Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His head is pounding.

The room is dark, sleep still renders his eyes and limbs heavy, and the decision to go back to sleep is an easy one to make. He dreams of nebulous shapes and colours, as though peering at a scene through frosted glass. There is one silhouette that catches his attention—a person, by the looks of it, dressed in white, holding something in their hand.

Whatever that something is, it opens like a flower, blooming in a pleasant shade of red.

He doesn’t know how much time passes until the pain finally eases to a dull whisper.

With a slow look around the room as he wakes, he realizes he doesn’t know much of anything at all.

Logically, there are worse ways to start the day than waking up with amnesia. He could wake up with amnesia in a dark and damp place, or wake up with amnesia to find that he is missing a limb. The bedroom he’s in is dim, but only because the blinds are drawn; it is dry and warm in here, and the bed is relatively comfortable. He shoves the blankets away and slips out of the bed, finding that all his limbs are still very much attached to the rest of him.

The first order of business is to figure out where he is.

The door adjacent to this room opens up to another bedroom. The bed is neatly made but the room is lived-in, with signs of life and usage in every corner of the space: paints and writing supplies kept in an array above the desk, a cloak draped over the chair, a half-open closet revealing an assortment of clothes, and a well-stocked bookshelf holding books as well as various colourful trinkets. A stark contrast to the simple, almost pointedly plain room he awoke in.

He wanders into the nearby kitchen and makes a breakfast out of what is in reach: a bowl of yogurt with honey and nuts. Despite not having eaten his fill, he gets the strange yet insistent feeling that he ought to save enough for a second helping, so he follows his instincts. They surely wouldn’t steer him wrong, memory loss or no.

Dominated by shades of grass green and accented with warm wooden trim, the main living area is serene and inviting. Natural light pours through the stained-glass windows in abundance. A pair of wide, swinging doors reveal a rather impressive study, with even more natural light illuminating the space, two writing desks, and bookshelves hugging the walls. A feeling of pride and satisfaction washes over him at the sight of all the books lined up together, their spines making up an abstract mosaic. If this is indeed his own house, he could very easily make peace with that.

Next order of business: his identity.

He searches the living room for any mail or correspondence that might bear his name—any name—and turns up nothing. Frustrated, he comes to a stop in the middle of the room, contemplating his options.

If those desks in the study belong to him, surely there must be some sort of identification or mail kept in their drawers somewhere? Or perhaps he can check the desk in the room he woke up in—

A clicking sound makes him turn around, the front door pushing open moments later.

A man steps inside, hauling a suitcase behind him with a huff of effort. His slender features are framed by artfully tousled blond hair, braided and pinned back. There is a healthy glow to his cheeks, his complexion lightly tanned from the sun, the colour reaching all the way down to the sliver of his chest that shows between the low cut of his white shirt. Sunlight spills behind him as the door opens wider, and for a moment, everything about him is like warm gold.

Despite his lack of memory telling him that he’s never seen this man before in his life, the barrage of feelings that come over him at that moment—among them relief, delight, contentment, and a distinct undercurrent of want—tell him a different story. Everything will make sense now that he is here.

The blond startles and drops his house keys when he looks up. His eyes are a pretty shade of vermilion. “Wha—! Haitham? I didn’t think you’d be home at this hour. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Haitham. That’s his name. He has a job, which sounds vaguely assuring. And this golden man lives here with him, likely the occupant of the second bedroom. “Work,” Haitham repeats, eyes never leaving the other man as he retrieves his keys from the floor. “Right. That. I… forgot to set my alarm.” Yes, that sounds plausible.

“It’s past noon. Not like you to sleep in. Or play hooky.”

“I had a headache. But it has passed.”

“Hm. Well, you’d better get dressed.” He leans his suitcase against the nearest couch. “Did you finish that yogurt I bought before I left? I hope not. I found myself craving yogurt of all things out in Apam Woods…”

“There’s more in the kitchen,” Haitham answers—somewhat needlessly, for the blond man is already sweeping past him with a flutter of his ornate cape like he owns the place. (Maybe he does?) As he busies himself in the kitchen—first making a pleased noise when he finds the remainder of the yogurt in the ice box—Haitham decides to take the man’s advice and get ready for work. Perhaps there, he will have better luck remembering things.

Half of his closet consists of several identical pieces of the same pants, tops, and accessories, so he does his best to wrangle them into some semblance of a coordinated look. Taking off the unconscionably skin-tight shirt will most definitely be a challenge later, but that’s a problem for Future Haitham to solve.

When he reaches the front door, it occurs to him that he doesn’t know where he works, let alone what he does for a living.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Haitham turns to find the blond man behind him, holding up what appears to be some sort of headset. “Ah… yes,” Haitham says, carefully taking the offering. “Thank you.” As he looks between the headset and his surroundings for whatever sort of gadget the cord is meant to be plugged into, the blond puts his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing.

“You’re acting strange, you know. You’re even wearing your outfit differently,” he remarks, gesturing rather broadly at Haitham as if to encompass all of him, “and you’re never one to veer from that routine.”

Haitham looks down at himself. Is there something wrong with the way he tied his sash? Did he put his cape on backwards? When he doesn’t give any verbal response, the blond steps closer, his expression shifting to one of naked concern.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well? What did you get up to while I was gone?”

“I don’t remember,” Haitham says unthinkingly, truthfully.

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I… I can’t remember.” His throat closes, and his chest feels like it is slowly being hollowed out with a spoon—a peculiar, and rather belated, response to his predicament as it finally sinks in: “I can’t remember anything. I don’t know who I am, or where, and I don’t… I don’t know you. Who are you?”

Vermilion eyes turn wide with shock. “You’re being serious? Haitham, it’s me. Kaveh. I’m your—” his lips visibly close around a sound that never gets voiced. Instead he parts his lips and says, “Roommate.”

“Kaveh,” Haitham echoes. “My roommate.”

“Yes. We’ve known each other for over a decade—ever since we were at the Akademiya together. Remember?”

Haitham stares and stares at the other man, willing himself to remember. The mention of the Akademiya might ring some distant bell, but it’s so faint that he can’t be sure it was ever there at all.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I really can’t remember.”

“Oh… no.” Where most people might start pacing the floor in panic, Kaveh shuffles on the spot, hands gesturing this way and that as if he needs something to do with them. “We need a doctor. No, wait—” The sudden wildness in his eyes suggests that he is thinking of things that haven’t yet occurred to Haitham. “Not a doctor. We can’t—ah!”

With a snap of his fingers, Kaveh steps past Haitham to the front door. “Come on,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Haitham, “I know who can help.”

::::

Kaveh brings Haitham to the forest to see a young man with tall, fluffy ears and an even fluffier tail. From the way the fox-man and his teenaged apprentice address him, he learns that his full name is actually Alhaitham—and given that he’s only been “Haitham” for the last couple of hours, it’s an easy adjustment to make. They’re brought to a hut where he is instructed to sit down on the examining bed for a series of brief tests, Kaveh hovering anxiously like a hummingbird searching for the best angle to approach a flower.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this, Tighnari,” Kaveh says, “but I hope you can understand the need for discretion.”

“Of course,” Tighnari agrees with a prim nod as he activates and shines a Luminescent Spine before Alhaitham’s eyes. Both he and his apprentice, Collei—occupied with some errand elsewhere—are faintly familiar to Alhaitham. Not in the way Kaveh is, but familiar all the same. “News would have travelled fast if you’d brought him to the Bimarstan, and I can only imagine it wouldn’t do the Akademiya bigwigs any good if they found out their scribe has suddenly and inexplicably lost his memory.”

“Exactly,” Kaveh says on an exhale, sounding terribly relieved at not having to explain himself.

Tighnari asks for Alhaitham’s permission to examine his head. After finding nothing of note, he declares, “Pupillary response is typical, no evidence of trauma to the head—I think we can rule out any form of brain injury. I can’t be completely certain without performing more intensive tests, but we can forgo those.”

Good. Alhaitham does not want to know what intensive tests will entail, and judging from the faintly disturbed moue on Kaveh’s face, he isn’t keen either.

Tighnari hands him a pen and paper. “Please write the following sentence down: Sphinx of quartz, judge my vow.” He fetches a book from the shelf as Alhaitham’s hand glides over the paper. “Good, good. Now read this highlighted passage out loud.”

“Doctors and patients move together through time, humble in the face of its dictates. Novelists allow their characters to enter time, revealing in the characters' particular, ongoing lives some universal truths about living. Both the medical chart and the novel capture individual human lives as they change and as they age, finding some meaning in the random events that happen in them. Literary critics who write about the novel provide useful frameworks for doctors who reflect on their practice. In this essay, I examine the medical charts of two of my patients in detail and—”

“That’s enough. So far, so good,” Tighnari says, seemingly just as much for Kaveh’s benefit as Alhaitham’s as he looks between both men. “Tell me, Alhaitham, what is the earliest thing you remember?”

“Waking up this morning with a headache.”

“You can’t remember anything about your identity? Your past?”

“I only know what Kaveh has told me.”

“Hmm. I believe it’s likely that you were exposed to errant ley line energy recently. Kaveh, would you know anything about this?”

“No. I was away on business for the last few days. When I came home, he was already like this. How do you figure that it’s ley line energy to blame?”

“His symptoms match those of a few patients I treated in the past. They came from different areas of the forest, but they all had the same things in common: they couldn’t remember anything of their identities, their lives, or their loved ones, but their cognitive abilities—speaking and listening, reading and writing, mobile functions and so on—were still intact. All of them had been exposed to excess ley line energy in the wild. I can only assume that Alhaitham came across the same ley line disorder at some point.”

“He was fine when I left.” Kaveh looks to Alhaitham. “You must have gone somewhere in the meantime. I, ah, don’t suppose you would remember where?”

“Shockingly, I don’t.”

Kaveh briefly flicks his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, good, your penchant for sarcasm is also intact.”

“If I had to guess,” Tighnari says, “you must have spent some time outdoors. You've got a noticeable tan. Of course, that hardly narrows things down.”

“Wait,” Kaveh interjects. “Say he did go somewhere and became exposed to this errant ley line energy. Then why is waking up this morning his earliest memory?”

Alhaitham understands Kaveh’s train of thought, as it mirrors his own: “Why do I have no memory of returning home from wherever it is I went?”

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Tighnari admits, lifting a hand to his chin. “I hardly think a disrupted ley line would have appeared somewhere in or around your house and made you lose your memory. Such things don’t tend to form in the middle of populated areas like cities or villages. For whatever reason, this may be a delayed reaction of sorts… Unfortunately, the whys and wherefores might escape us for the time being. I’m more concerned about your recovery going forward.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Kaveh asks.

“It’s simple, really. Just wait it out. Some patients woke up one day with all their memories back, while others regained them gradually. It can take anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks, but I’m confident that you’ll see a full recovery eventually—just as long as you don’t go getting caught in the middle of more excess ley line energy.”

“I feel like that goes without saying,” Kaveh remarks, sounding faintly amused.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Tighnari says with a shake of his head, sounding for a moment like a man who has lost entirely too much faith in people, yet cares for them regardless. “One more thing, Alhaitham. You said you had a headache? That was also a common thread among those patients with ley line-induced memory loss. You’ll likely have more of them.”

Alhaitham sighs. “Wonderful.” It occurs to him that that might have sounded quite rude, especially towards someone who is ostensibly some kind of medical professional and has been nothing but helpful and courteous. But for some reason, Tighnari only smiles as if meeting with an old friend.

“I can make you a salve that should help. I’ll need to go and fetch some of the herbs I need, but you or Kaveh can come back for it by sundown. For now, you both can go home and rest. If Alhaitham’s memory hasn’t shown any signs of returning after, say, a week or so, you can come and see me again to discuss what we can do from there.”

“Thank you so much, Tighnari,” Kaveh says as the Forest Watcher excuses himself, slipping out of the hut with a swish of his tail. When they’re left alone, Kaveh drops down onto the examining bed next to Alhaitham with a sigh, their shoulders brushing together.

“What a strange mess,” he says, hand pressed to his forehead. “Not what I hoped to come home to.”

Alhaitham, still feeling rather like an unmoored ship and that Kaveh might be the only stable point in the middle of the water, figures it would be best to play along. “What did you hope, then?”

“You having saved me some of the yogurt, but with your memory decidedly not lost.”

“One for two is not a bad outcome.”

“How uncharacteristically glass-half-full of you. Other scholars would clutch their pearls at the very thought.”

“Is that what I am, then? A scholar?”

“Ha! At one point, you were the scholar. You—wait, you know what? Let’s go home first. We can talk some more there. I don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

Kaveh makes a point of stopping by the next hut to say their thanks and see-you-laters to Tighnari and Collei. “You must trust Tighnari very much,” Alhaitham observes as they leave Gandharva Ville, out from under the canopy and onto the main road.

“He’s one of my dearest friends—oh, watch your step,” Kaveh says, touching Alhaitham’s elbow and pointing out what looks like a half-eaten and sun-browned Sunsettia in his path. Alhaitham dutifully steps over it. “And he’s exceptionally knowledgeable. I believe him when he says this will all blow over. You’ll be back to your old self soon.” After a moment, Kaveh snickers softly to himself. “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would want that…”

Despite the joke at his expense, Alhaitham can’t help but give a smile of his own. Kaveh’s constant worry since walking through the door of their shared home, the nickname and banter that speak of a longtime familiarity, the warm and comforting feelings that swell in his chest every time he looks at Kaveh—it all makes sense. In these last few hours, nothing has made more sense.

He reaches for Kaveh’s hand. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re a very good boyfriend.” He presses a kiss to Kaveh’s cheek. The man stops completely in his tracks, prompting Alhaitham to do the same a few steps ahead of him.

“H-Huh!?” Kaveh goes wide-eyed and turns approximately seven shades of red—how cute—before he gathers himself up and splutters, “I-I’m not your boyfriend. You don’t even like me.”

Alhaitham frowns. “I’m certain that’s not true.”

“But it is.”

“Why would we be living together if I don’t like you?”

“Heh,” Kaveh laughs dryly—if a bit nervously—as he looks to the side. “I ask myself that question all the time.”

Alhaitham gets the feeling that he is missing something very, very important. He looks down at their hands, still clasped together with their arms stretched between them. “So we’re not together?”

Kaveh seems to squirm at the very notion. “No.”

“I see.” Disappointment sits like a stone in Alhaitham’s chest. He quite likes the feeling of holding Kaveh’s hand, but in light of the news, he reluctantly lets go. “How unfortunate.”

“Wh—! Unfortunate? You’re—I don’t—gah, let’s just go home, alright?”

With that, Kaveh storms ahead, uttering something about his long trip and how he would really like a proper bath already. Alhaitham catches a view of the window of exposed skin at Kaveh’s back, the appealing curve of his backside, and the way his blush reaches all the way to his ears.

Unfortunate indeed.

Chapter Text

The first thing Kaveh does when they get home is sequester himself in the bathtub for a long, well-deserved soak. Following his four-day stint at the latest building site, the trip home, and the emotional and informational journey of the last couple of hours, he needs the time to himself to just… turn off his mind.

Of course, in refusing to think about the kiss to the cheek that Alhaitham had given him like it was nothing, it becomes all that Kaveh can think about. 

He groans, sinking neck-deep into the water. Alhaitham taking his hand with a fond smile. His lips brushing against Kaveh’s cheek, feather-light but warm. The obvious disappointment that crossed Alhaitham’s expression when Kaveh told him that they were not a couple—

All because Alhaitham lost his memories. It’s all so absurd—the type of thing that has Kaveh wondering, only half-jokingly, which deity or whatever forces that govern the world had decided it would be funny to engineer these situations just to ensure that he never knew peace in his life.

…Perhaps he’s being a tad melodramatic.

Still, what troubles Kaveh most is that for a brief moment, he had actually considered going along with it. To let Alhaitham think they were a couple. He had only held the thought for one second, but that was one second too long for his liking. His chest tightens with discomfort. How could he possibly think to take advantage of Alhaitham’s vulnerable state like that? Amnesiac Alhaitham so clearly trusts him despite essentially being a stranger. Even if not for their shared history, Kaveh would still feel a sense of responsibility for the man who so readily went where Kaveh took him, no questions asked.

The water has nearly gone tepid when Kaveh realizes three things in succession.

One: someone should probably let the Akademiya know that their scribe will be taking an indefinite leave of absence.

Two: someone also ought to make sure Alhaitham isn’t out there getting lost in his own house, or at the very least ought to bring him up to speed on the dynamic around here.

Three: that someone will have to be Kaveh, for contrary to what certain other parties may insinuate, he is an attentive and responsible roommate. (And nothing more.)

With a sigh he drags himself out of the bath, towels off, throws on fresh clothes, and combs his damp hair smooth, bracing himself before stepping out to the sound of…

…complete silence.

Alhaitham is nowhere to be seen, not in the immediate area. Kaveh’s panic dies before it ever really has a chance to wake when he hears shuffling coming from the study. There he finds Alhaitham slowly perusing the bookshelves like one might contemplate a mural splashed across the wall.

“All of these books are ours?” he asks, with only a brief glance over his shoulder at Kaveh. He’s holding a book in his hands, unopened, with a cover the colour of mahogany.

“You inherited most of them from your grandmother.”

“My grandmother…”

Kaveh comes to stand behind his roommate, just off to his side. “Do you remember her?”

Alhaitham is silent for a moment. “She passed.” He shelves the book he’d been holding. “As did my parents.”

“So there are some things you do remember.”

“I only just remembered them now.”

“Oh.” At least some of your memories are returning already? Kaveh manages not to say it out loud, for the words feel empty. What would it feel like to wake up without any recollection of himself and then remember that he is effectively alone in this world? “Are you, um—”

Alhaitham turns to him expectantly. “What?”

Kaveh loses steam under the weight of that clear gaze. “Why don’t you take a shower or something,” he says instead, trying not to appear as defeated as he feels. “We did all that walking under the sun. And it might clear your head.”

“My head is clear enough, it seems,” Alhaitham says with a faint smirk. “It’s quite the problem.”

“Ugh.”

“That was a joke.”

“One in poor taste.” Kaveh supposes that if anybody has the right to crack jokes about their own memory loss, it’d be the sufferer of said memory loss—but he isn’t about to concede that point to Alhaitham. “Just go already. I don’t imagine a shower would make things worse.”

Thankfully, Alhaitham heeds his advice and slips into the bathroom minutes later. Even after having a long bath himself, Kaveh feels the need to unwind all over again, so he pads into the kitchen and goes through the motions of brewing tea.

A knock on the front door makes him bristle. He had promised Tighnari that he would be back for the headache salve later towards evening, so it can’t be anyone from Gandharva Ville. Like a fearful fawn, he inches warily towards the door, the way he usually does when the responsibility of answering it falls upon his shoulders.

Another knock. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Kaveh perks up. “Oh—” Recognizing the voice, he hurries to open the door. “Hello, Dehya.” While he isn’t exactly in the right headspace to entertain a friend, he feels himself relax by a sizeable margin. Dehya had become privy to their living situation some months ago following an incident at the tavern and had been sworn to secrecy about it. She’d looked a little too amused for Kaveh’s comfort, but he knew he could rest assured in her discretion, so he’d let it slide.

“Afternoon, Kaveh,” the woman says with a nod, smiling affably. “Good to see you back. I dropped by earlier, but I guess nobody was home.”

“Ah, sorry. That must have been when I, um, stepped out.” The good host in him is shouting at him to invite her inside, and he would, if not for the current circumstances. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I came to check up on Alhaitham. Candace would have joined me but something came up at Aaru Village.”

“Check up on Alhaitham? Wait, would you know something about his—” Kaveh nearly stops himself before figuring that Dehya, of all people, wouldn’t go tattling to the Akademiya. “His condition?”

“Condition?” Dehya echoes, her friendly smile slipping away into a frown of concern. “So I take it he hasn’t gotten his memory back, huh?”

Kaveh feels a strange mix of hope and dread bubbling up in his chest. By the sound of it, Dehya might know more than either he or Alhaitham do at this point. “You’d better come in.”

Kaveh briefly explains the day’s events to Dehya over cups of tea in the living room while they wait for Alhaitham. “The earliest thing he remembers is waking up this morning,” he concludes. “He has no recollection of where he went or where he could have been exposed to this ley line disorder, if Tighnari’s theory is correct.”

“Sounds about right,” Dehya says. “He couldn’t remember anything yesterday either. I’d have thought it was a really strange case of heatstroke from the desert or something. Strange, though, don’t you think? If it really is due to a ley line disorder, why is it still affecting him now that he’s home? It’s like his memories are being… I dunno… wiped every day.”

“Like a chalkboard,” Kaveh agrees. He’s practically brimming with the need to know what exactly went on yesterday, a dozen questions on his tongue, but they agree that it would be best to wait until Alhaitham joins them for Dehya to tell the full story. The tea helps to settle Kaveh’s nerves a bit, at least.

“How was the trip out to Apam Woods?” Dehya asks, helping herself to a tea biscuit.

“Ah… it went swimmingly on the business end. Wait, how did you know I was at Apam Woods?” He’d mentioned that he returned from a work trip today, but had never given Dehya his location.

“I have my sources,” Dehya says mysteriously, before cracking up. “Heheh, just messing. Alhaitham mentioned it when he was… oh, there’s the man of the hour.”

Kaveh straightens up as Alhaitham approaches. “Haitham, this is Dehya, a friend of ours. According to her, you were with her yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything from before this morning.”

“No worries. I can tell you as much as I know about what you’ve been up to these past few days.”

Alhaitham seats himself next to Kaveh, across from Dehya. “Please do.”

“Alright. I don’t know how much it’ll help, but maybe it’ll jog something in your memory.” She finishes the last dregs of her tea first, and Kaveh is practically at the edge of his own seat as Dehya settles in.

“Three days ago, Candace and I intercepted Alhaitham as he cut through Aaru Village. He explained that he was going out to the Girdle of the Sands but wouldn’t say why.” She looks at Alhaitham. “You were being pretty vague about it, so we figured it wasn’t our business and didn’t press further. But going to the Girdle on foot is about half a day’s trip, and that’s if you’re familiar with the terrain. You rented a Sumpter Beast, at least, but you refused our offers of help.”

Kaveh tenses at the information. “He went out to the Girdle of the Sands by himself?” he echoes in disbelief.

“Where is that?” Alhaitham asks, evidently not as concerned.

“Ah, right. Here.” Dehya takes out a map and lays it out on the coffee table, turning it so that it is oriented right-side-up to Alhaitham and Kaveh. “Here’s Aaru Village. The Girdle is up here,” Dehya drags her finger across the map and traces a circle around the area in question, “the northernmost region of the desert. Not the most habitable or hospitable of areas. Most scholars and travellers are interested in the Vourukasha Oasis here, but that wasn’t what you were after. You admitted that much, at least.

“We saw you off with supplies and a better map than the one you had on you. And it’s a good thing we did. The next day, towards sunset, you came back with your Beast and you said—paraphrasing—‘I have no idea who I am or what I’m supposed to be doing. I followed the route marked on this map back to this village. Can you help me?’”

Kaveh looks between Alhaitham and Dehya, agape. “That’s… What the hell?”

“I know, right?” Dehya agrees with a smirk, amused where Kaveh is speechless. “You’d think he was only asking for today’s date. Even with amnesia, this guy still keeps a level head. That’s Alhaitham for you.”

Right, Kaveh thinks, fists clenching in his lap. Good old Alhaitham. Travelling out to the furthest and unfriendliest stretch of the desert by himself. Offering no explanation for it, even when asked. And by the sound of it, doing so specifically while Kaveh was away—three days ago would have been the day after he’d left for Apam Woods. It would be nice to chalk it up to coincidence, but nothing is ever coincidental about what Alhaitham does.

“The village doctor said it didn’t look like you had incurred any injuries anywhere,” Dehya continues. “Nobody was sure what caused your memory loss. So Candace and the elders put you up for the night. And if you ask me, this is where it gets even more confusing.”

She leans forward, elbows on her lap. “When you woke up the next morning, you couldn’t remember anything from the previous day. Nothing of what we had told you about your name, your life, your whereabouts, or anything, had stuck. It was like your memories were lost all over again. Now that Kaveh tells me that it was a result of a ley line disorder, that just makes things stranger. Aaru Village is completely safe from that sort of thing.”

Kaveh glances over at Alhaitham to find him frowning down at his lap.

“Anyway,” Dehya says, “there wasn’t much more we could do to help you in the village. Candace and I took you back to the city, hoping that being home would jog your memory. And it… sort of worked? We thought about taking you to a doctor at the Bimarstan, but you said you had to stay in the house. You remembered that there was something important you had to do. You just weren’t sure what it was.”

Alhaitham’s eyes are squeezed shut now, as if trying to remember this. His fists clench in his lap, and the rise and fall of his chest is too deliberate to be seen as calm.

“Haitham? Are you alright?”

Alhaitham stands abruptly. “I’ll be back. I’d like a drink of water.”

They stare after him as he leaves. “Is he… gonna be okay?” Dehya asks, lowering her voice.

“I think he just needs the space to pace around,” Kaveh replies, just as discreet. There’s no noise coming from the kitchen—the specific type of quiet that happens when one is making every effort not to make a sound. “He’ll be alright.”

“If you say so…”

Kaveh clears his throat and raises his voice to speaking volume again. “When Alhaitham returned to the village, did you notice anything strange or new about him? Any clues about what he went out there for? Did he bring anything back with him?”

“No. If anything, he came back carrying less than what he had when he left, since most of what he took with him were provisions. It didn’t seem like he’d collected anything from the desert, but we couldn’t be sure. We didn’t think it would be right to go through his belongings when he wasn’t in a state to give us his permission.”

“I understand. And I agree.” Still, Kaveh wishes they had more to go on.

“That’s about all I know. I hope it helped.”

“It did. Now that we have an idea of where Alhaitham went, maybe he’ll have an easier time remembering the why.”

“Good luck.” Dehya brushes the crumbs from her lap. “And thank you for the tea, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to excuse myself. I’ve still got other business in town. I’ll let Candace know everything we talked about.”

“I won’t keep you, then.” He stands as Dehya does, seeing her to the front door. “Thank you so much for bringing him home safe, Dehya. Give my thanks to Candace as well. I’m sure Alhaitham appreciates it too; he’s just… out of sorts, at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it. I would be too, if I were in his position. Candace and I didn’t want to leave him alone yesterday, but he kept insisting he’d be fine and we didn’t want to overstep. Now I’m just glad he’s got you to take care of him.”

“Right…”

Alhaitham returns then, looking no more or no less hydrated than before. Dehya looks over Kaveh’s shoulder with a wave. “Take it easy, Alhaitham. I’ll see you two around.”

When Dehya leaves, it’s nearly five o’clock, and Kaveh will be expected at Gandharva Ville soon. As he closes the door behind their guest, he wills himself to take a deep breath before turning to his roommate.

“The Girdle, Alhaitham? What on Teyvat could you have been doing out there?” Try as he might, he can’t seem to stop the rising volume of his voice. “By yourself, no less! I was with a Matra, two guides, and three other scholars when I went that far out. You’re lucky you made it back to Aaru Village in one piece!”

Alhaitham glances away, remorseful. It’s not as rare of a look on him as some people might think. When he makes a mistake or does something to upset Kaveh, the regret is clear in his expression, but an apology is never the first thing he gives. Instead, he does small gestures—like making Kaveh his coffee the next morning, or returning from the market with groceries as well as some trinket that caught Kaveh’s eye sometime previously, or quietly slicing a plate of fresh fruit after a meal and leaving the lion’s share to Kaveh—before he works up the nerve to actually give a verbal apology.

Today, though, Alhaitham surprises him. “I’m sorry.” It’s a genuine apology but it feels out of place, as if there is something else that ought to have happened beforehand. It feels like accidentally skipping a line of text while reading a paragraph. Kaveh sighs, neck and shoulders dropping.

“No… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. You’re already upset, and it’s no use getting angry at you for something you can’t even remember.”

“…But when I do, then you’ll give me a piece of your mind?”

Kaveh huffs a laugh, but it is short-lived. So he didn’t deny that he’s upset, and here I was, snapping at him like a jerk. “You catch on quick.”

He glances up to find Alhaitham already looking at him. Calling it staring would be more accurate—the sort of unwavering attention that makes Kaveh freeze and want to turn away at the same time. Alhaitham opens his mouth to say something when the clock in the study chimes the hour, just audible enough to hear from behind the doors. The spell is broken.

“I have errands to run,” Kaveh says, grabbing his cape and house keys. “We can pick this up later.”

He leaves before Alhaitham can get a word in edgewise. Only because Tighnari should be expecting him soon and not because he wants to avoid that look in Alhaitham’s eye, of course.

