Archive of Our Own

As glorious as Ay-Khanoum looked in the daytime, he had always been of the belief that the night fits it best.

There was something mystical and understated about the city at night—its glimmering roofs and looming spires casting long, unwavering shadows on the land below. Tiny pinpricks of light dotted each building like grounded stars—each one a sign of a life and a home inside. The moon turned the vibrant city into a quiet paradise, an eternal oasis where the world was forever at peace.

The Lord of Flowers, too, looked prettier under the moon.

“Are you not retiring for the night?” he asked, leaning against the threshold of the balcony.

The Lord of Flowers turned, arms bracketed on the banister. He raised his brow, a gentle smile spreading across his lips.

“Not yet,” he said, his carmine eyes tracking him as he stepped closer. “I wanted to stare at our city a little longer.”

He leaned against the banister next to the Lord of Flowers, less than a foot of space between them.

“How does it look?”

“It’s beautiful.” The Lord of Flowers’ eyes flickered back to their city. His eyes stayed on the god.

“Yes,” he breathed, “It’s beautiful.”

The Lord of Flowers glanced back and laughed, soft and tinkling—a breath in the air.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing the slightest bit closer to the god before him.

“I know.” Red eyes met his teal ones. A tinge of sadness lay unspoken on the Lord of Flowers’ lips. “You’ve told me before.”

“Is it a crime to repeat it again?”

The Lord of Flowers did not answer. He did not expect him to. This was a familiar dance they stepped to—one he wouldn’t mind dancing for the rest of his life.

And yet—

“If I loved you back,” the Lord of Flowers whispered, the words held like a secret, blond strands turned almost silver in the moonlight. “What would we do?”

Alhaitham blinks his eyes open to the unfamiliar white ceiling above him, the vague vestiges of something disappearing around the edges of his mind.

Awareness bleeds into him slowly, feeling returning bit by bit to his body, starting first from his fingers and gradually inching up. He’s lying on what feels like one of the cots in Bimarstan. The sharp smell of anesthetics lingers in the air. If he strains his ears, he can hear the sounds of conversation outside, faint and unintelligible.

He takes a breath.

How had he gotten here?

He does a quick sweep of his body. Nothing aches or pains like an injury, which is a good sign. His mind feels fuzzy, the memories bleeding into each other like smeared ink, but there is no lingering headache that could imply head trauma or anything of the sorts.

He frowns.

How had he gotten here?

He remembers the desert. The sand, the heat, the annoying chatter in the air. There was a ruin he had been investigating. It had been a crypt of some sort. Someone had been with him while he explored. He had translated the runes—the other person controlled the mechanism.

They had solved some sort of puzzle in the final chamber.

And then… the world went dark.

A beautiful city on an oasis. Glittering spires reaching toward the gods. The sound of rushing water and rustling leaves. The chatter of the people reaching his ears even from the balcony above.

Hair like spun gold. Eyes red as rubies. Lips curved in a smile, so soft he wondered what it would feel like to have them pressed against—

Alhaitham starts.

Kaveh.

Kaveh had been with him. Kaveh had been with him when the mechanism had unlocked. Kaveh had been with him when something had set off. Kaveh had been with him when the world faded to black.

Kaveh is not with him now.

He stumbles out of the cot before he’s even aware of it, slamming the door open and scaring the staff member standing just outside. Alhaitham scans up and down the hallway, seeing no sign of his senior anywhere.

“Sir, what are you doing up?”

His eyes zeroed in on the staff member.

“Is Kaveh here?” Alhaitham asks, consciously keeping his voice even.

“Kaveh?” The staff member’s brows furrow, hands coming up to gently lead him back to his bed. “You mean the person who was with you? Yes, he’s here. He’s only a few doors down. He’s fine and perfectly safe. There’s no need to worry, sir.”

A slow-creeping ache grows behind his eyes. Alhaitham bites back a wince, brows furrowing. He lets the hospital staff lead him back to bed, feeling the beginnings of something formless hiding in the recesses of his consciousness. Whatever it is, it evades him when he tries to examine it closer, lingering just on the outskirts and constantly slipping through his fingers.

Whatever happened in those ruins, it’s affecting his mind, clouding over his memories of the place like fog.

An oasis. A sparkling city. The moon high above. Gold strands of hair. Gold and lovely red—

“Mr. Alhaitham, are you with me?”

He blinks.

“What is it?”

The staff member stares at him, lips pursed.

“What do you remember before you fell unconscious?”

Alhaitham pauses.

“I was in the desert examining the runes of a ruin in the Desert of Hadramaveth. Kaveh was with me. We had unlocked some sort of mechanism together.” His brows furrow, a mild pang echoing behind his eyes. “After that, I don’t remember.”

An oasis. A city. The shapes and forms of some sort of paradise situated in the middle of the desert. It was beautiful. Where has he seen a place like this before?

He has the oddest feeling that he never has.

“An adventurer found you and Mr. Kaveh passed out in the Desert of Hadramaveth,” the staff member says. “They brought you to Aaru Village, then to Bimarstan when neither of you woke up after a few days.”

Alhaitham’s frown is immediate.

“How long has it been?” he asks.

The staff member pauses, expression delicately placed.

“It's been almost a week since the adventurer found you two,” they say slowly like they’re trying to give him time to process. “We have been monitoring you both since you arrived.”

A week. That explains the fogginess. But why had the two of them been unconscious for so long?

“Do you remember anything else, Mr. Alhaitham?”

An oasis. A city. Golden hair. Red eyes. Whoever they were, he had wanted to kiss them.

Alhaitham shakes his head.

“I don’t remember anything else.”

The staff member sighs.

“That’s alright. We expected as much.” The staff member grabs the clipboard tucked at the foot of the bed. “We aren’t sure what caused you and Mr. Kaveh to fall unconscious for so long. But your vitals were fine and as far as we could see, you were both two healthy people.

“Since you are now awake, we’ll run some tests on you to make sure that everything is good, and we’ll want to hold you for observation for one more night. You should be free to return home tomorrow morning as long as we don’t find anything else of note. Sounds good?”

Alhaitham nods. “Is Kaveh awake yet?”

The staff member pauses.

“Last time I checked, no. But given that you’re awake now—”

A sudden commotion starts just outside. The door slams open, shaking on its hinges.

Kaveh is there. He stands at the threshold, red eyes blown wide, staring straight at Alhaitham.

An oasis. A city. Golden hair. Red eyes. The desert stretched out before them and a paradise below.

“Oh my gods,” he hears Kaveh mutter, hand still gripping the door. “Oh my gods.”

Ay-Khanoum. The City of Amphitheaters. The City of the Moon Maiden.

“Sir, please! You should be in bed—”

The Moon Maiden. The moon.

Kaveh takes five short steps, standing over Alhaitham with a complicated expression. For a moment, Alhaitham thinks he might hit him.

