Alcohol tends to knock him into oblivion, which is why his drinking habit has been spiraling out of control lately. Suffering through hangovers is worth getting some semblance of sleep. There are nights he wishes he didn't have to dream. Stress plagues them even there, twisting euphoria into nightmares, memories into static, off colored visions that could put a withering zone to shame. Faceless crowds share a single voice that accuses him, that no matter what path he takes, Alhaitham is bound to run into hurt.
That's why he normally wakes up early and in a pool of his own sweat. The birds are barely chirping outside as they nuzzle each other to keep warm. Yet the sun hasn't broken through the horizon and the house is fairly dark, still. Kaveh wastes no time in busying his hands in the office, seated and beginning some new sketches. Under candle light, he tries to bring back to life the darkened canopies from the night before. Yet that somehow turns into a faint mirage of Port Ormos creeping up in the distance. Even his own imagination keeps taunting him, it seems. Maybe he truly misses it. He glances over at the hallway, void of thought, full of agonies, and missing him, too.
On the subject of sleep, Alhaitham tends to leave no comments on it. The point of it is to ultimately rest, and he is aware that an active mind like his needs plenty. The dreams that inhabit his mind are wildly subjective, now that the does dream them, and he still finds the novelty of it so very curious.
That night, however, he tries not to venture too much into those. He really needs the rest. Perhaps their archon is helping him in that regard by not sending him one.
So when he does wake up, it's with sounds of Kaveh around the house, perhaps the piping again, or a door opening and closing as he looks for something. Alhaitham gets up, his body mindlessly going through the motions. Sit up, wait for a few seconds, stand up. Second order of business: Get some sort of coffee.
In the fuzziness of being half-awake, he looks over at the office and doesn't stop the warmth when he sees the architect and it blooms in his chest. The familiarity, the comfort of him being there, is too strong for him to feel any urge to school his expression or to sharpen the edge of his gaze. He rubs at his neck, and mutters a ''Morning' in a quiet voice before he pads over to the kitchen.
Someone’s presence is what makes a house into a home. Kaveh glances up from his stacks of papers at Alhaitham, watching him emerge from his room to the dim morning pouring through stained glass.
He grips his pen tighter and looks back down, “good morning. I already grinded the coffee beans,” it’s the least he can do to pad his way to an apology for the night before. He will never actually say the words, not to give Alhaitham all the right. The last thing he needs is another sarcastic remark like you finally understand, I’m impressed.
Kaveh gets up to follow him to the kitchen. His hands are worn with constant drawing and strain, despite their delicacy. He grabs himself a cup so Alhaitham can pour him coffee once it’s finished. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll try to make time for Port Ormos three weeks from now.”
"Ah, thanks," a mutter. Alhaitham is known for being sharp, striking, all precision and liquid motions as he goes through his day. There's no word without meaning, no action without reason. Right after he wakes up, especially before he gets his coffee, everything feels fuzzy, however, the softness of sleep tends to cling to him for longer than it should. So it's both out of sheer necessity and practice that he grabs the ground beans, tapping the dust gently from the grinder and into a small container with careful ease. "How much sugar do you want today?" He asks as he places the water over a low flame.
Perhaps none, but Alhaitham is nothing but adaptable when it comes to waking himself up. It's both pleasant and not—the comfort of his home and the presence of his roommate makes it easy to endure and even revel in it, but Alhaitham appreciates the power of a sharp mind, so the listlessness can feel like being held hostage by exhaustion, longing for the return of mental clarity.
Or total emptiness, in the rare few occasions where he allowed himself not to think. He pours the coffee carefully into both cups and leans against the counter as he waits for his own to cool and the coffee to settle at the bottom. He nods, his eyes looking for something in Kaveh's face that betrays emotion about the location. There's a slight quirk on his lip. "Did you dream about something that made you change your mind?"
There is nothing like the scent of coffee filling the morning air. Kaveh sips slowly to avoid burning his lips, cold hands cup around the entire mug. He keeps fantasizing about times that are only justified to live in canvasses and dreams. Kaveh wears emotions on his sleeves even when he shouldn't. He can't turn them off. "What?" He glances at him and takes another rebellious drink, "n-no. If you don't think I'll get in the way of your business, it's cheaper going together. Besides, you alone in Port Ormos? Who knows what kind of ugly thing might make it home with you. It's better if I go with." That's convincing, right? He drinks again. "It needs more sugar."