::::

Detractors of the arts might have you believe that artists are disorganized, spontaneous, or act aimlessly. Kaveh can be all of those things when he wants to be, but he is first and foremost a professional. While running his so-called errands, he devises a mental to-do list as he goes, adding and revising items as necessary:

• Find messenger to discreetly notify the Akademiya of Alhaitham’s indefinite leave.
• Make trek to Gandharva Ville to fetch Tighnari’s headache salve.
• Arrive slightly too early.
• Recount to Tighnari what Dehya revealed during her visit as he completes headache salve.
• Receive headache salve (for real).
• Promise to invite Tighnari and Collei to dinner when Alhaitham has recovered.
• Return to Sumeru City.
• Get momentarily distracted by sunset on way back to Sumeru City.
• Line up at a food cart with intent to grab dinner for two that he doesn’t have to cook.
• Pat himself down when it’s nearly his turn and realize that he left his wallet at home.
• Refrain from cursing very loudly in the middle of the Grand Bazaar.
• Go home dejected, hungry, and mentally preparing himself for having to cook after all.

As Kaveh trudges up to the house at evening, he adds “SLEEP” as the final item on his mental to-do list, underlines it, circles it, circles it again but this time in red ink, and unlocks the front door. (Thank gods he didn’t forget his keys, at least.) He tries to remember what he’d seen while rifling through the ice box and pantry earlier in the day—

His thoughts come to a halt as a warm aroma greets him upon opening the door. Kaveh slips into the house, setting the salve on the coffee table in the living room as he inhales the scent of spices. In the kitchen, Alhaitham is stirring a steaming pot; at the sound of Kaveh’s arrival, he glances over his shoulder.

“Welcome back,” Alhaitham says, as if greeting Kaveh is something he regularly does. Not just a cursory you’re back, but an almost pleasant welcome back, where back could easily be replaced with home. He fetches two bowls and begins filling one with food.

Kaveh would eat the entire pot of rice on the stove right now if it was all he could get his hands on, but after having been away from the creature comforts of home for the last few days, the promise of an actual meal nearly has him buckling at the knees.

“You made soup?”

“Yes,” Alhaitham says, ladling up the second bowl. “Is that so strange?”

“You hate soup.”

“I do?” Alhaitham looks down at the bowl of food in his hands, brow wrinkling as though he’s seeing his creation for the very first time. “I can’t imagine why I would. It’s just soup.”

Kaveh has to fight a laugh, for he remembers saying those exact words once, to a younger and even more stubborn Alhaitham who refused to put his book down to eat the Akademiya cafeteria’s offering of soup that day. Alhaitham looks at him questioningly, but Kaveh simply shakes his head with a smile. His roommate’s mood seems to have improved, and the atmosphere in the house isn’t quite so strange as it was before Kaveh left, supplanted by the aroma of food.

The soup—closer to a stew, actually—is piping hot, which Kaveh is glad for, as it keeps him from scarfing it all down like some kind of starved animal. For a man who lost his memory, Alhaitham seems to have retained his ability to cook—which is to say that the flavours are a touch too intense for Kaveh’s liking, and the rice was cooked with slightly more water than necessary. Still, it is unquestionably the best thing he’s eaten in days.

Kaveh takes a healthy drink of water, relishing the cold liquid. “Ah. I told Tighnari everything Dehya told us. He said that now that you’re out of the desert, whatever ley line disorder affected you will likely start to wear off soon.”

Alhaitham makes a noise of acknowledgment around his food before swallowing. “Earlier, you said we could talk when we got home. I have questions.”

“Right. Fire away, I suppose.”

“Who am I?”

“Starting strong, are we? You’re Alhaitham, Haravatat graduate, scribe of the Akademiya. At one point, you were appointed to the position of Acting Grand Sage, but you resigned and returned to your role as the scribe…”

Alhaitham’s questions are simple enough to field. They range from what the work of a scribe entails to what exactly the Akademiya even is. How the man still knows his way around a kitchen but cannot remember their nation’s most prestigious learning institute and governing body is a conundrum that researchers would probably love to sink their teeth into, but Kaveh gives his answers without a second thought.

Some questions require a little more tact. Alhaitham asks about his grandmother, his daily routine, and even about the intricacies of his usual outfit that he had worn differently earlier today. Really, Kaveh is probably the only person on Teyvat who can answer these questions. He finds himself relaxing during dinner despite the conversation they’re carrying, quietly thankful that Alhaitham seems to be in higher spirits.

“Any other questions?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“You.”

Kaveh nearly drops his spoon. “Uh—pardon?”

“How did we meet? Were we in the same classes at the Akademiya? Were we friends that whole time? I noticed you avoided mentioning any time frames even when I asked for them—like what we did after graduating, for instance.”

Oh gods.

“That’s all stuff you technically know already,” Kaveh says, as evenly as he can manage, with a wave of his hand. “You’ll remember it all in a few days. Let’s not go down this path.”

“Humour me. Perhaps it will jog my memory.”

Kaveh winces down at his plate. Trust Alhaitham not to receive the hint.

It had been through mutual agreement that they would never talk about this, if they could help it. They tried to, once, just weeks after Kaveh first moved in, and to say that it had resulted in a heated exchange would be understating it. It was after a very long night that they both met each other in the kitchen and agreed, at Alhaitham’s behest, to simply move on from the matter—sweeping all their unsaid grievances, rationalizations, and even any apologies under the rug, never to be acknowledged again.

(Not the healthiest way of resolving things, Kaveh thought even back then. But he wasn’t about to bite the hand that—for whatever reason—offered to house him and keep him off the streets.)

So of course Alhaitham just had to go and lose his memory, thus completely forgetting not just about this agreement, but all the reasons their relationship is such a mixed bag lately. 

He takes his last bite and swallows, buying time, before deciding to keep it brief. “We became friends at the Akademiya when we were younger. No, we were not in the same Darshan—I’m Kshahrewar and you’re Haravatat, and I’m two years your senior. Sometime during our school years, we decided to work together on a joint research project. Long story short, it didn’t end well. We went our separate ways and didn’t see each other for years afterward. Does any of that ring a bell?”

It’s clear that Alhaitham had been expecting an answer along those lines, but it displeases him nonetheless. He stares at Kaveh for a discomfiting amount of time. “This is uncomfortable for you,” he observes.

“Well, yes,” Kaveh huffs, but the scorn in his voice is half-hearted. “Rehashing the memory of losing one’s closest friend is not something that most people are eager to do.”

Perhaps he’s said too much. He reaches for his cup of water only to find that he already drained it.

The water pitcher is by Alhaitham’s side. Wordlessly, he refills Kaveh’s cup.

“…Thank you.” He takes a drink, mostly to have something to do, until Alhaitham speaks again.

“How did we come to live together, then?”

Kaveh sighs as he sets down his cup. “I came into some… financial hardship after finishing one of my projects. You offered me a place to stay. You’re effectively my landlord as much as you are my roommate.”

“You keep calling me your roommate. Would you say we’re not friends?”

In for a Mora, in for the whole lot.

“Now? I don’t know. There was certainly a time when we were. You were my best friend, Haitham.” Kaveh gives a soft laugh when he remembers the words of a friend. “Tighnari once described it as a ‘divorced but never even dated’ situation.”

Alhaitham evidently takes some sort of issue with this, brow furrowing as he gazes down at the table for a moment. When he looks up at Kaveh again, the furrow is still there. “So we never dated? Ever?”

Does he have to look so disappointed about it again? Kaveh thinks he might be going mad. “No. Is that really so surprising?”

The furrow relaxes. “Yes. Because I am clearly in love with you.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Alhaitham repeats, in the same tone of voice one would use to name the blue colour of the sky. “It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

“N-Not to me, it isn’t!” Kaveh exclaims. This is it. He really has gone off the deep end. Perhaps Kaveh had been exposed to errant ley line energy himself without knowing it, and he’s just been dreaming up this whole scenario where it took memory loss for Alhaitham to confess to having feelings for him. Did he even make it home to Sumeru City? What if his body is actually collapsed somewhere in Apam Woods? Should he pinch himself?

He does—discreetly, under the table, at the meat of his thigh. Regrettably, he doesn’t jolt awake in the middle of Apam Woods. He is, in fact, sitting at the dining table at home, and Alhaitham is still looking at him as though he didn’t just casually utter an earth-shattering confession. Or perhaps they’ve both gone mad. Kaveh vaguely remembers that the Fontainians have a term for that phenomenon. What was it again? Maybe he ought to travel to Fontaine to learn it and stay there. His mother is always asking him to visit, and he hasn’t even met his half-sister yet, so now is as good a time as any to pack up his entire life and—

“Hmm. I have to wonder why I never told you,” Alhaitham muses out loud, as Kaveh rationalizes to himself, surely they have need for architects with my expertise in Fontaine?

Kaveh’s throat feels dry in a way that a drink of water can’t fix. “Maybe because it’s not true.”

He stands abruptly, gathering up his dishes to take them to the kitchen sink, his back turned to Alhaitham. “Look, I still have to unpack my things,” true; he hasn’t had a chance to spend more than a few minutes in his own bedroom since coming home, “and I have some work that needs to be finished tonight,” false; he does have work but it’s not so urgent as he makes it sound, “so let’s just—”

“Kaveh—”

He washes his dishes in record time. “Thank you for making dinner. I left Tighnari’s salve in the living room; it’s all yours to keep—”

“Kaveh.” Alhaitham’s voice sounds much closer. Kaveh hadn’t heard him get up under the sound of running water and tableware clinking together. “How can you tell me that what I feel isn’t true?”

Kaveh turns the faucet off. He grips the edge of the sink and doesn’t turn around to look at his roommate. “See if you still feel that way when you get your memories back.”

“I don’t understand. You think that these feelings were induced by memory loss?”

“I think that you’re not yourself right now—” And I can’t trust anything you say, Kaveh thinks but doesn’t voice out loud, “—and since I was the one who helped you, you’re mistaking feelings of gratitude for affection.”

In the long silence that follows, he expects Alhaitham to push back. In fact, he hopes for it. Not because he wants to be given a list of reasons why he’s wrong, but because an argument will put them on more familiar ground; will make everything feel like normal again.

“…If that is what you think.”

Kaveh exhales. He turns to leave.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night… Kaveh.”

Kaveh can feel solemn eyes boring into the back of his neck the entire way to his room.

In the end, he barely gets any work done. Today has been… an ordeal. Physical exhaustion along with the confusion of today’s events make for a potent combination that has drained all the energy from him, and he can barely concentrate. It’s barely nine o’ clock when he decides to turn in for the night, hoping that sleeping at this early hour will revitalize him tomorrow.

He falls asleep immediately, and his dreams that night are so sweet that they are sickening, tasting artificial on his tongue.

::::

Alhaitham stares after Kaveh’s retreating back as his head swims with conflicting thoughts, forming two sides at odds with each other.

You’re mistaking feelings of gratitude for affection.

One side of the tug-of-war sees Kaveh’s point. Even after receiving Tighnari’s diagnosis and advice to simply let things run their course, Alhaitham isn’t sure where to go from here. It makes sense that he would be reluctant to let go of the first hand that reached out to him in his hour of need.

The other side disagrees. Wholeheartedly. When Alhaitham had met Tighnari and Dehya today, it was apparent from the sense of vague recognition that before he had lost his memory, he’d known them as friends. Good, even valued friends, but friends nonetheless.

It’s different with Kaveh. From the moment he’d set foot into the house, haloed by the sun, Alhaitham had been assailed by variations of the same thought: As long as I am with him, everything will be alright. It dialled itself down to a low hum throughout the day, unintrusive but present all the same, colouring everything he did. And as the day had worn on and handed Alhaitham the pieces that made up the picture of his and Kaveh’s life together, there was really only one conclusion he could come to:

I am in love with Kaveh.

His feelings support such a conclusion. Gratitude, yes, but not only that. Contentment. Wholeness. And yet, there is the desire for more. The desire to see Kaveh smile. To be close, and closer. To touch. Alhaitham could attribute it to simple physical attraction—he certainly feels no small amount of it when he looks at Kaveh—but that would be shallow, overly simplistic, and ignoring all the other pieces of evidence.

The rest of the night is quiet. Alhaitham selects a book and stays in the living room, hoping that Kaveh will step out for one reason or another. But during the umpteenth time that he glances up from his book, he sees that the light from underneath the gap in Kaveh’s doorway has disappeared. Defeat tightens as a knot in his chest. He is presented with another conclusion, one that is painfully simple in its premise—but sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one.

I am in love with Kaveh, but he is not in love with me.

He slips back into the room he woke up in and steps warily before the upright mirror on the wall next to the door. As he gazes at his own tired reflection, he remembers more of Kaveh’s words: You’re not yourself right now. Alhaitham has to wonder what “himself” is truly like, then. Maybe the space around him will give him some clues.

The furniture is well-constructed, made of warm-toned wood, but otherwise unremarkable. Everything goes together a little too well—as if the house had been made ready to move into, and he changed almost nothing about it. The bed is still rumpled and unmade from this morning, but even the sheets are in inoffensive shades of beige and green.

Still, there are signs that the room is lived in. Extra cloaks hanging from hooks above the door. Several pairs of boots lined up by the wall. A nightstand with a reading lamp next to one side of the bed; on the other, a small bookshelf made of darker wood, filled with a mismatched selection of books that look more worn and well-loved than the ones in the study. And a number of bags: one slung at the bedpost by a single strap; another at the desk, structured and suited for an office; and a sturdy knapsack on the floor by the closet, half its contents spilling over.

Evidently Alhaitham is the sort of man to bring a suitcase of papers to work, to care enough about his appearance to keep a mirror in his room, and to keep his favourite books within arm’s reach from his bed. That is probably not what Kaveh meant, however.

Today, he’d been open, curious, and perhaps inadvisably honest with Kaveh. Is he actually the opposite of all that? The sort of man who appears cold to people? The sort who staunchly keeps his emotions to himself? Who, despite how strongly and deeply he feels, has never revealed his love to the one he desires most?

If so, he can’t fault Kaveh for feeling wrong-footed.

Alhaitham crawls into bed in the dark and wills himself to think of something else. Anything else. Sleep refuses to take him at first, and the hour ticks by as he tries to remember his grandmother, his days as a student, even his stuffy-sounding office job. But no matter how hard he tries, the fog in his mind won’t lift, and he comes up empty. The only thing clear to him has beautiful vermilion eyes and a voice he could listen to for hours on end.

Something else. Anything else!

He gnashes his teeth in frustration. He wouldn’t be in this predicament if he hadn’t gone out to the desert in the first place. Trying to remember the reason for his trip is likely a losing battle for now. All he knows is that he couldn’t have gone empty-handed.

What does one need for a trip to the desert? Food. Water. Other provisions. A bag to carry it all.

A bag…

He had to have brought at least one with him. One to carry all that he needed…

And anything that he found.

He should get up. But his limbs are leaden. He was wide awake minutes ago, but now he can barely keep his eyes open. When did he become so sleepy? He needs to get up, get out of bed and search for…

Search for…

He comes up empty again. The fog grows dense. As his eyes slide shut, he can’t think of what was so urgent.

Surely he’ll remember it in the morning.

Chapter Text

The sensation of warm, slender fingers wrapped around his own is what rouses him to awareness.

A figure, dressed in crisp lines of white, leads him by the hand through ever-shifting surroundings. Austere halls with tall ceilings turn into four cozy, warm walls that feel safe rather than imposing. Lush greenery gives way to brown sands. Cracked earth leads to a bountiful spring.

They wade through the shallowest part of the water, approaching the side of a cliff face. The peak above them casts a shadow that looms imposingly, and he finds himself stopping in his tracks just at the edge of it, frozen in the sunlight.

The figure in white has no such misgivings. They release his hand and venture into the shade. Dropping to one knee, they pry something from the ground before stepping out into the sun to join him again, finally facing him.

This is the first time he sees their face. It’s like looking into the sun. They smile and offer something to him. Nestled in their palm is a stone that matches the colour of their eyes. He takes it, and it’s warm to the touch—as warm as his companion’s hands closing around his, the stone cradled inside.

There is something I have to do.

This first waking thought is followed by a twinge of pain in his skull, one that widens like cloth being torn apart at the seams. The pain is not unbearable, but it is persistent, and each ensuing throb is like the ripping of another stitch.

Relief, he needs relief. He shuffles out of bed and opens the door, wincing when he’s met by bright light in the hallway. There are faint noises coming from what sounds like the kitchen—water running, dishes being put away—so he turns for that direction, eyes pointed towards the ground.

“You’re finally awake,” says a voice. “I made you an omelette, but it’s gone cold by now. Call it a peace offering.”

He tries to look up, catching a glimpse of blond hair, just as another shard of pain pierces his head. He shuts his eyes against it. Relief, he needs relief…

“About what you said last… hey, are you alright?”

At the sound of someone approaching him, he opens his eyes again. This time he gets the full picture: blond hair, vermilion eyes, and a face that strikes him as strongly familiar.

“Is it one of those headaches?” the blond asks, dropping the volume of his voice slightly. “You know, I went to all that trouble fetching that salve for you and you didn’t even take it with you, even after I reminded you last night. It’s still in the living room. Come on.”

Having no other recourse, he follows the other man into the wider expanse of the house. It’s a nice house, he thinks vaguely. The living area’s stained-glass windows temper the harsh morning sunlight, and the green colour palette is gentle on his eyes.

The blond weaves between the couches and picks up a small jar from the coffee table. “I have to do everything around here,” he gripes, but with the air of a joke, as he takes a seat. “Come sit down.”

He does so, next to the blond, who uncaps the jar of salve. The scent of mint and herbs is so potent that it does more to aggravate rather than soothe his headache at first. Once the blond reaches for him and starts gently massaging the soothing salve into his temples, however, any complaint that might have been on the tip of his tongue doesn’t seem to want to spill out.

Surely he can do this himself, he thinks. There’s a blunted edge of pride inside him that irritably insists on his own independence, headache be damned. But… the other man’s touch is so gentle, his expression so full of concern and intent, that he thinks he would be more annoyed with himself if he were to protest. He watches raptly as the blond’s tongue briefly darts out between his lips to wet them in his concentration.

Yes, this is just fine.

The blond finally seems to cotton on to his captive audience and turns a fetching shade of pink, drawing his hands away.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” These are the first words he’s spoken today, and he’s surprised by the hoarseness of his own voice.

“Like you want to… ngh. Never mind.” The blond seals the jar, looking away as he does.

He’s flushing all the way up to his ears.

“I know you,” he realizes. “…don’t I?”

The other man freezes, face going slack with shock for a moment before he gives an unamused scoff. “Come on, Alhaitham, is this really the time to joke about that?”

“Alhaitham? Is that my name?”

“Wait—what?”

It’s only been a few minutes and this man has been very considerate, making him breakfast and treating his headache. Surely this is someone that he can trust. “Can you help me? There is something that I need to do. I just can’t remember what it is.”

The blond presses a hand to his forehead. “Oh, no, no—how is this happening again?”

“Again?”

“You’re out of the desert, you’re home, you should be safe here. What is going on?”

He—Alhaitham, he tells himself—would like to know the same thing.

“Tell me,” says the blond quickly, as if it is of utmost urgency, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

Alhaitham frowns. “I’m not sure. I think… I went somewhere. I was following someone. They took me to… to…”

He winces, both in pain and frustration. As much as he tries to dig around his headache and reach back further in his memory, he finds extremely little to grasp. There might be a vague figure in his sights, or a forgotten voice fading away, or the weight of holding something in his hand—but none of it takes shape completely.

“A-Alright, that’s enough for now,” the blond says at Alhaitham’s visible distress, modulating his own voice to something softer and considerably less panicked. “Don’t work yourself into a lather over it. Can I tell you what I know, or would you rather we stay quiet?”

“Tell me… please.”

“Sure. My name is Kaveh. Yesterday, I came home to find that you had lost your memory, and today it appears as though you’ve… lost it again? At least to some degree? You did go somewhere yesterday—you were with me, and we went to see a friend for help. So you remember that much, however vaguely.”

No, that’s not quite right, Alhaitham thinks. Yes, Kaveh could have been the one he was following, but he doesn’t remember seeing anyone else.

“Wait—a friend!” Kaveh leaps up from the couch. “Sorry—just stay here, alright? Do not leave the house. Eat your omelette, stave off that headache, I’ll fetch Tighnari.”

Alhaitham doesn’t know who or what Tighnari is and doesn’t get to ask. Grabbing a set of keys by the door, Kaveh is out of the house within seconds, leaving him to his own devices.

The spinach omelette fills Alhaitham’s stomach well enough, and once the scent of the salve has faded, the sensation it leaves is actually quite pleasant. All in all, he thinks as he settles back into the couch, he’s feeling rather at ease for someone who ought to be worried that he can hardly remember a thing. His headache has mostly subsided by the time Kaveh returns, noticeably out of breath and with company in tow. His companion, a young man with ears taller than the span of his head, seems none the worse for wear.

“Alhaitham? My name is Tighnari. I’m here to help.”

Despite his reassurance, Tighnari seems to hesitate. He opens his mouth and makes an aborted movement with his hands, as if caught between saying something, doing something, and settling on neither.

Instead he asks, “You don’t remember anything we discussed yesterday?”

“No. I don’t even know who you are.”

“He doesn’t seem to know who I am, either,” Kaveh tells Tighnari.

Alhaitham looks up. Now that he is no longer hindered by pain, he can put together what he knows so far about this man named Kaveh. They live together, presumably. He cares a great deal for Alhaitham, evidently. And he is, quite frankly, unreasonably attractive. There is only one conclusion that makes sense.

“I know who you are,” Alhaitham says. “You must be my boyfriend.”

A beat of silence plummets down on the room. Kaveh, the first to react, makes a strange noise and covers his swiftly reddening face with one hand. Tighnari’s eyebrows have disappeared underneath his bangs.

“We’re not together,” Kaveh says behind his hand.

“We’re not?”

“Would you believe we’ve done this already? No, I am not your boyfriend. I’m just your roommate.”

Alhaitham frowns. He doesn’t like being wrong—hardly anyone does, naturally—but this specific wrong seems to pinch at a particularly tender spot in his chest. “That’s a shame.”

“A shame—” Kaveh sweeps his hand over his forehead, brushing back his blond locks. “This is insane. I must be going mad. This is all a fever dream—”

“Calm down, Kaveh,” Tighnari soothes, hands up as if to settle down an agitated Sumpter Beast. “It’s just a simple misunderstanding. One that we’ve now cleared up, hmm? Let’s get back to figuring this out.”

Tighnari asks Alhaitham a series of simple questions and assigns him a handful of small tasks, supposedly to test whether his memory loss is presenting worse than yesterday’s. Since Alhaitham can barely remember anything from before this morning, he can’t be certain how well he’s doing at these tests. Tighnari remains perfectly professional, but the ever-present worry on Kaveh’s face does little to help.

“This is a strange case,” Tighnari says, taking a step back. “Repeated memory loss…”

“At this point,” Kaveh asks, “can we even be certain that it’s a ley line disorder causing this?”

“I’m still reasonably certain. His symptoms match those of my previous patients exactly. But it’s odd—with the way he’s lost his memories again, I would almost think that he was affected by this ley line disorder very recently.”

“But how? He’s only been at home this whole time.”

Tighnari exhales deeply. “I have a theory. And to be honest, I’m a little annoyed that I didn’t think of this sooner,” his ear twitches as if to reflect his mood, “but there’s been no precedent involving a memory loss case, at least that I know of.”

“What is it?” Alhaitham asks.

“Sometimes, the energy from ley line disorders can linger in certain objects nearby, even after the disorder has dissipated or been corrected. These are usually objects with inherent elemental attributes—like an Electro Crystal or a Mist Flower, for example. Think of them like coals. You can remove a coal from a direct flame, but it’ll still retain and emit some of that heat as if it were its own. Prolonged exposure or proximity to such affected objects can potentially be as harmful as wading through the locus of a ley line disorder.

“I once dealt with a case involving a disorder that drained people of their energy. A perfectly healthy teenager started waking up every morning sluggish and enervated. Her father had recently harvested an Electro Crystal from somewhere in the forest. He gave it to her as a gift, and she kept it in her room…”

“…neither of them knowing that it was tainted,” Alhaitham finishes.

“Precisely. It was a vicious cycle. The Electro Crystal was kept in the girl’s room, where she would of course spend the night. She would get up in the morning, find that she would become extremely fatigued after performing even the smallest of tasks, and spend most of the day in bed again, where the Crystal continued to drain her energy.”

”That’s awful,” Kaveh says, visibly shaken.

”Yes. Thank goodness it wasn’t lethal, and that after we figured out what was going on, she made a full recovery.” Tighnari turns to Alhaitham. “We know that you went out to the desert. Perhaps you took something back with you that, unbeknownst to you, was imbued with energy from a ley line disorder—one that affects the memory. Vision users like us are slightly more resistant to the effects of ley line disorders, but even the most resilient Vision user would eventually be affected if they don’t keep their distance. I think that because your memories appear to be getting ‘reset’ at the beginning of every day, you’re being exposed to the energy during your sleep, like that girl had been.”

It’s easy enough to follow along with Tighnari’s logic, but Alhaitham feels his head spin all over again. Why is this happening? What was he doing out in the desert? Is this memory loss his own fault?

“If that’s the case,” Kaveh speaks up, “does this explain why he couldn’t remember Aaru Village, or coming home from the desert the day before I came home? He had this object—whatever it was—with him, and even up ‘til now, it’s been erasing his memories every day?”

“That’s the basis of my theory, yes.”

“That’s… wow.” Kaveh shakes his head. “I mean, just the amount of… coincidence and misfortune involved…”

There is also the matter of why Alhaitham kept such an object on him in the first place, whether he knew it was affected or not. He frowns down at his lap, vaguely aware that both Kaveh and Tighnari are watching him but unable to bring himself to speak, too frustrated with himself to trust that he can raise the point in a rational manner.

“If it’s alright with you, Alhaitham,” Tighnari says, shattering the brittle silence, “I suggest searching your room for anything that seems out of place. I know neither of you have Elemental Sight, so I can help.”

With the area of their search narrowed down, it doesn’t take long to find what they need in Alhaitham’s room. Slung from the bedpost is a bag lightly flecked with grains of sand. Inside are scattered supplies, writing utensils, notebooks, and—curiously—a lump of amber-coloured ore. Tighnari takes it out with one fully-gloved hand.

Alhaitham’s breath catches. Tighnari’s large ears catch the sound; he places the lump on the nearby desk, taking a step back.

“Alhaitham? Do you recognize this?”

Does he? He isn’t sure whether to nod or to shake his head. The lump of ore is about the size of a Harra Fruit, but what hooks into his memory and tugs until his head starts to ache again is the colour. Like amber. Like sunset. Like…

Kaveh’s eyes light up in recognition. “I’ve seen this before. It’s Trishiraite, from the desert. You can only find it in—oh! The Girdle of the Sands! Just as Dehya said…”

“I’m afraid desert geology isn’t in my purview,” Tighnari admits. “What do you know about this Trishiraite, Kaveh?”

“Ah, let’s see… I remember the desert guides saying that it’s formed from congealed elemental energy.”

“If that’s the case, this would indeed be very effective in retaining ley line energy.” Tighnari’s eyes slide shut for a moment before they open again. His gaze is sharp and his irises seem to gleam for an instant as he looks down at the lump. “It’s Geo-aligned. This must be the culprit.” At his words, Kaveh takes an uneasy step back, briefly reaching out as if he wants to pull Alhaitham away as well. “Don’t touch it directly. If this thing still manages to affect Alhaitham’s memory without even touching him, we can’t be certain of what might result from direct contact—no matter how brief.”

They find a loose cloth and pouch to bundle the Trishiraite in—what could very well be a paltry measure, Tighnari admits, but if there are precautions that can be taken, then one might as well take them. The Trishiraite lump’s store of ley line energy will fade completely with time, but Tighnari is determined not to simply toss it somewhere outside of the city, lest it affect the surrounding wildlife. Instead he proposes taking it to a deserted domain south of Pardis Dhyai.

“The Traveller cleared it out some time back,” he explains. “I doubt anyone goes in there now; not even monsters.”

“That’s quite far, and you’ll be carrying that with you the whole way,” Kaveh says, even as he keeps a wary arm’s length from the bundled Trishiraite. “Will you be alright on your own? Let me come with you.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t appreciate the company. But you can leave this to me. I can make the trip fairly quickly, so lengthy exposure to the energy shouldn’t be an issue.”

“What I’m hearing you say is that I would just slow you down,” Kaveh jokes mildly.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Kaveh. Even if they do ring true.”

“Hey!”

“Heh.” Tighnari takes the Trishiraite—holding it cautiously by his side—and starts towards the front door. “If I don’t see you two in Gandharva Ville tomorrow, I’ll take it to mean good news. But of course, don’t hesitate to visit if any other concerns turn up.”