He has always looked prettier under the moon.

And then, Kaveh drops down, wrapping his arms tight around him, head tucked under his chin. Alhaitham is quick to reciprocate, bringing the other closer, feeling something settle into place like it always does with Kaveh.

Kaveh is here.

He had loved the Moon Maiden.

A dull ache appears. The shapeless something expands. It takes over every thought until it is the only thing worth focusing on.

The Eternal Oasis. Ay-Khanoum. The Lord of Flowers.

He was King Deshret. He had loved the Lord of Flowers.

He was King Deshret.

He had loved the Lord of Flowers.

Alhaitham stills.

In his arms, Kaveh starts to shake.

An oasis. A city. A paradise. Ay-Khanoum.

Golden hair. Red eyes. The urge to kiss them. The Lord of Flowers.

Which makes the bearer of the memories King Deshret.

His arms tighten around Kaveh. The architect’s padisarah scent hits him like a wrecking ball, grounding him in the here and now. The city in his mind falls apart and rebuilds itself again and again—the same scene each time, growing more and more familiar with each repeat, no matter how much he wills it away.

He is not in Ay-Khanoum. He is in Bimarstan, thousands of years in the future.

He is not King Deshret. He does not love the Lord of Flowers.

He is Alhaitham.

He loves Kaveh.

“Oh good. You’re both awake.”

Alhaitham lifts his head. In his grasp, he feels Kaveh shift as well. A little girl stands at the door—white dress and white hair and green eyes older than her age.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham greets.

“Lesser Lord,” Kaveh echoes.

Kusanali smiles kindly, eyes scanning the two of them. Alhaitham unconsciously tightens his arms around Kaveh’s waist.

Her eyes gleam at the action.

She turns her head to the Bimarstan staff.

“If it’s alright, I would like to talk with Alhaitham and Kaveh alone.”

“The ruins the two of you were investigating was a crypt for King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers’ memories,” Kusanali says, sitting neatly in her chair directly across from them. “You may have heard about the effects of the Tatarigami on Inazuma’s Yashiori Island?” They both nod. “Tatarigami itself is the curse of a dying god—and the release of that onto the desert was something King Deshret and I were hoping to avoid.

“Thus, after King Deshret sacrificed himself for his people, I was to seal his memories and his Archon residue somewhere safe, allowing it to fester and gradually disperse over time. And out of respect for both King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers, I decided to collect and seal the Lord of Flowers’ memories with him too, believing that they would’ve liked to be buried together, even if they were not fated to be so.”

The child Archon pauses, lips pursed and chin resting in her hand.

“At least, that is what Irminsul tells me. Personally, I no longer remember these events.”

Kaveh’s brows furrow. Despite the topic of her words, Kusanali’s expression stays serene.

“Normally, memories of beings who have already passed would manifest themselves in the physical world, becoming apparitions before fading away over time like a sand castle against the waves,” she continues. “But because it was specifically you two who broke the seal, things went about a little differently.

“Rather than forming their own incarnations in the physical world, the memories each found a suitable host and latched onto them, transferring themselves over…” Kusanali pauses, a cryptic smile on her face. “Or rather, they latched on to the same hosts in a different samsara, forcing them to dream for a week about who they once were.”

The room goes quiet. Alhaitham purses his lips.

“What,” Kaveh breathes. “Are you— there’s no way— but we’re— I’m—” he pauses. “I’m just me.”

He glances at Kaveh. The vague impressions of the Lord of Flowers appear in his mind’s eye, followed almost overwhelmingly by the love King Deshret had for the Lord of Flowers, soaking every one of the god’s memories in a rose-tinted haze.

He buries each of them down.

“You are just you. Isn’t that wonderful? That we are all unique beings built from the ground up on unique experiences and a special combination of traits, values, and characteristics only we possess?” Kusanali smiles kindly at Kaveh, then to Alhaitham. “Just because you have the memories of your previous samsara does not make them you. It is the memories who need you as a host, not the other way around.”

Kaveh pauses. Alhaitham watches the way his lips twist into something between a scowl and a frown.

A resigned sigh slips past the blond’s lips.

“So these memories are the Lord of Flowers’ memories then,” Kaveh says, more stating than asking. “In a previous samsara, I was the Lord of Flowers… and Alhaitham was King Deshret.”

“Yes.”

“Is there any way to remove these memories?” Alhaitham asks.

Kusanali pauses.

“It would be quite risky to extract them from the mind now,” she admits, her hand coming up to stroke her chin. “They have already become intertwined with the memories you’re making now, weaving themselves together with your own experiences like the threads of a loom to make the whole picture. I risk destroying the whole loom if I snip a few strands away.”

Alhaitham frowns. “There is no way, then. We are stuck with these memories of the bygone gods we once were?”

His eyes stray to Kaveh again. He forces himself to remember not the Lord of Flowers but his Kaveh, the architect who went into debt building his magnum opus. The man who lives with him, his roommate, his mirror. The nuisance who stays on his mind every day.

Golden hair. Red eyes. Hairclips criss-crossing this way and that. He wears his emotions on his sleeves and his heart in his hands to dish it out in spades to everyone. And every time he does, Alhaitham always wants to steal it all for himself.

“Yes,” Kusanali nods. “I’m sorry, but it would put you both in too tenuous a situation for me to try.”

“What about that Archon residue you sealed away?” Kaveh asks, voice tinged with worry. “Will it affect the people in the desert?”

“I’ll do a preliminary check with the General Mahamatra and a few of the Mahamata,” Kusanali assures. “But sealing his residue was a precautionary step and it’s been a few thousand years. King Deshret knew of his madness for a long time before his death. He wouldn’t have wanted the desert to suffer more. Nor would he have cursed his remaining people.”

Kaveh bites his lip and nods once. He stares at his hands, not once having looked Alhaitham’s way.

“Any more questions?”

“I have one,” Alhaitham says, stare still trained on Kaveh, re-memorizing how his senior looks. He tears his eyes away. “These memories… they aren’t harmful to us are they?”

“They shouldn’t be. These memories were once yours after all.”

“And they aren’t likely to override our current characters either, correct?”

“That depends on your definition of character,” Kusanali says. “Is character the decisions we make and the actions we take? Is character our core values and beliefs? What are you, fundamentally?”

“Will our feelings and actions be influenced by these memories that we—Kaveh and me—did not make?” Alhaitham rephrases.

“They might, but they are only memories.” Kusanali flattens her skirt, eyes glimmering like she’s laughing. “What you feel and do now doesn’t always depend on what you felt and did in the past.”

Alhaitham nods.

“Why do you ask, Alhaitham?”

“I want to ensure I am no less me and Kaveh is no less Kaveh simply because of a mistake we made in the desert ruins.” Alhaitham glances at Kaveh, seeing the way Kaveh tenses under his stare—imperceptible if not for the fact that he had made it a hobby since they met to note every single one of his senior’s micro reactions. “I am still Alhaitham. Kaveh is still Kaveh.”