With a confident step and motion, Alhaitham gingerly grabs Kaveh's cup, fingers holding onto the brim and plucking it from the architect's grasp. For all its decisiveness, that it's an early morning and Alhaitham's own caution makes the gesture gentle, familiar. "I'll make you another," he mutters as though it's not an issue, which isn't. He's used to it. "You should let the coffee cool a little before drinking it," is the only complaint as he flicks his fingers from the heated cup, the warmth too much to a feeble scholar's pads.
"I wouldn't have asked you to come with me if I thought you'd get in the way, you know?" Rhetoric, while he waits for the coffee to boil again, is just part of his day-to-day by now. He distracts himself with the loosened bandage on his arm and decides to remove it to check on the cut. The ointment did wonders, he'll have to thank Tighnari later. "Speaking of, I'll need you to help me with this again. Should be the last day."
If Tighnari were here, he might begin to lecture Alhaitham for removing a bandage and exposing a wound like that when working in the kitchen. It's unsanitary. Kaveh isn't that nitpicky, however, and he observes his darkened flesh on the edges of the cut while they wait for their second batch of coffee. It's a lot less raw.
"Fine," he sighs, even Kaveh thinks that mornings should be easy and peaceful. He inches closer to him and barely grazes his skin around the wound. "It looks like it's healing fast," and as if they were both on sync, Kaveh speaks on his behalf, "we'll have to thank Tighnari the first chance we see him. He's always looking out for us. . . Um. I'll go get some new bandages," he turns away swiftly and disappears to the bathroom just like that. He takes an extra minute to rinse off the lag off of his face with water and comes back a little more put together. "So how many of them were there? I still find it odd someone as strong as you would get a scratch."
While working for Azar, a Rtawahist at heart, he had plenty of time allocated to reading and allocating work from that darshan. One, in particular, had called to Alhaitham's attention, if anything because so many scholars had found it farfetched, if completely inane and baffling.
The research defended that the grand tapestry of existence, the cosmic symphony of their world found its roots in a primordial explosion, scattering the seeds of creation, giving birth to stars, and the very essence of life itself. That humans, beings, elemental and not, are but fragments of that cosmic cataclysm, woven together by the same stardust.
So when Kaveh picks up from his thoughts in the same way he had done to the mug from his fingers, he can't help but think of it. How it could be easily explained that they both carry the echoes of ancient explosions, the remnants of long-gone stars that once burned brightly in distant celestial realms. Each embrace, each shared moment between them is but a testament to their shared essence.
Finding solace in the idea that they're so intimately connected, to each other and the universe, seems so very comforting.
And entirely too simple. Still, Alhaitham wonders, if the reason they clash so much is because they're shards of the same material, reflecting the cracks of their selves at each other.
"Five," he says, placing the new brew on the counter beside the architect. He doesn't like that he had to fight. Had he been paying attention enough to the man behind all of this, he would have probably avoided this outcome."Don't drink it, yet."
How they stars dictate their existence is out of Kaveh's knowledgeable bounds, but it doesn't mean he's unable to feel or experience them. Still, his reasonings are all too poetic for rationality to support. He'd always been drawn to Alhaitham, from the moment he first laid eyes on him to irrational vexations that lead them into conflict. One could even argue that it's because he cares that he's so easily triggered by him, even when Alhaitham is the one hurt. Anti-matter to matter, one cannot exist without the other. Unforunately, they are just as complex. Kaveh is, at times, still embarrassed of his own attractions even when those immediately around them are aware. Romance is not something the stars are capable of explaining after all, not to his understanding.
"Hold still," he demands firmly as he takes his arm into his care again, dabbing the ointment over rough edges using surgical precision. It might be easy to dismiss an artist's hands until they are put to the test; he has immaculate control. He's steady as though he were outlining his blueprints or working on linework from memory. To some degree, he has Alhaitham's body memorized, too. He loops the bandage around his bicep, snug but not so tight that blood wouldn't circulate. He deliberately prolongs the process to wait for his coffee to cool, and he adjusts the edges, making sure they wont roll down with movement, "Must have been five tough ones, or maybe you should admit that you can't do everything alone. . There, it's not too tight, is it?" He reaches for his mug now, standing back so he can admire his own work sipping away.