“Thank you so much, Tighnari. Sorry for dragging you all this way, but we really appreciate you coming.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re my friends. I’m glad you came to me.” He says it so earnestly that Alhaitham has to believe him.

“Be careful, alright? At least send a messenger bird later to let us know you made the trip home safely.”

“I can do that. Take care now, both of you.”

With that, Tighnari leaves, Kaveh locking the door behind him. “Tighnari can take care of himself,” he mutters, as if in reminder. He takes another moment before joining Alhaitham in the living room again, shaking his head. “I refuse to believe that you went out to the Girdle just for a measly lump of Trishiraite.”

“You mentioned that place earlier. Where is it?”

“Ah… right. I’ll tell you what our friend, Dehya, told us.”

With a deep breath, Kaveh proceeds to tell him a tale—the main character being none other than Alhaitham. An unexplained trip out to the farthest stretch of the desert. A strange refusal to reveal the reason for said trip to the desert, even to concerned friends. Setting out alone, with no one but a Sumpter Beast to call company—

(“That was foolish of me,” Alhaitham says, growing increasingly frustrated with himself the more Kaveh tells him. “Why would I do that?”

Kaveh barks a laugh. “Oh, how I wish I knew.”)

Then, returning to Aaru Village with no recollection of himself. And ever since then, waking up every morning with his memories lost all over again, like his mind were a slate wiped clean by some meticulous hand. Alhaitham exhales brokenly at the information.

“So it’s been… four days of this?”

“Apparently so,” Kaveh answers, sounding just as exhausted as Alhaitham is. “Now it’s like everything we talked about yesterday was for nothing.”

“What did we talk about?”

Kaveh’s eyes go round. “Oh, uh—this and that. Just, y’know, your life and… stuff. Nothing particularly important.” He punctuates this with a toss of his hand. “With any luck, you’ll remember it all soon anyway, so. Ha. Yes.”

Hmm. Not at all suspicious, Alhaitham thinks dryly.

“Speaking of which,” Kaveh says, sounding quite eager to change the subject, “earlier, you said there was something you had to do. You never mentioned anything of the sort yesterday, which means that you’re starting to remember some things. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Something I have to do… or somewhere I have to go?

…Someone I have to meet?

Alhaitham isn’t sure if that’s correct, but it sounds the least wrong out of all the options, and that is probably the best he can hope for right now. “I think I’m supposed to meet with someone. Would you know who that is?”

“I haven’t got the slightest clue. But even if I did know, you’re supposed to be on an indefinite leave of absence right now. It would be best not to leave the house.” Kaveh lifts a hand to his chin. “So that’s new. Meet with someone after taking a trip to the desert? Huh… but why…”

As Kaveh ponders out loud, Alhaitham takes another look around the living room. It really is quite a nice house. He knows without a doubt that he is at home here. “What’s in that room over there?”

“Hm? That’s the study. You can go have a look. This is your house, after all.”

Something about the way Kaveh says it strikes Alhaitham as strange. “Is it not your house as well?”

Kaveh looks abashedly off to the side, an odd half-smile on his face. “Ah, it’s… complicated. That’ll be a story for another time. Go on, get reacquainted with your books.”

Alhaitham spends all of five minutes in the study. As much as the sight of all these books enthralls him, and as intriguing as many of the titles are, he doesn’t much feel like reading any of them. He would much rather be where Kaveh is.

::::

Tighnari’s messenger Dusk Bird arrives at noon, trilling outside their door like a house pet waiting to be let inside. Kaveh visibly relaxes as he reads aloud the message confirming that their friend is safe and of sound mind. He fastens a brief message of his own around the bird’s neck and thanks it with a small dish of red grapes, crouching to the floor as he watches it snap up the plump fruits.

When the dish is emptied, the Dusk Bird waddles at Kaveh’s feet, its claws clacking against the hardwood. “I don’t have any more,” Kaveh tells it, holding his empty palms up. The bird cocks its head and seems to turn one accusatory eye at him. “No, really, you’re lucky I even had those lying around.”

(Alhaitham decides to keep quiet about the rest of the grapes in the ice box, and the way Kaveh had fretted over whether the amount he had prepared—a precise half-dozen—was too little or too much.)

The Dusk Bird opens its beak and directs a sequence of clicks at Kaveh as he ushers it out the door. “Alright, back to Gandharva Ville you go, you little rascal. Thank you!” At the flap of wings, he shuts the door and nods with all the satisfaction of a job well done.

After the strange day he’s had so far, the whole scene brings a small smile to Alhaitham’s face. What a peculiar man his “roommate” is.

::::

Kaveh isn’t sure how to feel about this.

Part of him is admittedly relieved that they don’t have to address last night’s conversation. The other part is frustrated that they seem to have started from the beginning again, with Alhaitham lost and Kaveh just as clueless as to what to do.

The Alhaitham of today also seems less inclined to ask questions than the Alhaitham of yesterday. Kaveh wonders if he remembers more than he is letting on—after all, they’d spent a great deal of time last night discussing the structure and function of the Akademiya at Alhaitham’s request. Today, he seems borderline uninterested. Figuring it would be bad form to ask outright, Kaveh simply says, “You know, you’re a lot quieter than you were yesterday.”

“How so?”

“The questions never ended with you. Isn’t there anything you would like to know? About yourself or your life? You can always ask me. It could help jog your memory.”

Alhaitham looks away. “As you said, I’ll remember it all soon anyway.”

“Oh… okay.” The hollow well of disappointment Kaveh feels is surprising, and puzzling. And—to his embarrassment—quite obvious, if the way Alhaitham hastens to explain himself is any indication.

“I just don’t want to put you out. You’ve done quite a lot for me already.”

“You wouldn’t be putting anyone out, least of all me,” Kaveh says. I just want everything to go back to normal again, he thinks, resolute. If I can help that along, then let me.

Alhaitham almost seems uncertain. “Well… if it’s really alright with you,” he says haltingly, “I suppose there are some things I would like to ask about.”

So starts Alhaitham’s tentative questions. Rather than the rapid-fire, almost restless style of last night, he takes more time with Kaveh’s answers. He does remember the Akademiya this time (only vaguely, which is nevertheless a better position to be in than yesterday), and while he can still read all the scripts of Teyvat, he remembers little about his actual studies and background in linguistics. On the topic of his family and who raised him, he nods as if in confirmation of his own suspicions and leaves for the study again to ruminate. He returns several minutes later, empty-handed but looking much like a burden has been eased from his shoulders.

Afternoon stretches into evening. Finding not much more in the pantry beyond rice, beans, and half a bag of dried noodles, they decide to make Aaru Mixed Rice for dinner. It’s a quick, simple meal that doesn’t demand too much of their attention to prepare and sees them sitting down to eat in half an hour, conversing between bites. Alhaitham even asks about Tighnari, having been moved by his earlier help and reassurance; this invariably leads to discussing his fiancé and the young girl they’ve taken in under their guardianship. “They’re an unconventional family, but it works for them,” Kaveh says with a smile as he thinks of the happy trio. “Collei is like a little sister or niece, and I couldn’t ask for better friends in Tighnari and Cyno. They’re good together, too.”

As Alhaitham nods pensively, Kaveh finds himself feeling almost optimistic. Alhaitham will eventually remember the events of the last few days—and he will remember their conversation from last night—but for now, maybe Kaveh can rest easy. Just as long as they stay away from the topic of—

“Are you really not my boyfriend?”

At least he’d waited until Kaveh swallowed his drink of water first. This is what I get for getting comfortable. “No, I’m not.” And he knows that he will absolutely regret asking, but apparently he is some kind of glutton for punishment: “What made you think that I was, anyway?”

But instead of answering the question like a decent person with manners would, Alhaitham decides to volley more questions at him. “How long have we known each other?”

“Since our school days. But there was a time when we didn’t see each other for several years.”

“And how long have we been living together?”

Kaveh tries not to wince (and fails). “Three years now.” At the reminder of his chronic money issues and conditional living situation, he fights the familiar urge to shrink down in shame.

“You mean to tell me that in all this time, not once did I ever tell you how I feel about you?”

He echoes the words before he can even think about them. “How you feel about me?” Oh. Oh, no—

“Yes. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

It isn’t any less maddening the second time around.

Kaveh wants to laugh, in the same way that one might laugh at a poorly-conceived joke, or at the final straw of a meaningless argument. He does the only thing he can think to do: debate the point, however tenuously.

“That could very well be a recent development. If you can’t remember anything, how can you be certain that you’ve even felt that way all this time, huh?”

“How could I not? You’ve been very kind to me.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Kaveh thinks cheerlessly. This Alhaitham—the one without any of his memories of Kaveh, or of their turbulent history together—only “loves” him because it would be so easy to “love” the one helping you in a time of crisis. His heart feels fit to burst and yet too small for his body at the same time. He picks at a few grains of rice with his spoon, not having had his fill yet but suddenly unenthusiastic about the action of eating.

“You barely know me right now, Alhaitham. There’s no way you could… feel like that for me.”

Surprisingly and unsurprisingly, Amnesiac Alhaitham seems to find a sense of tact and doesn’t press the issue despite clearly having something to say. He chews his next bite slowly, as if Kaveh has given him a great deal to think about, before asking further on the topic of their living arrangement in the first place.

This, Kaveh can handle. Even if it means retreading more of his regrets.

All things considered, the rest of the night passes peacefully. Dinner is finished and cleared without fuss; afterwards, they both make their way to the study, with Kaveh bringing his work to the larger desk and Alhaitham intending to choose a book. He eventually picks the first volume of a series—Paavan’s Architectural Guides, of all things—and settles into the smaller desk to read.

Alhaitham usually prefers to read in the living room. Perhaps he’s forgotten that, too. Kaveh doesn’t mind—if there is anyone who can read quietly, it’s Alhaitham. He was definitely the kid who looked forward to quiet reading time in grade school, Kaveh thinks to himself with an inward laugh. With that moment of amusement out of the way, he returns to his work, appreciating the silent company.

As Kaveh is engrossed in work, the clock chimes the hour twice, at eight o’ clock and nine. Not long after the second chime, Alhaitham stands from his desk.

“I think I’ll be going to bed now,” he says, marking his place with a bookmark. It comes as a slight surprise to see that Alhaitham is only about a quarter of the way through that first volume. Paavan’s Architectural Guides don’t exactly make for light reading—Kaveh can speak from experience—but Alhaitham is normally a much faster reader than that.

“Alright, then. Let’s hope Tighnari was right about the Trishiraite and that you don’t wake up with your memories erased again.” Because if he does, Kaveh will probably give up at that point and resign himself to living with an amnesiac roommate.

“Let’s hope,” Alhaitham agrees, approaching Kaveh’s desk. “Will you do something for me?”

“What is it?”

“Take this.” Alhaitham holds out a small sheet of paper that Kaveh recognizes from the notepad they use to jot down shopping lists and notes for each other. It’s completely blank and unblemished.

“Um… alright. What do I do with this?”

“Fold it in half as many times as you can.” Alhaitham returns Kaveh’s confused look with a completely level one. “Just do it. Please.”

And so Kaveh folds the sheet of paper in half several times over, until it becomes too thick to fold any further. “What now?”

“Unfold it.” Kaveh does. “Now get rid of the creases.”

“What? I can’t.”

“You didn’t even try.”

“But it’s paper, not… ah, fine.” Kaveh makes a show of laying the paper on the desk and attempting to smooth out the creases with several passes of his hand across the surface. To neither of their surprise, the creases remain. “There,” Kaveh says decisively, palm flat on the paper. “They won’t come out. Will you enlighten me on the purpose of this exercise now?”

“I was thinking about what you said,” Alhaitham says, stepping even closer; as close as the desk between them will allow. “You’re right. I barely know you right now. You—and I—have every reason to doubt what I feel for you. However…”

Alhaitham looks down and lays his hand on the desk to touch the edge of the paper. With a single twitch, their fingers would brush together. Kaveh doesn’t dare move.

“I may not remember anything, but when it comes to certain things… certain feelings… it’s as if there is something inside me that won’t let me forget them. Not completely.” He looks up and meets Kaveh’s eye. “Like the creases in this paper, they’re simply there. And they’ll always be there.”

Kaveh struggles for words, feeling pinned in place by Alhaitham’s steady gaze. When he is unable to say a thing, Alhaitham steps back.

“Good night, Kaveh.”

Kaveh finds his voice in the nick of time, as the doors nearly close shut behind his roommate. “Good night, Haitham.”

The clock seems to tick louder than before. Kaveh doesn’t retire to his room until he is certain that Alhaitham is asleep, taking the creased paper with him. No use in throwing out a perfectly usable piece of paper is what he tells himself, even if putting a pen to it is the last thing on his mind. He tries another time to smooth it out, or at the very least get it to lie flat, but it’s an impossible task. There is simply no way to return the paper back to what it was.

For whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to throw it out, so he leaves it on his nightstand.

That night he dreams of Dusk Birds folded from paper, taking to the skies, catching the breeze underneath the creases of their wings.

Chapter Text

Despite being equipped with an internal clock that wakes him up at approximately the same time every day, Kaveh manages to sleep in the following morning. It seems the exhaustion of the last few days refuses to abate—he wakes up groggy, feeling not completely rested. As much as he would like to burrow under his blankets and pillows for another hour, he has a schedule to keep today, and the sooner he gets a start, the better.

As he drags himself out of bed, his eyes land on the scrap of notepaper from last night, lying innocuously on the nightstand. Somehow it serves as a better wake-up call than the morning sun filtering through the window curtains. Unease clings to him even after a splash of cold water to the face, anxious about what he will find this morning.

The aroma of fresh coffee greets Kaveh as he enters the kitchen. Alhaitham is at the dining table, spooning scrambled eggs from a platter onto his plate of toast. It isn’t obvious that this is a man who’s repeatedly lost his memory over the last few days—he seems at home, and not disoriented or adrift. He’s even sitting at his preferred seat.

So far, so good… “Haitham?” Kaveh ventures. “How are you feeling?”

“I remember everything that happened yesterday, if that’s what you mean,” Alhaitham replies primly, cutting straight to the point.

Kaveh’s shoulders drop with relief. If things continue to look up from here, he will definitely be treating Tighnari to dinner. “That’s good to hear. No headaches or anything?”

“Just a small one when I woke up. I already used the salve.”

“And… you don’t remember anything else?”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “Nothing about my trip to the desert, nor the reason I went in the first place. And I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m supposed to meet with someone.”

Kaveh finds his favourite mug and pours himself some coffee. The milk has been left out on the counter, and there’s just enough left for his liking. “Knowing you, you’re probably itching to get out there and figure this out yourself. But… can I ask you not to do that? I know it’s not ideal, but I think it would be best for you to stay inside the house.”

“Why?”

“You’re something of a public figure. It could cause problems if you don’t recognize the wrong person. I can’t stop you from going if that’s what you really want, but be prepared to deal with the nightmare that might ensue if the real reason for your ‘leave of absence’ makes its way to your bosses.”

Alhaitham sighs shortly, reaching for his own steaming mug of coffee. “I understand.”

Not a word in protest? Kaveh is no more thrilled about this than Alhaitham is. “I have to meet with clients around noon,” he adds, voice brighter than he feels, “so I’ll pick up some groceries on my way home. Whatever we have left in the pantry should tide you over until then. Is there anything you want? Broccoli and cauliflower, perhaps?”

“Why those two vegetables in particular?”

Kaveh shrugs before turning to the counter to fix himself some toast. They’re going to need more bread. Eggs and milk, too. “They’re your favourite.“

“Oh.” Alhaitham seems to give this a great deal of thought. “That sounds… good, then.”

It’s only after Kaveh has located the butter and jam that he notices Alhaitham staring unseeingly at the space before him. He’s barely touched his eggs. “Is something wrong?” Kaveh asks.

“I…” Alhaitham glances up, then away. “I can’t stand being unable to do anything but wait to get better. Earlier I spent some time walking around the house, trying to remember something—anything—beyond what you told me about yesterday, but I came up with nothing.”

“I can see how that would be frustrating,” Kaveh agrees.

“There must be more that I can do.” Alhaitham spears a morsel of egg onto his fork. “I don’t like feeling so… powerless. Especially when you’re doing so much to help me. I don’t want to be so reliant on you.”

I don’t want to be a burden is what Kaveh hears. He takes a seat at the table, across from Alhaitham as usual, and starts spreading butter and jam on his toast.

“Not used to being the one in need, eh?” Kaveh says lightly. “Haitham, you’re the one between us who’s lost his memory—multiple times, at that. It’s not so back-breaking for me as you seem to think it is. Besides, I’m sure you would do the same if we were in each other’s shoes.”

“…Would I?” Alhaitham asks softly.

“Hm?”

“Am I that type of man?”

Kaveh looks up at the pensive expression on Alhaitham’s face and recognizes this as a moment to tread carefully. On top of the people and events that remain as shadows in Alhaitham’s memory, he’s still trying to put together the complete picture of the type of person he is. It should feel daunting to be entrusted to help with such a task. But Kaveh knows, even if it is with some reluctance, that he is probably the next-best person to answer questions about Alhaitham’s character—the first, of course, being currently indisposed.

“Well, you wouldn’t go giving anyone the shirt off your back,” it’s far too tight for that, Kaveh thinks with an inward chuckle, “but if the roles were reversed, I know you wouldn’t just leave me to fend for myself. Things may be… complicated between us, but you’re not heartless.”

Alhaitham tilts his head down, quietly staring at his plate. “You also used that word yesterday,” he says after a moment, glancing up to meet Kaveh’s eye. “Complicated. It doesn’t appear that way to me.”

It’s possible that they’re beginning to tread on uncertain terrain, Kaveh thinks. He stirs sugar into his coffee as he considers his response. “Generally speaking, we get on fine. But we drive each other up the wall most days.”

“Does it have to be like that?”

If Kaveh is being honest… no, no it doesn’t. After three years of sharing a home, the days where they’re at peace have begun to outpace the days that see them arguing over anything from the smallest nitpicks to the pent-up grievances they keep. But just as a single scuff on the wall can mar an otherwise pristine space, the worst of their arguments are what tend to stand out in Kaveh’s memory, reminding him of one thing:

For a while, there was a time when he hated Alhaitham.

Kaveh sighs. “Do you remember why we had a falling out? It was over a joint research project. I say that, but what really it came down to was a fundamental difference in our viewpoints. After that, I couldn’t even bear the thought of you. I would just get so angry—at you, at myself, at that project… Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we never started it together. If maybe we could have saved our friendship. Or if it simply accelerated things, catapulting us on a trajectory that we were going to reach sooner or later.”

Hate and anger turned into regret, persisting even long past the day Alhaitham found Kaveh and offered him a place to stay. Some small part of him, ever the idealist, had wondered if this was their chance to patch things up. But it quickly became clear that the differences that had torn them apart in the first place were still present, and neither of them were inclined to change their views any time soon. What had made their friendship so rich and robust in their youth became a vast gulf that stretched as wide as it had once been deep.

“So yes, things are complicated,” Kaveh concludes. “And believe me, I don’t want them to be, but I suppose some things just… never leave you.”

He takes a few much-needed sips of coffee. The day has just started for him and they’re having this discussion over eggs and toast.

“For what it’s worth,” Alhaitham says, “I’m truly sorry we had that fight.”

An apology is the last thing Kaveh expected to hear this morning. “You don’t have to apologize for that, especially not now when you can’t even remember it,” he says. Alhaitham shakes his head solemnly.

“I may not remember what happened, but I think I remember… the way it felt, losing our friendship. As if something was torn away from me, or there is something missing.”

Kaveh is genuinely surprised to hear that their falling out had made such a mark on Alhaitham that he remembers the creases it left, even with his memory loss. It’s heartening in a way, but it also fills him with yet more regret. Back then, it had been all too easy to think that the blunt, pragmatic Alhaitham felt no remorse about their argument, and that Kaveh had been alone in feeling the resulting emotional turmoil. Realistically, part of him always knew it couldn’t be true. Alhaitham is not unfeeling, after all—he feels things just as strongly as anyone else. Sometimes Kaveh forgets that to this day.

“You know,” he tells Alhaitham, “I think that’s the first real apology on the matter that I got from you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You gave what I can only call a complete non-apology not long after I moved in, and—surprise, surprise—we argued about it. But… I’m sorry, too. I was so angry back then that I said some things I didn’t mean.”

Alhaitham nods his acceptance. “Then perhaps it’s just as well that I can’t remember any of them.”

“Hah. You might, eventually.”

It’s somehow easier to talk to this version of Alhaitham, Kaveh thinks with a rueful smile. He receives every new piece of information without prior judgments or impressions. Kaveh doesn’t know whether to be thankful or worried for it. As good as it is to be able to discuss this topic without swerving into an argument, he can’t shake the faint unease that comes from feeling that this doesn’t match the Alhaitham he knows.

“Even so,” Alhaitham replies, “I don’t think it would change anything. And I must say that it doesn’t paint the most flattering picture of me that I had to lose all my memories of our argument in order to give a proper apology for it, years after the fact.”

“Ah.” Kaveh’s face crumples in a wince. “When you put it that way…”

They look at each other, pondering this unflattering development on Alhaitham’s part.

The moment snaps in half as Kaveh laughs and Alhaitham returns his good humour with a satisfied smile.

“Maybe some good has come out of this whole mystery after all?” Kaveh suggests, before taking a bite of his toast.

“…Maybe,” Alhaitham agrees. He pushes the plate of eggs and a fork closer to Kaveh. “Take some. I can’t finish all of this by myself.”

They both know that he very well could. Kaveh obliges anyway.

::::

The effects of removing the Trishiraite are apparent after just a day. There seems to be no pattern, no rhyme or reason to the things that Alhaitham starts to remember—one morning, when his eyes land upon Constellations of Great Vision-Bearers on the bookshelf, he recalls a memory of his grandmother reading this to him as a child. Later, without prompt or reminder, he remembers a debate he and Kaveh recently had about whether animals and pets are attuned to people’s emotions. (Kaveh’s stance: they absolutely are. Alhaitham’s: they absolutely are not. It had made for a very spirited debate at the time, and bringing it up again rekindles the discussion.)

Yet there are things—important things—that Alhaitham still cannot remember. Apart from his tenuous memories of Tighnari and Dehya, most of their other friends remain as blurs in his memory, even as Kaveh describes them in detail. He is still unable to remember his work routine, his colleagues, or even the names of the streets he takes on the way to the Akademiya. And because nothing can ever be easy, he remembers nothing about his trip to the Girdle. There might be a hazy recollection of being surrounded by stretches of sand for miles around, but Alhaitham has been to the desert enough times that his mind could simply be supplying him with the image, in the same way that everyone pictures a large yellow circle in the sky when told to think about the sun.

“I’d be glad just to be getting my memories back,” Kaveh says. “I could go the rest of my life without remembering why I went to the desert in the first place and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

“No.” Alhaitham surprises himself with the amount of conviction with which he says it, and it makes Kaveh look up from his work to where his roommate is sitting on the couch. “The reason for my trip… it was important,” he says slowly, as it sinks in.

Kaveh puts his pen down, sitting up straight before the coffee table where his notes are spread out. He’s been doing his work here lately, sometimes muttering about how it isn’t good for his spine to bend over a low surface for long periods of time, and yet he never moves to the study or the desk in his own room. “I would imagine so, but important how?”

Alhaitham closes his book decisively. “I don’t remember how. I only remember that it was important, and that I wanted—or needed—to do it.”

“That’s helpful,” Kaveh mutters, sighing. “Perhaps it was related to work? I can’t think of any reason that the Akademiya would have to send their scribe so far out into the desert…” He drums his fingers on the table. “Another ‘personal research subject’, perhaps? It’s not uncommon for you to disappear for a few days here and there in pursuit of whatever latest thing piques your interest, and it could explain why you went out there alone. Still, it’s… Haitham?”

Alhaitham has a hand to his forehead, eyes driven shut—a familiar position as he fights to remember things. “I need to remember. It was important,” he insists, getting to his feet.

“Yes, I know, but we won’t get anywhere by—”

“What if I never remember?” Alhaitham asks, pacing the floor. “It’s been three days since Tighnari removed the Trishiraite and I still can’t remember why I was out there, or who I was supposed to meet with—I just want to remember—”

Not for the first time, Alhaitham feels helpless. What a loathsome state. He hates having to be so passive, having to wait for his mind to return to itself, to be unable to do anything about the holes in his memory except hope that they will deign to refill themselves eventually. What could possibly have been so important that he would undertake such risks to see it through?

A pair of warm hands steady him by the shoulders. “Haitham—Alhaitham! Hey.”

Alhaitham stills under Kaveh’s touch, but his breathing is heavy, head bowed and face still screwed in distress. “Whatever it is, you will remember it,” Kaveh assures him. “You’re beginning to remember other things, right? Like—like yesterday, when you mentioned that cat that sometimes waits for you on your way home from work. Or just this morning! You remembered our visit to the Traveller’s teapot, and how you preferred the layout of their kitchen over ours.”

“Those are inconsequential,” Alhaitham protests, shaking his head.

“I know they sound like inconsequential, small things,” Kaveh says, his voice firm but gentle. “But you are making progress, whether you see it or not. Just be patient with yourself. It’ll all come back to you soon.”

Alhaitham looks up at him desperately, afraid of one thing: “And if it doesn’t?”

Kaveh doesn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

“…Together,” Alhaitham echoes, relief bleeding slowly outside of the lines of his body. He hadn’t known that such comfort could be found in a single word, all because of the man standing before him, holding him together.

Before, he had noted it almost methodically. All the things he felt about Kaveh contradicted one another, and yet made perfect sense: the calming of his heart around Kaveh’s presence, and the simultaneous quickening of his pulse when he was close; yearning for more and yet feeling as though this must be enough; the way he was unable to remember anything about Kaveh, and yet could not iron out the creases that his memories of this man left in his mind… Alhaitham could only conclude that he was in love, in the decisive manner befitting of the scholar he was meant to be.

But in this moment, he feels as though he understands what it means—actually living the truth of this knowledge rather than simply holding it. I love him, I love this man, I love Kaveh. I want to remember everything I can about him. I want to know him just as he knows me. I want…

“Oh,” Alhaitham says, almost a whisper. “How could I have ever forgotten?”

Kaveh swallows. His hands are still on Alhaitham’s shoulders, and up close, he looks beautiful like this—so, so beautiful. Wide vermilion eyes follow the motion of Alhaitham’s hand as he lifts it to cover one of Kaveh’s own. “Forgotten… what?”

The relief of being close, the warmth of Kaveh’s hand in his—he’s felt it all before. But when? If he and Kaveh had never once been a couple, where are the memories of these sensations coming from? Are they real? Kaveh would never lie to him; he knows this with certainty. And yet…

“Forgive me,” Alhaitham says, before cradling Kaveh’s face in his hands and banishing the distance between them.

This is real, Alhaitham thinks. This is new and this is familiar, but above all, this is right. As Kaveh’s mouth molds to his, lips soft and warm, it feels like coming home from a long journey. Like the brief in-between period of having to get accustomed to home again after weeks, months, years of being away. Sinking into your own bed and thinking, yes, this is what it feels like. How did I ever forget?

Kaveh makes a short noise against his mouth before tearing himself away. Alhaitham nearly stumbles forward, chasing their embrace.

“What are you doing, Alhaitham?” Kaveh demands, breath coming quick. “I told you I’m not your boyfriend!”

“I know, I know you said that, but—I remember you and I, we… we…”

“I don’t know what you remember, but I can assure you that we’ve never done this before.”

Alhaitham feels as though he’s been blindfolded and spun multiple times, scrambling for something to hold onto. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what’s…”

“You—you’re not in your right mind, Alhaitham,” Kaveh says, half-turned away, arms folded in front of him like a barrier. “Whatever it is you think you’re feeling right now, it’s just the result of a stressful situation.”

“Don’t say that,” Alhaitham objects. “Don’t tell me that what I feel isn’t real. This is all I can rely on right now. I don’t know what else is real—I remember events that I can’t be certain ever transpired, or actions I can’t be certain I ever took, and I don’t know why. But there’s you, Kaveh. There’s always you. You’re the only thing that feels solid and real.”

It’s immediately clear that this was the wrong thing to say. Kaveh recoils again, putting more distance between them. It takes every shred of willpower that Alhaitham possesses to resist closing that distance, if even a little.

“I want to help you, Alhaitham, I do, but—I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

He turns for the front door.

“Kaveh, wait,” Alhaitham calls. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” is Kaveh’s only answer. Away. The unspoken plea is obvious: don’t come after me.

After all, there is nothing Kaveh can do to stop Alhaitham from following him if that is what he wants to do. He just has to be prepared for the fallout that might follow if he does.

Without another word, Kaveh storms out onto the sunlit street, leaving Alhaitham to his heartbreak.

Chapter Text

Lambad takes one look at Kaveh’s face and prepares his usual. “Ah, trouble with work? You just came back from Apam Woods, right?”