He is not King Deshret. Kaveh is not the Lord of Flowers.

He loves Kaveh. And Kaveh…

“I see. Then, yes. You are, at your fundamentals, still Alhaitham, and Kaveh is still Kaveh.” Kusanali nods. “These memories do not change that.”

They are released from Bimarstan late afternoon the next day with orders to return immediately if they experience any discomfort in the coming days.

The walk across Sumeru City is quiet between them. The city is still as loud as it has been since the Akasha System was turned off, and yet, it can’t quite seem to fill Kaveh’s silence.

It unnerves him. Usually, the architect would’ve stirred some sort of conversation between them—some sort of comment, some sort of complaint, some sort of story. But Kaveh is stony-faced and pensive, letting Alhaitham lead the way back to their shared home, and it’s discomfiting.

The irony of the situation is not lost on Alhaitham. He might be the first to complain that Kaveh is too boisterous, too overbearing, too much—but he never means it. The day Kaveh is no longer all those things is the day the world loses its luster.

He slips his key into the lock, opening the door for the both of them. Their home is exactly as they had left it a week ago. Alhaitham scans the area—the sofa Kaveh falls asleep on when he doesn’t quite make it to his room, the coffee machine Alhaitham uses every morning for the both of them, the pots and pans left out to dry after Kaveh had made them dinner. This house is full of memories of them, tiny moments neither of them remembers anymore but—collected together—form their life with each other.

Here, nothing reminds Alhaitham of King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers; they only remind him of them—Alhaitham and Kaveh.

He is Alhaitham.

He loves Kaveh.

“I thought I told you to clean that bookshelf.” Alhaitham blinks, glancing over at Kaveh who stares at their shared bookshelf, the books haphazardly leaning and stacked atop each other. Kaveh’s voice is quiet, but so much louder than this silence, and Alhaitham rises to the bait.

“We haven’t been here for a week,” Alhaitham says, raising a brow.

“I told you to clean it up days before we left for the desert.”

“And I will remind you that days before, I was procuring supplies for the both of us in preparation for heading to the desert.” He crosses his arms, lips curving upwards the slightest bit. Kaveh, finally, glances at him, frown on his lips but ruby eyes dancing in glee.

“I know you weren’t busy enough that you couldn’t allocate ten minutes of your day to straighten up your books, Mr. Acting Grand Sage.”

“It was you who insisted I straighten up my books in the first place, despite my feeling it unnecessary to need straightening, Master Architect.”

“Really now? I await for you to eat your words when you come asking me where one of your books is, Haravatat,” Kaveh says, speaking all the harsh syllables of Alhaitham’s darshan with a paradoxical softness.

“I assure you I won’t, Kshahrewar,” he says, voice lilting around Kaveh’s darshan gently.

Kaveh smiles, and the illusion of their argument disappears—their familiar script falls away for comfort, for just them. Alhaitham’s hands twitch, holding back the inane urge to trace a finger around Kaveh’s smile and feel its gentle happiness for himself.

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh murmurs, eyes meeting his fully. Red on teal. Alhaitham inclines his head. “This… King Deshret and Lord of Flowers situation… it won’t change anything between us, right?”

Alhaitham presses his lips together.

“How do you mean?”

“I know Lesser Lord Kusanali has already assured us that the memories of these gods don’t define or change us any more than the memories we form ourselves do—but I need to hear it from you.” Kaveh takes a step closer, into Alhaitham’s space. Alhaitham stares back, wondering if Kaveh knows the effect he has on him, if he knows Alhaitham could never truly deny him. “I want to hear from you that we’re still us, despite what happened the past week.”

Alhaitham and Kaveh. Kaveh and Alhaitham.

“We are still us,” Alhaitham assures. “Nothing has changed between us. I am still Alhaitham and you are still Kaveh.” They are still them.

Kaveh exhales and nods.

“Thank you.”

Kaveh entered his life in, quite literally, a whirlwind.

Books clattered to the ground, pencils scattered everywhere, papers flew between the two of them like a small explosion happened rather than the regular occurrence of two Akademiya students bumping into each other.

“Archons, I’m so sorry.” Alhaitham heard someone say above him, already starting to collect his books together.

He reached for the last one from his stack and watched the student he’d bumped into grab it instead, lifting the book up to their face. Alhaitham looked up, catching blond hair, red eyes, and an expression full of soft concern. He scanned the student’s hat.

A white badge with the patterns of a lion.

Kshahrewar. Just like his grandmother.

“‘Logical Concepts in the Runic Language,’” the student read off, brows furrowing. “Interesting. This is an advanced-level text in Haravatat, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Alhaitham picked up the last piece of paper the other student had missed, staring at the beginnings of a fantastical building. It was rough and messy, but every line was pressed into the paper with a certain type of precision—like the artist knew exactly what they wanted and merely had to transfer the visage onto paper.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before though,” the student said. Alhaitham glanced up, something in him seizing when he found the student staring directly at him. Red eyes met his teal ones, bright and passionate. The smile that curved on the other student’s lips was loud but so very warm. “What’s your name?”

“Alhaitham.”

The student hummed and nodded. He shuffled his papers and pencils into one hand and held his other out to shake.

“Kaveh. Kshahrewar.”

“I know,” Alhaitham said, taking the other’s hand.

Kaveh raised a brow, eyes brightening like a challenge.

“Are you a third-year, Alhaitham?”

“First.”

“Really? What are you doing with such an advanced text then?”

Alhaitham gave a non-committal shrug, taking back the book Kaveh handed to him and passing the sketch over.

“I thought it was a little elementary.”

Kaveh snorted, scanning Alhaitham’s expression like he was something peculiar. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and swore.

“Oh my gods, I’m going to be late.” He rearranged the grip he had on his things, the vibrant blue quill in his hair dangerously swaying this way and that. “It was nice meeting you, Alhaitham. Sorry for bumping into you again. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Kaveh was gone before Alhaitham could reply, a blur of green as he rushed down the halls. Alhaitham watched the Kshahrewar student disappear, before heading the opposite way toward his previous engagement.

And normally, that would have been the end of their association. Alhaitham would continue on his way as he had before Kaveh had crashed into his life, and he’d forget about the Kshahrewar with striking red eyes and a pretty smile on his lips.

Except, Kaveh appeared more and more the longer Alhaitham spent at the Akademiya—sometimes in name within the words of other students, sometimes in a blur of color that Alhaitham caught from the corner of his eye. And sometimes—rarely—in front of him, talking with another student, standing still long enough that Alhaitham could watch him from afar, eyes drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

And then, they were paired together in a joint research project in the Akademiya. Some study on how to improve the use of housing resources in Sumeru City. They got along like a house on fire—one that constantly burned itself down and built itself up again and again and again.

