

“Green is my favourite colour. Red is yours. It’s fitting,” Alhaitham says when Kaveh asks for his opinion. 

It’s quiet for a beat, before Kaveh mutters something about there being more to it than just colours, but he buys it anyway, the shell of his ear pink. They leave the stall with some of the light returning to his eyes.

At some point, Alhaitham leaves him with a pouch of mora and sets off on his own mini journey, for something to turn things around. He finds a stall selling samboseh, buys two, and sets a pace back before they get cold. 

Kaveh sits on a bench, bags around him. To the untrained eye, he’s lounging, but Alhaitham notes the anxious bobbing of his knee. 

“There you are!” Kaveh bursts when he finally spots him, jumping to his feet. “Where did you go? I thought you–”

Alhaitham holds out a samboseh. “I grabbed a snack. We’ve been here a while, and you get cranky on an empty stomach.”

The high points of Kaveh’s face glow pink. “I-I do not!”

Alhaitham waves the samboseh in front of his face. “Are you going to take it or should I help myself?”

“Argh!” Kaveh snatches it from his fingers, taking care not to squish its contents out. 

Alhaitham rushes to get his words out, “Careful, it’s–”

Kaveh bites into it, and then immediately hisses. 

“–hot,” Alhaitham finishes belatedly. 

Kaveh whines, fanning his open mouth. Literal steam wafts from it. “Fuck, I forgot–” He painstakingly swallows, eyes watering. 

Alhaitham can’t help himself. One side of his mouth quirks, and he coughs down whatever unhinged confession is trying to force its way out of him.

Not the time, nor the place.

“Don’t laugh at me, Haravatat,” Kaveh snaps halfheartedly, still fanning his mouth. “It’s early, okay? And I didn’t sleep well. Let me enjoy my samboseh in peace.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“The look on your face told me enough.”

Alhaitham snorts, and snatches back the samboseh from Kaveh, much to his annoyance. 

“Hey! What’re you–”

He gathers the rolled rug under one of his arms and picks up what bags he can while having his hands mostly occupied. “Grab whatever’s left,” he instructs before walking towards the exit, leaving Kaveh to scramble after him. He blows on the opening of the pocket a few times.

“Hello? Can I have my samboseh back now?” he asks when he catches up. 

Alhaitham holds it out to him once they’re outside. “It should be cooler now.”

“I could’ve done that myself,” Kaveh grumbles, taking it back. 

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’,”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re being rude.”

Kaveh splutters. “Rude?” 

Alhaitham confirms with a teasing hum. “Very rude.” He sighs, heart beating loud in the column of his neck. “Here I was, trying to improve your spirits, and what do I get in response but attitude?”

Kaveh quiets at that, so suddenly that Alhaitham risks a glance at him. He’s red in the face, and looks a bit sheepish. 

“Mind telling me what’s gotten you so quiet?”

He’s thrown the bait, but whether or not Kaveh will bite is a whole other story. Kaveh is soft-hearted, but protective over his own emotions. Alhaitham respects that. But it also means Kaveh’s often resistant to help. 

Kaveh replies, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m nervous about tonight.”

Alhaitham hums in acknowledgement. He keeps his eyes forward, mostly for Kaveh’s benefit, but he can imagine the expression he’s wearing. Wound up, closing in on himself, as if he could fold himself out of existence. 

“It’s weird because I know it’s Lord Kusanali, our literal Archon, who’ll be visiting us, but I’m not nervous about her. I’m nervous about her… interest in me. I just keep expecting this to be a joke or some sort of dream,” he continues, words bursting from him. “Like, anytime now I’ll wake up and realise it wasn’t real and–”

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says.

“I know, I know, it’s silly, but–”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all.”

Kaveh glances at him from the corner of his eye. “You don’t?”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “I don’t. But I do struggle to understand why it’s her interest and not her herself that is making you nervous.”

Kaveh falls silent again, thinking it over as he takes another bite of his samboseh. “I’m worried,” he says slowly, quietly, shamefully, like saying it any louder would shatter something he desperately needs to remain intact, “that she thinks I am someone I am not. That she’ll come tonight and take a closer look at me and see that I’m just…” He struggles to find the words. “ Me. Struggling. Sitting on a mountain of bad decisions. I just…” He sighs, blowing at his bangs before turning his face up towards Alhaitham, entirely vulnerable. “Do I really look like someone who should be designing an Archon’s home?”

“You do,” Alhaitham says gently. “Lord Kusanali quite literally asked you to do it.”

“But do I deserve it?” Kaveh whispers, glancing away and then back, and then away again. “With all that I’ve done wrong and— should it really be me, Alhaitham?”