“A few days ago, actually.”

“Trouble at home, then?”

“Something like that.” For all that Kaveh complains about his roommate when he’s sufficiently drunk, he’s certain that he’s never named said roommate to be Alhaitham. Lambad is probably sharp enough to have put two and two together ages ago considering who pays Kaveh’s tab and fetches him at the end of the night, but the man believes a great deal in the value of discretion, which Kaveh is thankful for.

He’s chosen a secluded corner of the bar, hoping that nobody will take his aloneness as an invitation to strike up a conversation. It’s a strange time to be at the tavern: around mid-afternoon on a weekday, when the end of the workday is still a few hours away. The place isn’t what would be considered busy, but neither is it quiet. He’s vaguely aware of three different conversations going on at nearby tables, but he pays no attention to their contents. This will do, he thinks, lifting his glass to his lips.

Since returning from Apam Woods, Kaveh has barely had a moment to himself. If he isn’t occupied with work, he’s worrying over Alhaitham; if he isn’t worrying over Alhaitham, it’s because he’s chosen to distract himself with work. He deserves one drink. Just enough to feel the warm punch of alcohol in his belly; nowhere near enough to make him come loose altogether. He wants to be clear-headed when he comes home.

Home to Alhaitham. As ever, Kaveh’s overthinking mind replays every single detail of the scene vividly, no matter how much he tries otherwise.

The reverence in Alhaitham’s voice as he repeated that single word: Together.

The shiver that had run down Kaveh’s back at the many implications behind it, and at suddenly realizing just how close they were standing.

The look on Alhaitham’s face—as though Kaveh was the answer to every single one of his questions.

Whenever Kaveh had allowed himself to picture kissing Alhaitham for the first time, he would imagine it as a single, momentous conclusion. Perhaps he would finally give in to the familiar urge to kiss the smirk off of Alhaitham’s face during one of their disagreements. They would crash together, years of that pent-up and unnameable tension spilling over into a frenzy of sensation. How could it be anything else?

He never imagined it would be so tender.

I remember you and I, we…

Grimacing, Kaveh plants his elbows on the bar, pressing his face against one hand. If he hadn’t already doubted the state of Alhaitham’s mind, this would do it. The man is remembering things that never happened. Kaveh can’t, in good conscience, accept his confessions or advances when he doesn’t even understand why he’s making them.

Soon comes the time of day for earlier classes to let out, and students start to trickle inside the tavern in groups and pairs. One pair of women appear to be engaged in a lively debate, with all the fervour of the academic spirit but all the glee of two friends ribbing each other for their opinions. The long-haired Kshahrewar says something that makes the short-haired Amurta bark a laugh and playfully shove her friend’s shoulder.

Kaveh watches the scene wistfully, eyes following the pair until they disappear up the stairs to find seats. He buries his head in his arms with a pitiful sigh. Sometimes he longs for those days, when he and Alhaitham had seen each other’s viewpoints as simply a matter of differing opinions and were able to laugh them off. The days before it all festered into a fundamental and insurmountable disapproval, ending their friendship. It had been his first true heartbreak.

Alhaitham had given a sincere apology for it the other day. So why can’t Kaveh seem to move on and look to a brighter path?

“Kaveh? Is that you?”

Kaveh lifts his head at the sound of a familiar voice. “Cyno? What are you doing here?”

“It’s my day off,” Cyno replies. He’s dressed casually, forgoing his elaborate headpiece and tying back his long hair at the base of his neck. “I thought I would try to find someone to challenge in Genius Invokation TCG before heading to Gandharva Ville for the evening. May I join you?”

“I’m afraid I won’t make for the best company right now. Don’t let me ruin your day.”

“I can’t walk away from a friend who is so clearly upset.” Cyno pulls out the adjacent bar stool before seeming to consider something. “If this is your way of telling me you don’t want the company, then that’s a different matter.”

“No, no. It’s good to see you, really. It’ll be good to catch up.”

Cyno flags down Lambad. After he gets a drink in hand, he wastes no time: “Any reason why you’re here drowning your sorrows away?”

“It’s hardly drowning if I’m limiting myself to one drink.“

“Limiting yourself? It must be serious,” Cyno says, straight-faced.

“Hnngh.” Kaveh dips his head again, shoulders hunched. He considers deflecting at first, but perhaps talking to a friend is exactly what he needs. “Swear you won’t tell anyone. Not even Tighnari.”

“I swear,” Cyno says, and Kaveh knows he means it. “What is it? You’re truly beginning to worry me now.”

“It’s nothing dire, it’s just… Has Tighnari told you what’s been going on with Alhaitham?”

“Yes. Is he recovering his memories now that the Trishiraite has been exposed of?”

“He still doesn’t remember why he went to the Girdle of the Sands, but he’s starting to remember other things, little by little.”

“And that’s driven you to drink?”

“It’s not that. He… did something earlier.”

“What did he do?”

“…Hthm hmmf mf.”

“Pardon? Kaveh, I can’t hear you if you cover your face like that.”

Kaveh removes his hands and leans in closer to his friend. “Alhaitham kissed me,” he repeats, just low enough that it is drowned out by the noise of the tavern but clear enough for Cyno to hear.

For a moment, Cyno’s eyes open wider than Kaveh has ever seen them. Afterwards, the look in his eye becomes curious; he turns his head to the side. “You don’t seem as happy about that as I’d have thought you’d be.”

“Wh—! Not like this—it’s just not right! He’s hardly himself right now, and he said something strange. He seems to think that he remembers… something happening between him and me.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“W-Well, I left before he could explain himself.”

Cyno blinks slowly. “Kaveh.”

“I couldn’t think clearly in the moment, alright? All I wanted to do was to get away from there. And I feel absolutely despicable about it because he’s evidently lost and confused and needs help now more than ever, but—”

“Pardon me, gentlemen.” Lambad sets a plate of freshly-grilled Chicken-Mushroom Skewers before them. “Courtesy of the table that left a few minutes ago, for ‘the miserable blond at the bar and his friend’. It’s bad to drink on an empty stomach, they said.”

Kaveh’s face burns. “Fantastic. That’s very kind of those people, but to them, I’ll forever be the miserable blond at the bar.”

“Then I suppose that makes me forever the miserable blond at the bar’s friend,” Cyno says, taking a skewer. “I won’t object to that.”

“Aw, Cyno, thanks. I think.” It’s an awkward time of day to eat, but Kaveh won’t let the gesture go to waste.

“By the way, Kaveh,” Lambad says, “what’s this I heard about Alhaitham being on a leave of absence?”

Kaveh nearly swallows his food wrong at the mention of Alhaitham. “O-Oh—yes, it’s true. Or, uh, so I heard… How did you hear about that?”

“A few days ago, I had a customer who was talking to her friend about how Scribe Alhaitham suddenly went on leave, just when she needed to speak with him about some sort of project of hers. She was a student, with a yellow badge.”

“Someone from Vahumana, then?”

“Ah, must’ve been. I’m afraid I still can’t keep the different Darshans’ colours straight… Anyway, I mentioned that you’re a regular here and that you and Alhaitham are, ah, friends. Since then, she’s come back twice asking if you’ve been by, hoping to ask if you could pass on a message to Alhaitham.”

Apart from the occasional elective course in his school days, Kaveh never had much to do with anyone or anything from Vahumana. Alhaitham—who had enrolled in just about any course that piqued his interest—likely tested the waters of every Darshan at some point, but Kaveh can’t think of a reason why a current Vahumana student would need to speak with either of them. “Did she give her name?“

“Hmm… it was an Inazuman name. Eiko, or something similar. Not sure if this helps, but she seemed like the artsy type—she and her friend were also talking about next year’s student exhibition. If she comes in tonight, shall I point her in your direction?”

“I suppose… but I really don’t plan to stay long.”

A trio of ship-workers enter the tavern. Cyno waits until Lambad is out of earshot. “I’m not finished grilling you.”

Something about the way Cyno emphasizes the word makes Kaveh turn to him slowly.

“Get it? Because these skewers are grilled. And grilling a person is when you—”

Kaveh interrupts him with a groan. “No jokes, please.”

Cyno nods once. “No jokes. Noted. Anyway, you were saying something about running away from your feelings.”

“That is not what I said!”

“It’s what I heard.” He finishes off his skewer. “The man you’re in love with kisses you and you run away. What else do you call that?”

Kaveh exhales. “Look, it’s not that simple. You don’t know what Alhaitham has been like lately. He’s been open, and pleasant, and he actually listens to what I say.”

“I can see how that would be concerning,” Cyno deadpans.

“And he’s been very… forward.” Kaveh flushes, and it’s not from the wine. Cyno gestures for him to elaborate. “Twice, he told me he was in love with me.”

“He did what.”

“H-He doesn’t remember the first time, so it doesn’t really—”

“Kaveh. Kaveh.” Cyno’s gaze is like a hunting trap, rooting Kaveh in place and wondering what fate awaits him. Is this what criminals feel like when cornered by the General Mahamatra? “I swear to Lord Kusanali that I am going grey because of you.”

“You’re already grey!”

“Let me reiterate: the man you’ve been in love with for the better part of a decade has been kinder to you, kissed you, and told you twice that he is in love with you. Have I got that right?”

It’s not often that Kaveh thinks about that night he drank too much at dinner with Cyno, Tighnari and Collei, when his rant about his inconsiderate roommate turned into spilling his longest-kept secret to them. His friends have been kind enough to rarely ever bring up the topic again, and he can almost forget it even happened sometimes. But in this moment, Kaveh curses his past self for his loose lips. “Not quite in that order, but… yes, that’s the gist of it.”

Cyno crosses his arms. “Quite honestly, I’m not seeing the problem here.”

“The problem is, that’s not him,” Kaveh says emphatically. “The problem is that I can’t trust his feelings no matter how much I want to. The problem is that part of me likes this version of him, and I hate that I feel that way, because this isn’t who he really is!”

Cyno’s eyes slide away, thinking over Kaveh’s words. “Considering how Alhaitham likes to keep his cards close to his chest, it is surprising to hear that he’s simply laying them out before you,” he admits. “I meant what I said: I can understand why you’re so troubled about this.”

“I sense a ‘however…’ coming.”

“However,” Cyno confirms, “while I agree that open and pleasant aren’t the first words that come to mind to describe a man like Alhaitham, I don’t think it’s fair to him to say that prior to the memory loss, he never listened to you.”

“Alright, fine. I suppose I might have been… exaggerating a little,” Kaveh concedes.

“A little?” Cyno cracks a wry smile. “You have an admirable ability to see the good in people, Kaveh. It’s what draws them to you. But it’s like you have a single blind spot, and it’s shaped exactly like Alhaitham.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“When it comes to him, it’s as if you see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. And it’s almost never anything good. He does a kind gesture for you, like buying you a new chair for your desk after you complained of your old one, and you come to us saying that he must have some kind of ulterior motive or evil plot to keep you indebted to him—which, by the way, is patently ridiculous. He pays you a genuine compliment about your work and instead of accepting it, you ask if he‘s trying to butter you up for a favour. That literally happened at our last dinner, by the way. Tighnari and I couldn’t believe our eyes.”

Kaveh remembers both conversations with differing degrees of clarity, directly correlating to how much he’d had to drink at the time. Such a dramatic phrase like “evil plot” sounds like the kind of thing he’d say after one too many. Deflecting anything resembling a compliment from Alhaitham? He doesn’t need to be drunk to do that; it’s a reflex. “You make me sound like I go out of my way to misconstrue Alhaitham’s actions.”

“As your friend, can I be honest?” Cyno doesn’t wait for an answer. “That is exactly what it sounds like sometimes.”

Kaveh winces. Is that really how he comes across?

Could Cyno be right?

“I understand why you would doubt Alhaitham’s feelings,” Cyno continues. “The two of you have been getting along better when we’re all together, but you don’t exactly give off warm and fuzzy feelings for each other. He does just as great of a job of making people think you’re nothing more than roommates as you do about him. So that’s something you have to settle between yourselves.”

They sit quietly for a few moments, the noise of the tavern bustling around them. “Well?” Cyno prods eventually. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking… I need to do some introspection.” Kaveh takes a deep, cleansing breath. “And decide what I want to do about… the kiss. The circumstances it happened under were just so strange. Even if Alhaitham really did love me, and even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think I could start off anything with such a shaky foundation. It doesn’t feel right. Am I just being dramatic?”

“If it doesn’t feel right, you probably feel that way for good reason. You don’t have to run home, march into the house and kiss him again. It’s clear that that’s not what you want right now, and that’s fine—maybe you’re just not ready.”

Not ready, huh? Kaveh’s half-eaten skewer has gone cold, and he’s lost what little appetite he had to begin with, but he makes a pointed effort to finish the last few bites as he thinks over Cyno’s words.

“Can I ask you something, Cyno? How did you know that you were ready to take the next step with Tighnari? I know it’s not the same thing, but… I’m curious, if you’re willing to tell.”

“Hmm. Tighnari and I knew how we felt about each other for a long time, but between our careers and responsibilities, the timing never felt right. Funnily enough, it wasn’t until we took on more responsibility by taking Collei in and making sure that she was properly settled that we finally decided we were in a better position to be serious about a relationship. Everything else in our lives was coming together, so we did too.”

“That sounds lovely,” Kaveh says with a genuine smile. “And here you are now, engaged to be married. Speaking of which, how goes the wedding planning?”

Cyno just looks at him silently for a moment, but if he is as smart as Kaveh knows he is, he’ll understand two things: 1) it’s a genuine question from a curious friend, and 2) Kaveh desperately does not want to talk about the topic of Alhaitham anymore.

“It goes slowly,” Cyno eventually replies. “We haven’t even decided on a date yet. Sometimes we joke about just signing the papers with Collei as our witness and calling it a day. But Tighnari’s parents would be heartbroken if we didn’t have some sort of ceremony at least. He’s their only son, after all.”

“Ah. I understand that you want to please your future in-laws, but this is your marriage. You should do what you and Tighnari want.”

“I know. But I have to admit, I don’t hate the thought of it. The ceremony and the reception afterward, with all our friends and family present… it doesn’t have to be big, just as long as all our loved ones are in one place.”

Kaveh chuckles. “It sounds like you know what you truly want, then.”

“What I truly want at the end of the day is to marry my best friend. If it means having to throw a party to make his parents happy so that he’s happy, I’ll do it ten times over if I must.”

Cyno says it with the same solemn determination he might use while vowing to hunt down a dangerous criminal at large. This is the face of a man in love, Kaveh thinks to himself, his smile dry at first before it softens into something genuine. With how much time they need to spend apart due to their occupations, Cyno and Tighnari are not the conventional picture of domestic bliss, but they come close to their own version of it that makes Kaveh genuinely happy to see.

He will also admit to feeling a little… envious at times. To find love, to be so certain that this person is the one you want to share your life with, and, by some miracle, to have those feelings reciprocated—what a wonderful thing. Kaveh never really grew out of picturing the fantasy of his own wedding the way he used to do as a child, seeing the sort of glowing love his parents had for each other. In his quietest of moments, he sometimes still finds his mind wandering to flower bouquets, white suits, and his future partner waiting at the other end of the aisle.

And if it’s Alhaitham who comes to mind in those moments…

Well, nobody else has to know.

::::

The sun is a hair’s-breadth from the horizon when Kaveh and Cyno exit the tavern together. “If you want, you can stay at my apartment tonight,” Cyno says. “I’ll likely be coming home late, but I’ll give you my spare key. You can take the guest room; it’s always made up for when Collei visits.”

It’s a generous—and tempting—offer. But Kaveh shakes his head. “I appreciate that, but I should go home. I’m not proud of running out on Alhaitham when he was clearly in distress, and he deserves an apology for that.”

“If you’re certain,” Cyno says, but there’s a satisfied gleam in his eye.

“Yes. Thanks for listening to all my griping, Cyno. I know you were hoping for a relaxing afternoon of playing cards—sorry about derailing that.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kaveh. You’re my friend. There are countless players I can challenge on any other day, but there is only one of you.”

Cyno and his fiancé are alike in so many ways. Kaveh smiles, sparing a moment to wonder how he got so lucky with the people he calls his friends. “I appreciate that. You ought to get going now if you want to be at Gandharva Ville before dark. Say hello to Tighnari and Collei for me, will you?”

“I will. May I leave you with one more piece of advice?”

“What’s that?”

“Try to forget your hang-ups on how things should be, and see what they could be. Take care, Kaveh.”

They part ways with a wave, Cyno leaving for the city entrance while Kaveh turns around towards Treasures Street. Despite the anxiety beginning to hum in every muscle of his body, he takes the long way home, cutting through the Grand Bazaar to stop at a food stall.

The rest of his walk is spent trying to cobble together what to say. Because he and Alhaitham will have a conversation as soon as he walks through the front door. It’s just a matter of steering it in a direction he can handle, towards less turbulent waters.

As he crests the ramp up to the house, he stops in his tracks at the sight of Alhaitham sitting in front of the door, listless and pallid with his elbows on his knees. When he looks up and sees Kaveh, relief makes his entire body light up expectantly, the expression on his face so open that it makes Kaveh’s heart clench.

“Kaveh,” he exclaims, getting to his feet. He’s dressed in his usual attire, but the cape is not sitting quite right across his shoulders.

“Alhaitham? What are you doing out here?“

“A little while after you left, I tried to go looking for you. I know you said it would be better if I didn’t show my face around the city, but… I couldn’t just stay inside and do nothing.”

Now that Kaveh is hearing his own request to Alhaitham repeated back to him, it sounds more like a ridiculous demand. He never should have made it. Memory loss aside, Alhaitham is not some kind of caged animal that needs to be kept in captivity for his own good.

“Where did you go?” Alhaitham asks.

“I was at the tavern,” Kaveh replies. Alhaitham mouths the words to himself. The tavern… “Then I went to the Grand Bazaar. Did you go all over the city looking for me?”

“Not quite. I may have gotten lost. Twice,” Alhaitham admits, looking away. “I managed to find my way back to the house and thought it would be better to wait for you here.”

Is he actually blushing? What a day this has been. “Why not wait inside?”

“I…” That is definitely a blush. “I locked myself out by accident.”

We will not laugh!, says the angel on Kaveh’s shoulder. Poetic justice!, cries the devil on the other. Kaveh manages to keep his amusement to a small, barely-contained smile as he unlocks the front door. “We shouldn’t talk out here.” Not in public, and certainly not while the neighbour who’s always sweeping the ground nearby is failing miserably at pretending that she’s not listening in on this conversation. “Come on. Let’s eat these while they’re still warm.”

His notes and diagrams are still spread out across the coffee table exactly as he left them. Alhaitham trails behind him to the kitchen, keeping a respectable distance. The oil from the deep-fried samosas is beginning to seep through the bag in splotches, so Kaveh finds a plate to serve them on, along with a bowl for the accompanying chutney.

He seats himself at the table, takes up a warm samosa by one of its corners, and bites into it. Alhaitham joins him, mirroring the motions woodenly.

His first bite is hesitant. His second, not quite so. When he swallows, it makes a sound harsh enough that it clips through the silence draped around them.

“Kaveh, I—” “Are you—”

They stumble over each other’s false starts. “You first,” Alhaitham says. He takes a deep breath, as if to prepare himself for the tirade he thinks Kaveh is about to give him.

“Are you alright?”

“…What?”

“You were clearly upset,” Kaveh elaborates. “I’m sorry for leaving. I should have stayed, and we could have talked about this like adults.”

Alhaitham simply stares at him for a long moment, wide-eyed, as if he can’t believe Kaveh is real. “You’re apologizing to me? I was the one who suddenly kissed you.”

“And I’m the one who literally ran out of here when it was obvious that you needed help.”

“Help?” Alhaitham looks away, and there’s almost a smile on his face, a cheerless upward turn of his mouth. “How do you figure?”

“After you kissed me,” Kaveh barrels onward as though they can just gloss over that very crucial piece of context, “you said that you remembered you and I… something. What did you mean by that?”

Clearly, Alhaitham hadn’t anticipated this question. It’s likely he hadn’t even given it any consideration while Kaveh was gone. “It’s… hard to explain,” he says slowly, frowning down at his half-eaten samosa, “because I’m not sure of it myself.”

As Alhaitham sinks deep in thought, Kaveh fetches two glasses of water to wash down the spiced samosas and soothe their parched throats. Alhaitham accepts his glass with a murmur of appreciation, downing half of it.

“If I had to describe something similar,” he finally says, “I have an image in my mind of my parents. Because they died when I was very young, I don’t know if this image is an actual memory, or if my mind is simply… filling in the blanks, out of my desire to see their faces. Does that make sense?”

“I… think so,” Kaveh admits. “You don’t know whether what you remember is something that actually took place, or if it’s merely…”

“Wishful thinking as a result of the way I feel.” Alhaitham dips his head. “You say we’ve never been a couple. Yet there are things that I remember feeling that had me wondering otherwise. Holding your hand… holding you… kissing you.”

Kaveh flushes. “B-But we’ve never done any of those things,” he says, trying in vain to keep his voice steady. I am a grown man, he thinks indignantly. I should not be getting flustered like a damned teenager over the mere suggestion of holding hands and kissing!

“I know that now. And I’m sorry. I want you to know that I don’t… expect anything from you. When I kissed you, I was feeling overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed by what?”

“By—” Alhaitham pauses abruptly, swallowing nothing. “By everything, I suppose. I had so many things going on in my mind at the time. It wasn’t fair to put this on you, but I think I just needed to feel like I was in the moment. Like I was present.”

Real is the word that Kaveh’s mind supplies him with. Alhaitham had used it several times earlier. His feelings being real, unsure of what else was real, Kaveh being the only thing that felt real…

It’s a lot to place on someone’s shoulders. Alhaitham seems to recognize that.

“Should we consult Tighnari?” Kaveh asks. “What you’re describing—it sounds troubling. False memories? I don’t know if we can even call them ‘memories’ if they’re things that never happened. Maybe one of his previous patients experienced something similar.”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “I’m not keen on dragging him back into this. Maybe my mind is simply mistaking my desires for memories.”

Another silence sinks around them—a period that Kaveh spends sitting with the implications of those words and that Alhaitham spends quietly staring at the plate of samosas. Finally, he decides to reach for his second one.

“I see,” Kaveh finally concedes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“About the kiss? I’m really not.”

“…Well.” Alhaitham leans against the back of his chair. “That is… hmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that everything I wanted to tell you was prepared under the assumption that you would be furious with me. Now I find myself at a loss for words.”

“Oh? Then why don’t you tell me anyway?” Kaveh jokes lightly. “It’d be a shame to let all that preparation go to waste.”

Alhaitham huffs a wry laugh, but to Kaveh’s surprise, he seems to be seriously considering it.

“I don’t think you’re ready to hear it,” he finally decides. His smile is small, but just smug enough for Kaveh to rise to the bait.

“Try me,” Kaveh challenges, smirking back.

“I am granting you a courtesy, I promise.”

“Hmph. If you say so.”

They continue eating in a silence that is not loaded, yet not completely comfortable either. Alhaitham takes a third samosa, this time with less hesitation in his movements as he dips it in the green chutney. “These are good.”

“They’re your favourite,” Kaveh remarks, still finishing his second. “You always say Jawad’s stall makes them best. I prefer the ones from Owl of Avidya, but they’re a little pricier.”

“…Thank you.” Alhaitham swallows but doesn’t take another bite for a long while. “Kaveh?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean it.” Alhaitham meets his gaze. “Thank you for your help. But you deserve to go about your life as usual.”

Kaveh swallows. “What do you mean?”

“You left your planner out. I saw that you rearranged some meetings and engagements so you could work from home more these last few days. At the risk of sounding self-important, I can only assume that you did it for me.”

“O-Oh… Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” Kaveh admits, feeling his ears start to burn, “but… I did that purely of my own volition.”

“I know.” The small smile on Alhaitham’s face is regretful. “But I’m an adult, and I can take care of myself.”

“I never meant to insinuate otherwise.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done; really, I am. I just mean that you shouldn’t have to worry about me so much. I’m beginning to remember more and more each day, and it’s only a matter of time before I am recovered. So, thank you. I can manage from here.”

Despite the atmosphere, Kaveh suddenly finds himself having to fight a laugh. He attempts to hide it behind his glass of water and fails. Alhaitham gives him a strange look.

“Is there something funny?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Kaveh feels like an idiot, but it really does want to make him laugh. Earnest thanks and all that… “You reminded me of something. Maybe I’ll tell you about it some other time. But for now, you’re welcome.” He takes a drink, thinking back to meeting Alhaitham at the front door. “On that note, forget my worrying—you should feel free to come and go from the house as you please. Just try not to get lost again, alright? And even if anyone from work sees that you’re not actually away on ‘leave’, you’re the finest scribe the Akademiya has ever had, and they won’t be keen to find a replacement for you any time soon.”

Alhaitham nods. “I appreciate the compliment, and I’ll be sure to thoroughly take advantage of my status.”

“…Please don’t.”

They finish their simple dinner, with Alhaitham volunteering to do the dishes afterwards. “It figures,” Kaveh jokes, “that you would only offer to wash the dishes when there’s a grand total of four things to wash.” Alhaitham denies nothing, only laughing once and directing a smirk down at the sink.

A miraculous calm settles over the house again. As Kaveh sorts out his belongings left on the coffee table, he can’t help but think once more that, despite everything, there has at least been some good to come out of this strange situation they’re in.

::::

Alhaitham retires to his room early that night, searching for something to read from the small bookshelf next to his bed. He selects a collection of Sumeru fairytales suited for both the curiosity of scholars and the active imaginations of children. At the top corner of the inner cover is the name Nabilah, written in ink by a neat hand. The childish scrawl underneath it in pencil reads Alhaitham, poorly scratched out with jagged lines, as if the culprit had attempted to erase the evidence of his wrongdoing shortly after perpetrating it.

He cracks a smile at the sight, drawing up to prepare for a night of reading in bed before he is interrupted by three knocks. “Haitham?”

Alhaitham moves to open the door. “Yes?”

“I almost forgot to ask—do you remember someone named Eiko?”

“Eiko? Is she a friend of ours?”

“No. Lambad at the tavern told me about her. Supposedly, she’s a Vahumana student who wanted to speak with you about something, but that’s all I know. Now she’s apparently seeking me out in the hopes of talking to you.”

“I see.” Alhaitham turns the name over in his head several times—Eiko, Eiko, Eiko—but comes up with nothing. Unsurprising, since he’d done the same for the likes of Faruzan, Cyno, Nilou, and others, with similarly no success. “I don’t know who she is.“

“I thought as much. Maybe she’s just looking for someone to read her application for something or other; I don’t know.” Kaveh shuffles his feet on the spot. “There’s, ah, one other thing.”

“What is it?”

“I just… I wanted to let you know that if you don’t know whether something is real or not—a memory, an event, or what have you—you can always ask me. And if I can’t give you an answer, well… I meant it when I said that we could figure it out together. Okay?”

For a long moment, Alhaitham gazes at the man who is close enough to reach out and touch if not for the invisible walls that protect him.

“…What’s the matter?” Kaveh asks uncertainly.

Alhaitham shakes his head, glancing away. “Nothing. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kaveh, despite looking faintly troubled, gives a nod. “Well… good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Alhaitham watches Kaveh slip into the adjacent room before shutting his own door and turning off the light. His book of choice goes unread, placed back in the shelf before he folds himself into bed. While not the least bit sleepy, he feels drained in a way that sleep cannot fix, spending hours with a single question on his mind:

How can you say such things so sincerely and expect me not to love you?

Chapter Text

████?

████, wake up…

He cracks his eyes open and meets with a familiar face, leaning over him and blocking out the sun.

It’s you, he says.

It’s me, the figure in white confirms. They smile softly down at him, blond hair framing their face like a halo. The sun briefly stings his eyes as they draw away to let him sit up from the soft grass and glance around at their surroundings.

Steps away is a river that trickles from the mouth of a cave in the near distance. Patches of grass are scattered along the red riverbanks, tall palm trees and vermilion flowers growing sparsely among them. The steep, sandy cliffs that stretch skyward on either side of the river seem to be keeping silent watch over him and his companion.

This is…

Do you recognize this place? they ask.

I’m not sure. He looks at his companion. This is the first time I’ve heard you speak.

You’ve heard me speak plenty of times. Don’t you remember?

No. They have a pleasant voice, he thinks. Warm and familiar. I never remember you when I wake up. Why is that?

Maybe you just don’t want to remember me.

He frowns. Why wouldn’t I want to remember you?

I don’t know. Out of fear? Uncertainty? Pride, even? It could be any number of things.

I can’t imagine being afraid of you.

His companion smiles wistfully. Here. Take this.

They give him a book with a plain cover that feels heavier than it ought to be. He opens it to a random page. Then the next. And the next.

It’s blank.