Kaveh was expressive and sensitive—a perfect counter to Alhaitham’s stoic demeanor and rationality. Every thought of his was put to the test around Kaveh, passing comments turned into points of widening horizons. And Alhaitham, ever the researcher at heart, made it his goal to see just how many facets of his senior he could bring about, enjoying that only he seemed to have this sort of effect on the Light of Kshahrewar.

Until they pushed it too far—crossed an unspoken line, and the resulting argument was dangerous in a way it had never been.

They don’t rebuild the house.

And yet, despite them going their separate ways, Alhaitham still found himself watching Kaveh just as he had in the Akademiya. He was there in the crowd when Kaveh graduated, when Kaveh made a name for himself as a master architect, when word of a magnificent palace being built north of Sumeru City spread.

And, when the architect of the Palace of Alcazarzaray mysteriously disappeared as soon as it was deemed complete, it was Alhaitham that found him, sitting in Razan Garden watching the city pass by.

“Come live with me,” Alhaitham offered, finding himself more willing than not.

“I thought you found me insufferable,” Kaveh replied, still as put-together and bright as when they had first met—and when they had parted ways.

“Not insufferable enough to leave you homeless on the streets.” Alhaitham paused, feeling, for once, unbalanced. Kaveh always did seem to have that effect on him, regardless of the time that had passed. He tested the waters of this fragile arrangement, and added, “I told you your kindness and idealism would one day bring you trouble.”

Kaveh’s eyes flashed in that familiar passionate fire. Alhaitham, perhaps, stared a little too long at the other’s eyes. He missed drawing out these reactions from his senior.

“And I told you your cold rationality and disregard for others would force everyone away—that you’d end up alone,” Kaveh said, the words holding just as much bite as Alhaitham’s. “Have those words come true and now you’ve resorted to asking me of all people to become your roommate?”

“Are you implying you’re a bad choice for a roommate?”

“I’m implying that I thought we had burned this bridge between us.”

“You are an architect. You of all people should know that bridges can always be remade,” Alhaitham said. He crossed his arms—added like an afterthought, “I don’t hate you.”

Kaveh’s eyes softened, a half-smile on his lips, and Alhaitham felt something in him seize once again, like so long ago.

He had never hated Kaveh, even in the aftermath of that explosive fight. It was quite the opposite actually—he wouldn’t watch just anyone all his academic life.

“I don’t hate you either,” Kaveh said. He paused. “And I don’t regret building the Palace.”

“I know you don’t,” Alhaitham said, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “My offer stands if you want to take it. You know where the house is.”

It took one day for Kaveh to appear on Alhaitham’s doorstep, every part of his life neatly packed away in a pile of boxes for Alhaitham to accept one by one.

Neither of them apologized for what they said years ago.

They simply rebuilt their house together.

And, slowly enough, they returned to as they had been before. Arguing, bantering, chattering—but different this time around. The home they make doesn’t burn. It only grows in size, in clutter, in the memories tucked under the floorboards and the cabinets and the nooks and crannies. It grows so much, Alhaitham isn’t sure he can handle it if it were destroyed.

These are the thoughts that run through him when one of the Matra tells him there’s been an accident at a construction site—specifically, Kaveh’s construction site. Specifically, the project in the desert that had pulled him away from Sumeru City when Sumeru needed him most.

The Matra tells him the architect for the project had gotten injured while using his vision to save everyone, and Alhaitham almost leaves the Grand Sage’s office then and there for the desert.

He spirals.

It’s as simple as that.

The memory of sand presses itself to the forefront of his mind. The coldness of a body below him, eyes closed and lips turning blue. There’s sand everywhere. The sun relentlessly beats down on him. He’s fumbling for their hand, the blond hair glinting under the light, his chest caving in on itself.

A memory. It’s not his—but used to be.

It is enough to have Alhaitham clocking out and rushing over to Caravan Ribat.

The reality is that Kaveh is strong and he is smart. He wouldn’t put himself at extreme risk, not to the point of life-threatening. Kaveh knows his limits—he knows how much he can take.

But the memory of the Lord of Flowers dead in his—King Deshret’s—arms sears in his mind like a brand, replaying again and again.

It is irrational. It is unlike him. He is not King Deshret. Kaveh is not the Lord of Flowers.

And yet…

Alhaitham finds Kaveh in one of the hospital rooms, bandages wrapped around his chest and a frustrated look on his face. When his eyes meet him, red against teal, Alhaitham finds his body moving of its own accord.

“Alhaitham—” Kaveh’s words cut off once he wraps his arms around him, pressing himself close, burying his face in the blond strands, smelling the faint scent of padisarahs.

Kaveh is warm in his hold. He is alive.

“I’m alright,” he says, hands coming up to pat Alhaitham’s back. “I’m okay.”

The memory replays once again. He holds onto Kaveh a little tighter.

“What’s up with you? You aren’t usually this distressed when I get hurt,” Kaveh mutters. “You know I’m not dumb enough to get myself killed for a project.”

Alhaitham shudders.

“A bad memory.”

One of Kaveh’s hands buries itself in Alhaitham’s hair, pulling slightly, grounding him in the present.

“Yours or his?”

“His.”

Kaveh pauses.

“Which one?”

“The Lord of Flowers’ death.”

A small “oh” sounds.

“And here I thought we weren’t going to let the memories of these bygone gods affect us,” he says, a teasing lilt that Alhaitham can’t quite handle.

“Kaveh,” he warns. The word comes out pitchy—more desperate, more scared than he meant it to be.

Kaveh goes quiet. He collects Alhaitham closer to him.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

Alhaitham exhales, listening to Kaveh’s voice repeat the words again and again. He doesn’t dare close his eyes.

He is not King Deshret. He is no god. He simply happens to have been one in a previous samsara.

And Kaveh is not the Lord of Flowers. He isn’t fated to die in the desert under the sun, buried by the sands.

But he loves Kaveh. He loves him just as King Deshret had loved the Lord of Flowers. This is a simple fact—has been his fact since he’d seen his senior in the halls of the Akademiya, since they had worked on that damned joint research project together.

If Kaveh truly died, how many words would Alhaitham regret not saying? How many words did King Deshret regret not repeating?

He is Alhaitham, not King Deshret. His feelings are his own; the fear in him is his. If something were to happen to Kaveh, he is not sure what he would do with himself after.

“If it were true, I would want to watch the stars from the highest point of Ay-Khanoum with you.”

“Are you free?”

Kaveh looks up from his furious scribbling, brows furrowed.

“I can be,” he says, words measured and wary. “Why?”

“I want to go for a walk.”

“Now?” Kaveh looks out the window, then back to Alhaitham. “It’s completely dark out.”

“So?” Alhaitham raises a brow, slinging his cape around his shoulders. “Are you scared of the dark, senior?”