They're mesmerizing, they've always been. Those hands have always garnered Alhaitham's attention like someone picking tea leaves, the liquid precision of them something that the Scribe himself had coveted before, before rationalizing his way into how he had other traits that compensated for that lack. Still, the fascination lingered, from the beautiful way Kaveh's fingers flicked to shoo people or a concept away, to how he tended to snap them when struck with an idea or a plan. Alhaitham's eyes are fixed in how they move, and how those digits uncurled from their palm like a bird of paradise flower. Harmony in gestures always escaped him, he believes.
And in those little things, he did consider his way of looking at them to be romantic. Perhaps he was wrong, however, or not enough. With how things turned out, it's a little hard to say.
With a shake of his head, though it's both so say that the bandage is perfect (he can't tell), and that this was not a matter of asking for help (he finds that silly). "One of them summoned a bird, it was particularly difficult to deal with even with my blades," he drifts his gaze up to the architect, their similar heights making it easy for him to find his carmine eyes. "They attacked precisely because I was alone, Kaveh. You're not going to tell me that I need a bodyguard now."
"Believe me, I'm aware about what an ambush looks like, Alhaitham," he coos in return and lifts the rim of the cup to his lips. The fit of concern is still clear in the shine of his eyes, "that's not what I'm saying at all. Why do you make it so difficult to talk about something serious?" He forces himself to drink the rest of the coffee, "I'm going to change. If I don't start cleaning now then it'll never get done."
Kaveh's room is potent of his scent, it's as if the wooden surroundings have absorbed his essence. That of wine, that of petals that he often grinds to make different colored paints, or the sweetness of fruits he often nibbles on throughout the day. He has a small fight with his own hairclips. It's annoying when they won't stay exactly where he wants them to be, not that this is enough reason to aggravate him. It's one thing that the stars, the Universe, isn't on their side rooting them on, but it's another beast having to accept anything else taking him away from him.
Alhaitham decides to do the same. He pads over to his own room, only to then cross by Kaveh's as he fumbles about with his hairpins. He lets out a quiet 'tsk', just loud enough to be heard by the only two people in the room, when he enters and silently adjusts them into the position that he so well memorized.
One would wonder why Kaveh's being so difficult. But in the same way that Kaveh creates beautiful façades to embellish practicality in his work, he also builds words and his own emotions specifically to cover what's truly in his core. Rational thought knows that there's no way that Alhaitham could have called for Kaveh's help once he learned about the ambush, especially with the Matras neck-deep in a case that has them well-entertained. The Scribe knows that this annoyance doesn't stem from Alhaitham being careless or reckless.
The room smells acrid and sweet, not unlike his roommate's own self. Not unlike the taste of his tongue. If Alhaitham breathes in enough, perhaps the scent would linger longer in the back of his throat.
As he takes hold of an unruly strand between the knuckles of his fore and middle finger, fastens it into one of the pins carefully, he scoffs. "Thank you."
His room manifests warmth the moment Alhaitham comes in to his aid. Kaveh doesn’t glance back, and merely leaves his arms loosely crossed while Alhaitham takes over the task of clipping his hair.
His skin crawls with the movement of his fingers sifting through golden tresses and moving them accordingly where he likes them to be. Fine hairs on his neck stand, and he frowns. The pressure on his throat knots spiteful words that never see the light of day. He won’t give him the satisfaction that the gesture is well taken. In fact, it’s best if he says nothing at all, maybe Alhaitham will then admit to his own thoughts. Of course all this twist in logic is bound to end in bitter disappointment when he simply walks away.
“Why are you thanking me?” Is rhetorical once he’s finished. Kaveh follows him to the frame of his door so he can close it. He leans against it and stays like this for a few moments savoring the ghost of his touch. “You are so unfair.” He numbers under his breath, it will never be loud enough that Alhaitham could catch wind of it.