Yes, says his companion, lying down on the grass. The sun in their eyes doesn’t seem to bother them one bit. It’s perfect for your needs.

My needs?

I’m sure you would rather avoid ruining any of your precious books.

In the waking world, he might ask his companion what that means. But here, in the realm of dreams, it makes perfect sense.

Having nothing else to do, he lies down on his back again. The searing sunlight cuts across his eyes and he turns onto his side with a wince. His companion smiles at him with the amusement of one witnessing a newborn foal taking its first wobbly steps.

Here, they say, turning to face him, reaching for him to draw him close. He goes willingly, pressing his face against their chest and hiding from the blinding light of the sun. Their arms close snugly around his back.

Go back to sleep now, okay? they tell him. You still have things you need to do.

But I will forget you again. The thought of it stirs something like panic in his chest, and he clutches tightly at his companion’s white poet shirt in a desperation to keep them here. The fabric is soft to the touch, crumpling in his grip yet deceptively resilient, like closing his fist around a handful of flower petals.

You will forget me in the way people forget most of their dreams. That doesn’t mean I was never here.

The response is comforting in a way he can’t place—just like his companion. As his eyes slide shut, his grasp relaxes, tension slowly leaving his body.

We’ll meet again, they tell him as the embrace of sleep begins to close over him once more, sooner than you think. Deep down, you know that.

Alhaitham wakes up curiously well-rested and with a task in mind.

The Sages are baffled when they learn of the reason behind his sudden leave of absence. Being the model employee that he is, nobody dares question his self-professed memory loss—at least not to his face. A letter of confirmation from the highly-respected Tighnari seems to help matters, and Alhaitham’s superiors agree to keep the details of his condition between themselves. They send him home trusting that he will return to his post as soon as he deems himself able.

(They manage to make it sound like a veiled threat. Alhaitham will not be cowed.)

Nobody bats an eye as the renowned architect Kaveh waits outside the Sages’ offices all the while. Nor do they ask why he and Scribe Alhaitham leave together. What they do goggle at is the fact that, for once, the two men don’t seem to be bickering about anything.

::::

With his work situation sorted out for now and Kaveh out returning to his own routine, Alhaitham spends the rest of the day at home. Even as he starts to recall more and more, little by little, many of these newly-returned memories resemble excerpts cut out from a book: scenes floating nebulously in space, with no surrounding context to frame or anchor them. The passage of time will inevitably do that to one’s memories, with or without spells of amnesia, but Alhaitham is becoming almost impatient to reclaim what is his.

Partly in an effort to jog his memory and partly out of searching for something to do, Alhaitham wanders around the house. In the study, he pores over the titles in the bookshelves, making something of a game out of guessing which ones belong to him and which ones belong to Kaveh. Some are obvious just from looking at their age or condition. There are a few that he can’t be certain about, naming topics so esoteric that he can’t imagine either himself or Kaveh taking interest in them. After coming to the conclusion that the overwhelming majority of the books in the study belong to him, he decides to take his game to the rest of the house.

As far as he can remember, he has no musical talents, so the dutars in the living room are likely Kaveh’s contribution. Any number of the furnishings and decorations could be Kaveh’s doing—Alhaitham likes everything well enough but knows that he doesn’t have an eye for this sort of pursuit. He likely wouldn’t have chosen the dinner plates, the various jars and vases, or even the rug. Meanwhile, the modest coffee table and three identical couches practically have his name written all over them.

There is evidence of two people sharing a living space throughout every inch of this house. This only makes it all the more baffling that Alhaitham cannot remember his argument with Kaveh.

Perhaps he would find it in himself to be glad for it, if not for the way that he remembers little else. He vaguely remembers being a student, dressed in his stuffy uniform and walking through the Akademiya’s hallowed halls with purpose, but he does not remember his days of friendship with Kaveh, nor their bitter parting. He can remember leaving his grandmother’s properties behind, keeping her belongings and moving into this house, but he cannot remember inviting Kaveh to live with him.

Alhaitham frowns, lifting a hand to his forehead.

Why can’t he remember the man he loves?

They’ve spent the last few days navigating these strange circumstances together as a pair. And yet, despite Alhaitham’s efforts, many details related to Kaveh remain cast in shadow in his mind. He can feel the creases that were left, but he can’t read the words written there, if there were any at all.

A thought occurs to him then: perhaps Kaveh isn’t as important to him as he thought.

He remembers Kaveh’s words from several nights ago:

You barely know me right now. There’s no way you could feel like that for me.

What if Kaveh had a point all along?

Alhaitham quickly shakes his head. No, he refuses to accept it. Call it instinct, intuition, or just plain stubbornness, but he’s certain that he has loved Kaveh for a long time. And he won’t change his mind any time soon.

He can almost hear Kaveh’s voice in his ear. You can’t possibly know that.

I’ll prove it, Alhaitham returns.

How?

“…I’ll find a way,” he utters out loud.

The quiet house says nothing in response, but its walls feel as warm as ever.

::::

They say never to turn your passion into your job. There are days when Kaveh agrees with this as if it is gospel and days when he feels the opposite. Today, he can’t decide where he stands. His latest clients—a newly-married couple who have purchased a plot of land on the outskirts of the city—are polite and open to listening to his expertise, but they also can’t agree on what they want, even now into their third meeting with him. They have the tact not to argue in public, but it often results in a scene so tense, so full of the things that they are holding back from each other, that Kaveh has to tell himself not to physically squirm from the oppressive atmosphere.

Normally Kaveh would welcome the challenge of combining two different styles into a cohesive whole, and he is not one to judge other people’s relationships, but he has to wonder if this marriage is built to last when they can’t even agree on whether their house should have a second floor or not. But that is decidedly none of his business. Still, prolonging the design stage just means that his consulting fees are adding up—something that he is considering reminding the clients of. His wallet may be appreciative of the extra coin, but his conscience is starting to feel the gut-twist of concern even if he isn’t actually doing anything wrong.

His clients eventually excuse themselves for another appointment. Kaveh sees them off, walking them out of Puspa Café with the promise of having new drafts ready for them the next time they meet. The couple are perfectly cordial as they say their goodbyes to him, but they’re barely out of earshot when they start bickering in whispered tones.

Kaveh sighs slowly, feeling far more tired than he thinks he should at this time of day.

The coffee and snacks they ordered earlier hardly constituted a proper meal, so he decides to take a late lunch at Lambad’s. He manages to claim a table for his own, intending to catch up on work while he eats. Lambad approaches him with a friendly smile. “Back already, Kaveh? I hope today’s been treating you better than yesterday.”

“Far better, thanks.” These are not the worst clients Kaveh has ever had the displeasure of working with, and fatigue aside, he’s in a much better mood than yesterday.

…He’d been trying very hard not to think about yesterday.

“Glad to hear it,” Lambad says, perfectly unaware of Kaveh’s personal failures. “What can I get for you?”

Kaveh orders a Fish Roll and a Dawning Dew—he’s still on the clock, after all—and lays out his planner and notes on the table. He’ll be due to visit the Apam Woods build site again in around a month’s time, and prior to that, his own birthday is steadily creeping closer. With two of his closest friends being two of the busiest people in Sumeru and his roommate… indisposed, he doesn’t know if he can suggest even a simple get-together for the occasion. Perhaps if he extends the invite to Cyno and Collei, the “thanks for figuring out how Alhaitham lost his memory” dinner he plans to treat Tighnari to could double as an early birthday dinner…

Is that tacky? That feels tacky, he thinks to himself. No matter, then. The age of twenty-nine is not exactly a milestone worth fussing about anyway. The ninth of July remains empty in his calendar, and he moves on to more important tasks.

His exhaustion quickly becomes harder to ignore. Kaveh finds himself having to put more effort into organizing his thoughts, which seem to wriggle around and slip from his grasp every so often like fish being unhooked. Still, he doggedly powers through the fog, determined to have a productive afternoon so that he can spend the rest of the evening at ease when he goes home.

He decides to call it a day when business at the tavern starts to pick up. Students and dockworkers arrive for happy hour, steadily filling seats as waitstaff bustle around the floor to take orders. Kaveh settles the bill at the bar before weaving his way through the crowded space, pushing the tavern door open just as yet another group of students are entering.

The group of four shuffle aside for Kaveh to pass first, holding the door wider open for him. He nods his thanks and steps out into the fresh air of the city.

Maybe a nice, long bath will help. Or even just a splash of cold water to the face to wake his senses might do…

“E-Excuse me, sir! Are you Mr. Kaveh?”

Kaveh turns around to see one of the students from the group scurrying up to him. He does his level best to put on a polite smile, even if he isn’t exactly in the mood to humour a junior. “Yes. Can I help you? And please, just ‘Kaveh’ is fine.”

“O-Oh, alright—thank goodness!” Never has a stranger looked so relieved to see him. “Truthfully, Kaveh, I’ve been hoping to run into you! My name is Reika. I’m an artist.”

Reika—an Inazuman name. Pinned to her beret is a yellow badge. “Lambad told me that a student had been asking about me,” Kaveh says. “I suppose that would be you?”

“Ah! Yes, that’s me,” Reika admits, smiling sheepishly.

It takes another moment, but Kaveh realizes that he does know this woman—or rather, her work. “Oh—Reika! You’re the oshibana artist, aren’t you?”

She goggles at being recognized. “Yes I am! You know of my work? Oh my gods, I am so flattered!”

“I saw the portraits you displayed at the Akademiya’s inaugural student exhibition.” Some time ago, as part of the nation’s Archon-mandated efforts to support the arts, the Akademiya had thrown an art show featuring works from their very own students. Kaveh happily made time in his schedule for it, and to his further delight, Alhaitham’s appointment as Acting Grand Sage meant that he had been obligated to attend. As they wandered the exhibit together, Kaveh had been drawn to three portraits made almost entirely out of pressed flowers and plant matter: a colourful Dusk Bird perched on a branch, two frolicking Desert Foxes, and a trio of assorted Fungi, all attributed to an as-yet undeclared student named Reika.

“As the only Inazuman name there,” Kaveh continues, his smile more genuine now, “your name stuck in my memory as much as your works did. They were lovely! So enchanting and full of life.”

“Thank you so much! Wow, the Light of Kshahrewar likes my work…” Reika covers her flushed cheeks for a moment before clearing her throat, as if to snap herself out of it. “Anyway, I actually approached you because of something related to my work. Lambad told me that you are close with the scribe, Alhaitham?”

Close? It sounds more damning than being ‘friends’. Kaveh would like to imagine that the mortification doesn’t show on his face. Relax, Kaveh. Lambad probably didn’t mean it like that, and this woman probably thinks nothing of it. They don’t know that you and Alhaitham live together, or that he confessed his love to you two separate times, or that he kissed you yesterday. Don’t be weird about it. Just act natural!

“Ah—ahaha. After a fashion,” Kaveh replies, absolutely nailing it.

To her credit, Reika doesn’t react to the strange answer beyond a tilt of her head. “Um, okay—well, I tried to reach him at the Akademiya, but I was told that he was on a leave of absence. Is there any chance you could pass on a message to him for me?”

“Ahem. Yes, I should be able to. What is it?”

Reika brightens. “Excellent! Please let him know that I’m still waiting on the Mourning Flowers that he promised me. It will take time to dry them, and I’ve never worked with them before, so I’m unsure as to whether they’ll even be fit for drying. As I recall, the piece he commissioned from me is on a deadline.”

“I’m sorry—Mourning Flowers? A commission?”

“Yes. I take commissions to supplement my income as a student. Clients sometimes ask for flowers of certain colours, but Scribe Alhaitham requested a particular flower. Things like Sumeru Roses and Padisarahs are easy enough to come by, but he specifically wanted to include one called a Mourning Flower.”

Kaveh sees them clearly in his mind’s eye: bell-shaped, vermilion blossoms that face downward as if bending to their own weight, growing near what few veins of water persist in the northernmost region of the desert. “But… those only grow in the Girdle of the Sands,” he manages, throat suddenly dry.

“Yes, that’s what Scribe Alhaitham said,” Reika says with an enthusiastic nod, oblivious to the mounting unease in Kaveh’s chest. “He told me that he would personally fetch some for me to use in his commission. That was nearly three weeks ago now, and I haven’t heard back from him ever since.” Something seems to occur to her in that moment, her eyes growing wide. “Oh, no—I hope he’s alright! When they said he was just on a leave of absence, I-I didn’t think that maybe—could he be—”

Kaveh holds up his hands before the poor woman can go any further. “Don’t worry, Reika—I can promise you that he’s fine. He really is just on leave at the moment.” The way Reika deflates with relief might have tugged a laugh out of him if he didn’t currently have a dozen questions buzzing around in his head.

“Thank goodness! Between you and me, I think he means to give the finished work as a gift. He never said as much, but that’s usually the reason clients give deadlines—they want it for a certain occasion, like a birthday or anniversary. If it is intended to be a gift, I want to be certain that the recipient gets it on time.”

Kaveh nods. “I’ll pass on your message to him. Commissioned artist, working on a deadline, in need of the Mourning Flowers he promised to obtain. Does that sound right?”

“That’s the gist of it, yes. Thank you very much, Kaveh!” Reika emphasizes her thanks with a bow before giving a laugh. “If you’ll excuse me, my friends are probably wondering where I am. I won’t take up any more of your time. Enjoy the rest of your evening!”

Reika turns to leave. “Pardon me, Reika,” Kaveh calls, “if you don’t mind me asking, what did Alhaitham commission from you?”

“Ah, he asked for a picture of a bird-of-paradise.”

A bird-of-paradise… made of Mourning Flowers… intended as a gift?

“And when is the deadline?”

Reika looks upwards in thought. “It’s, umm… July eighth. He stressed the ninth at the very latest.”

Kaveh feels as if he’s been buffeted around by a windstorm.

“Good luck,” he tells Reika, mustering up another smile to match hers. “I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

::::

Kaveh makes the walk home almost entirely on muscle memory. He barely remembers putting one foot in front of the other and is almost surprised when he finds himself at the front door of the house.

Alhaitham slips out of the study as he enters. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” Kaveh returns half-heartedly, doffing his cape. Collapsing on the couch sounds terribly appealing in that moment, but instead he briefly ducks into the bathroom for the cold splash of water that he’d been thinking about. He hopes the shock to his system will last for at least the next few minutes, for as tired as he is, he does not want to put this off for tomorrow.

“Do you remember when you and I helped a Rtawahist scholar who had been robbed by Treasure Hoarders?”

Alhaitham looks at him curiously. “No, I don’t. When was this?”

“Some time back, not long after I moved in. We were coming from Port Ormos when we came across him on the road, down on his luck and asking for help. After we managed to get his belongings back, he insisted on rewarding us, but he only had valuable equipment with him and little in the way of Mora. So he ‘paid’ us in the only way he could at the time: by identifying and reading our constellations.”

“Our constellations?”

“Yes. A bird-of-paradise for me, and a hawk for you.”

What a coincidence, Kaveh remembers thinking at the time. Both birds, and yet so markedly different from each other. He had wanted to laugh with how appropriate it was. Only the stars could write such a comedy. In those days, he and Alhaitham were still getting accustomed to being around each other again, and pure coincidence had landed them both at Port Ormos on the same day. Alhaitham had insisted that they make the journey home together, for it was only practical. Or logical. Or some other justification of pragmatism. The specifics are lost to Kaveh now.

“Hm. Both birds,” Alhaitham says. Kaveh knows perfectly well that Alhaitham can’t read minds, but the echo of his thoughts is enough of a surprise to stave off the fatigue for a little longer. “How interesting. It sounds like the sort of thing I should be able to remember.”

“Give it time, I suppose.” Speaking of other things that Alhaitham ought to remember… “Another thing. Have you ever seen a Mourning Flower?”

“A… Mourning Flower? I can’t be certain if I don’t even know what those are.”

“I don’t suppose you would. I’ve only ever described them to you.”

It was after Kaveh had come home from his trip to the Girdle of the Sands that he described the sight of the Mourning Flowers to Alhaitham. The desert guides had explained that according to legend, Mourning Flowers first sprouted from the blood of heroes that sacrificed themselves to protect the land during a great, ancient battle. But even if one discounted their folkloric origins or their eye-catching colour—an individual bloom could range from a shade of red that verged on pinkish to a bright vermilion—Kaveh had felt inexplicably drawn to them. It sounded strange, but it was as though he’d been meant to discover them here; like this connection had been waiting to be made all this time.

Seeing Kaveh’s fascination with the Mourning Flowers, the guides had been kind enough to invite him to pick some. But with two days left to go in their expedition—and even more until he could make it home to Sumeru City—Kaveh ultimately decided against doing so. Instead he had settled for sketching them, planning to add a wash of colour when he got home to his paints.

“It wasn’t until we were nearly at Aaru Village,” he remembers saying to Alhaitham then, “that it hit me: I could have pressed the flowers, like the ones at that student exhibit! I wish I could have found the artist and asked them about the process…”

“These are some rather random questions you’re asking of me,” Alhaitham remarks with a slight smirk. Kaveh can’t find it in himself to return it.

“They’re not random. The reason you went to the Girdle of the Sands was to pick Mourning Flowers.”

Alhaitham’s smirk falls. “What? How do you know that?”

“I met someone at the tavern.” Kaveh relays his encounter with the student named not Eiko, but Reika: how she claimed to have been commissioned by Alhaitham, and that he had promised to fetch the rare flowers himself. He listens with the same furrow in his brow that he gets when he is trying to remember something.

“I don’t remember that,” Alhaitham finally says. Kaveh can’t say he’s surprised. “It seems I didn’t even succeed—there aren’t exactly any flowers lying around in my room. Do I… do this often? Commissioning local artists?” Even he sounds doubtful of it.

“No. Haitham, I think—I think you were out there because of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The portrait. I think you commissioned it for… me.” It feels strange just to say it. “You asked for a bird-of-paradise, and the deadline you gave Reika was the eighth of July. That’s the day before my birthday in a couple of weeks. It honestly sounds unbelievable to me that you would do any of that, but the timing and everything is just too coincidental. It would also explain why you kept it a secret from me in the first place.”

The thought of Alhaitham going to such lengths for anyone but himself is so odd that it might warrant a laugh if it hasn’t resulted in these last strange several days. Even the most outwardly selfless of his actions—saving their Archon—had been out of a self-professed desire to keep his comfortable life. So why do this for Kaveh?

“Don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself for my situation,” Alhaitham says.

“Of course not.” Because that would be absurd. Kaveh, who has been working very hard on managing his feelings of guilt, knows that. “I just can’t help but think about how you went all the way out there and came back with nothing to show for it except for memory loss and a piece of ore that we had to toss anyway. And I don’t understand why you went to so much trouble.”

Alhaitham gives this approximately two seconds of thought. “Isn’t it obvious?”

It is and it isn’t. Kaveh doesn’t want to think about that right now. For a long moment, they sit in a silence so dense that it seems to press upon his shoulders like a palpable weight. Alhaitham looks at him expectantly, and when it becomes apparent that Kaveh isn’t about to give an answer to his question, his expression shifts into one of concern.

“Are you alright, Kaveh?”

It feels like a mighty effort just to keep his head upright. “I’m fine. Just tired.” After some deliberation, Kaveh starts shuffling to his room, pretending not to notice the way Alhaitham lifts a hand as if to reach for him. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

“It’s past five o’clock. Isn’t it a bit late for that?”

“I’ve had a long day.” A long week, in truth, but Kaveh doesn’t need to say that. “I won’t sleep long.”

::::

It’s completely dark when Kaveh opens his eyes.

He might have slept through the rest of the night if not for the growling of his stomach waking him. He ventures out of his room, scrabbling around for the lights and finding a bamboo food cover he’d brought home from a trip to Liyue on the dining table.

Underneath it is a bowl of Masala Cheese Balls, sitting in so much sauce that it wouldn’t be strictly wrong to call it soup, drizzled with cream and garnished with parsley. The segments of a sliced Zaytun Peach are laid out on a small plate along with a handful of grapes. There is even a place set on the table for him along with a pitcher of drinking water in the ice box.

Kaveh exhales. The grapes have that waxy texture to their skin that he can’t stand, but the peach is perfectly sweet, and the cheese balls are still ever so slightly warm. He can’t see the door to Alhaitham’s bedroom from here, but knowing that he is safe and sound asleep is enough.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham continues to regain his memories without fanfare. There is no single, overblown moment where he wakes up to find that he remembers everything once lost to him. It happens gradually, little by little returning to him over the course of the last week and a half.

It starts with a book in his hand at the dining table and: “Oh. I don’t like soup.”

And then: “My grandmother would have enjoyed this series.”

And: “Kaveh, why did you buy mushrooms? You hate mushrooms.”

And so on and so forth. Mundane, everyday things, the things that one doesn’t have to remember so much as know them, in the same way one knows that the sun rises and sets without fail.

That is, until: “I remembered something.”

He seems strangely apprehensive, approaching Kaveh in the living room with quiet steps. But Kaveh, who has been feeling at ease over life returning to routine and witnessing Alhaitham’s recovery, thinks nothing of it and asks, “Oh? What is it?”

“The day you came home from Apam Woods…”

This should have been Kaveh’s first warning. “What about it?”

“…I told you I’m in love with you. And you just… brushed it aside.”

Kaveh’s stomach drops. Some part of him always knew that this would come up eventually. He’d done a good job of keeping that part quiet, tucked away in the back of his mind—but now it returns in full force, daring him to restrain it again. He can’t. Not when everything is laid out before them now.

“Hah,” Kaveh laughs weakly. “So you remember that, but you still don’t remember what exactly you did out in the desert? The human mind certainly works in mysterious ways…”

Alhaitham looks down, away, looking almost contrite. “If I’d known that you already turned me away once, I wouldn’t have said it a second time. And I’ll never say it again if that’s what you want.”

“I—” Kaveh squeezes his eyes shut. Takes a breath. Relaxes—slowly, but not completely. “Haitham…”

“You know how I feel about you, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, sounding less like an accusation and more like a concession of defeat. “But I’ve accepted that you don’t feel the same way. So let’s just…”

It’s unlike Alhaitham to trail off, for his speech to outpace his thoughts. Everything he says is deliberate and never incomplete. Yet here they are now, suspended in the limbo of an unfinished sentence, the air thick between them. Kaveh breathes it in slowly.

“I never said I don’t feel the same way.”

Alhaitham’s eyes snap back to him. “What? Then… then why—?”

“Why do I keep pushing you away? I don’t know.” In that moment, Kaveh remembers the words of a friend: Maybe you’re just not ready. But is that really what this is about? “I guess I can’t help but wonder—if things had carried on like normal, would we have ever gotten to this point? How would it have happened, if when?”

“Does that really matter? ‘How’ or ‘when’, it makes no difference as long as we end up on the same page.”

“Of course it matters. What if you only feel this way because you’re experiencing an uncertain and distressful situation, and I just so happen to be here?”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “Is it really so hard to believe that I have feelings for you of my own accord and not because it’s convenient?”

“Yes! The ‘regular’ you was never so—” Open. Kind. Loving. “Nice. You couldn’t stand me.”

“Hmph. Everything you’ve told me and everything I’ve observed proves otherwise.”

“What do you mean?”

Alhaitham crosses his arms. “According to you, I’m not much one for company or selfless gestures. And yet I invited you to live with me when you fell on hard times. I pay your tab at the tavern, I let you decorate our home as you please, and let you upend the routine of my life in the first place. Surely even you can see where I’m going with this.”

Despite himself, Kaveh laughs—a hollow, dry sound.

“What’s so funny?” Alhaitham presses, frowning.

“For a moment, you sounded like your usual self.”

The frown relaxes from Alhaitham’s face, leaving him with a solemn expression. He uncrosses his arms and takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Kaveh, avoiding his gaze for the moment.

“I don’t believe I offered you a place to stay out of the goodness of my heart. And I’d like to believe that I had good reason for never telling you my feelings, but the more I learn about myself, the more I begin to think that I am either too prideful or simply a coward. Because now, when I look at you, there is just so much. So much that I feel, that I want, that I see… it’s irrepressible. But you say that I never told you a thing? How did I ever stand it?”

It’s the sort of question that one asks without expecting an answer. Even so, Kaveh thinks he can offer one.

“You must have had your reasons for keeping your feelings to yourself.” Just as I do. “What you call cowardice or pride might just be your sense of self-preservation or a desire to maintain the status quo. You’ve told me many times that most things you do are for the sake of keeping the quality of life you have. I can’t fault you for sticking to your principles, even if I don’t necessarily agree with them.”

This is the answer Kaveh decides to give. The answer he truly wants to give is another matter. If—when Alhaitham gets his memories back, will he regret having been so vulnerable and open? Kaveh’s warm and weathered heart wouldn’t be able to withstand it if he were to accept Alhaitham’s feelings now, only for Alhaitham to change his mind when he’s completely himself again.

“…The flowers,” Alhaitham says.

“What?”

“If I was so content with having things stay as they were, then why did I go out to the desert for the Mourning Flowers? Why—ngh—”

Alhaitham drops his head with a wince. The pinch of his brow is familiar by now, and in moments like these, Kaveh can practically feel the frustration rolling off of his roommate in waves. Yet no matter how much Kaveh wants to help, he’s learnt that it’s better to be patient than to try to help Alhaitham along with needless questions in an attempt to jog his memory.

Then, without another word, Alhaitham gets to his feet and disappears into his bedroom.

That was… abrupt. Kaveh is left confused, sitting alone in their quiet living room. After a minute of waiting in silence, he knocks carefully at Alhaitham’s door. “Haitham? Is everything alright?”

Silence, then faint shuffling. “Yes.” More silence follows as Kaveh expects more to that response, but Alhaitham gives nothing else.

“Did you remember something?”

“Give me a moment,” Alhaitham calls, which isn’t an answer, but Kaveh retreats uneasily to the living room anyway.

A “moment” turns out to be another twenty minutes or so of long periods of silence and brief moments of shuffling in turns. Finally, Alhaitham’s door cracks open—slowly, tentatively, as if he is second-guessing the action even as he does it. His steps are silent again as he returns to the living room.

“I need to show you something,” he says, and despite his clear apprehension, there’s a gleam of something hopeful in his eyes.

Alhaitham rejoins Kaveh on the couch, holding two hardbound journals in his hands, tied together with a leather strap. They would look almost pristine if not for the slight ridges of space separating some of the pages, making the journals bulge out thicker than they ought to be.

“After Tighnari found the Trishiraite, I thought that was the end of it,” Alhaitham explains, untying the strap. “It never crossed my mind to look through the rest of my belongings.”

Kaveh watches as Alhaitham carefully opens one of the journals to reveal vermilion flower heads pressed flat between the pages. Crown-shaped petals adorn the ecru sheets like embroidery on blankets, in vibrant reds and pinks that barely show signs of fading. Some pages contain petals that have been separated from their bulbs but kept intact; some bear whole flower heads, still attached to parts of their stems that have been trimmed to fit the page.

Kaveh’s eyes are wide. “I don’t believe it,” he marvels, taking up the other journal to find even more Mourning Flowers painstakingly pressed between its pages. “You got them after all. A lot of them! And they look to be in good condition…”

Alhaitham gives a sigh, as if relieved to find the flowers. “That artist, Reika—she gave me instructions on how best to preserve them for her to use.”

Kaveh laughs. “Oh, that poor woman has been waiting for these for weeks and you’ve had them here, ever since you came home.”

“I hope she can still work with them in this state. If not, I’ll just have to go and get some more.”

Alhaitham says it like it’s a matter of course, in that tone that other people might call cold or blunt. Kaveh knows better. “You really had your mind set on these flowers,” he remarks, carefully shutting the book.

“Yes.” It’s as if a burden has been visibly lifted from Alhaitham’s shoulders. “You were so… spirited when you talked about them.”

That had been a single, nearly one-sided conversation from months ago. “I didn’t think you remembered that—even before the amnesia, I mean.” Kaveh shakes his head. “It was just… some flower. Why go to all that trouble?”

For whatever reason, Alhaitham laughs. Kaveh can almost see the gears turning in his head as he spends the next few moments in silence, thinking over what to say. “When you came home,” he says, taking both journals and binding the leather strap around them, “you spent the next few days agonizing over reproducing the correct shade of red with your paints before you settled for watercolours. It was clear that this wasn’t just some flower. It was important to you.”

He places the journals on the coffee table with care. “You were right. The piece I commissioned from Reika—I meant for it to be your birthday gift. When you told me you’d be away on a work trip just weeks before your birthday, I knew that was my chance to get the flowers. I was going to give the finished work to you, and then…”

“And then? Were you going to give me some big, dramatic confession along with it?”

“I… don’t really know.” At Kaveh’s bewildered expression, Alhaitham shakes his head. “No, really. I imagined it going any number of ways. Maybe I would confess… or maybe I would let the gift speak for itself and hope that you understood. Either way,” his voice grows steady with certainty, “It felt like something I wanted to do. Something I had to do. For you.”