“Don’t be a smartass, junior,” Kaveh grumbles. He stands, stretching the kinks out of his body. Alhaitham follows the curve of Kaveh’s spine and immediately looks away.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The night breeze is pleasantly cool tonight. Alhaitham looks out onto the street, mindlessly watching the people pass by on their way home or to the taverns. The door clicks shut behind him. Kaveh stands next to him, arms crossed.

“Well?” he asks.

“Don’t sound so pleased,” Alhaitham drawls, giving Kaveh a passing glance. He turns, walking up the path leading to the doors of the Akademiya.

“Where are we off to?”

“Razan Garden.”

“Oh! It has been a while since I’ve been there.” Kaveh bounds up so their steps fall in line with each other, perfectly in sync. “I used to sit there and sketch during my Akademiya days.”

“Preposterous drawings of impossible structures I’m sure,” Alhaitham says, not mentioning that he already knew Razan Garden was Kaveh’s favorite spot in the Akademiya. He had seen his senior there multiple times, head bent over a notebook and pencil furiously sketching something out.

“That sounds like something Azar would say.” Kaveh shakes his head, mock sighing in disappointment. “The title of Acting Grand Sage is getting to you. I can’t believe they considered making you the actual Grand Sage. You’d be completely insufferable.”

“Speaking from experience are we?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I am wonderful company to keep!”

“Really now? I’ve kept your company in my house for years now and cannot see which part of it anyone would call ‘wonderful.’”

Kaveh huffs, eyes flickering under the moonlight. Alhaitham presses his lips together, hiding the way his lips twitch up.

“You’re one to talk. At least I’m better company to keep that you.”

“You joined me on this walk, so I must not be too awful if you left your project for me.”

“You were the one who invited me, which means my company must please you to some degree. You aren’t the type to involve yourself in superfluous things, especially when it comes to the company you keep.”

“I never invited you on the walk,” Alhaitham says, the smile coming fully unbidden on his lips. “I merely asked if you were free and told you I wanted to go on a walk.”

“Are you seriously trying to say that wasn’t an invitation? The invitation was implied. Why else would you ask if I was free?” Kaveh dramatically sighs. “Archons, you really are insufferable.”

Alhaitham hums.

The tiny gazebos and artfully placed foliage come into view as they enter Razan Garden. They walk up to the highest levels of the garden. Alhaitham approaches the railing of the platform, the branches of the Divine Tree stretching out before them and the gaps between the leaves just big enough to see the wide expanse of stars glinting out from above. He hears Kaveh join him by the railing, an arm’s length away from him.

He moves closer, close enough that he can see the individual strands in Kaveh’s hair, shimmering almost silver under the moonlight.

“The stars are pretty tonight,” Kaveh murmurs, quiet for once.

“They are,” Alhaitham says, watching the way Kaveh’s eyes seem to hold all of them.

“You should get more Rtawahist texts.”

“Why is that? You have the mora. You can always buy the texts yourself.”

“You’re the Scribe,” Kaveh argues. “I’m sure you know which Rtawahist texts are the most intriguing. Isn’t it your job to sort through and archive all the reports from every darshan anyway?”

“These all sound like excuses for me to do the work for you, Master Architect.”

“I see it as letting the expert handle the work they specialize in, Scribe” Kaveh says, grinning out to Sumeru and the stars. “To add to that thought, you should let me redecorate your house.”

“No.”

Kaveh sighs. “It was worth a try. You always deny me everything anyway.”

Alhaitham raises a brow.

“Have I ever truly denied you anything?”

Kaveh glances at him, expression twisting in his confusion. The moonlight frames his face in an ethereal glow. A memory of the Lord of Flowers wisps by—one Alhaitham pushes away in favor of just Kaveh, only Kaveh.

“You denied me just now.”

“Have I ever truly denied you anything when it mattered?” Alhaitham amends, leaning closer to him. Close enough that he hears the way Kaveh’s breath catches in his throat.

For a moment, Kaveh simply stares, a light blush drawing on the apples of his cheeks. Alhaitham doesn’t think this is a reaction he’s drawn out of Kaveh before—not with the way his senior seems to be averting his eyes away.

Alhaitham refrains from tilting Kaveh’s chin so he can only stare at him.

“I suppose you haven’t,” Kaveh breathes, and Alhaitham can feel the warm brush of his exhale on his cheeks. “Although, it’s quite hard to think when you’re this close.”

“Do I make you nervous, senior?”

“No,” Kaveh lies, and Alhaitham knows it. “You don’t make me nervous at all, junior.”

He hums, eyes flickering to Kaveh’s lips, and leans back, hearing Kaveh’s soft sigh in response.

They fall into silence. Kaveh turns back towards the stars.

Alhaitham continues to watch him.

“I would want to admire this city we built together, holding your hand in mine.”

They stay under the stars until Kaveh starts to complain about his hands getting cold and the wind getting chillier. Alhaitham rolls his eyes, scolds him on his manner of dress, and pushes off the railing, turning down the path that leads them back inside the Akademiya. And despite his annoyance, Kaveh follows.

“I thought this would be a quick walk. I didn’t think we’d be out for so long,” Kaveh argues, hastening his steps so he’s next to Alhaitham.

“You’ve lived in Sumeru City all your life. You should know how cold it gets at night,” Alhaitham replies.

“I also know you,” Kaveh retorts. “And, knowing your laziness and lack of ambition, I thought we would take a short walk before you’d want to get back to your books and your research and your warm, quiet house.”

“The house is hardly quiet with you living in it.”

“You—” Kaveh groans. “You have no respect for your seniors.”

“I let you live in my house.”

“I pay rent,” Kaveh says. “Which, by the way, you use to buy the ugliest home decor with. How is that respectful?”

Alhaitham shrugs. “I’m allowed to make my own choices about what I want in my home, senior.”

“But do the choices have to be so infuriating?”

“Yes. They do, actually.”

Kaveh tries to elbow his side. Alhaitham steps out of his range.

“So disrespectful,” he grumbles, hands rubbing his arms the moment they step out of the Akademiya and back into Sumeru City.

Alhaitham glances at the other—the slight frown on his lips, how he curls in on himself in an effort to retain his body heat. He reaches out, pulling Kaveh closer to him by the elbow. Kaveh yelps, arms flailing, and Alhaitham takes that chance to latch their hands together, shoulders pressed against one another.

“Take better care of how you dress next time,” Alhaitham chides, keeping Kaveh close.

Kaveh exhales the breath stuttering out of him.

“You’re being weirdly affectionate today,” he says shakily. “What’s gotten into you?”

Alhaitham glances, catching a light flush growing across Kaveh’s cheeks.

“Nothing has gotten into me.”

Kaveh scoffs nervously, his expression supported on unstable foundations.

“What a lie. You’re never this touchy or close. You’ve been acting differently since you invited me on this walk.”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond. It makes Kaveh pause.