He eventually emerges with fresh clothes on, and starts collecting dust from the corners of the living space, between the couches. Beside the shelves. The vases are also getting dusty inside.
He thanks him for his concern, for his care, for still sticking around. That's what he'd probably say, if he didn't know that Kaveh's question came from his own frustration. Alhaitham knows Kaveh, has known him for years in different instances of their lives. While he considers his own gesture isn't as charged or as hefty, he knows that Kaveh is bound to lend some of his own weight to it. Still, he does it all the same, perhaps in the hopes that said weight is lifted off of him, nonetheless. Kaveh is, after all, ever mutable and mercurial around the solid ground of his ideals. Energy around a core center. And energy needs an outlet, if anything to transform into something else. After all, something with that perpetuity can only hurt itself if it holds something hefty.
While the architect goes back and forth, Alhaitham prepares some food, some water, some supplies, just in case. The location is in the jungle, it'd be bad to go unprepared. Still, he's so methodic that it doesn't take long for him to take care of things that they'd both need. He's found reading a book, when Kaveh is done.
Some windows of peaceful coexistence do make them appear as if they were perfectly compatible. Kaveh tending to his cleaning routine, Alhaitham and his thoughtful meal preparations. Then again, it could also be mistaken for endless compromising. Tolerant but never satisfied.
They are almost picture perfect.
He never managed to clean away a stain in the corner from a previous fallen cup of wine. Long have been the days of them tormenting their surroundings with affections rather than each other. Kaveh ignores it.
“Are you ready? I can’t believe time goes by so fast,” also has a weight to it, as if he’s always reminiscing. He puts away the broom and dirty rags and makes sure Mehrak is ready, too. “It’s just a short trip. At least be glad we’re not going into the desert. You’re lucky you don’t understand a thing,” he meets Alhaitham in the hallway that leads outside and looks at him. “Mehrak can hold onto the food. The less you carry the better. It smells good. What is it?”
He actually takes some time to say hello to Mehrak and waits for the toolbox to give him a beep boop in greeting back. He hands over the food containers and nods in appreciation and gratitude. "Just my usual, since we had leftover Sabz Meat Stew," he knows it's easier to eat on the go than the actual stew and it's pretty filling. He only did not have the time to ensure the frying pan really seared the word 'contemplation' on it the perfect way he painstakingly takes time to, but the dish was there nonetheless.
Alhaitham checks everything quietly. Provisions, equipment, weapons. A willingness to clear some things. "I sent word to the rangers with our route and probable whereabouts. Just in case anything happens," Alhaitham is already playing mental chess in the possible outcomes and how to avoid this. "They'll come looking for us if they don't hear back."
Luckily Mehrak is able to take on all the heavier equipment with ease. None of them have to lift a finger and it makes extensive traveling less stressful on the body. Perhaps that's another reason Kaveh tends to forget certain things behind at times. With how much Mehrak carries, it's only natural that he sometimes forgets to keep items on his own person. Like his keys.
He remembers this time, and he's the one who locks the house on their way out.
Evening birds are seen gliding back into the heights of the canopies just over the sunset. "Are you sure it was a good idea going out this late?" Kaveh says once they reach the city gates. It's natural that there are eyes turning anywhere they go together. Whether it's curiosity on people's part, of the fact they're both vision carriers, or just easy on the eyes. With their positions among scholars, it wouldn't be a surprise that Alhaitham is more well known now than ever.
"Good. After all, you almost didn't make it home. I don't care where you go off to most of the time," he does, "I thought something was seriously wrong." It's the issue when he knows Alhaitham's habits and schedule inside and out. "Well, that's over now. Forget it," he glances up at the clouds and the strokes of color tearing day into night. "I look forward to eating some of those leftovers," a weak smile is thrown his way, "this almost feels like some camping trip instead, honestly. Haha."
Kaveh moves out of his own admission of concern so fast that Alhaitham barely has time to even mention how that makes him sound like he keeled over when he arrived home. "It was just a cut," his eyebrows slant in some soft disbelief.
A gentle smile graces Kaveh's lips, a flicker of remembrance illuminating his eyes. The weight of their past, the shared moments, and intimate secrets feel weighty on Alhaitham's tongue, making his ribs increase resistance when he breathes in the sunset air. "You look excited."