Kaveh’s throat goes dry. “But… why?”

“You know why,” Alhaitham replies.

“I don’t understand why,” Kaveh returns emphatically. “Because why do this now? You’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I beg to differ.”

“How so?”

“I don’t see it as being any different than letting you into my home.”

Kaveh flinches back. “Wh-What? You didn’t risk your life letting me into your home!”

“No,” Alhaitham agrees, meeting his gaze. “I risked my heart.”

Kaveh can feel himself start to crumble in earnest. “That is the most—” foolish, cheesy, sentimental thing anyone has ever said to him—

“If everything I do is for the sake of maintaining the life I lead, those—” Alhaitham points to the journals, “—prove that I want you to be a part of it.”

Kaveh stares and stares at the journals, as though with enough effort he might be able to see through the rigid covers and thick pages to the flowers pressed inside, to their bright vermilion petals flashing like signs: we were here all along, waiting, all the evidence you ever needed is right here—now won’t you do something about it, you stubborn fool?

“Don’t you see, Kaveh? I will never change my mind about you. I’ve never been clearer-headed about anything else in my life. I love y—”

Anything else is smothered down in the next moment at the firm press of Kaveh’s lips against Alhaitham’s.

Much better, Kaveh thinks as they melt together. Instead of fear, there is nothing but joy trembling in Kaveh’s fingertips as he frames Alhaitham’s face in his hands; nothing but the desire to be closer rather than to tear himself away. Alhaitham makes a noise of surprise before pressing back with intent, gripping Kaveh’s waist. He looks bright and dazed when he pulls away far too soon for Kaveh’s liking.

“So you return my feelings after all?”

“Yes,” Kaveh says, because it should be obvious. “I love you—of course I love you! I’ve loved you for years. I realized it after our fight.”

Something like awe sets across Alhaitham’s eyes as he looks at Kaveh, lifting a hand to wrap around the side of his neck and slip his fingers into the brown-tipped locks of hair.

“Only then?” he asks, a smirk tipping up one corner of his mouth. “I loved you long before that.”

“It’s not a competition!” Kaveh snaps, but he’s laughing, and Alhaitham is already pulling him back in for another kiss, and another, and another, leaning backwards and taking Kaveh with him.

There is an odd tangle of limbs at first as they refuse to break for even a moment, grasping for what they can reach as their lips move together. Alhaitham immediately seeks the window of Kaveh’s shirt, hands spread wide to catch every inch of skin as he slides them along Kaveh’s back. They leave trails of heat in their wake, making Kaveh hum with delight into Alhaitham’s mouth and double his own efforts at exploring through touch.

(It’s a wonder how Alhaitham still wants him even after everything. They could have had this sooner if Kaveh hadn’t been so afraid of his own shadow—yet he gets the sense that in this moment, Alhaitham doesn’t really mind.)

Kaveh lays the weight of his hips against Alhaitham’s, aligning their bodies together in a circuit of heat and excitement. Alhaitham makes a noise so satisfying that any vague worries Kaveh might have had of moving too fast never get a chance to take shape. They’ve been in love for a decade, anyway; they’ve been absolutely glacial.

“We’ve really never done this before?” Alhaitham asks breathlessly.

Really? Now? Kaveh laughs again. “I promise you I would remember it if we did,” he says, practically clawing at Alhaitham’s shirt. He trails his lips to Alhaitham’s neck and bites a kiss into the soft skin under his jaw, relishing the way the younger man’s breath catches loudly with a flinch of his body.

“A-Ah, I remember now,” Alhaitham says, as though recalling what he ate for dinner two nights ago, as though he isn’t about to say something that will ruin Kaveh for years to come: “I’ve dreamt of this.”

Kaveh refuses to be held responsible for the sound he makes at that comment. And the one he makes when Alhaitham’s hand finds its way into his hair again and tugs. He’ll just have to make Alhaitham forget all about it.

::::

Hours later, they lie together in Kaveh’s bed, dazed and sated, steeped in the lingering fog of their afterglow. Kaveh is delighted to discover that Alhaitham is a cuddler, pillowing his head on Kaveh’s chest and clinging to him like a limpet. Just as he’s beginning to think that it would be rather nice to fall asleep like this, something occurs to him.

“I still want to know. What exactly happened out there in the desert? Do you remember that now?”

“Yes. It’s just as Dehya said. I set out with Peanut early in the morning—”

“Peanut?”

“The Sumpter Beast I rented.”

Kaveh snickers. “That’s an adorable name for such a large creature.”

“She made for a very good travel companion,” Alhaitham informs him. “As I was saying, I set out with Peanut early in the morning, and we reached the outskirts of the Girdle towards evening. I saw the flowers growing along the banks of the river, but a ley line deposit had formed in the centre of the area. I would have cleared it, but it looked different—not like the ones that appear in the forest every so often. This one was larger and bright red. There were signs that the local wildlife had fled, and the nearby hilichurl encampments were also empty, so I decided to follow their lead and keep my distance. Since the terrain made it hard for Peanut to go any further, I made camp for the night.

“I woke up at daybreak. The locus of the strange ley line deposit looked to have disappeared, but none of the local creatures had returned. That should have been my first warning, but I chalked it up to the early hour and thought that this was my chance to collect the flowers in peace. I picked every single one I could find and pressed them into my books. I remember that in the midst of it, I was already starting to feel… strange. The beginnings of fatigue and sluggishness. That was my second warning. I assumed it was simply the desert heat getting to me. I was about to leave when something else caught my eye.”

“Ah… the Trishiraite?” Kaveh had nearly forgotten about it. “I don’t understand what was so important about it. If you were there for the flowers, why take the ore with you too?”

Alhaitham hums. “Your eyes.”

“My… eyes?” Kaveh echoes. Alhaitham draws away to look at him, cupping his jaw and examining him with an unguarded softness that spreads warmth across Kaveh’s face.

“The colour of the ore reminded me of them.”

“That… is so…” Kaveh doesn’t know whether to laugh or groan. “Since when were you so sappy? Who are you and what have you done with my Alhaitham?”

Alhaitham chuckles softly. “They say that to be loved is to be changed.”

A rush of air fills Kaveh’s lungs before he surges forward to kiss his lover, overwhelmed and lacking anything suitably sappy to say in return. Shouldn’t he be the romantic one in this relationship? On his part, Alhaitham has no complaints, returning the kiss with an earnestness that Kaveh has quickly come to adore.

They part with a sigh and a smile, content to merely bask in the warmth of the moment.

“I was going to leave at first,” Alhaitham eventually continues. “I even returned to camp, put the books away, and started packing my things. But something about the ore just drew me in. I told myself I could use it to weigh down the books, but that was just a meaningless excuse. Truthfully, I had you on my mind. How could I not? You were the reason I went out there in the first place. And here, steps away from the flowers, was this strange ore—the colour of which reminded me of you. If I were the sentimental type, I might have thought it was fate.”

Kaveh laughs gently. “It’s a shame you’re not the sentimental type, then,” he teases. Alhaitham returns his laugh.

“Yes. Unfortunate.” He cuddles up to Kaveh again, his ear to Kaveh’s heart. “Things start to get a little cloudy after this point. I remember prying the ore out with my blade and picking it up in my hand. It was warm to the touch, though not because of the climate or surroundings. It felt as if the warmth came from within… as if it was charged. Like an Electro Crystal, but not quite. Then…”

Alhaitham makes a soft, frustrated noise. “I don’t quite remember what happened after that. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember is waking up to a fully-grown Sumpter Beast nudging at me with her snout. Looking back, I couldn’t have been out for very long, but at the time, I felt like I’d slept for ages. At first, I tried to remember where I was or why I was there. Then I realized I couldn’t remember my own name. I couldn’t remember much of anything at all.”

“Gods,” Kaveh sighs. “Weren’t you afraid? Or… disoriented, at the very least? If I woke up to find that I had lost my memory, I don’t think I’d be even half as calm as you seemed to be about it every morning.”

“Afraid? I suppose so, at first. I certainly was disoriented. But from what I could tell, I didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, and there were no signs that I was brought there against my will. As long as I could figure out my way home, I would be fine. There was no reason to be afraid.”

Speak for yourself, Kaveh thinks with a fond roll of his eyes.

“Peanut led me back to camp. Among my belongings, I found a map of the desert with a route marked on it. It was hard to tell for certain whether the place I woke up in was the destination circled on the map in the northwest. I had no other option than to assume it was, so I retraced the route southeast. Before long, I found myself back in Aaru Village.”

Kaveh sighs. “I’m glad you made it back safe,” he says, stroking his thumb in an arc at Alhaitham’s back. “But you had the ore with you the whole time, then?”

“Mm. It’s strange—I don’t remember putting it in my bag. Of course, I must have done so at some point, perhaps just before I passed out. But I remember that Peanut kept making noises and shaking the bags on her back, as if she was trying to draw my attention to them. I assumed she just wanted food, but maybe she was trying to tell me about the ore.”

“Smart girl,” Kaveh remarks. “So it really was all thanks to the Trishiraite…”

“Obviously, I wouldn’t have taken it if I’d known that it would affect me the way it did. But…” Alhaitham presses his cheek further inward, the corner of his mouth moving against the skin of Kaveh’s chest. “I thought it was a beautiful colour. I wanted to show you.”

Oh, Kaveh is in love. He’s known it for years, but instead of a fist closing around his heart until it aches with every beat, it covers him like a warm blanket. Like the weight of a lover wrapped around him. But like ink bleeding into water, the uncertainty of the last several days returns to him, an unhappy memory tainting his contented mood.

“Promise me you won’t do anything so foolish as trekking out into the furthest reaches of the desert by yourself ever again.”

“For my next romantic gesture, I’ll be sure to stay closer to home.”

“As nice as that thought is, I’m being serious,” Kaveh says softly. Alhaitham pulls away again to meet his eye, sensing the sudden gravity of the moment. “Do you know how worried I was for you? Tighnari said it would only be temporary, but then your memories were lost again the next day, and I thought that maybe this would keep happening and you would never remember anything. That you’d be stuck like that for the rest of your life, not knowing any of the people we call our friends, not knowing me, not knowing yourself. What kind of life can you lead like that?

“And don’t you dare say that I’m worrying too much,” Kaveh adds, seeing that Alhaitham is about to speak. The younger man shuts his mouth, caught. “Because if it hadn’t been memory loss, it could have been something else. Something we’re not equipped to deal with. Something we can’t take back. Please don’t take that risk again, but if you must, then at least promise me that you won’t take it alone.”

“Kaveh…”

“Promise me, Haitham.”

Alhaitham swallows, eyes tracing Kaveh’s face again. Kaveh wonders what he sees this time. Fear? Desperation? Love, underneath it all?

“Alright. I promise.”

Kaveh exhales slowly. “Thank you.” His anxiety doesn’t magically disappear, but it allows him some breathing room. He pushes forward to slot their lips together in another kiss, Alhaitham accepting him just as easily as with the others. His fingers are warm at Kaveh’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Alhaitham says. “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about my… situation.”

Suddenly and terribly embarrassed, Kaveh feels the need to hide his face. He gives in to the urge, tucking his head under Alhaitham’s neck, a mirror of their earlier position. “Don’t mind me. I feel strongly about everything. I’m told it’s my greatest flaw.”

Alhaitham’s arms wrap around him, warm and solid. “It’s what I love most about you.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m serious. And knowing that you care for me this much, how could I not love you in return?”

“Ah, stop that,” Kaveh complains, even as he curls further inward against Alhaitham’s chest. He’s burning up all the way to his ears. “I’m not used to you being so… so—”

“Affectionate? Forthright? Celestia forbid that I should let my roommate know how much I care for him.”

“It’s not that!”

“Well, what exactly do you want from me, then?”

Alhaitham’s tone is teasing, and there’s a smile in his voice, but the question makes Kaveh pause. For as long as they’ve known each other, Alhaitham has always made it clear exactly the kind of life he wants to lead. For the last several days, he has made it clear that he wants Kaveh to be a part of it. Finally, Kaveh understands: whether or not Alhaitham’s sudden honesty and willingness to confess his feelings have been a consequence of his memory loss is irrelevant. There is no changing that this what is truly in Alhaitham’s heart. The least Kaveh can do is speak what is in his.

“You.” Kaveh shuts his eyes, smiling, feeling the last of the weight on his chest flutter away with his simple admission. “Just… you.”

For a long moment, Alhaitham is silent, caught off guard. Then he laughs once and Kaveh feels it, a ripple through his chest like a stone skipping on water. “Ah, Kaveh. I’ve always been yours.”

::::

Alhaitham stirs awake from a dream that saw him leaving the red sands of the desert for the greenery of the forest, hand-in-hand with his dearest companion.

As the minutes pass, the dream slowly fades from his memory, until he can’t be sure he ever had a dream in the first place. The room is still dim, the sun barely risen. Just inches away from him, back turned and sleeping deeply, is Kaveh. He never took the pins out of his hair last night. Somehow they’ve managed to hold on.

Alhaitham extricates them carefully, not wanting to wake his lover who so deserves a restful sleep after having taken such good care of him throughout this strange episode in their lives. I’ll make it up to you, he decides as he removes the last hairpin with all the care and precision he can muster up at such an early hour. Kaveh deserves to be romanced; to be plied with all the adoration and attention he poured into his previous relationships but never received in return; to have the sort of love he admired in his parents. All of it will be new for Alhaitham, but the last several days have brought with them many firsts. What’s a few more?

Hairpins in hand, Alhaitham turns over to place them on the nightstand behind him, and it is only then that he sees it: a blank piece of notepaper, folded in half several times over and unfolded again, its creases flattened out but impossible to fade completely. He takes the paper in one hand and, with the other, traces across the grid of creases with his fingertips.

A fond, private smile curls at his mouth as he looks over at the figure sleeping beside him. Anyone else would have thrown this away. But Kaveh is Kaveh, and he sees the beauty and value in things that most people would forsake. Alhaitham’s chest swells with yet more love and affection for this man than he thought possible. Part of him wants to wake Kaveh and kiss him with a hunger renewed, but there will be time for that later. All the time in the world.

After returning the paper to its original place, Alhaitham inches closer and slips his arm around Kaveh’s waist. Despite how careful he is, Kaveh stirs, easing half-awake when Alhaitham fits his chest against Kaveh’s back.

“Haith’m?” he mutters, voice thick with sleep. “What time’s it?”

“Early. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm…” Kaveh doesn’t need to be told twice. He tugs Alhaitham’s arm more snugly around himself, as though Alhaitham isn’t holding him tightly enough for his liking, before sighing deeply and dropping off again. Alhaitham presses his smile to the beauty mark behind Kaveh’s shoulder before settling in, closing his eyes.

Alhaitham hopes that from now on, he will always fall asleep like this: tangled together with Kaveh, sharing in each other’s warmth, and happier than he can ever remember being.

Chapter Text

The Akademiya’s new resource centre for the arts is “new” mostly in the sense that it had once served a different purpose in a past life. Upon the direction of Lord Kusanali and a specially-appointed committee, an old, nearly-abandoned wing at the edge of campus was cleaned up and handily repurposed, the renovations and refurbishments breathing new life into the place. Kaveh was not involved in these efforts, but nevertheless, he is visibly pleased to see the storied institute and its members finally embracing the arts with open arms. The last time they were here was for the Akademiya’s inaugural student art show, and the area seems even livelier than ever.

Reika happily accepts the journals filled with Mourning Flowers, deeming them to be more than enough and in good condition to work with. She has the tact not to ask what delayed them, as well as the tact to refrain from asking why Kaveh and Alhaitham had delivered them together. It’s written all over her face, though, the wondering.

As Kaveh excuses himself to admire the view from a nearby window, Reika graciously turns down the extra Mora that Alhaitham attempts to offer her for the inconvenience. “I’m afraid I can’t guarantee that it’ll be finished before the deadline,” she apologizes.

“That’s alright. I had meant for it to be a surprise gift, but the recipient found out about it, and they don’t mind if it is finished late.”

“Oh, no! I’m sorry your surprise was ruined. How did they find out?”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitches in a smirk. “I’m simply awful at keeping secrets.”

In that moment, someone lets out an inelegant snort of laughter. With the number of people coming and going, however, Reika can only look around in confusion.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Alhaitham continues, unfazed, “my colleague and I have an appointment to keep. I trust you know where to find me if you have any more concerns.”

“Ah—of course! Enjoy the rest of your day, Scribe Alhaitham.”

“I will. Good luck. I look forward to seeing the final product.”

Alhaitham nods his thanks before turning around to make his way over to the window, wordlessly rejoining his colleague. “Ah, Haitham!” Kaveh says, looking positively gleeful. “Have you seen this view? It’s stunning. One has to wonder why this building fell out of use in the first place with a view like this, but at least the people can enjoy it again.”

“Bring your Kamera next time.”

“A fantastic idea.”

“I’m full of them. Have you had enough of the view? I’m hungry.”

Kaveh sighs. “I told you to have a snack to tide you over until lunch,” he says as they turn back towards the entrance. “We’re still supposed to meet with our old advisor.”

“Can’t we take a brief detour to the cafeteria? Professor Abtan is used to students showing up late to his classes.”

“We’re not students anymore, and it’s not for a class! Why do I even have to say this? It would be just plain rude to…”

Behind them, the doors close, and they leave Reika wondering even more. She makes a point not to pry into her clients’ personal lives, but something about this scene makes her curious. Could it be…?

That theory is promptly discarded with a shake of the head as she slips the journals into her book bag. The identity of the recipient of the bird-of-paradise will have to remain a mystery to her. There’s no way anyone, let alone a man like Scribe Alhaitham, would go to such lengths as collecting rare flowers at the edge of the desert for a mere colleague.

…But do colleagues normally stand so close? After some more consideration, Reika shrugs. Perhaps that’s just how they’ve always been.

::::

When Alhaitham deems himself able to return to work, he would never be so churlish as to complain about it, but Kaveh can see it plain as day: he’s enjoyed having the time to himself, temporary amnesia notwithstanding.

“Take pity on the poor soul who had to step into the role of the Scribe while you were out of commission,” Kaveh tells a frowning Alhaitham as he pulls his boots on by the door. “Your responsibilities were probably added on top of the ones they already had.”

“Hmph.” Alhaitham expresses neither pity nor concern about this as he unravels the cord of his headphones. “What about you? Are you going to be working from home all day?”

“Likely. I’m having lunch with the benefactors of the Apam Woods site later, but apart from that, my day will be relatively quiet. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason,” Alhaitham replies as he fixes his headphones on. Then, seemingly apropos of nothing: “I was thinking I would pay a visit to Aaru Village sometime.”

“Oh? What for?”

“I want to thank Candace, Dehya, and the elders… and to apologize. Aaru Village is meant to be a safe haven, but I brought with me something that could have harmed or affected other people.”

“You mean the Trishiraite? I’m sure if anyone else had experienced any ill effects that night, Dehya would have told us about it.”

“I know.” Alhaitham fastens his cape at his shoulders and adjusts the fold at the neck. “But I’d still like to give my thanks, at least. I thought of bringing some small gifts with me, but I’m having trouble thinking of what to get.”

“Ah,” Kaveh nods. “So much for ‘no particular reason’, then.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Just that all of that was Haitham-speak for, O brilliant and beautiful Kaveh, love of my life, beat of my heart, the reason my world turns, will you please lend me your aid in selecting gifts for our friends and kind hosts—”

“Impressive, I thought I was the Haravatat graduate between us,” Alhaitham deadpans, still fiddling with his collar. Kaveh bats his hands away to fix it himself, draping the fold of the collar just so, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle at Alhaitham’s covered shoulder. “Well?”

“Hmm? Oh—of course I’ll help. I’m quite grateful to Candace and Dehya too. I’ll even go to Aaru Village with you, if you want.”

“You don’t have to feel like you should,” Alhaitham says, which Kaveh translates to mean Yes, I would like you to come with me, I just didn’t know how to ask in Haitham-speak. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to get caught in any more ley line disorders on the way.”

“That certainly puts me at ease. But I’d like to go with you anyway. I want to meet Peanut.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Alhaitham agrees, and Kaveh can see the soft turn of his mouth indicating his satisfaction with this outcome. “Meet at Treasures Street later?”

“Sure. Five o’clock?”

“Five o’clock.”

Alhaitham turns for the door. “Hey,” Kaveh says, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh.” Alhaitham brushes a swift kiss to Kaveh’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Not that. I mean yes, that, but also this.”

Kaveh dangles a silver house key from his finger. At the sight of it, Alhaitham cracks a smile.

“What would I do without you?” he asks, pocketing his key.

“Let’s hope we never have to find out, hmm?”

This time, Alhaitham keeps Kaveh for a long kiss that he happily returns, flushing purely from the sentiment of it at first and then from the slow, indulgent warmth that leaves them both a little breathless by the end.

“Alright, you’re going to be late for work,” Kaveh says with a laugh, practically shooing Alhaitham out of the house. Alhaitham sends him one last smirk before going on his way, shoulders relaxed and head held high. It’s his equivalent of walking with a skip in his step, and seeing it pleases Kaveh to no end.

Kaveh’s cheer persists through the day, and he likes to think that it shows in the confident lines of his work as he drafts the final iteration of his newlywed clients’ house with an ease that typically only arises when he is feeling particularly inspired. His benefactors from Apam Woods even take note of his mood during lunch, remarking that something very good must have happened to him recently for him to be glowing the way he is. “I know what it is,” says the older of the two. “That’s the look of new love. Oh, to be young again…”

Kaveh neither confirms nor denies this, but the benefactors point out that the infectious smile on his face tells them all that they need to know.

After spending the rest of the afternoon back at home, Kaveh arrives at Treasures Street with a few minutes to spare. He browses aimlessly for a bit, glancing around at the stalls flanking either side of the path, nodding politely at the vendors that try to beckon him over. “I’m waiting for someone,” he tells them every time, until—

“Kaveh.”

He turns around. “There you are! I’ve been trying to think of what Dehya might like. I know she has a bit of a sweet tooth… Candace is a little trickier, though. Do you have any ideas for what to get?”

“Not really,” Alhaitham replies.

“Right, that’s why you asked for my help in the first place. Well, you didn’t ask so much as you implied it and I had to infer what you really wanted from context clues, but—oh?”

Alhaitham takes his hand, right there in the middle of Treasures Street. It’s reasonable as far as public displays of affection go, and on any other day, Kaveh might be thrilled at this development. But when he sees the way Alhaitham is avoiding his gaze, staring quietly down at their hands as if he might find answers in the way Kaveh’s fingers fit in his own, Kaveh gets the distinct feeling that something is off. Gently, he tugs Alhaitham aside.

“How was your first day back at work?” Kaveh asks. When he receives no response, he gives a light squeeze at Alhaitham’s hand. “Rough?”

Alhaitham gives a minute shake of his head, still looking at their hands. “It was… fine.” With a soft sigh, he releases his grip. “Let’s look around.”

With that, they go about searching for gifts. After some deliberation, they settle on a selection of tinned sweets and candied fruits that are not easy to come by in the desert communities, as well as several bags of almonds for Peanut the Sumpter Beast. They end their shopping trip with a shared dinner by the food stalls at the Grand Bazaar, topping off their meal with grilled Zaytun Peaches—a familiar treat from their days as students. The dessert is one of the few things that Alhaitham cracks a smile over ever since meeting with Kaveh for the evening.

When Kaveh retires to his room that night, he leaves his door cracked ajar—a silent and open invitation. Alhaitham takes it a few minutes later, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him while Kaveh is taking his earrings off. As he lifts his hands to the back of his head, Alhaitham stops them with a touch of his own.

“Can I help?”

Alhaitham’s hands are gentle as they work, removing the red pins from Kaveh’s hair. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” Kaveh remarks as he keeps his head still. “I can tell something is on your mind.”

A sigh. Alhaitham sets aside the hairpins. “I remembered some things today,” he says, combing his fingers through Kaveh’s hair to unravel the braid.

“I take it that they weren’t very pleasant things?”

“Some were. I remembered the day we met at the House of Daena. But afterwards… I remembered our argument.”

Alhaitham draws his hands away as Kaveh turns his head in surprise. “Oh…”

“Finally, right?” The mirthless half-smile on Alhaitham’s face falls as quickly as it appears. Kaveh leads him to sit at the edge of the bed, side by side.

“What exactly do you remember about it?”

“As far as I can tell, everything,” Alhaitham answers. “Where it happened. When it happened. Even the weather that day. It was sunny—so sunny, it was blinding… And I remember what you said.”

Kaveh almost doesn’t want to ask. In the years that have passed, he doesn’t remember his exact words; only that he came to deeply regret saying them later on. But this has clearly been weighing down on Alhaitham’s mind all day. “Tell me.”

Alhaitham looks away. “‘If I knew you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, I would never have approached you in the library in the first place. I would have saved myself the headache.’”

Kaveh winces. At the time, all he wanted was for his words to hurt. It didn’t even matter whether he meant them or not—he simply needed to hit Alhaitham where it might hurt the most. Needed to make sure the blow would sting for a long time.

All these years later, Kaveh had no idea that he had succeeded in exactly what he had set out to do.

“Oh, Alhaitham, I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s all in the past. I shouldn’t be so hung up on it.”

Kaveh shakes his head. “I know all too well how easy it is to sink into the suffocating hold of regret. Come here.”

Alhaitham returns his embrace so keenly—spreading his arms across Kaveh’s back, closing a fist around the fabric of his shirt, tucking his face against Kaveh’s neck and breathing deeply around him—that Kaveh can only think:

Ah, this is what he needed all along.

“Did you mean what you said?” Alhaitham asks, a question so simple and yet so revealing that it’s almost hard to believe that it came from Alhaitham himself.

“I wish I could tell you I didn’t,” Kaveh admits, his expression crumpling once more, “but I can’t lie to you. At that moment, that was how I truly felt.”

“…I see.”

Alhaitham says nothing else. Perhaps he had already expected such an answer. Kaveh wants to pull away, to look him in the eye, but Alhaitham’s grip only tightens around him. He settles for sliding his fingers through Alhaitham’s hair.

“Surely you have to know that I don’t feel that way anymore?” Surely it goes without saying? But what seems patently obvious is sometimes what bears repeating for the sake of others. “I still get caught in the memory sometimes, too. But I don’t want to keep living in the past when our future is unfolding right in front of us.”

Alhaitham exhales once more but says nothing. The long silence crystallizes the air around them—not uncomfortable, but heavy all the same. Despite how much he wants to, Kaveh will not be the one to shatter it.

“What do you see?” Alhaitham asks at last.

“Hmm?”

“Our future.” He draws away to meet Kaveh’s gaze. “What does it look like?”

Kaveh blinks at the direct question, then smiles gently. Perhaps it’s just the sentimental side of him talking, but…

“Bright.” So bright, and so warm. It scares the hell out of him, but can he truly say he wants something if it didn’t at least scare him just a little? Alhaitham softens slowly at that single word, frames Kaveh’s face in his hands, and leans forward to kiss him.

The hunger in his actions is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Kaveh rises to the challenge of matching it. They don’t do much more talking for a while—saying little of substance, at least—passing the night in a long haze of warmth and closeness, bodies and touch.

In the rest that follows, they stay holding each other, sharing lazy kisses and gentle touches. Alhaitham makes a noise of discontent when Kaveh briefly leaves the bed to turn the light off, reaching for him again when they curl up under the blankets together. Sleeping with Alhaitham, in the most innocent sense of the word, is like sleeping with stems of ivy—he’s all hard angles and solid planes that cling and drape around Kaveh’s body like he means to keep him there.

Alhaitham shifts and turns his head just enough to speak clearly, pressing his cheek to Kaveh’s chest.

“What you said—you were right. I didn’t want to remember you. I was afraid to. Our history together is just so fraught… but if you can accept all of it and still look to the future, then I owe it to you to at least try to do the same.”

“I understand the sentiment, but you don’t owe me anything,” Kaveh says. “That’s not how I want to see our relationship.”

“This is something I want to do for you, then.”

“Mm, I like the sound of that better.”

Satisfied, Alhaitham cuddles up to him again, but Kaveh can’t shake the feeling that there is something odd about that last exchange. “Ah… Haitham, darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but when did I say that?”

“Say what?”

“The part about you… not wanting to remember me…?”

“Hm. It couldn’t have been that long ago. You were holding me, just like this, and…”

Kaveh’s heart sinks as Alhaitham trails off uncertainly. “And…? Is this one of those moments where you don’t know what’s real or not?”

“I…”

Briefly, Kaveh worries that this is indeed one of those moments. But instead, Alhaitham makes a soft sound like a laugh, his body relaxing completely in Kaveh’s arms. “Never mind,” he says, a smile in his voice as he shuts his eyes. “It must have been a dream.”