“No, wait. That’s not right.” He blinks in surprise when Kaveh tilts his head, leaning forward until he’s directly in his line of sight. Kaveh stares at him like he’s a tricky calculation on his larger-than-life buildings. “You’ve been acting weird ever since I got injured and that memory appeared.”

He stiffens under Kaveh’s gaze, pausing in his step. Kaveh stops as well, brows furrowing, eyes slightly narrowed.

“I’m right,” Kaveh presses. “Aren’t I?”

Alhaitham refuses to be the one to break their gazes.

“What do you think, Kaveh?” he murmurs.

Kaveh scans his face, the slight frown growing on his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he intones, squeezing Alhaitham’s hand.

“I know,” Alhaitham murmurs. “Is it so wrong to want to stay close to you regardless?”

“Of course not,” he says and pauses. “But there’s more to it than just that.”

It’s a statement this time, not a question anymore.

“Think of this as me settling my regrets,” Alhaitham says. “If something were to happen to either of us or this—” this house they made “—I want it to end knowing I said everything I wanted to say to you.”

Kaveh’s frown deepens.

“Alhaitham,” he starts, slow and measured. He steps closer, directly into Alhaitham’s space, holding him in his stare. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Alhaitham blinks. For all the years he’s put into the study of languages, words always seem to fail him with Kaveh.

Perhaps that’s why between the two of them, their actions have always been more honest than any of their words.

“Okay,” he murmurs, small and quiet.

Kaveh nods once, squeezing his hand. Alhaitham averts his eyes and breathes.

“I want to go to Lambad’s,” he says.

“Lambad’s?” The confusion spills across Kaveh’s voice. “Why at this time?”

“Isn’t this around the time you would be leaving for Lambad’s?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” Kaveh frowns. “Is this related to you ‘settling your regrets’ still?”

“Yes,” Alhaitham says, pulling Kaveh along. “This is what I want to say to you.”

“You aren’t saying anything,” Kaveh says, letting Alhaitham lead him along. “For a Haravatat graduate, you are awful at using your words.”

“I am hoping to say it with my actions rather than my words,” Alhaitham says. “The two of us have always operated better that way, haven’t we?”

He hears Kaveh sighs behind him.

“Besides,” Alhaitham adds. “You graduated from the Akademiya with honors. Surely you should be able to understand?”

“I didn’t graduate from Haravatat, Alhaitham.”

“No. You graduated from Kshahrewar, the darshan most concerned with solving mechanisms and puzzles.” Alhaitham purses his lips and glances back at Kaveh. “As the Light of Kshahrewar, you should be able to solve this puzzle as well.”

“I would want to talk with you, and drink with you…”

“I’m surprised you wanted us to come here to drink,” Kaveh says, swirling the wine cup in his hand.

“Can’t I indulge a little as well?” Alhaitham asks, leaning back against the chair.

“I’d have thought you would want to indulge at home, with your ten crates of wine or whatever.”

“I believe it was you who finished the last bottle,” he points out, raising a brow. “And I have yet to order more since.”

“You say that as if you didn’t also drink too,” Kaveh grumbles, taking a sip from his cup.

Alhaitham’s lips quirk up.

The restaurant is as busy as always at this time of night, each patron’s loud chatter echoing off all four of Lambad’s walls. In an effort to hide from the noise, the two of them have tucked themselves in a corner table away from the main floor, secluded from the rest of the restaurant.

He takes a sip, feeling the wine settle in him, heating his cheeks and making the world fuzzier. His eyes scan Kaveh as he nurses his own glass, admiring the way the dimmer lighting in their corner makes Kaveh’s eyes a shade warmer—how his hair gleams under the light, how he looks almost like he’s glowing.

Kaveh leans towards him, pretty red eyes earnest, and all Alhaitham wants is to pull him closer.

“Are you sure you’re doing alright?” Kaveh murmurs, voice almost drowned out by the other conversations if they weren’t so close already.

“Are you worried about me, senior?” he teases.

“Isn’t it a senior’s job to worry about their junior?”

“Do you worry about your students in the same way you’re worrying about me now?”

Kaveh hesitates, staring at him with an odd expression Alhaitham can’t quite place.

“Yes,” he says, deliberate.

The smile on Alhaitham’s face drops.

“I see.” He downs his glass and pours another, the wine burning as it goes down.

Kaveh blinks. A huge grin spreads across his lips. “Oh my gods, Alhaitham. Are you sulking?”

“I’m not,” he denies. A bitter aftertaste lingers in his mouth, one that’s not completely from the wine.

“You are!” Kaveh laughs. Alhaitham scowls. “Gods, are you upset that I don’t give you special treatment?”

“Of course not.”

“Your pout says otherwise.” Kaveh drags his chair across the floor so he’s sitting next to him, their bodies pressed against each other. Alhaitham instinctively presses closer, eyes focused on Kaveh’s smile, the way his eyes are shining brighter than anything else here. “Were you hoping that you were special?”

Alhaitham looks away, scowl stuck on his face. He stays quiet.

“Come on. Use your words like you were taught to. What is it that you want from me?”

“I want you to stop talking.”

“Now that’s a lie.” Kaveh takes a sip of wine, eyeing Alhaitham.

Alhaitham presses his lips together, eyes flickering to Kaveh—drawn to him, always drawn to him.

“I want you to look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“I wish you would only look at me.”

Kaveh’s smile softens. It makes the world seem softer.

“That’s impossible.”

“You are rather known for defying the impossible.”

“Careful there, Haravatat. I might mistake that for a compliment.”

“It is a compliment.” Alhaitham sets his cup down, leaning closer to Kaveh. Kaveh’s smile widens. He doesn’t pull away. “You defy the impossible, Kshahrewar.”

“Your breath smells like wine.”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes. He leans back. Kaveh’s hand shoots out, resting on his nape, keeping him where he is. Alhaitham feels his breath stutter, tingles running down from where Kaveh’s hand lies.

The playfulness disappears. Kaveh’s expression sobers immediately. Alhaitham feels soft points of pressure on his nape as Kaveh’s fingers trail across.

“How is doing this with me settling your regrets?” he asks, lightly. “What do you regret about this?”

“It is about what I worry I’ll regret not doing,” Alhaitham says. “Not about regretting something that already exists.”

Kaveh purses his lips. His eyes haze over, stuck in a memory. Alhaitham catches the way the other’s lips twist down almost bitterly.

“You know,” he starts, words hushed. “We never talked about that night.”

That night. Neither of them had put a name on the day their joint research project fell through. To Alhaitham, it didn’t matter now, not when they were together and with a clearer understanding of the other than before.

But for Kaveh to bring it up—

“Is that one of your regrets?”

Kaveh shrugs, eyes skittering away like he can’t face him.

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Only if you want to,” Alhaitham says. “I thought we considered it all water under the bridge at this point.”