The sun's graceful descent casts a golden veil upon the threshold of the city gates, the symphony of colors across the sky. The evening breeze brushed across Alhaitham's cheeks. Kaveh looks sculpted in gold and rich jewels against the light, aurian, belonging to the artists' favorite time of the day and the Scribe decides to focus on someone he catches staring instead, their head lowering and scurrying past them as though wanting to be unperceived. Alhaitham wonders if there will be informants in the city warning their targets about their movements, but they keep going to and fro across Sumeru at times, it wouldn't be unheard of that they'd leave so late.
Still, he needs to think about that possibility, as well.
Soon enough, the natural beauty unfolds around them, foliage rustling and whispering tales of ancient lore. They both hold an affinity to Dendro, and he knows that the scent of moss intertwined with the earth means secrets, the interplay of light and shadow that dance upon the canopy above, and the mesmerizing mosaic of emerald hues means language. Foliage and petals brushing across their fingertips feel unknown and unraveled messages that Alhaitham can't help but feel curious about, a slight trace of the peace his grandmother wished for him as nature kissed upon their skin.
"Have you ever been there, in your own travels?" The place they're headed, anyway.
Sounds of the city eventually dissolve into sounds of the forest. There is some bioluminescence feeding light into what would be impossible terrain. Although surely, over the years Forest Watchers have made it easier for travelers to make out the trail in the density of darkness. Oranges fade to darker blues. Kaveh knows that the forest is always watching in one way or another, whether it's the mysterious creatures that poke around, or every leaf itself absorbing the memories into Irminsul. Every breath counts.
Kaveh glances at Alhaitham, "I'll take a break from bratty clients any chance I can get," but he enjoys spending time with him, mainly. It's something different to do than to grab dinner in the same places, eating the same things and walking home drunk. "You don't look like you're hating this entirely either, what a shock," he says, followed by a soft, airy laugh. Kaveh is not always intending on jabbing him in malicious ways. When he looks at Alhaitham, he sees someone he deeply cares about. The only person he truly cares about.
"I've come through this area before, yes. It's a lot different during the day, I must say. I'm not exactly sure where you had your," he eyes him up and down, "cut, as you lightly put it. I wouldn't be surprised if I was familiar with it. You just never know where some clients end up wanting to build. It makes me wonder, where would I want to build if I did come up with the funds to make my own place. Definitely not the desert."
The air is thick with humidity, wrapping around their skin like a warm embrace, layering Alhaitham’s arms with a subtle sheen. The occasional cool mist descends from the canopy above, droplets of rain cling to leaves, creating a glistening liquid mosaic, and the gentle patter of the spray intermingles with the ever-present symphony of the rainforest.
His steps are measured, careful not to disturb the delicate equilibrium of the rainforest. Alhaitham studies the behavior of the fauna; his headphones turned off to listen intently for any telltale signs of disruption. He observes the patterns of sunlight filtering through the foliage, seeking irregularities that may indicate the presence of a concealed structure.
Turning to Kaveh, Alhaitham's voice sounds neutral, though he lowers it. Who can say if it’s because he doesn’t want to disrupt their surroundings or because he can’t help but match the airy laugh that follows Kaveh’s comment? “I was never opposed to a change of scenery every now and then.”
Though he knows he needs to focus more on what lies ahead, Alhaitham does wonder about Kaveh’s own place. The idea of him moving out seems sometimes closer to the realm of possibility more often than not, and he doesn’t really understand the coiling feeling in his gut whenever that seems the case. He doesn’t understand because, he knows, if you love something or someone, you set it free.
…right? “You’d need a nice road for the wine crates to get to your place every week,” is what he says instead.
He scans the surroundings, his gaze flickering between the towering trees and the dense undergrowth, searching for any sign of the elusive base hidden amidst the verdant expanse.
Eventually, they find the place. The sign of a fight, etched in the tree bark, the remnants of the dendro of his blades still resonating with their own. Splintered wood, spread out and cut leaves, a small crater on the ground from when he flickered to higher heights to send a plunging attack after being surrounded. Sand scattered everywhere. Something dark tainting the floor.