::::

Being a man of his word, Kaveh invites Tighnari and Collei to dinner in the city. The invitation is also extended to Cyno, of course, and the trio arrive promptly at the agreed time as Kaveh waves from their reserved table at Lambad’s.

“Where’s Alhaitham?” Cyno asks as they take their seats.

“He’s been staying a little late at the office ever since he got back to work. He’ll join us in a bit.”

“I suppose he was incapacitated for quite a while.”

“Any plans for your birthday yet, Kaveh?” Tighnari asks. “It’s the Sunday after this one, isn’t it?”

“I have business in Port Ormos on that Friday,” Kaveh replies, before realizing that he has been presented with a chance. Still, he finds himself hesitating for a moment, even though Alhaitham had given his express permission for Kaveh to do this. “But Alhaitham wants to meet with me in the evening so we can spend the weekend there.”

“Does he have business in Port Ormos too?”

“No. Call it a… couple’s getaway.”

Kaveh watches as a wave of realization passes through his friends: first Cyno, then Tighnari next to him, then Collei at the other end of the bench.

“Finally,” Cyno says, slamming his palm down on his leg in emphasis.

“Oh thank gods,” Tighnari says, before catching himself. “I-I mean—congratulations? Yes, congratulations, Kaveh.”

Collei giggles. “You and Mr. Alhaitham are a couple now? Congratulations!”

No doubt the three of them are currently remembering that embarrassing dinner. They look downright relieved at this development, as if their backs have been rid of a collective burden. Kaveh might find it in himself to be annoyed if they didn’t also look genuinely happy for him, Cyno and Tighnari cracking light-hearted jokes about how he finally got the guy.

They order a round of drinks, a mocktail for Collei, and snacks while they wait. “So would you say that this strange story of memory loss actually turned out for the better in the end?” Tighnari asks, looking both amused and legitimately curious.

“I suppose I could,” Kaveh agrees. “It’s a good thing you figured it out to begin with, Tighnari. Neither Alhaitham nor I had ever heard of ley line energy lingering in elemental objects.”

“It is relatively new as far as discoveries go. And because of the risks involved, studies on the matter haven’t made as much progress as researchers would like.”

Out of habit, Collei makes to raise her hand before remembering where they are. “So, um, Mr. Kaveh?”

“Just ‘Kaveh’ is fine, Collei,” he reminds her with a smile.

“Ah, right,” Collei says bashfully. “Kaveh. Um, what happened to Mr. Alhaitham, anyway? Master told us his part in the story, but, well…”

Cyno rescues her. “I think we all want to know exactly what happened from your point of view.”

And so, at his friends’ request, Kaveh summarizes the last several days’ events from the beginning.

(Leaving out the details that he would rather not share with friends, especially with their teenage ward joining them, of course.)

After revealing the true reason for Alhaitham’s trip to the desert, Collei’s eyes go round, and she covers her mouth with both hands.

“That’s so—so—”

“Foolish?” Kaveh supplies. Reckless? Ill-advised?

“Romantic!” Collei enthuses, starry-eyed, her prior shyness seemingly discarded like a cape. “Like the prince from that play we saw at Zubayr Theatre last month—Prince Hamza! He also went to great lengths to make his beloved happy…”

“Alhaitham is far from a prince,” Kaveh huffs, crossing his arms. “Just this morning, he made a fuss about me leaving a glass on the dining table overnight. I was going to use it again during breakfast!”

“Pfft…”

Everyone looks over at Tighnari, who is very clearly trying not to laugh—and very clearly about to fail. The dam breaks when he meets Kaveh’s eye and lets out an undignified snicker that turns into a full giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Kaveh asks.

Tighnari shakes his head. “It’s just—heh—Kaveh, you are my friend and I care for you deeply, but you are as stubborn as ever, especially when it comes to Alhaitham.” Another laugh. “Honestly—if a man went miles out into the desert for the singular purpose of picking a type of flower I talked about once, so that he could commission an art piece using those flowers as the medium and give it to me, I would think that his intentions are obvious!”

“That is the sort of thing you would only do for someone you want to marry,” Cyno agrees sagely, as though speaking from personal experience.

Kaveh turns red. “Th-That’s—look, it wasn’t—”

“Who’s getting married to whom now?”

“Oh, hello Mr. Alhaitham,” Collei says, perfectly innocent. “We’re talking about—”

“Nobody! There is no marriage taking place!” Kaveh exclaims as Alhaitham takes the empty seat beside him. He gives Kaveh a curious look, eyes narrowing.

“That’s quite hurtful, Kaveh,” Cyno says, laying an arm across the back of Tighnari’s seat. “I didn’t realize you disapproved of our upcoming nuptials so strongly.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you!”

“In that case,” Tighnari asks, suddenly the picture-perfect image of a friend who is simply very concerned, “is it just the institution of marriage you take issue with?”

Kaveh covers his scarlet face with both hands. Absolute menaces, the both of them. Why does he call them his friends? “Why are we still talking about ma—this?” he asks. “Can we please get back on the original topic?”

“What was the original topic?” Alhaitham asks.

“I was just telling them about getting your memories back.”

“Yes, it’s quite the story,” Cyno says. “It’s sure to be one you won’t soon… forget.”

Tighnari frowns disapprovingly. “That’s insensitive, Cyno.”

“Is it? I apologize. If my memory serves me correctly, Alhaitham doesn’t mind these types of jokes.”

“Oh, don’t get started now…”

With everyone now present, dinner is lively, with plenty of food and drink to keep everyone in high spirits. A couple of Cyno’s jokes even land well, for once. To Kaveh’s continued embarrassment and—surprisingly—Alhaitham’s agreement, Tighnari proposes a toast to the new couple. With some effort, Kaveh manages to convince Tighnari to hand over the responsibility of the toast. He settles on something that might sound uninspired to anyone outside of their circle but seems the most fitting for everyone present.

He looks at his friends, engaged to be married the following spring; at their daughter, who has been nervously but excitedly taking on more responsibility in her role as the apprentice to the Forest Watcher; and at his own boyfriend, quietly watching him with an expectant look in his eye. “To new beginnings,” Kaveh says, raising his glass. Everyone at the table smiles and follows suit.

“To new beginnings!” they echo, eyes alight with cheer. Under the table, Alhaitham takes his hand.

They end the night before it gets too dark; Tighnari and Collei still have to make their way home, with Cyno joining them under the show of escorting them safely to Gandharva Ville. (Everyone—even Lambad—knows that he simply wants to spend more time with his family.) Kaveh insists on seeing them off before the road, unwilling to say his goodbyes just yet and knowing that everyone feels the same. As their group of five leave the tavern and walk leisurely to the entrance of Sumeru City, Kaveh smiles and thinks, with great certainty, that he will remember tonight’s dinner much more fondly than previous ones.

“Hey, Cyno? Thank you for your advice. My idea of how things should be did almost nothing but hinder things. I’m really starting to see how things can be.”

Cyno smiles back. “You’re welcome. And I’m glad to hear that. It’s so much easier to do when we have the ones we love by our side, isn’t it?”

They both look at the path ahead. Alhaitham is asking Collei about her studies with a look of genuine interest. She answers brightly, much more at ease compared to the start of the evening, as Tighnari looks at her with eyes that gleam fondly with pride.

“Ah, you’re just a big softie in the end,” Kaveh says, bumping his friend’s shoulder. “Like a marshmallow.”

Cyno’s exposed eye flashes like citrine. “Of course. After all, they call me the General Marshmallatra.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“You called me a marshmallow, so I said General Marsh—”

“I heard you,” Kaveh laments. “I was sparing a moment of silence for the atmosphere you just killed.”

(A few minor snags aside, he will still remember tonight fondly.)

::::

On the eleventh of July, two days after returning from Port Ormos together, Alhaitham comes home with a frame wrapped in paper. Kaveh practically flits to him in anticipation. “Let’s hurry and open it,” he insists. “I feel like I’ve been on the edge of my seat, waiting for this.”

Alhaitham hesitates for a moment. As the one who commissioned this piece, he’s already seen the finished product, deeming himself more than satisfied with the artist’s work. Kaveh can be so exacting, though. If something is not to his taste, he would never be rude or harsh about it, but Alhaitham will be able to see it in his expressive face. What if it doesn’t match his expectations?

With Kaveh at his side, he tears the wrapping paper apart, pretending that he isn’t carefully watching for Kaveh’s reaction from the corner of his eye. But as the image beneath is revealed, it becomes immediately clear that he had nothing to worry about after all.

Kaveh’s eyes are large and bright, his mouth parted with a gasp. “Oh—oh, Haitham, it’s beautiful,” he says almost reverently, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame. “It turned out so well…”

The portrait depicts a bird-of-paradise with its wings spread and its magnificent tail fanned out, made entirely of pressed flowers. The colour of its plumage ranges from the deep reds to the soft oranges of the Mourning Flowers, its chest feathers carefully laid with greyish-purple Padisarah petals. Adorning its head is an elegant crest of feathers made from the outer petals of a Kalpalata Lotus, their sky blue pigment having naturally darkened to a shade closer to teal. 

(Reika had explained that the crest was added in a fit of artistic liberty and out of a desire to add a complementary colour next to the red-orange Mourning Flowers. Alhaitham saw no sign that she was not being genuine—and he agreed, with a smile, that it made for a striking appearance indeed.)

“So you like it?”

The spell that binds Kaveh is broken, and he looks at Alhaitham like he’s shocked that he even had to ask. “Of course I do—I love it! That Reika truly is talented, isn’t she? Come, let’s hang it up.”

They have already prepared a place for the portrait, driving a nail into one side of the arch that frames the front door and entryway. The bird-of-paradise won’t be the first thing that people will see when entering their house, but it will hang there proudly as they make themselves comfortable in the living area, watching over all. Kaveh spends more time than Alhaitham thinks is necessary making sure that the frame is straight and even. Of course, he’d expected as much from his meticulous boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Alhaitham welcomes a smile at the word. Finally he can refer to Kaveh as such and actually be right about it.

With a decisive hum, Kaveh steps back, hands on his hips. He spends another long moment admiring the portrait, his satisfied expression falling so slowly that Alhaitham almost doesn’t catch it until he gives a small shake of the head.

“What’s wrong?” Alhaitham asks. Did he change his mind?

“Heh. Sorry.” A faint smile returns to Kaveh’s mouth, but his eyes are almost wistful. “It just hit me again, all that you went through just to see this get made. All of that for a picture…”

All of the risk, all of the effort, all of the trouble of travelling to the desert for these flowers. All of the mysteries, missteps, and misunderstandings that met them upon Kaveh’s return home. All of that and more for a picture that is so much more than just a picture—it is a sign of devotion, a symbol of love, and a mark of the new beginnings that await them both.

Alhaitham curls an arm around Kaveh’s waist and draws him close at his side. “I don’t regret a moment of it.” And he would do it again, if Kaveh were to ask. “It came late, but happy birthday, Kaveh.”

Kaveh exhales and finally takes his eyes off of the bird-of-paradise, meeting Alhaitham’s gaze. “Thank you, Haitham,” he says, and his eyes are so full of undiluted warmth and affection that it takes Alhaitham’s breath away. Even more so when Kaveh cups his cheek in hand and guides him through a tender kiss, gentle and unhurried, like they have not a single worry in the world.

“I love you,” Kaveh tells him with a peaceful smile. “And don’t go forgetting it.”

Alhaitham smiles back, his cheek curving against Kaveh’s palm. “Never.”

Chapter Text

Every morning, at the first touch of dawn, travellers setting foot into Sumeru’s desert may look up to find a tall figure standing at the highest vantage point overlooking Aaru Village. Staff held upright in one hand, buckler mounted on the opposite arm, the figure keeps silent watch over that which she has sworn to protect. The desert heat stirs to life and rises with the sun behind her as she turns her head, watching as a figure dressed in travelling clothes enters her line of sight from the east.

Alhaitham can feel Candace’s keen gaze on him even from this distance. She no doubt recognizes him, but it is not until he nears the village, reaching the Statue of the Seven, that she dismisses her weapons before making her way down to greet him. As ever, she takes her duty as representative and host of her village as seriously as she does her role as its guardian.

Aaru Village is as quiet and slow-paced as usual, even more so at this early hour. Only a handful of residents are beginning to wake and commence their daily business outside their homes. From a house up on the terrace, a familiar figure dressed in red and black emerges, stretching her arms above her head.

Seeing Candace on her way down, Dehya catches her by the waist, stealing an affectionate good-morning kiss before Candace draws away to murmur something. Both women look towards Alhaitham’s direction before they move to meet him, the three of them eventually converging at the entrance to the village.

“Good day, Alhaitham,” Candace greets. “It’s quite early. You must have woken when it was still dark.”

Alhaitham nods. “I apologize if I’ve interrupted your morning.”

“Not at all. Aaru Village will always welcome you, no matter the hour. But what brings you here?”

“I’m going to the Girdle of the Sands. I’d like to rent a Sumpter Beast for the journey.”

“The Girdle?” Dehya echoes. “What are you going out there for?”

“A matter of personal interest.”

“Well, that’s about as vague as you can get,” Dehya remarks with a smirk. “And it’s quite the trek. I could have one of my boys escort you—Hisham knows the route pretty well. I’d offer to go with you myself, but I’ve got business in Port Ormos this afternoon.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine on my own.”

Dehya raises an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Candace. “Are you sure? The way there is pretty tricky. It’s not a straight shot to the Vourukasha Oasis.”

“I’m not going to the Vourukasha Oasis.”

“Huh. I only said that because that’s what you Akademiya folks are usually after, but the point still stands. No offence, Alhaitham—I know you’re not new to the desert, but you’re still as ‘city boy’ as they come. Navigating the Girdle is no joke.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Alhaitham returns dryly, reaching into one of his bags. “But I’m aware of the risks, and I have a map.”

Dehya takes one glance at Alhaitham’s map before offering a blunt, if amused, verdict: “Oh, you’ll need a better map than that.” Candace even softly chuckles her agreement. They lead him to the village chief’s house, fetching a much more detailed map of Sumeru’s desert that makes Alhaitham’s nation-encompassing map look laughably unhelpful in comparison. Taking a pencil, Dehya starts marking the correct route, adding occasional notes from Candace and Uncle Anpu.

“Thank you for this,” Alhaitham says as he watches the collaborative work in progress.

“No problem.” Dehya briefly glances up. “So what does Kaveh think about this mysterious expedition of yours?”

Alhaitham has to remind himself that Dehya doesn’t know the reason he’s here. Still, the woman’s instincts are as sharp as ever. “He doesn’t know about it. He went to visit a work site in Apam Woods and won’t be back for a few days.”

“Ah, keeping secrets from your lover, young man?” Uncle Anpu tuts, shaking his head. “That will only breed discontent.”

“Kaveh is not my lover.” Uttering a truth has never left such a bitter taste in Alhaitham’s mouth. “He’s just my roommate. It’s none of his concern where I go.”

(It would be if Kaveh knew, considering that he is the reason Alhaitham is here to begin with—but nobody else needs to know that.)

“I apologize for Uncle Anpu,” Candace intervenes calmly. “He may not look the type, but he loves a good yarn of drama—often trying to spin one even where there isn’t any to be found.”

Uncle Anpu makes an affronted noise. “Why, Candace, what an unflattering accusation…”

Once Alhaitham’s new map is completed, Dehya leads him to the stables. A man with close-cropped hair tends to three Desert Sumpter Beasts while a fourth is led away by a pair of women, one wearing a Sumeri dress and the other dressed in Adventurer’s Guild garb. They meet with their two companions waiting outside—if not for the muscled man standing out in his exotic Inazuman armour, Alhaitham wouldn’t have given a second glance to the average-looking man standing next to him, even with his Liyuenese clothes. A ragtag group if he ever saw one.

“Hey, Faisal,” Dehya greets the handler. “My friend Alhaitham here is headed out to the Girdle. He’ll need your hardiest Sumpter Beast.”

Faisal lets out a low whistle. “The Girdle, eh?” He steps over to one of the Sumpter Beasts, patting the flap of its ear. “I’d say Peanut is up for the job.”

“Peanut,” Alhaitham echoes. An ironic name for an animal of such size. Perhaps that’s the point.

“She’s a good ‘un. Among her siblings, she’s the most accustomed to long treks. But just as with any Sumpter Beast, you have to make sure she gets used to you. Try talking to her; she loves that.”

“Talking to her… about what?”

“Anything. Tell her about your day, your job, the last thing you ate—she’s not gonna understand you anyway! She likes the sound of people talking to her. You could even tell her all about that coworker you can’t stand, as long as you sound like you’re talking about your best friend. Like this:

“Oh, that no-good brother of mine!” Faisal says, in the tone one might use to speak about a beloved childhood pet. “He’s such a flake and a layabout—always asking me to lend him Mora and promising that things’ll be different this time around. I’ll go grey before my time because of him…”

Peanut whickers softly and bumps her snout at Faisal’s side. “See? She’s a sweetheart,” the handler declares. He beckons Alhaitham closer. “Go on, say hi! Introduce yourself.”

Alhaitham approaches the beast somewhat uncertainly. Why does it feel like everyone’s eyes are on him? He recalls a childhood memory of meeting his grandmother’s book club friends for the first time, all of them looking expectantly at him as if waiting for him to say something befitting the “little genius” they’d heard so much about. “Hello… Peanut. I’m Alhaitham.”

Peanut blinks slowly at him.

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” he continues, aiming for something that vaguely resembles the friendly tone of voice that Faisal used, and feeling painfully aware of missing the mark. “I’ll, uh… I’ll take care of you out there, as long as you take care of me. How does that sound?”

Snuffle, snuff. Despite his stilted delivery, Peanut brushes her snout at Alhaitham’s hand with a surprising gentleness. “With a few pats and scratches,” Faisal advises, “she’ll be putty in your hands.”

Alhaitham doubts that any beast of burden—even one so docile—would be as acquiescent as the handler suggests, but he scratches under her broad chin anyway. Peanut moos her appreciation, lifting her head so that Alhaitham can reach what he assumes is her favourite spot. The gesture is so characteristic of a domesticated animal that Alhaitham can’t help but be a little charmed.

“I’ll take her,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He has never felt one way or the other about most animals, but something about Peanut immediately makes him feel at ease. Just as well—if they’re going to be travelling together for at least two days, he would prefer the company to be pleasant.

Peanut is outfitted and prepared for the journey with satisfying efficiency; Alhaitham finds himself ready to leave the village within the hour. Now that most of his supplies have been transferred to Peanut’s saddlebags, his pack is a much lighter load to carry, and he takes a moment to double-check its contents. Water purification tablets. Two hardbound journals. A pair of small shears. Some medicines and balms, just in case. And, of course, his new map. As he contemplates whether there is anything else he should carry on himself, Dehya and Candace approach to see him off.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into, Alhaitham,” Dehya remarks.

Alhaitham considers making a dry joke—perhaps something along the lines of, We overthrew our nation’s government once; a round trip across the length of the desert is nothing—but the genuine concern in Dehya’s and Candace’s expressions extinguishes any desire to attempt humour. This, the way they haven’t pressed him on the purpose of his trip ever since he dodged the question earlier, and the time they spent supplying him with more provisions from the village storehouse, all fill him with a mix of hot-faced shame and deep gratitude. He’d arrived at Aaru Village assuming that his friends would agree to help. And though he wasn’t wrong, he’s suddenly struck with the presumptuousness of his thinking.

“I don’t know what I’m getting into,” Alhaitham admits, feeling that he owes it to his friends to be honest about something. “But this is something I have to do. Thank you for making sure I’m well-prepared. I won’t forget the way you helped me today.”

The two women manage to smile despite not looking appeased in the slightest—but once again, they’re gracious enough not to push the issue. “Well then,” Dehya says, “good luck with your, ah… matter of personal interest.”

“May you return safely,” Candace adds.

Alhaitham nods before taking Peanut’s reins in hand. “Let’s go, Peanut.”

With a soft rumble of breath, the Sumpter Beast accompanies him obediently. Alhaitham knows, without having to look, that his friends are watching him until he vanishes from their sight, a lone traveller who refuses to think that he might be in over his head.

::::

Peanut quickly proves to be a valuable travelling companion. Her slow but large steps cover enough ground for Alhaitham’s liking as they traverse the sands together. She bellows and throws herself at a trio of hilichurls that come barrelling down a sand dune while Alhaitham is distracted with his map, sending them scurrying before he can so much as think to draw his sword. She points him towards trees and shaded spots, likely out of her own animalistic needs than any inclination to serve him, but concedes when he tugs her reins in order to stay on track.

“Come on,” he prompts more than once, “we have a long way to go.” This is the extent of the sort of dialogue he’s willing to exchange with an animal that can’t return conversation. Initially, Peanut seems to have no complaints. But as the morning wears on, her step seems to grow heavier, and she lets out the occasional heavy huff of breath. Sumpter Beasts ought to have a well of stamina that far surpasses a human’s, and Alhaitham has been letting her feed and drink from their surroundings every so often, so she shouldn’t be running on empty already.

Peanut huffs again, a long and drawn-out sigh this time. Alhaitham is not one to ascribe human moods or characteristics to animals, but his companion almost seems… bored.

He thinks of Faisal’s advice. He prefers not to talk about work, even with friends; and he’d rather not feign an air of enthusiasm, even if he were to talk about mundane topics like what he last ate.

“I could… tell you about Kaveh,” Alhaitham says out loud. “Would you like that, Peanut?”

The upward lilt of her name gets Peanut’s attention. She lifts her head with a curious snuffle, and Alhaitham gets the impression that if she were a dog, the flaps of her ears would perk up.

“Kaveh is my roommate,” he begins slowly, feeling slightly self-conscious and a little foolish for it. Nobody else is here to see him, after all. “He’s away on business, so he doesn’t know I’m here. He would probably throw a fit if he found out, or berate me for going so far by myself… but I would like to think that just means he’s concerned for me.”

Peanut makes a whickering noise that Alhaitham takes for encouragement.

“He’s an architect. A talented one. Not only is he brilliant, but he is also kind… often to his own detriment. He can be stubborn—infuriatingly so. He says the same of me, and I suppose that’s what makes us clash so much. His unwavering belief in his own values would be admirable if it didn’t land him in trouble so often.”

Maybe it’s the desert heat making him imagine things, but Alhaitham swears that Peanut gains a newfound spring in her step. She’s hanging onto his every word, even if she can’t understand them.

“Kaveh thinks the world is far kinder than it actually is,” Alhaitham continues, steadier now. “I’ve seen too much proving otherwise to agree with him. But I do sometimes wonder if we would all be better off if the world were exactly as Kaveh sees it. I have no doubt that it would look more beautiful…”

And so the rest of the morning goes. Alhaitham soon decides to save most of his energy for walking, but the occasional bits of one-sided conversation or speaking his thoughts out loud serve to break up the silence of travelling by himself. Peanut seems satisfied with this compromise, content to walk alongside him.

When he decides to take a break at a welcoming oasis, Alhaitham collects the fallen and low-hanging Ajilenakh Nuts from the trees surrounding the spring before breaking for lunch under the shade. Thanks to his friends’ kindness, he is able to add a handful of figs to his meal of jerky and flatbread. Peanut munches leisurely on the whole Ajilenakh Nuts, skin and all, before ambling over to the spring and drinking her fill. When she returns to Alhaitham’s side, she swings her head and snuffles loudly at the pouch he is snacking from.

“These?” Alhaitham closes the pouch full of dried berries and mixed nuts that he had stocked especially for this trip. “You had your Ajilenakh Nuts. Not to mention half your feed and the Henna Berries we picked along the way.”

Peanut lows pitifully at the refusal but doesn’t press the matter. Alhaitham would almost think that she can actually understand him, but she is probably just reading his body language: torso slightly twisted away, protectively covering the pouch of snacks in his hand. Yes, that must be it.

As he prepares to resume the journey, replenishing his supply of water and packing his belongings, Peanut waits for him nearby, nosing at the sparse patches of grass by her feet. Alhaitham glances over his map and compass before squinting towards the endless horizon. It hits him, then, how much distance they still have yet to cover.

He sighs. “I just hope the flowers are easy to reach, for both our sakes.”

Peanut turns her head up at the sound of his voice. “Moo?”

“I don’t mean you. I mean for my sake as well as Kaveh’s.”

“Snuffle snuffle.”

“Don’t look at me like that. If you’d seen the look on his face, you would understand why I’m doing this.”

Why am I doing this?

Alhaitham has asked himself this question several times. There must be simpler ways to demonstrate his feelings to Kaveh; ways that don’t involve trekking deeper into the desert than he’s ever been before, by himself and in secret, all in pursuit of a flower. But every other avenue he considered—from planning a nice evening, to simply stating his feelings one morning over breakfast, and several other methods in between—felt inadequate.

In the end, it all came down to a memory that Alhaitham couldn’t shake from his mind: the day Kaveh had come home from his own excursion to the Girdle of the Sands, exhausted from the voyage but so, so eager to tell Alhaitham all about it—eager in a way that felt both strikingly novel and achingly familiar. It reminded Alhaitham of their days as students; of a sweet, golden time when Kaveh looked at him with the warmth of friendship rather than keeping the careful distance of two people playing at being strangers. He’d kept mostly silent as Kaveh spoke glowingly about the Mourning Flowers, content to listen, remembering a time when they would sit on the grass and tell each other about their days as a matter of course.

Alhaitham longs for that time. Aches for it, like he aches for a phantom limb. He knows that they will never get it back, but maybe if he makes his feelings for Kaveh clear, they can work towards something new together. Something better.

“Kaveh is important to me,” Alhaitham says aloud, to nobody in particular now. “I…”

It all boils down to a simple truth:

I love him, and I want to see him happy.

He wonders if this is part of the peaceful life his grandmother had wished for him. To be so deeply, irretrievably in love that over a decade of silent yearning is no longer enough, and stepping miles out of his comfort zone feels like the only way to prove the depth of his feelings to the one who still second-guesses the sincerity of his every move and gesture. There are days when Alhaitham begrudgingly makes his peace with the way things are, and days when he desperately wishes for Kaveh to trust him.

And yet he completely understands why Kaveh still keeps his distance. He smiles ruefully.

“Sometimes I look at him and all I see is everything we did wrong by each other. But I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want a future with him. And… I can only hope he feels the same way.”

“Moooo,” Peanut affirms. Alhaitham huffs a laugh, his contemplative spell broken.

He buckles the last of his supplies to Peanut’s saddlebags, then takes her reins. “Come on,” he says yet again, “we still have a long way to go…”

::::

The journey continues to be an arduous one. A lone man and a single Sumpter Beast make for tempting targets to bandits and unfriendly creatures alike; after an encounter with a pair of unscrupulous—but easily defeated—outlaws, Alhaitham has to veer off his path whenever he spots suspicious figures in the distance. He manages to avoid more confrontations with people, and a flash of his swords is often enough to fend off territorial Scorpions or weaker-hearted hilichurls. Otherwise, Peanut reinforces the message by charging at their assailants, sending them flying across the sand.

As he dismisses his weapons yet again, the heat of the sun relentlessly beating down on him, Alhaitham has to think that this will be worth it. There is no use turning back now.

Eventually, he finds himself at the northwestern edge of his map. As the terrain stretches up on an incline, he pauses underneath the shade of a natural arch to check his map against the landmarks nearby. Just up ahead to the east sits a domain, the roof of which he can see from where he stands. Further north should be a river; there, along its banks, he will find the Mourning Flowers.

Or so he hopes. Kaveh had described encountering the Mourning Flowers twice during his trip: first at the river, then a second time in a swamp somewhere further into the Girdle. That can only be the Asipattravana Swamp labelled on Alhaitham’s map, another vein of water in the centre of a canyon that lies northeast of here.

“Not much further now,” he tells Peanut. “Provided that there are enough flowers at the river, we won’t need to visit the swamp.”

Peanut snuffles and licks her drying lips. They haven’t come across any watering holes in hours, and while Alhaitham has some drinking water left, it is nowhere near enough to sate the thirst of a Sumpter Beast. “You can drink from the river,” he adds, before they continue their way north.

Having never journeyed this far into the desert, Alhaitham takes in his surroundings intently, as though he were a tourist in another nation. As he and Peanut venture further, they encounter jagged formations jutting up from the sands, made of a white, crystal-like substance that Alhaitham hesitates to call rock. Red cliffs begin to enclose around them, as if funnelling travellers into the entrance of the Girdle proper. They come to a stop where the terrain ends in an outcrop, overlooking a river as it stretches onward.

Here, it is quiet. Unnervingly so. Alhaitham might have thought this area to be regularly deserted, but nearby signs of life and activity indicate otherwise. Spinocrocodile tracks are scattered around the shallow pool that makes up the end of the river, but the reptiles themselves are nowhere to be seen. Further down the bank, a hilichurl encampment looks likewise abandoned. There is not a single Red Vulture to be found perching anywhere, even in the nests he can spot sitting high upon the rock shelves and crags. The reason for the local creatures’ disappearance is no mystery.