Alhaitham slows to a stop on the pathway up to Treasures Street. Most of the merchants have set up their stalls by now, and so the streets are already louder than when they first came down this way. He moves closer so Kaveh can hear him without having to raise his voice.

“It isn’t about whether or not you deserve it,” 

Kaveh peers up at him, the morning sun melting his eyes into pools of lava. 

“It’s about whether or not you can do it. Which, you can. I should remind you that she requested you, hoping you would say yes. She was relieved when you did. I know because I saw it.”

Kaveh listens, quietly. Intently. 

“I have seen and worked with her, and I know you. There is no one in Sumeru who is better suited for the job.”

A beat passes. His face feels warm and he resists the urge to turn away. Kaveh deserved the truth, even if it was perhaps too vulnerable. 

“Lord Kusanali is looking to make a home,” he continued, “I’m willing to bet she will discuss what that means to her tonight. Who would be able to understand, but you? Look at all you’ve made for others.” His voice softens a touch. “What you’ve made for us.”

“That doesn’t count,” Kaveh whispers into their canopy of privacy. “That doesn’t… Alhaitham, you— This was yours way before I got here, before you let me stay, I—“

Distantly, he realizes they are addressing this in a roundabout way. 

“It’s ours now,” Alhaitham interrupts, firmly but gently. Really, it’s always been Kaveh’s, too, despite him pulling back from the deed initially. Funny how that works, isn’t it? The concept of home has always been intertwined with Kaveh. “You’ve done a fine job at making it suit both of us.”

Kaveh quiets, appearing mollified but stubborn all at once, as if Alhaitham’s words had comforted him but he was inclined to argue, just because. 

Alhaitham let him choose whichever path he wanted to take that day.

“Thank you,” Kaveh says eventually. 

Alhaitham softens. That makes twice today that he’s trusted him. Words claw up his throat again, insistent. 

Time and place, he reminds himself. Time and place.

“What was that?” he teases.

Life sparks back into Kaveh’s eyes, and a sweetness settles between his ribs knowing he helped bring it back out. 

“Alhaitham,” he groans, “come on, we’re having a moment!” 

He huffs and pushes past him, jostling his shoulder with his own, teasingly. 

You’re ridiculous, it means, let’s go home now. 

Alhaitham likes it—that he can tease like this now without Kaveh misinterpreting his words. They’d worked so hard mending the unsteady bridge between them. 

They leave their little corner, and Alhaitham is pleased to note that Kaveh looks much more relaxed now.

“What’s Lord Kusanali like?” Kaveh asks suddenly, a few minutes later.

“Friendly,” Alhaitham says immediately. “Intelligent and curious.” He thinks of her tiny pudgy hands making games for two, and the swirling images around her head when she thinks no one is looking. Friends and companions. She has an Archon’s wisdom and a child’s curiosity. “She is a fair Archon and is working diligently to support Sumeru’s growth.”

“What a professional observation,” Kaveh gives him a look. “Still, coming from you, it’s still a compliment. She sounds wonderful.”

They would get along well. “Which is why you don’t have to worry about tonight.”

Privately, Alhaitham does wonder how one is supposed to host an Archon, but to his surprise, Kaveh is an excellent host despite his nerves. Lord Kusanali comes and, interestingly, the affair is much tamer than one would expect a dinner with an Archon to go. Kaveh greets her, pink faced and straight backed but warm and inviting. Lord Kusanali knows when to prod and when to sit back. Maybe she was also wondering how to approach the subject. Maybe, she knew that this is exactly what they needed. The wisest Archon in Teyvat, indeed. 

They eat. Kaveh asks about what she finds so appealing about ajilenakh nut in particular and Alhaitham watches surprise and then endearment flood his features when Lord Kusanali launches into an ecstatic explanation about textures and sweetness and recounts of memories made with friends, with the renowned Traveler, with Cyno, with Alhaitham and Nilou and Dehya. 

“And now you.” She smiles at him. “Kaveh.”

A strange expression dawns on Kaveh’s face. The soft evidence of endearment and under it all, being touched beyond words. 

“I would like the new Sanctuary to feel the way these memories with friends feel like,” she adds and Kaveh uses the opportunity to tangent their conversation. 

“Can you tell me more about your ideal home? Er, sanctuary?”

Alhaitham rises to clear what’s left of the table, figuring this is when he’d make his exit and leave Kaveh to do what he does best. He seems calm enough to not need someone to steady him, which means Alhaitham has done the job he set out to do and has been doing this whole time. 

He makes eye contact with Kaveh as he leaves. Kaveh nods, and so he slips away, the house humming with the voices of two visionaries as they plan to leave another impression on the face of this world.