He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and marshaling the information he needs to convey. “This was the place,” he tilts his head in one direction. “There’s a house that a scholar is renting nearby, which is where I was coming from. We should look for clues.”
Alhaitham's hands gesture subtly, outlining an imaginary map of the rainforest's pathways and potential avenues of approach. When did he have time to do that homework? Maybe on his way. "We must be mindful of their traps and surveillance mechanisms. We cannot afford to give away our presence prematurely."
He still glances at the architect. “Do you want to continue?”
"Tch. You act as if I'm the only one who enjoys wine," the prospect of finally spreading his own wings in a place he can truly refer to as home keeps his mood stable, even chipper. The only reason he wasn't able to keep his old house had many factors, but that one belonged to his mother. It was never truly his own.
The moisture in the air begins to fall over their shoulders steadily, scattered. As if the clouds themselves are in rush to truly tear away into a frenzy and bringing calamity to the forest. Still, they are very much surrounded in petrichor.
Kaveh admires everything, even the way Alhaitham's skin shines underneath the dimming daylight. The peace never lasts when it's about them, especially as they enter foot in the remnants of Alhaitham's fight. Kaveh can't deny his strength or intelligence, but witnessing how deep the cuts on trees had been, he can only imagine the men must have left in worse condition than him.
Mehrak goes on to scan the area.
"What? Of course I want to continue, what other point would there have been in me coming with you? . . Mehrak!" Equipped with his claymore and ready to help, the toolbox gears and grinds it's core, swinging a fallen piece of cloth out of the way for Kaveh. The ground is damp under his shoes. "So what are you trying to look for here? We should go inside before it really rains hard on us. Ah," he deadpans, "a map, really? Do you think whatever it is you're investigating is underground?"
Alhaitham's gaze shifts from the remnants of the fight to Kaveh's face, and then Mehrak. "We're looking for any clues that could lead us to their base. It's possible they might have retreated there after the encounter," he taps his headphones, as though reminding the architect that he's not the only one with technology aiding him.
Eventually, he kneels down to gently trace the tracks left behind by the assailants who managed to escape. The imprints in the damp soil reveal a mix of hurried footfalls and deeper gouges, indicating some carrying others. The rainforest's embrace seems to have preserved these traces of their presence, preserving a trail to follow. Alhaitham's mind races as he analyzes the patterns. "There are signs of a hasty retreat, but they weren't able to cover their tracks completely," he murmurs. "It is possible that they ventured underground, the Scholar did say that he tended to meditate in nearby caves." He points toward a dense thicket, the vegetation seemingly unyielding to their intrusion, "they went in that direction."
As they approach the underbrush, the rainforest's symphony grows louder, the chorus of insects and the rustling of leaves enveloping them in a cloak. Alhaitham is quiet, attuned to every sound, every subtle movement that could reveal hidden dangers. He reaches for Kaveh when he notices a trap in the way, gently nudging him so they can walk around it without triggering it, and around the safeguard trap as well.
A pit with spikes underneath. "Crass," he mutters. The rain intensifies, which is good, in a way, as it covers their footsteps. The awning of a cave just behind a tall and thick tree makes him stop in his tracks. "It's here, I believe."
Mehrak agrees with Alhaitham and his input, though Kaveh will never actually realize that's what Mehrak is doing. There are only so many symbols that display that might suggest things such as mood, or clarity. Mehrak scans the path Alhaitham follows, gauging the depth of the prints and providing Kaveh with a 3D visual of their projected tracks and how much further they go.
"Huh!" He flinches the second Alhaitham nudges him out of the way from the mechanism. "Well, that was close," it had been dangerously camouflaged. He wonders how often Alhaitham deals with these things, how else would he be so good in being attuned to where enemies place their traps? The questions are left in a tab for later, though the expression he carries reflects every single one of them as he follows behind him. His gaze bores into the back of his head.
"Hey, wait a minute, Alhaitham," he whispers harshly, but it's too late. Kaveh curses under his breath and follows him inside. He's already partially soaked from the rain that pelted through the canopies and inside the cave, it's a lot colder. "We need to stick together. Are you sure they're in here? What if there's more than five?"