Kaveh pauses and chews on his lip, seemingly considering whether he wants to poke at this scabbed cut or not.

“I never meant any of the words I said that night,” he admits. “I was hurt and frustrated and angry, so I lashed out at you. But I never once thought you’d end up alone or that you’re a horrible person.”

“I meant what I said that night,” Alhaitham says. A flicker of something passes in Kaveh’s eyes. He circles his hand around Kaveh’s wrist, keeping his hand in place. “But I never meant for them to hurt you in that way.”

Kaveh stares and slowly nods.

“Do you regret it?”

“Which part?”

“Taking me in.”

“Never.” He hears Kaveh release a sigh. “Do you regret it?” he asks.

“What?”

“Staying with me.”

“No. Of course not.”

Alhaitham squeezes Kaveh’s wrist, wanting to pull the other closer—never let him go.

It must be the wine… among other things.

“I want you to only look at me,” he admits quietly.

He wants more than just that most of the time.

“I already do,” Kaveh whispers, his fingers curling around Alhaitham’s hair. “And I lied.”

“About what?”

“I don’t worry about my students in the same way I worry about you.”

“Oh?” Alhaitham breathes.

“Yeah.”

“What is the difference?”

“Well,” Kaveh pauses. “If something happened to you, I’d be homeless.”

Alhaitham deadpans. Kaveh laughs under his breath.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You’ve ruined the moment.”

“Since when did you care about something as socially ostentatious as ‘the moment’?”

“Since you.”

Kaveh blinks. A light flush blooms across his cheeks.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Alhaitham echoes. “How am I different from your students, Kaveh?”

Kaveh stares, hesitating for a mere moment.

“None of my students stay on my mind as often and for as long as you do, Alhaitham,” he says quietly. His eyes trail to the side for a moment, not quite meeting his gaze, before returning to him again, a bright determination in them that effortlessly pins him down.

“You always tell me I shouldn’t offer my heart to everyone I meet,” he says, slowly. “But… have you ever considered that perhaps you’ve collected the biggest portion?”

The world stops on its axis. Alhaitham swallows roughly. His eyes flicker down to Kaveh’s lips.

“I want to go home,” he intones, a slight edge to his words.

Kaveh smiles.

“And fall into your arms at the end of the day… fall asleep with you.”

The night air brushes against his flushed cheeks, clearing away the last bit of hazy warmth from his mind. He hears the door close behind him and turns, seeing Kaveh step closer to him, swaying on his feet the slightest bit. Kaveh takes his hand, slotting their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then, he yanks Alhaitham’s arm forward.

“You’ve been doing all the leading tonight,” Kaveh says, louder than necessary. “I want to lead us home.”

Alhaitham stumbles and scowls, striding to keep up with his overzealous roommate.

“Are you drunk?”

“Of course not!”

“Your cheeks are flushed,” Alhaitham notes.

“Like yours aren’t!”

“I at least am not going around pulling people’s arms out of their sockets.”

“You’re just upset that I'm stronger than you.”

Alhaitham raises a brow. “Are we truly using such vapid insults against each other now?”

“Yes, I am. What are you going to say about it, Scribe?”

Alhaitham narrows his eyes.

“Mentioning something as inconsequential and off-topic as physical strength in an argument about your current sobriety while also failing to rebuke my previous reasoning shows both a lack of sound logic and an attempt to divert the conversation.” He pauses. “Also, you aren’t stronger than me.”

“I am!”

“Where is your evidence?”

Kaveh throws him a flat look.

“I wield a claymore.”

“Barely,” he snips. “The claymore looks like it’s wielding you more often than you are wielding it, Master Architect.” A lie. Kaveh is a danger with his claymore—something one wouldn’t expect from someone so lithe and delicate, ostensibly at least.

Said man suddenly stops, spins on his heels, and faces him. Before Alhaitham can react, Kaveh slips his arm under his knees, sweeping him clean off his feet. Alhaitham inhales, arms latching around Kaveh’s neck as Kaveh’s other arm wraps around his shoulders, properly supporting him.

“What are you doing? Put me down.” Alhaitham hisses.

“You insulted my strength.”

“Since when did you care for flaunting such things?”

“Since I could use it to prove a point.”

He scowls. “Fine. I concede. Put me down.”

“Mmm, I think not.”

“Kaveh—” the world starts swaying in tandem to Kaveh’s steps as the architect walks them through Sumeru City on the way towards home. He feels himself slipping from Kaveh’s grip and instinctively wraps his arms tighter around the other.

“Drop me and I kick you out,” Alhaitham warns.

“I thought you wanted me to put you down?”

“You know what I mean.” Alhaitham glares.

Kaveh huffs, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not going to drop you, Mr. Acting Grand Sage,” he mocks. “Wasn’t it you who asked if it was so wrong to want to stay close?”

He pauses, eyeing the side of Kaveh’s face that he can see suspiciously.

“Yes, it was.”

“Then, is it so wrong for me to want to do the same?” Kaveh asks, the words spoken plainly if not for the undercurrent of tension in them.

Alhaitham feels his cheeks grow warm, the familiar prickling sensation of embarrassment in the back of his neck.

“No,” he mutters. His arms wrap around Kaveh even tighter, burying his head against the other’s shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Kaveh humphs.

Neither of them speaks for the rest of the walk back home. Kaveh readjusts his grip a few times, but keeps his hold on Alhaitham tight, cradling him close. Alhaitham, for his part, keeps his arms tightly circled around Kaveh, hiding his face on Kaveh’s shoulder, the architect’s faint padisarah scent surrounding the air until it’s all he’s breathing in.

He sets him down carefully on their porch, hands lingering around his waist. Alhaitham catches Kaveh’s wrist before he can retreat too far, meeting his gaze, keeping him near.

“You’re not going to carry me through the threshold?” he murmurs, raising a brow.

Kaveh whips his head, mouth agape.

“You aren’t implying what I think you’re implying, are you?”

“What do you think?”

His eyes widened the slightest bit, ruby eyes glittering, and laughs.

“Wine and dine me first. Then we’ll talk about me carrying you through the threshold.”

Alhaitham smiles. He unlocks the door, pulling Kaveh with him through the threshold and into their home. Kaveh’s sketches and pencils are still on the table in a haphazard mess next to the stack of Alhaitham’s books neither of them have returned to the shelves yet.

“You still haven’t organized the bookshelf.”

He rolls his eyes, dropping his key in the bowl next to its gold counterpart.

“Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow then. You’re off tomorrow. You need to do it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

They break for the night—Alhaitham entering his room and Kaveh staying out to collect his materials and clean up. He hears the other’s quiet shuffling across the hallway, then the door of his bedroom close with a soft click.

The house falls completely silent.

It is too quiet.

Alhaitham changes into comfortable clothes, prepares for bed, and pads across the hallway.

He lingers outside Kaveh’s door.