Kaveh sets to work the next business day. Some days he works at home, in front of the window in Alhaitham’s study, and some days he accompanies him up to the Sanctuary. While he, Lord Kusanali, and the other officials of Sumeru City share their updates and make plans for Alhaitham to finally transition back to his job as the Akademiya’s Scribe, Kaveh is given permission by the Archon herself to make laps around the room, silent, as he observes the pillars and archways, lost in thought. Alhaitham often finds himself distracted during these meetings where he’s present, wondering what it is that goes on his genius mind as he makes notes or just takes it all in. 

He can imagine the questions an architect must ask, about things like load bearing and space-cost efficiency, but what does Kaveh, himself, think of? How does he make connections, come to conclusions? When he looks at the space, who does he envision in it? 

Alhaitham doesn’t have the answer to that question. He can only know by asking, but for some reason the words fizzle from his brain to his mouth. There is an unbearable sort of tenderness involved with it. He doesn’t know how to hold it outside of him, where it is subject to observation. 

He’s been feeling unbearable more and more these days. It rises and sets in his throat like the sun, beaming out of him no matter how hard he tries to dim it. He feels no shame because of it, nor is he conflicted over it. But it is overwhelming and there is only so much he has the privilege of acting upon. There is a natural progression to these things, and Alhaitham needs to be gentle. Kaveh is easily spooked by care, despite his tendency to give it out to others without concern. 

He makes do with what he’s familiar with: the squabbling, the teasing, the hovering in each other’s spaces because that’s what they do now, apparently. What they’ve been doing for a while. He makes lunch and Kaveh makes his favourite dishes for dinner. Kaveh decides to dedicate his efforts solely on remaking the Sanctuary, and with only one commission on his plate, has more time to spend at home. Sometimes he’s already there by the time Alhaitham leaves work. Other times they wait for each other in the House of Daena and head home together, pretending not to notice all the curious looks from staff and students alike. The Light of Kshahrewar and the Acting Grand Scribe. Has it finally happened? Have they finally stopped being cowards? 

No, still cowards. But Alhaitham is working on it. And he thinks Kaveh is, too.

Once, when they were students, Alhaitham had hooked his ankle around Kaveh’s absentmindedly while their pens scribbled away. Kaveh’s intense scratching stopped almost immediately, his frame tightening with the early signs of discomfort. 

Alhaitham hadn’t noticed at the time. After all, he'd been so comfortable he hadn’t realised when he started seeking some sort of stimulation while he read. Today, he just wanted a steady pressure at his side, but Kaveh was sitting at the desk opposite to him and so the only thing he could do was stretch out his legs. 

“Alhaitham?”

“Mm?”

“You’re touching me.”

Alhaitham looked up from his book. “Does it bother you?”

Kaveh is oddly pink in the face. “I thought you don’t like it when people touch you?” 

Kaveh’s ankles are soft from where their skin touches, if not a bit bony. Alhaitham feels the brush of fabric against him, ticklish. “I don’t, but this is different.” He cocks his head. “Does it bother you?” he asks again. 

“No,” Kaveh says at length, turning a brighter and brighter shade of red the more they talk. “No, it’s, um. It’s fine, I just didn’t expect it.”

Satisfied, Alhaitham turns his eyes back down to his schoolwork, but barely twenty seconds have gone by before Kaveh is speaking again in a hurried whisper. 

“Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

Kaveh makes a sound of exasperation. “Gods, you’re infuriating. I said, why is this different?” 

Alhaitham is confused and exasperated now as well. He had an essay to work on, Kaveh did too, and Kaveh was spending their time asking silly questions he should already know the answer to. “Because it’s you,” he says bluntly, “Are you done asking stupid questions? I really need to work.”

Surprise gives way to an expression that has Alhaitham blinking and sending tingles all the way down to his toes, which curl in his slippers. It’s there for a split second, before the rest of what Alhaitham said settled in and then he was back to his usual scowl. 

“You are absolutely, positively, infuriating, Haravatat. It was just a question! Imagine if every person in the world was so snippy to each other when they answered questions. We’d never get anywhere!”

“There wouldn’t be a need if people just understood their role to begin with,” Alhaitham answers, bored, but also because he can’t help himself. “When you know, there are no questions to be asked.”

Kaveh splutters, red like a strawberry, and launches into a spiel so twisted and convoluted that Alhaitham simply tunes him out.

In hindsight, that’s what it was: Alhaitham showing Kaveh he wasn’t like the others, and Kaveh not understanding why, not believing, not being able to handle it, despite all the signs that he could and had.

He and Kaveh have been sharing a home for much longer than one would suspect, but recently, it’s all become especially exciting. 