The Scribe does look behind him after a moment, ensuring the acoustics of the place don't carry their voices deeper into the cave. He points at the ground as he stops, eyebrows knotted as he gets close enough to whisper in Kaveh's ear. "The tracks are leading in but no tracks lead out. Which means...?"
Though he shakes his head at the Architect's concerns. He doesn't mean to dismiss them, though. This little plan of theirs does involve risk that Alhaitham keeps calculating and reformulating at the back of his mind, an intricate tapestry of factors and vectors. "We're aiming at the leader, not the people they hired. It is likely that whoever attacked me went and reported back, and it would make sense that they would cut their losses." Alhaitham tilts his head, though. "I thought you could carry yourself into a fight."
Mehrak continues along with Kaveh, sticking to his side. The rocky walls are damp with moss and slippery. Though nothing can bring him down from a spike of his flight to the anxiety of fighting than Alhaitham's voice resonating around his eardrum, he can feel the heat of his breath on the shell of his ear. "Uhm, what? Of course, I can. You, ugh, would you focus on the matter at hand? You're the one who's wounded, not me."
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There are nights he wishes he didn't have to dream. Stress plagues them even there, twisting euphoria into nightmares, memories into static, off colored visions that could put a withering zone to shame. Faceless crowds share a single voice that accuses him, that no matter what path he takes, Alhaitham is bound to run into hurt.
That's why he normally wakes up early and in a pool of his own sweat. The birds are barely chirping outside as they nuzzle each other to keep warm. Yet the sun hasn't broken through the horizon and the house is fairly dark, still. Kaveh wastes no time in busying his hands in the office, seated and beginning some new sketches. Under candle light, he tries to bring back to life the darkened canopies from the night before. Yet that somehow turns into a faint mirage of Port Ormos creeping up in the distance. Even his own imagination keeps taunting him, it seems. Maybe he truly misses it. He glances over at the hallway, void of thought, full of agonies, and missing him, too.
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That night, however, he tries not to venture too much into those. He really needs the rest. Perhaps their archon is helping him in that regard by not sending him one.
So when he does wake up, it's with sounds of Kaveh around the house, perhaps the piping again, or a door opening and closing as he looks for something. Alhaitham gets up, his body mindlessly going through the motions. Sit up, wait for a few seconds, stand up. Second order of business: Get some sort of coffee.
In the fuzziness of being half-awake, he looks over at the office and doesn't stop the warmth when he sees the architect and it blooms in his chest. The familiarity, the comfort of him being there, is too strong for him to feel any urge to school his expression or to sharpen the edge of his gaze. He rubs at his neck, and mutters a ''Morning' in a quiet voice before he pads over to the kitchen.
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Someone’s presence is what makes a house into a home. Kaveh glances up from his stacks of papers at Alhaitham, watching him emerge from his room to the dim morning pouring through stained glass.
He grips his pen tighter and looks back down, “good morning. I already grinded the coffee beans,” it’s the least he can do to pad his way to an apology for the night before. He will never actually say the words, not to give Alhaitham all the right. The last thing he needs is another sarcastic remark like you finally understand, I’m impressed.
Kaveh gets up to follow him to the kitchen. His hands are worn with constant drawing and strain, despite their delicacy. He grabs himself a cup so Alhaitham can pour him coffee once it’s finished. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll try to make time for Port Ormos three weeks from now.”
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Perhaps none, but Alhaitham is nothing but adaptable when it comes to waking himself up. It's both pleasant and not—the comfort of his home and the presence of his roommate makes it easy to endure and even revel in it, but Alhaitham appreciates the power of a sharp mind, so the listlessness can feel like being held hostage by exhaustion, longing for the return of mental clarity.
Or total emptiness, in the rare few occasions where he allowed himself not to think. He pours the coffee carefully into both cups and leans against the counter as he waits for his own to cool and the coffee to settle at the bottom. He nods, his eyes looking for something in Kaveh's face that betrays emotion about the location. There's a slight quirk on his lip. "Did you dream about something that made you change your mind?"
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There is nothing like the scent of coffee filling the morning air. Kaveh sips slowly to avoid burning his lips, cold hands cup around the entire mug. He keeps fantasizing about times that are only justified to live in canvasses and dreams. Kaveh wears emotions on his sleeves even when he shouldn't. He can't turn them off.