The door opens. Kaveh stands in his sleepwear, soft and unassuming—and Alhaitham wants.

“Hey,” Kaveh whispers. “Are you…”

They each hold their breaths.

“Come to bed?” he says.

Kaveh doesn’t respond. The lights are off. The only thing Alhaitham can make out is his eyes, still shining even in the dark. A hand takes his, warm and gentle and calloused from years of use and hard work.

Actions. It is always actions with them. It is always the acts they play that hold more honesty than the words they speak. It is why Alhaitham brings them both into his room, why he pulls Kaveh into bed with him, why he presses close, close, closer to Kaveh, collecting him in his arms, slotting perfectly into place.

And Kaveh—he is the same. He does the same. He huddles close, arm wrapped around Alhaitham’s waist, head tucked under his chin.

Alhaitham and Kaveh. Kaveh and Alhaitham.

He is Alhaitham.

He loves Kaveh.

He knows Kaveh loves him too.

“Would you kiss me?”

“Only if you want me to.“

Alhaitham blinks his eyes open to the familiar ceiling above him, the vestiges of a dream disappearing into the daylight.

Sunlight filters in through the windows, lighting up his bedroom in a warm morning glow. He feels an arm draped around his waist—his own wrapped around someone too. He glances down and finds Kaveh, curled small around him with his face smushed into the pillow, breathing out soft puffs of air.

His lips curve up—arm tightening around Kaveh’s waist—and runs gentle fingers through the blond’s bangs, brushing them aside.

Kaveh hums, a smile curving soft and slow on his lips. His eyes blink open, a lovely shade of hazy red, and Alhaitham watches with rapt attention as Kaveh gradually wakes, red eyes staring straight at him.

“Good morning,” Alhaitham whispers.

“Morning.” Kaveh pats the small of his back twice. “I guess I fell asleep on your bed last night.”

“I believe I pulled you down with me.”

“Scandalous. Imagine if I told all of Sumeru. The Acting Grand Sage sleeps around with his roommate.”

“You’d have to admit to being my roommate first before you could spread that kind of rumor.”

Kaveh’s expression twists.

“Mm, you’re right. Never mind.”

Alhaitham huffs something between a laugh and a sigh. He lets his hand draw lazy shapes against Kaveh’s sleep shirt. Fingers slip into his hair, running through his strands, and he tilts his head closer.

“I had a dream last night,” Kaveh says. “It was a memory from the Lord of Flowers.”

Alhaitham hums, watching the pensive expression on Kaveh’s face.

“What happened?”

Kaveh’s brows furrow.

“It was in Ay-Khanoum. It was nighttime. We were watching the stars—”

“We?” Alhaitham raises a brow. “I thought we were trying to keep King Deshret and the Lord of Flowers separate from Alhaitham and Kaveh?”

Kaveh sighs. “I know, I know. Just—shut up for a second. It’s important to the story and what I’m trying to say that I use ‘we’ and ‘you’ and ‘me’ for a moment. Patience, junior.”

Alhaitham smiles.

“Anyway,” Kaveh starts, eyes a vibrant ruby red. “It was nighttime, and we were looking out on Ay-Khanoum. We were flirting a little bit too. You told me you loved me.” Kaveh pauses. Alhaitham stares, arm tightening around Kaveh the slightest bit. “I told you I already knew. And then I asked, ‘If I loved you back, what would we do?’”

“And what did I say?”

“You said, ‘If it were true, I would want to watch the stars from the highest point of Ay-Khanoum with you. I would want to admire this city we built together, holding your hand in mine. I would want to talk with you, and drink with you—and fall into your arms at the end of the day… fall asleep with you.’”

Kaveh’s hand comes down, tracing Alhaitham’s cheek and stopping just below his lower lip.

“We did all of that yesterday night, didn’t we?” Kaveh asks, eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips. “Everything King Deshret promised the Lord of Flowers they would do if he loved him back?”

“We did.”

“Did you know?”

Alhaitham pause, the slightest bit of trepidation behind his words.

“Yes,” he admits, quiet. “I did.”

“Pray tell, why didn’t you use your words, Haravatat?”

“Words are dangerous weapons that lack substance without any necessary support; they are easily misunderstood.”

“You are aware of the irony there, yes?”

“I am.” He dips his head, pressing closer to Kaveh’s hand. “And I’m saying actions—memories—are more concrete, Kshahrewar. Haven’t our truths always operated on action rather than words?”

Kaveh hums, a smile quirking on his lips. Alhaitham watches the smile. He meets Kaveh’s eyes, seeing him patiently waiting for Alhaitham to continue this game he started.

“Did anything else happen in the dream?” he asks, rising to Kaveh’s bait.

“I asked you, ‘Would you kiss me?’” Kaveh says. His thumb swipes against Alhaitham’s lower lip, applying the gentlest of pressure. “And you said, ‘Only if you want me to.’”

His breath catches.

“The Lord of Flowers said, ‘I’m sorry it cannot be that way,’” Kaveh says, so very lightly.

Alhaitham tilts Kaveh’s head up, falling into step in their dance, swaying to the same rhythm Kaveh began. Kaveh meets his stare, gazing up at him under half-lidded eyes.

“What do you say?” Alhaitham asks, leaning the slightest bit closer.

“I want you to kiss me,” Kaveh whispers, a warm breath passing between them.

“I want to kiss you too,” he says.

Kaveh exhales a laugh.

“Then do it, you idiot.”

And Alhaitham—

He captures Kaveh’s lips, feeling the smile pressed against his, sweet and tender and warm. He pulls Kaveh closer and Kaveh’s hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging just the slightest bit, enough to pull out a hum from him which Kaveh swallows, muffling the noise like it’s his—has always been his.

He turns them both so Kaveh’s lying on his back and both his arms bracket either side of Kaveh, the other’s blond hair fanning across the pillows like a halo. And when they break for air, Kaveh pulls him down again, a little rougher and messier, but still undeniably them—always, always them.

“How long?” Alhaitham breathes, resting his forehead against Kaveh’s.

“Probably ever since I moved in with you,” Kaveh admits, the words held like a secret. “I could’ve moved out months ago, you know?”

“I do,” Alhaitham says. “But you never did.”

“No, I never did.” His hands slide down the back of his head, gently cupping Alhaitham’s face. “What about you?”

“Since I met you.”

Kaveh blinks.

“Since the joint research project or…” he pauses. “When I bumped into you?”

“It would be more accurate to say you crashed into me.”

“I was running late that day,” Kaveh whines. “And you had your nose buried in one of your books anyway. It was just as much your fault for not watching where you’re going.”

Alhaitham huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, of course,” he drawls, voice low in his chest. “It was all my fault.”

“All your fault,” Kaveh repeats and pulls him down for one more kiss.

“I’m sorry it cannot be that way.”

“I know.”

“…”

“But even so… I still love you.”