He likes it that they work in the kitchen together, side-by-side on the counter as they cook. He likes it when they debate about non-serious topics, just for the sake of debating. He likes it that Kaveh makes him tea in the evening when he’s had a stressful day at work, likes how he’s brewed it with the right ingredients to make his muscles unwind and his eyes get heavy. He likes cutting a bowl of fruit for him and leaving it on Kaveh’s desk when he works late. Likes it that Kaveh agrees to go to bed when he asks, without much struggle, trusting someone to watch over him. 

It’s exciting in the most mundane way possible. 

Alhaitham-and-Kaveh.

Who would have thought?

Kaveh’s hair is soft and silky, like spun gold between his fingertips. In his lap, Kaveh makes an approving noise, so Alhaitham drags his fingers all the way to the top of his head and combs them through again. Kaveh is so warm. Were humans always so warm? Or had it been a while since he’d been able to touch someone this closely? He is barely breathing, to be frank with you–the moment is delicate.

“And what is this?” he asks. 

“This,” Kaveh murmurs, “is what a sleepy architect looks like, Alhaitham. Allow it, please.” He opens his eyes suddenly. “Unless you want me to move.”

“You can stay,” he answers immediately, still playing with Kaveh’s hair. His red hair pins press against his skin, and after a brief moment of contemplation, Alhaitham slides the first one out. “Why, pray tell, is the architect so sleepy?”

“Just, you know, designing the abode of a literal goddess.” He chuckles tiredly. “It’s a lot.”

He slides out another one, taking care not to pull his hair. “I didn’t think Lord Kusanali would be picky,”

“She’s not, she’s an angel. The Sages on the other hand have much to say about architecture. Really, Alhaitham, what are you doing up in that fancy office of yours? Don’t they know how to respect their Archon’s wishes?”

A displeased frown wormed its way onto his face as he takes out the third clip. He doesn’t agree with the leftover sentiments from Azar’s time as Grand Sage, but traces of it still linger in the Akademiya. “It will take time for their ways to change, even if they weren’t involved in the imprisonment of the Archon. Old mentalities need to be challenged and given room to grow. What exactly did they do, anyways?”

“Why does it sound like you’re giving them a pass?” Kaveh grumbled. 

Alhaitham sets the clips down on the coffee table and combs out the strands they were holding back. “You know I’m not.”

Kaveh hums, sinking deeper into Alhaitham’s lap. “They keep interfering when I’m working. They think what I’ve come up with is too…” He waves his hand in the air, looking for the right word. “Much. They want me to change the archways or… or remove the natural finishes. Cut this out, remove this, we don’t need that, that doesn’t look like ‘Sumeru’. Never mind the fact that these designs are inspired by the architecture of Old Sumeru. Never mind the fact that this is what Lord Kusanali wants her home to look like.” His words are rising in heat. “And making sure the sanctuary is what she wants it to be is important to me . I know she’s five hundred years old and all powerful and whatnot but—“ He flips onto his back, crossing his arms over his chest, meeting his eyes. “—I can’t help but feel protective over her. Sumeru as a nation has disserviced her. It is the least we can do to let her find comfort and respect her autonomy.” 

“She is not a child,” Kaveh continues an angry flush covering his cheeks, “I will never treat her as such. But everyone deserves the chance to exercise their free will and make their own decisions. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity. She is our Archon, and yet people still treat her as… as a liability to Sumeru. It’s ridiculous.”

Kaveh is evidently so upset by this, but it doesn’t seem like he’s upset at how it’s affecting him. Rather, his focus is on what it means for the Dendro Archon. Alhaitham agrees that it is a misstep on behalf of the Sages to be interfering in such a way, but finds it difficult to get passionately involved the same way Kaveh is. 

“It is,” Alhaitham agrees. “But Lord Kusanali has the capability to put an end to their behaviour should it ever become too much. I would not get so worked up over it. It will be dealt with.”

Kaveh doesn’t say anything, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Kaveh. Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

“She was imprisoned for five hundred years, Alhaitham,” Kaveh responds, voice tightening. “It’s silly to feel sorrow for an Archon, maybe even presumptuous and disrespectful, which is why I’m telling you and not her but… five hundred years is so long. She was without real company for five hundred years, learning about the world through dreams. It is…” His voice cracks. “It was so cruel, what Sumeru did to her. Keeping her in a cage. She is truly gentle, truly fair. All of this, and she is still kind. And you know what’s the most heartbreaking? She wants her home to reflect Sumeru in all its ways. The hospitality, community of the villages, the interconnectedness of us all. Where others are at ease when they approach her. All of the things she has been denied, and she still wishes to extend it to others.”

Alhaitham listens silently, trying to follow Kaveh’s thought pattern. His pain, he realizes, is not caused by this event alone. It’s the catalyst. The focal point. He is speaking to the way of the world in general and using this particular occurrence as his vessel. He wonders how much of it he really understands. How much of his words reflect his own past. 