In the centre of the abandoned area sits a lone ley line deposit. The thick, cloud-like formation of elemental energy is an ominous sight on its own, but it is made even stranger by its appearance—rather than the sky blue or Mora yellow colours that ley line deposits are known to take on, this one is a vibrant red. Even from a distance, Alhaitham can tell that it is larger than usual; he hesitates to draw his sword as a result, wondering if the formation’s size indicates the danger of the threat contained within. As capable of a fighter as he is, this is a hypothesis that he can live without testing.

But there, growing along the banks of the river, he spots his quarry: bell-shaped, vermilion blossoms held by green stems, looking exactly as Kaveh described and illustrated them. The Mourning Flowers are right there, beckoning to him. Taunting him, even. But the sight of the strange red deposit is unsettling enough that Alhaitham decides to keep his distance. Hopefully it will dissipate by morning, as these things tend to do.

Fortunately, Peanut seems to share his reluctance to go further, making an anxious noise and taking a step back. “Don’t worry,” Alhaitham tells her, leading her away from the edge. “We’re not going down there for now. Unfortunately, this means you’ll have to wait a little longer for a drink.”

As the sun sinks halfway past the horizon, Alhaitham decides that now is as good a time as any to set up camp. He pitches his tent in the shade of a nearby cliff and thinks with some satisfaction that, in spite of everything that was thrown at him during the journey, he still made good time in his arrival. The red ley line deposit has momentarily delayed his plans, but if all goes well tomorrow, he should be back in Aaru Village by evening.

His thoughts begin to drift as he goes through the motions of eating. Unsurprisingly, they drift towards Kaveh, as they tend to do when he lets his mind wander. He wonders if Kaveh is still working at this hour. If he will have a warm, dry place to sleep tonight. Kaveh hates camping outside. Nevertheless, he would never let his discomfort get in the way of doing his job and doing it well. Alhaitham has seen it time after time, the kind of devotion that Kaveh has to his work; the kind that sets determination across his expression and puts a spirited gleam in his eyes, confidence brimming from every—

Alhaitham catches himself and laughs once. Even in his roommate’s absence, he is all that Alhaitham can think about. If Kaveh had even the slightest idea of how often he occupies Alhaitham’s thoughts, what would he think? Does he ever long for Alhaitham in the way Alhaitham longs for him?

He contemplates the possibility of acceptance. Reciprocation. Truthfully, it doesn’t seem as farfetched as he once thought. Their relationship is not so contentious as it was when Kaveh first moved in, and Alhaitham often wonders if Kaveh’s warm smiles and kind gestures are the signals he yearns for. But even after three years of living together, Alhaitham can never be certain. One wrong move could irrevocably bring their relationship to ruin, shattering the equilibrium they have achieved. Kaveh could put even more distance between them. Kaveh could leave. Kaveh could—

Alhaitham shakes his head decisively. He refuses to spiral down this path. It’s far too late, in every sense, to rethink his own intentions now. At least Kaveh will know where Alhaitham stands.

He takes a drink of water, just enough to wash down the last bite of his meal, before offering the remainder to Peanut. Meagre though it is, she accepts it gratefully. As darkness falls, she positions herself to sleep in front of his tent and faces outward for a wide view of their surroundings, the sort of behaviour that one might observe in a mother beast guarding her calf. The thought brings an unexpected smile to Alhaitham’s face, and he falls asleep feeling strangely at ease considering his surroundings.

Though the desert grows cold, his dreams that night are warm, bathed in shades of gold and red.

::::

Alhaitham wakes at the first hint of dawn, a determined set to his shoulders as he slips out of his tent. He peers out over the river to find with great relief that the red ley line deposit has disappeared. To make matters even better, none of the local creatures appear to have returned.

He and Peanut manage to find a way down from the high ground, circling around the nearby cliffside until they slope downward. A smaller hilichurl encampment sits empty here, a few wooden clubs strewn about as though they were left in haste. At the sight of the trees ahead, Peanut makes a triumphant noise and leaves Alhaitham in the dust in her lumbering haste to reach the river. Once there, she laps up eager mouthfuls, sending the water splashing around her face and chin.

“Good girl,” Alhaitham says, preparing his own waterskin. “Drink as much as you need. You deserve it.”

While he waits for the water purification tablets to take effect, Alhaitham kneels to the ground before the first Mourning Flower, a pair of shears in hand. The artist he commissioned, Reika, had given him thorough instructions on how to go about picking and preserving the flowers, and he takes a moment to prepare himself. There is no room for error here.

He makes his first careful cut partway down the flower’s stem, making sure the head is intact. Taking out one of the journals from his bag, he opens it to a random page and places the flower inside, splaying its petals out across the paper. The texture of the petals is pleasant—soft, yet somehow resilient. He could crumple them easily in his hand, or press them between the pages of a book until they dry out, yet they will remain flower petals no matter what he does.

He stands, brushes the dirt from his knees, and moves to the next flower. Then the next. And the next. Some he leaves whole; for others, he takes the time to remove their petals and press them between the pages. In doing so, he recalls a game he would overhear some of the neighbourhood children playing when he was a boy.

Alhaitham takes a petal between his fingers and pulls. He loves me. Another petal. He loves me not.

(“Grandmother,” a small Alhaitham had prodded, tugging on the long skirts of her dress, “who are those children talking about?”)

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.

(“It’s a game, little one. They want the person they like to like them back,” Grandmother had answered with a patient smile. “That is what many people wish for—to find love and be loved.”)

He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.

(Little Alhaitham had frowned. He loved his grandmother very much, and knew she loved him in return. “Do the other children not have anyone to love them?” He suddenly felt very sorry for them.

“I’m sure they do, my child. But someday, you may meet someone very special. Someone to whom you wish to give your heart. Just as I gave mine to your grandfather, and your parents to each other…”)

Alhaitham falters, staring at the final petal that remains on the stem.

He loves me not.

A sudden pang of longing twists painfully in his chest. “Ridiculous,” he mutters at the sensation. Illogical. Absolutely absurd. It’s only a meaningless little game that has no bearing on anything. With a stiff set to his jaw and a conscious reminder to himself to keep a light hand, he returns to his work, continuing along the banks of the shallow river.

It escapes his notice at first, happening gradually: his cheeks grow flushed, and the tension of a headache begins to close in at the edges of his skull. The heat must be getting to him, and the dry, still air doesn’t help matters. Between picking flowers, he pauses to drink from his waterskin and catch his breath.

By his count, Alhaitham collects nearly twenty of the Mourning Flowers altogether, tucked away between the pages of the journals. Next, he digs through his bag, needing to find the…

Find the…

He pauses, his mind curiously blank. What does he need to find, exactly?

His fingers brush against a strip of leather. Ah, yes. Without a weight to press upon the books, he will have to improvise for now. He lays the book strap on the ground, then stacks the journals on top of it. Using the weight of his knee, he presses the flowers inside, forcing the bulk of the stack as flat as he can manage, before binding them tightly together with the leather strap.

Alhaitham exhales in relief. Thousands of miles from home for a task that couldn’t have taken up an hour. He is not out of the woods yet, so to speak, but some of the weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He slips the bundle into his bag and returns to the shallow end of the river where Peanut awaits. She makes a pitiful noise as he approaches.

“Something wrong?” Alhaitham asks. Peanut swings her head towards the direction they came from, pawing anxiously at the ground. “Ah, you must be hungry.” The dry grass probably doesn’t make for the most appetizing meal. As he begins to lead her away, a shine at the corner of his eye catches his attention.

At the bottom of the rock wall is a lump of ore, roughly the size of a Harra Fruit, shining even under the shade. Was this always here? Alhaitham is certain he would have noticed such a striking colour glinting against the sands: a warm red that is somewhere between ancient amber and sunset.

He approaches the ore as if drawn to it. As a boy in his grandmother’s house, he once stumbled across a book of poetry. One poem, dedicated to an unnamed lover, described the subject to have eyes as bright and clear as gemstones set by the hand of a god—or something to that effect. Despite Alhaitham’s command of language, poetry had never really been among his interests. Even so, the imagery had left an impression on him.

It is that poem that he thinks of now, beholding the ore that is nearly the exact colour of Kaveh’s eyes.

Alhaitham turns away quickly. How sappy, even for someone as desperately far gone for the object of his affections as he is. But as he leads Peanut back to camp to feed her and start packing up his belongings, he can’t get the sight of the ore out of his mind’s eye.

The rational side of him tells him to leave it be. That the sooner he starts the trip back, the better.

…It was not his rational side that led him this far out into the desert.

“Stay here,” he tells Peanut. This time he scales his way down from the high ground, relying on his Vision for the last steep drop. This won’t take more than a few minutes, he tells himself. He will lose practically no time, and besides, doesn’t he need a weight to press the flowers properly? Any resemblance to people he knows is purely coincidental.

With the help of his sword, the red ore dislodges from the ground with surprising ease. Alhaitham dismisses his weapon and kneels down to pick up the ore, testing the weight of it in his palm. It’s slightly heavier than he expects, but not quite heavy enough to use as a weight for the flowers. It’s also slightly warm to the touch, though not from the climate—it feels as though the warmth radiates from within.

Geo energy, most likely. Without the gift of Elemental Sight, Alhaitham can’t confirm this, but one doesn’t need that or an extensive education from the Akademiya to draw such a conclusion. Only a basic understanding of Teyvat’s natural laws.

Much later, he will look back and think that perhaps if he’d had a more esoteric understanding of Teyvat’s natural laws, he could have avoided the events of the weeks that would follow. But for now, none the wiser, he slips the ore into his bag and thinks: He would like this.

Alhaitham frowns. It takes a moment for the blank to fill in: Kaveh would like this. Kaveh, his…

His—

Faintly, he thinks the desert heat must truly be getting to him. But even that thought begins to slip away. His body starts to move simply because he knows, vaguely, that this is what he has to do: he stands, swaying slightly on his feet; takes a step back, then another; reaches out for—

Something?

Someone?

In those last few moments, Alhaitham has just enough presence of mind remaining to think: Something is wrong.

But all goes black before he can think to do anything about it.

::::

Despite the fog of fatigue in his bones, he stirs awake to movement and sound.

Something is prodding at him—something very big, yet very gentle. Puffs of hot air blow across his face, accompanied by low, plaintive rumbles that seem to ripple through his aching head. With a wince, he cracks his eyes open, wondering just what could be making that commotion.

A… Sumpter Beast?

The large animal stops nudging at him when it sees that he is awake. “Moo! Moooo!”

His head pounds at the noise. Grimacing, he gathers the energy to sit up, soon realizing that he has woken up on hard ground. Tall cliffs enclose around him. A river trickles pleasantly nearby. There is not much else to take note of other than the creature who roused him awake.

Where is he?

…Who is he?

The question jumps unexpectedly at him and leaves him hollow. In the same way he knows that the colours around him have names, he knows that he should have a name of his own. Above him is a sky of blue. Surrounding him are the red and brown sands. His name is…

For the life of him, he can’t remember.

The first stirrings of panic creep into his chest, but he beats them back with clumsy blows. He must stay calm and logical about this.

He has woken up with no recollection of who or where he is. Apart from the headache that is slowly beginning to subside, he feels no pain and has no injuries. His only lifeline at the moment is this Sumpter Beast who seems to be worrying over him, as much as an animal can worry.

“Moo!” It takes a few steps away and watches him expectantly, as if asking him to follow it.

Bewildered and without any other recourse, he does just that.

The Sumpter Beast leads him to a campsite, either in the middle of making or unmaking. Various belongings are scattered before the tent: a half-tied bedroll, what looks like an empty feed sack, and a travelling cloak among them. “Is all this mine?” he asks out loud, despite knowing full well that the beast won’t understand him. Still, it makes a whickering sound that might be described as affirmative.

He must have spent the night here. Why, then, did he wake on the lower ground?

How unfortunate that he had to wake up with memory loss in the middle of the desert. He would have preferred to wake up with memory loss in the comfort of his home, assuming that he has a home somewhere. Somehow, he is fairly certain he does.

…Is there someone there waiting for him?

They must be worried, he thinks. Despite having absolutely no evidence or recollection to support this thought, he is met with guilt nevertheless. He doesn’t like making this mystery person worry. He may not remember anything about himself but he seems to remember this much, as if it is etched into his very core.

It’s as good a reason to find his way home as any. As long as he finds this person, everything will be alright.

He finds a map and a compass among his belongings, his most promising discoveries so far. A river at the northwest corner of the map has been circled in ink, and a pencilled, annotated route leads all the way southeast until it ends at an X labelled Aaru Village. It’s a daunting span to cross, but he has no choice in the matter.

He looks down at the river, his mind now filled with questions about his own identity. Is he an adventurer? A researcher of some sort? What sort of person would travel all this way for an unremarkable body of water in the desert? What sort of person is he, at all?

He hopes that somewhere out there is someone who can tell him.

::::

Several weeks later

“Wow,” Dehya says, setting her cup down. “So you went all the way out to the Girdle of the Sands by yourself and ended up losing your memory to a weird ley line disorder, all because you wanted to pick flowers?”

“Not just any flowers,” Alhaitham corrects primly. “They’re Mourning Flowers, and they were important to Kaveh.”

Kaveh blushes conspicuously and picks up his fork even though there is nothing left on his plate. The dish of Tahchin that Candace made for dinner has been just about cleaned out after a day of helping out around Aaru Village and working up an appetite.

“And even with your memories lost,” Candace says, touching a hand to her chest, “you still had Kaveh on your mind in some way, even if you couldn’t remember him. How wonderfully romantic.” Next to her, Dehya leans back in her chair, looking faintly impressed.

“Damn, Alhaitham. You’re making the rest of us look bad. All I did when I asked Candace out was make her dinner.”

“And what a lovely dinner it was, dear.”

Dehya accepts the hand that Candace places on her forearm. “Anyway, we’re just glad that everything worked out. You both got some nice artwork and a new boyfriend out of it, so the whole ordeal wasn’t all bad, huh?”

They share a laugh around the table. “There were a few… bumps along the way,” Kaveh admits, cheeks still red even as they’re pulled in a smile, “but we got there eventually. Together.”

Alhaitham smiles softly at him before turning to their friends. “Thank you, again, for helping me. The next time you’re both in Sumeru City, let us know—Kaveh and I would be glad to have you over.”

Candace does a better job of hiding her surprise than Dehya, who goggles exaggeratedly. “What’s this? Alhaitham, actually inviting people over to his house? They say love changes you, but I didn’t think it could change a man this much.”

“Dehya,” Candace scolds, even as she visibly fights not to smile, while Kaveh lets slip another laugh. Alhaitham won’t deny anything. After Kaveh had recently convinced him to let him host a small dinner party for Cyno, Tighnari, and Collei, Alhaitham had been surprised to find that he didn’t mind a night of having friends in his house every so often. Dehya and Candace, as fine dinner hosts, would no doubt make fine dinner guests in return.

“Heh, just kidding,” Dehya says breezily. “That sounds great, doesn’t it, babe? I don’t know about you, but I really wanna see this work of art now. A bird made out of flowers sounds pretty.”

“It does,” Candace agrees. “We would love to come over. I was only there for a few minutes when Dehya and I brought you back, Alhaitham, but the two of you have made a lovely home…”

As their conversation winds down, everyone pitches in with clean-up, clearing the dinner table and rinsing plates to be washed. Afterwards, Kaveh and Alhaitham excuse themselves and make their way to the stables, bringing with them their bags from the market.

Kaveh had spent more time fussing over the gifts than Alhaitham did. After reading that Sumpter Beasts enjoy the addition of fruits to their common diet of nuts and grains, he’d returned home yesterday with a large bag of sultanas to go with the almonds they had already purchased. These offerings, along with the candies and sweets meant for their human hosts, had tasked them with quite the load to bring earlier in the day. Yet Kaveh carried his share gladly, without a single word of complaint.

Upon arriving at Aaru Village in the afternoon, they’d found the stables nearly deserted, with Faisal’s Sumpter Beasts all taken out or rented for the day’s work. Now, the stables are occupied again as evening sets in. Though all of the beasts look up with a brief flicker of curiosity at the arrival of new people, only one of them visibly reacts to Alhaitham and Kaveh’s appearance. Huffing, it shuffles its feet and nods its head in an arc, its flappy ears swinging with the motion.

“That one seems to recognize you,” Kaveh points out with visible glee. The expectant Sumpter Beast settles down as they approach, making a low, rumbling noise that signifies its curiosity.

“Is that right, Peanut? Do you remember me?” Alhaitham laughs when Peanut ignores his offered hand and bumps her snout at his torso in greeting. “It’s good to see you too,” he says, scratching at her favourite spot beneath her jaw.

“Moo?”

“Well?” Kaveh says as Peanut eyes him curiously. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“How rude of me. Peanut, this is Kaveh. I told you all about him, remember?”

“Hello, Peanut,” Kaveh greets warmly, stroking her ears. In response to the attention, she huffs in enjoyment. “My, aren’t you a gorgeous girl? And so sweet, too. Hey, I think she likes me.” Peanut chooses that moment to start snuffling at their bags. “…That, or she’s looking for snacks.”

“Both are equally likely.”

Alhaitham leaves the main building to hand over the almonds and sultanas to Faisal. The Sumpter Beasts have already eaten their nightly meal, but the handler promises to mix their offerings into Peanut’s feed tomorrow morning. “Y’know, she’d been restless since you two came back from the Girdle,” Faisal adds. “And after you left the village, I think she was worried about you.”

“I didn’t think she would remember me,” Alhaitham admits, not without some wonderment.

“They say a Sumpter Beast’s got a memory like a steel trap, my friend. Thanks for visiting; I know it’ll put her at ease.”

Dehya finds him then, bringing a message from Candace. “It’s getting late. Candace says you and Kaveh are welcome to stay the night.” She gestures somewhere over her shoulder, towards the houses on the lower ground. “There’s a spare room with one double bed that you’ll have to share, but I assume that won’t be a problem.”

“No, it won’t,” Alhaitham replies. “Thank you. I’ll ask Kaveh what he thinks.”

As he rounds the corner back to the entrance to the stables, Alhaitham can hear Kaveh’s voice speaking in even tones. Either someone else has joined Kaveh, or he is taking Alhaitham’s advice about talking to Peanut to heart. Likely the latter. He always did have a soft spot for animals.

“…from what he tells me,” Kaveh is saying, “you didn’t just carry his things and keep him company during the journey. You protected him, and fought alongside him, too.”

Peanut shuffles her front feet, pleased that someone is speaking to her even if she can’t understand their words. Kaveh laughs once and lavishes her with more pets and scratches.

“I want to thank you,” he continues, his voice going soft in a way that makes Alhaitham go stone-still, “for making sure Alhaitham returned safely.” Alhaitham has to strain to hear Kaveh as he dips his head. “If it wasn’t for you… no, I don’t even want to think about it…”

“Moooo,” Peanut drawls. Kaveh laughs again, more openly now, as Alhaitham swallows back the sudden lump in his throat.

“Kaveh.”

He flinches in surprise, looking over his shoulder. “O-Oh—look who’s back, Peanut.” Kaveh gives Alhaitham a smile that is too forced, too melancholy around the eyes to be reassuring, before turning away again. Alhaitham approaches him, his movements inexplicably wooden.

“Candace has offered us a room for the night. I think we should take her up on it.”

“Ah… that’s not a bad idea,” Kaveh says thoughtfully. “The way home will be perilously dark soon enough. And I know you’re probably exhausted.”

Alhaitham nods wordlessly in agreement. His social battery is all but drained, and though he would prefer to sleep in his own bed, the thought of making the trip back to Sumeru City in the damp, dark rainforest is even less appealing. Peanut, still basking under the attention of Kaveh’s hands, rumbles pleasantly when Alhaitham reaches out to pat at her ear.

“I don’t want to pretend that I didn’t hear what you were saying to Peanut just now.”

Kaveh gives a surprised breath of a laugh—not because of Alhaitham hearing him, but because Alhaitham has admitted to hearing him. They stay in quiet contemplation for a moment, both of them unwilling to take this conversation into an unhappy turn, even though it must be done. Eventually, Kaveh is the one to give in first.

“It’s just… do you ever think about that?” he asks, though he’s still looking at Peanut. “What if you didn’t have a better map with you? What if you’d travelled light, and didn’t need a Sumpter Beast? What if you’d made the trip out there completely alone—”

“But I didn’t,” Alhaitham interrupts, much more firmly than he intends, and his heart immediately drops at the way Kaveh recoils. He steps closer, softening his tone. “Rather than needlessly dwelling on what could have happened, we should be grateful for what has happened: I managed to come home. And now I am here, with you, and I am safe. Right?”

Kaveh sighs deeply, shedding a weight from his shoulders. “Right… you’re right.” His wistful smile reappears, but it does not wrench so tightly at Alhaitham’s heart this time. “I’m grateful.”

He says that, and he means it—Alhaitham can tell. From here, other people might let go of the topic. But when Kaveh turns to him fully and embraces him, pressing his face against the crook of Alhaitham’s neck, it snags at another thread of worry in his mind. His arms rise to hold Kaveh in return, an action as natural as breathing.

“There’s something else on your mind,” Alhaitham says. Not a question, or a guess. A statement of fact, plain and simple.

“Ugh,” Kaveh complains, turning his head aside to speak clearly, “sometimes I can’t stand how perceptive you are.”

“Noted. From now on, I will pay less attention to you.”

Kaveh draws away with a quick laugh. “Haitham! That’s not what I meant.” Alhaitham can’t help but crack a smile in return. “I don’t want to talk about it here. Why don’t we see about that room Candace is offering us, and turn in for the night?”

Alhaitham’s smile falls, wondering if Kaveh intends to keep whatever this is to himself. “Will you tell me then?”

“Sure.” He pinches Alhaitham’s cheek playfully. “Don’t frown so much. I promise you it’s nothing to worry over.”

After bidding Peanut and their friends goodnight, they’re led to one of the spare rooms in the village, a cozy space furnished with a double bed against one wall and a writing desk at the other. Kaveh removes his cape, sash, and adornments, hanging the garments from a hook on the wall and keeping his accessories in a neat line on the desk. Without his golden neckpiece, the collar of his shirt gapes open, baring his collarbones.

“If I only I had something else to sleep in,” Kaveh says, looking down to inspect the hem of his shirt in his hands. “This shirt will wrinkle terribly…”

“You could just take it off,” Alhaitham suggests as he hangs up his own cape.

“Hmm… yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

The slender planes of Kaveh’s back move sinuously in the lamplight as he pulls his shirt over his head. The sleep has left Alhaitham’s eyes as he stares shamelessly at the scene before him, drinking in the sight of his lover’s exposed skin.

Kaveh catches him looking and smirks.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” he says, hanging his shirt over the back of the desk chair. “We’re in our friends’ guest room, for crying out loud.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alhaitham says innocently, peeling off his own shirt.

“Uh-huh, sure. Don’t worry—when we get home tomorrow, you’ll have me all to yourself.”

The prospect is admittedly tempting. Besides, wasn’t Kaveh supposed to tell him about something? Alhaitham can’t get distracted now. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Alhaitham climbs into the bed first. The mattress and pillows are comfortable enough, and the sheets are newly cleaned—a far cry better than the last time he spent the night in the desert. Kaveh follows shortly after him with a yawn, but as he twists aside to shut the bedside lamp off, Alhaitham stops him with a touch to his arm.

“Wait.” He wants to be able to see Kaveh’s face for this. “What was troubling you earlier?”

“Ah…” Kaveh gives him a sheepish laugh, which Alhaitham takes to be promising. At least he doesn’t look upset or anxious. He even keeps his gentle smile as they lie down facing each other.

“Do you remember when you first kissed me?”

Alhaitham smiles regretfully. “How could I forget?” he replies, wishing the memory could be a sweet one. He can still remember the feeling of his chest being hollowed out as he’d watched Kaveh turn away and walk out of the house. The fear of having messed everything up, the determination to make things right, and the frustration of getting lost in his own city and being unable to find Kaveh. Then, Kaveh had come home and somehow forgiven him.

It was a confusing day, to be sure. At least they’ve made up for it in the many kisses they’ve shared since.

“I saw Cyno that day and told him what happened,” Kaveh continues. “He accused me of running from my feelings. I didn’t want to hear it back then, but he was right. And I realize now that… it wasn’t the first time I ran. Hardly even the second.”

“What do you mean?”

Kaveh hums, gathering his thoughts. He looks breathtakingly lovely like this—hair falling away from his face, shoulders bare, features softly backlit by yellow lamplight. Alhaitham nearly forgets that he is waiting for Kaveh to say something.

“Do you know what it’s like to be afraid of something you want?” Kaveh asks.

Something immediately comes to mind and it is lying inches away from Alhaitham, looking like a dream. “I do.”

“It’s the kind of fear that’s made up of a lot of other fears, isn’t it? The fear of failing to achieve your desire… or of successfully getting it but somehow messing it all up anyway… or that it might not be all that you’ve built up in your head… For all those reasons, I ran. I still think it wouldn’t have been right if I’d accepted your feelings back when you were still recovering, but did I really have to run the way I did? Literally, and figuratively?”

Alhaitham frowns. “If you’re asking for my forgiveness, there’s nothing to forgive. I agree with your reasons. My feelings for you have always been true, but you didn’t want to take advantage of me in my amnesiac state. How could I view such thoughtfulness with anything other than gratitude?”

“Ah… I didn’t mean it quite like that, Haitham. Though I appreciate you saying that.” Kaveh toys with the corner of his pillow, crumpling the soft pillowcase in his hand. “Even now that we’re together, I think I’m still running.”

“How so?”

“Getting caught up in what-ifs like earlier, for one thing. Somehow, it’s… I don’t want to say easier, but it seems to come more naturally for me to worry like that, rather than think about all the things I have to be thankful for. In a way, isn’t that running from my feelings? Feelings of gratitude, feelings of love—I feel them keenly, but I still turn away from them. It’s like I’m more comfortable with that. Isn’t that sad?”

To agree or to disagree? Both feel like the wrong response. Instead, Alhaitham gives this some thought. “…Do you know what I used to tell myself I was comfortable with?”

“What?”

“The state of our relationship before I decided to confess my feelings to you. I accepted that it was never going to be like it was when we were younger, and that things between us now would always be tense. I was willing to stay in that rut, because it meant I didn’t have to do any work to dig myself out of it. But, one day, I wondered: Is this it? Can I truly live with myself if things remain this way?

“The thought of actually doing anything about it was daunting. But doesn’t that make it worthwhile?” Alhaitham reaches out for Kaveh’s hand. “I understand how hard it can be to break old habits. Once the brain is tooled in a certain way, it takes dozens of times more effort to retool our thinking in the opposite direction. But just as you promised to help me remember the things I’d forgotten, I want to help you remember the things you have. The things you turn away from. Just tell me what you need me to do, and I will do it.”

Kaveh’s breath shudders. “Oh, Haitham… you don’t need to do that.”

“I want to do it. Until it becomes habit for you, and you won’t need to be reminded of what to be grateful for, because it will always be part of you. So what do you say?”

“I say…” Kaveh sighs deeply. “I say that sounds a lot better than running all the time.”

“Good,” Alhaitham says, pleased.

“I’ve been running for so long—I’m so tired of it,” Kaveh admits, laughing around his words. Then his smile softens, and he reaches out to cup Alhaitham’s cheek. “If I have to run, it will be towards you.”

For every time Alhaitham thinks that he couldn’t possibly be more in love, there comes a moment like this that proves him wrong. It hits him squarely in the chest, the weight of his feelings marking him with an indelible brand.

“You don’t have to run,” he tells Kaveh, as the distance between them begins to close. “I will always come and meet you halfway.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Their lips meet, sealing a promise between them. When they part, pressing their foreheads together, Alhaitham keeps his eyes shut.

“I love you, Kaveh.”

“I know,” Kaveh responds, a smile in his voice. “You never let me forget it, even when you lost your memory.”

They share a laugh, and another kiss, before Kaveh switches the bedside lamp off. Alhaitham reaches for him in the dark, manoeuvring himself until he has his head pillowed on Kaveh’s chest, his ear pressed to his lover’s heartbeat. He feels Kaveh’s gentle laughter around him, just as his arms circle around Alhaitham’s body to hold him close.

Alhaitham will never know what sort of peaceful life his grandmother wished for him. Perhaps she envisioned for him a home and a family, her grandson surrounded by people who love him—isn’t that what any parent wants for their child? Or perhaps she did not envision any of those things, instead trusting him to find his own way to a peaceful life, no matter what that looked like to him.

As Kaveh’s fingers smooth through his hair, lulling him into a sleepy trance, Alhaitham thinks that this life comes pleasantly close.

And he falls into the realm of deep sleep, knowing doubtlessly that Kaveh will follow him soon enough.