Somewhere in the office, Mehrak chirps. 

He may not understand personally, but he listens to Kaveh speak, alive with emotion he doesn’t know how to apply to himself but respects all the same, with his sunlit hair flowing over his legs. And he listens and listens and listens.

The next day, Alhaitham calls for an impromptu meeting. The Sages grumble at his last minute request, but Alhaitham is still Acting Grand Sage and therefore, doesn’t really give a shit. 

The Sages settle and Alhaitham makes it quick. 

“No one is to interfere with the work of the lead architect in charge of Lord Kusanali’s sanctuary remodeling,” he says, ignoring the unamused looks. “I should not have to remind you that he works by her command. To attempt to override his authority is to dishonor our Archon. Choose your actions wisely. I needn’t say more on the matter.”

Needless to say, Alhaitham never hears Kaveh upset over this particular annoyance ever again.

It has been two weeks of Kaveh working out of the Sanctuary with Lord Kusanali. His design is almost done and so, when Lord Kusanali finally gives him the final approval, he arrives home with a bang. 

“Alhaitham!”

Alhaitham, reading in the living room, jumps at the sudden noise. 

“Alhaithaaaaam!”

“You can see me,” Alhaitham says, bookmarking his page and closing his book. “Why are you yelling?”

“Because I’m happy.” Kaveh plops down next to him, all limbs and noisy jewelry, and waves a rolled up canvas in his face. “My design’s been approved! Lord Kusanali and I made the final touches today. We should move to the next phase of the project soon. I can’t believe it, Alhaitham! Well, I mean, I believe it now, more than before, because before it just felt like a dream but having things approved makes it real and–”

He takes a deep breath. 

“And I’m just happy,” he concludes, “that I get to work on this. And things have been going smoothly, for the most part.” He slumps heavily against Alhaitham. “Better than I imagined at least.”

“I’m glad,” Alhaitham says honestly, hands twitching in his lap. Kaveh is not close enough. 

“I want to share this with Nari and Cyno. I was afraid of something going wrong and somehow… losing the project before, but I…  I think it’s safe now.” He hooks his chin on his shoulder and stares up at him. “Can we host a dinner so I can tell them? Would you be okay with that?”

Alhaitham exhales and focuses. 

It has been a while since he’s seen their friends. 

He’s about to make a jab; that it’d be all on him to get the preparations ready, that he expected to be treated as a guest as well if he agrees, but the sincere look in Kaveh’s eyes has him pausing.

“Yes,” he agrees, perhaps too easily. “It’s been a while, too. When were you thinking?”

The sun dawns on Kaveh’s face. “Next weekend?”

Alhaitham nods, feeling unsteady, heart hammering behind his ribs. “Next weekend it is.”

Kaveh literally quivers with excitement, looking four seconds away from pouncing. 

“What…” Alhaitham says cautiously.

Kaveh pounces, arms circling around him and squeezing. Alhaitham wheezes, naively forgetting just how strong Kaveh is. 

“Kaveh–” 

“Thank you, Alhaitham,” Kaveh interrupts him, face buried in his neck.

Alhaitham’s face burns. “It’s just a dinner.”

“Not just that.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, then.”

Just like that, the warmth is gone, and Kaveh is rising to his feet. “Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’, “That’s all you get.” He makes his way to the kitchen. “You’re helping me, by the way.”

“Says who? I never agreed to that,” Alhaitham retorts, just to be difficult. 

“These are our friends,” Kaveh huffs, filling himself a glass of water. “In our home. Therefore we will be hosting.”

“It’s your dinner.”

“Alhaitham.”

“Kaveh.”

Kaveh stares at him over the rim of his glass. 

Alhaitham was never going to win, anyways.

Sumeru winters are chilly and rainy, but they are also thankfully short. Kaveh replaces his winter shawl for a lighter one by the time they go to the bazaar to prepare for yet another dinner. Alhaitham doesn’t need to hide behind his collar on the walk over, either, and although the breeze is still a bit cold, it’s much more bearable. 

Unlike the day they went shopping for Lord Kusanali’s dinner, Kaveh is lively and talkative. His usual sunny disposition is on display, and his muscles are relaxed. Alhaitham feels his knuckles brush against the back of his hand, and neither of them make moves to create more distance between them. People look, of course they do, at the ex-Acting Grand Sage and the Light of Kshahrewar in such close proximity. They let them. There is no use in fighting or denying the allegations when they are so obviously correct. 

It’s a short trip despite their leisurely pace. Kaveh takes his time picking out mangos, zaytun peaches, and guava’s, holding them up for Alhaitham to smell for ripeness. Alhaitham leans over his shoulder to do his test; Kaveh tips his head back to rest it against his chest, and suddenly, all the fruits seem ripe, and everything is sweet. 

Kaveh pays for their groceries even though Alhaitham’s hand is already thumbing his wallet open. He raises his eyebrows. Kaveh doesn’t respond to his silent question, just smiles and moves onto the next stall. 

He buys kaju barfi from the shop that makes it exactly the way Alhaitham likes it and khoya kulfi’s to satisfy Kaveh’s own craving. 

“It’s wintertime,” Alhaitham comments, but makes no real objection. “Do you want to freeze our guests?”

Kaveh sniffs, tilting his nose up teasingly, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “More for me and Tighnari, then.”

Alhaitham’s lips quirk. “How hospitable of you.”

“I don’t want to hear anything about hospitality from you.” Kaveh jostles his shoulder. Alhaitham responds by elbowing him in the side. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Kaveh’s eyes turned a flat look onto him. “Do I have to spell it out for you, Mr. Linguistics?” 

“Your use of the word linguistics doesn’t even make sense,” Alhaitham argues, and Kaveh groans, “Linguistics isn’t concerned with what words mean, it has more to do with the -”

“The universal phenomena of language, yeah yeah yeah, I know,” Kaveh huffs. “You can play along for once, you know.”

The backs of their hands brush again, and this time, all the hairs on his arms stand up straight as if electrified.

“When your entire argument is based on a mistake in definition?”

Kaveh extends his fingers fully, hooking onto his. “Oh, fuck you, Alhaitham, you’re no fun.”

They’re not holding hands, but his chest still jumps in that funny way, especially since Kaveh is so engrossed in their argument that he doesn’t even seem aware of how they’re linked together. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Archons, Alhaitham thinks weakly, the back of his neck getting hot. 

He manages to quip, “I wasn’t aware that entertainment was one of the reasons I was dragged out with you this morning. Shall I put on a hat? Do a dance?”

Kaveh looks so horrified Alhaitham almost laughs. “Archons, please don’t. That’d be terrifying.”

“I think I will. Since you want to have fun so bad–”

“You’re so weird, Alhaitham, oh my gods–” 

And then he’s laughing and tightening his grip around Alhaitham’s fingers in their odd little backwards-hand-holding. Head thrown back, the column of his neck exposed, eyes shut.

What was it that he had thought one day?

That there were one hundred and two things that Kaveh does that make it almost unbearable to be around him?

The list expands to one hundred and three.

“You two are… surprisingly close these days,” Tighnari observes over dinner.

Alhaitham stiffens imperceptibly. Kaveh’s hands freeze momentarily on their way to the plate of arranged garden veggies before he starts up again, reaching for a slice of cucumber. “Um, what do you mean?” He laughs awkwardly. 

Tighnari is squinting at them, eyes jumping from one person to the other. His tail swishes. The hunter and the hunted. “You guys are actually getting along.”

Kaveh says, “That’s not true, we fight all the time” the same time Alhaitham says, “We’ve been like this for a while now.”

Surprise blossoms on Kaveh’s features. Alhaitham turns his own unamused look onto his roommate. 

“Now that you mention it, Tighnari’s right,” Cyno cocks his head to the side as he inspects them. “What, did you two finally kiss and make up? Put that ridiculous vendetta against each other finally to rest?”

Kaveh squeaks, “Kiss?!”  at the same time Alhaitham says, “I wouldn’t call it a vendetta on my part.”

Tighnari and Cyno exchange a look. The back of Alhaitham’s neck prickles. 

Tighnari is silently dissecting Kaveh, whose movements are jerky and nervous under his gaze. Alhaitham can feel Cyno’s eyes boring into the side of his face, so he turns to stare directly at him instead. 

Cyno raises an eyebrow. 

Alhaitham remains impassive. 

It’s not that he would mind that their friends knew, they probably already know just by observation, but Alhaitham would really, really like the first breach of the topic to be done between him and Kaveh in private. The last thing he wants is for Kaveh to overthink and to pull away, for some silly reason like denial. 

He couldn’t let that happen. Not when they’re finally settling into a dynamic that they’re both enjoying.  

“Right,” Tighnari says slowly. “At least you guys are still as weird as ever.”

“Hey!” Kaveh pouts and masterfully switches the topic. Elusive as ever. “Here I am, inviting you to a celebratory dinner, and all I get is insulted!” He crosses his arms and slumps dramatically into his chair. “I deserve better friends.”

Tighnari’s ears perk almost immediately. “Celebratory? Did I hear that right?”

Kaveh’s trying really hard not to smile. “You did.”

Cyno leans forward. “Did you finally win a game of TCG?”

“What? I–” Kaveh glares weakly. “No. I’ve been too busy to play.”

“Busy?” Tighnari prods, setting a hand on Cyno’s arm to refocus the conversation. “With what?”

Kaveh looks like he’s still a bit miffed with Cyno’s comment, but he decides to let it go. “A commission,” he reveals with a smile. “I bet you’ll never guess from who.”

“Is it outside of Sumeru? Fontaine, maybe?”

“Nope,” Kaveh says, popping the ‘p’.

“The Akademiya?”

“Close.” Then, Kaveh decides he’s had enough of waiting. “Lord Kusanali commissioned me to rebuild the Sanctuary of Surasthana.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then, an explosion of noise. 

Cyno jumps to his feet and bangs his knees against the table in the process, sending plates bouncing, while Tighnari hollers, “Kaveh, what the fuck?”

Kaveh looks insanely pleased with himself, cheeks dusted a rosy pink, as he lets himself get swept into a hug from both that nearly knocks him off his chair. 

“When did this happen?” Tighnari demands, holding Kaveh’s face in his hands and shaking him slightly. 

“Three weeks ago?” Kaveh looks at Alhaitham in question, cheeks squished into his eyes. His voice is muffled. Alhaitham nods. “Yeah, three weeks ago. I just finished the design a few days ago.”

“You knew?” Tighnari flicks an accusatory look at Alhaitham. “Before me?”

“I’m his roommate and was, at the time, Acting Grand Sage. Of course I knew.”

“I wanted to make sure the commission was actually mine before I shared the news,” Kaveh explains, and Tighnari lets go of his cheeks in favor of dragging up a chair closer to listen. “After I got the approval for the design, it became so much more real.”

“Can we see it?” Cyno asks. “The design?”

“Oh, yeah of course, let me get it. Technically, no one is supposed to see it, but you guys are my friends, and I’m in charge of the project, so, whatever.”

He leaves the table to slip into the study, and comes back a few moments later. Alhaitham clears space on the table, making sure the surface is spotless so it wouldn’t accidentally stain the paper, and Kaveh unrolls the plans for all of them to see. 

Despite knowing about the project, this is the first time he’s actually seeing the final design himself. He takes the chance to look at Kaveh as he unrolls the plans onto the tabletop and is met with Kaveh’s face, glowing with pride. 

“Holy shit, Kaveh,” Tighnari breathes once he takes a look. 

Domed ceilings. Stained glass windows. A mix of modernity and the aesthetics of a time long ago. It’s a temple, but as Alhaitham peers closer, one that reflects the personality of the commissioner. The stone walls are engraved with images: the tree of Irminsul, the Traveler kneeling below it beside Lord Kusanali, who holds the hand of that youthful looking boy in a big hat. There are motifs of eternal birth all over the building: a flower sprouting from a seed, trees gaining their leaves after a cold winter. 

Cyno hovers his finger over one of the intricate balconies. “This might actually put Alcazarzaray to shame.”

Kaveh beams, and once again, something is put to rest, something new is made.

He and Kaveh work in comfortable silence as they clear the table, broken only by the clinking of delicate glass and ceramic. Alhaitham is grateful for the silence after the fullness of their home. It gives him time to recalibrate and re-energize. Kaveh has always given him that luxury when they were students, and he pays him the same mind now, working silently.

Alhaitham stifles a yawn while he wipes the counters down, blinking tears from the corners of his eyes. Gods, what time is it even? One a.m? Two? He doesn’t know why he let Kaveh and Cyno get so absorbed in their game of carrom, both too tipsy to really play properly. All it took was one smile, really. 

He tsks. Just how much would he allow Kaveh if all it took was a smile for his resolve to go tumbling down? He should work on that. He should really work on it–he was playing a dangerous game. 

The sound draws Kaveh’s attention from the sink, the sleeves of his blouse hiked up his forearms. He’s disheveled in their kitchen; hair escaping from his clips and braid, red kajal smudged along his lashes, content, although a bit tired. He looks like he belongs exactly where he is, in this house, with him. He looks unbearable. He looks like he’s already Alhaitham’s. 

“I can do the rest,” Kaveh tells him with a soft smile, “It’s been a long day and you must be tired.”

Alhaitham is tired. But his feet remain planted where they were, damp cloth in his hand. 

“Not a chance,” Alhaitham says, “There’s so much still left to clean.”

“It was my idea to host this dinner,” Kaveh reassures. “I’ll finish up–”

“It’s our house,” Alhaitham huffs stubbornly, sleep making his tongue loose. He comes to stand beside him after discarding his cloak on the back of a chair. “And our dirty dishes. Move over.”

Kaveh looks away, pink cheeked. He’s pouting slightly.

“What?” Alhaitham raises his eyebrows down at him.

“Nothing,” Kaveh mutters. Then, in a rare display of unpredictability for someone so self-restrained when it came to indulging tenderness, Kaveh looks back and reaches out with a soapy hand to delicately tuck a strand of Alhaitham’s hair behind his ear. Huffing a laugh, he lowers his hand so his fingers brushed over the curve of Alhaitham’s cheek instead, leaving a cool, wet trail in its wake. 

“Tighnari was right,” Kaveh says, directly to Alhaitham, directly into him, “We really are getting along these days.”

“We’ve always gotten along.”

“Lately we’ve been more friendly.”

“Is that what they’re calling this nowadays?”

The question startles another laugh out of Kaveh, fingertips on his jaw. He ponders on it for a moment, long enough for a flicker of nerves to flash over his face. “I suppose Tighnari wanted to give us the benefit of the doubt.”

“Why?” 

“In case we weren’t…” he waves his other hand, trailing off. 

Suddenly, Alhaitham is wide awake. “We weren’t what?”

The flush on Kaveh’s cheeks spread downwards towards his neck. “You know.”

Alhaitham crosses his arms over his chest, waiting. 

Kaveh looks away, picking up a dish and fervently scrubbing it before dropping it into Alhaitham’s side of the sink. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“I’m not a mind reader, Kshahrewar,”

“Oh my gods, I can’t stand you, get out of my kitchen, Scribe–”

Despite first glance, Kaveh is a lot stronger than someone may think, so Alhaitham actually struggles a bit to hold his ground against Kaveh’s brute force in an attempt to shoulder him out of the kitchen. The way he pushes against him puts his head right under Alhaitham’s chin, and Alhaitham instinctively leans down.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says into his hair. He feels him waver. “Why are you running from me?”

“I’m not– I’m not running, if you have something to say, why don’t you say it first!”

Alhaitham concedes easily. “I love you.”

Kaveh stills with a sharp intake, chest swelling and engulfing Alhaitham’s heart with it. Alhaitham is aware of every point of contact between them, every strand of Kaveh’s golden hair tickling his nose. Everything is alive. And somewhere in the distance, the first flower of spring blooms.

Alhaitham takes out Kaveh’s hair pins one by one, carefully, setting them on the table beside Kaveh’s hip. It requires significant effort and he has half the mind to abandon the task part way through if it weren’t for his growing desire to see Kaveh completely undone. 

Kaveh’s legs are strong around his waist, and they’re close but not close enough to quell the inferno of need inside him. He presses forward, sending them closer and closer towards the table top, one hand braced on the small of Kaveh’s back, fingers slipping through the dip of his neckline. 

The contact makes Kaveh shiver, pulling back to take an unsteady breath. Alhaitham watches him with a half-lidded gaze. The pathways in his mind rearrange themselves in his image: flushed all the way down to his chest, kiss-bruised lips; Kaveh falling open like a ripe fruit in the palm of his hands. Hundreds and hundreds of links, and they all lead back here, to his ruby-eyed, fussy roommate. The bane of his existence, the constant thorn in his side, the only one he has ever truly wanted. 

“I didn’t take you to be of the impatient type,” Kaveh murmurs, dipping forward to press his lips against his again, briefly.

Sweet like the candies Alhaitham never really liked but can see himself rapidly gaining an affinity towards.

Against Kaveh’s lips, “I’m generally not.”

Kaveh hums in that self-satisfied way. “Should I apologise?”

“Would you mean it?”

Kaveh laughs and captures his mouth again. “Not really.”

Every nerve in his body is pulling him towards him. “Keep your grievances to yourself then.”

The urgency that lead them to where they are now tapers off. They move from the kitchen table to the divan so when Alhaitham lies Kaveh down, it’s on a softer surface. His hair fans out around him like a halo and Kaveh looks happy, hands on either side of Alhaitham’s face, giggling against his skin. 

Mine, Alhaitham realises, this is all mine. I did this.  

Kaveh is beautiful in a way that’s unfair for Alhaitham to witness. Temptation on two, long legs. How many nights has he laid awake, imagining this exact moment? How many times has he wondered what being the source of a certain happiness on Kaveh’s face would feel like? He’s lost count. So many dreams, so many fantasies, have already come true and more are on the way. Does Kaveh know how many wishes he’s granted him? An Archon in his own right; the Archon of Alhaitham’s world. 

All they do is kiss. All they do is map the stars onto each other’s skin. Kaveh’s hands just barely brush under the hem of his shirt, feeling the skin there and how it sings for him. Alhaitham can’t stop staring at him, Kaveh can’t stop staring back. 

They traverse the world between them like it’s nothing, like it’s what they’re meant to do, all they’ll ever do. The only world that exists, over and over and over again, until the start and the end are the same, until it all feels like a beginning so gently awaited upon.