"What?" He glances at him and takes another rebellious drink, "n-no. If you don't think I'll get in the way of your business, it's cheaper going together. Besides, you alone in Port Ormos? Who knows what kind of ugly thing might make it home with you. It's better if I go with."
That's convincing, right?
He drinks again. "It needs more sugar."
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"I wouldn't have asked you to come with me if I thought you'd get in the way, you know?" Rhetoric, while he waits for the coffee to boil again, is just part of his day-to-day by now. He distracts himself with the loosened bandage on his arm and decides to remove it to check on the cut. The ointment did wonders, he'll have to thank Tighnari later. "Speaking of, I'll need you to help me with this again. Should be the last day."
Famous last words.
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"Fine," he sighs, even Kaveh thinks that mornings should be easy and peaceful. He inches closer to him and barely grazes his skin around the wound. "It looks like it's healing fast," and as if they were both on sync, Kaveh speaks on his behalf, "we'll have to thank Tighnari the first chance we see him. He's always looking out for us. . . Um. I'll go get some new bandages," he turns away swiftly and disappears to the bathroom just like that. He takes an extra minute to rinse off the lag off of his face with water and comes back a little more put together. "So how many of them were there? I still find it odd someone as strong as you would get a scratch."
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The research defended that the grand tapestry of existence, the cosmic symphony of their world found its roots in a primordial explosion, scattering the seeds of creation, giving birth to stars, and the very essence of life itself. That humans, beings, elemental and not, are but fragments of that cosmic cataclysm, woven together by the same stardust.
So when Kaveh picks up from his thoughts in the same way he had done to the mug from his fingers, he can't help but think of it. How it could be easily explained that they both carry the echoes of ancient explosions, the remnants of long-gone stars that once burned brightly in distant celestial realms. Each embrace, each shared moment between them is but a testament to their shared essence.
Finding solace in the idea that they're so intimately connected, to each other and the universe, seems so very comforting.
And entirely too simple. Still, Alhaitham wonders, if the reason they clash so much is because they're shards of the same material, reflecting the cracks of their selves at each other.
"Five," he says, placing the new brew on the counter beside the architect. He doesn't like that he had to fight. Had he been paying attention enough to the man behind all of this, he would have probably avoided this outcome."Don't drink it, yet."
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"Hold still," he demands firmly as he takes his arm into his care again, dabbing the ointment over rough edges using surgical precision. It might be easy to dismiss an artist's hands until they are put to the test; he has immaculate control. He's steady as though he were outlining his blueprints or working on linework from memory. To some degree, he has Alhaitham's body memorized, too. He loops the bandage around his bicep, snug but not so tight that blood wouldn't circulate. He deliberately prolongs the process to wait for his coffee to cool, and he adjusts the edges, making sure they wont roll down with movement, "Must have been five tough ones, or maybe you should admit that you can't do everything alone. . There, it's not too tight, is it?" He reaches for his mug now, standing back so he can admire his own work sipping away.
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And in those little things, he did consider his way of looking at them to be romantic. Perhaps he was wrong, however, or not enough. With how things turned out, it's a little hard to say.
With a shake of his head, though it's both so say that the bandage is perfect (he can't tell), and that this was not a matter of asking for help (he finds that silly). "One of them summoned a bird, it was particularly difficult to deal with even with my blades," he drifts his gaze up to the architect, their similar heights making it easy for him to find his carmine eyes. "They attacked precisely because I was alone, Kaveh. You're not going to tell me that I need a bodyguard now."
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Kaveh's room is potent of his scent, it's as if the wooden surroundings have absorbed his essence. That of wine, that of petals that he often grinds to make different colored paints, or the sweetness of fruits he often nibbles on throughout the day.
He has a small fight with his own hairclips. It's annoying when they won't stay exactly where he wants them to be, not that this is enough reason to aggravate him. It's one thing that the stars, the Universe, isn't on their side rooting them on, but it's another beast having to accept anything else taking him away from him.
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One would wonder why Kaveh's being so difficult. But in the same way that Kaveh creates beautiful façades to embellish practicality in his work, he also builds words and his own emotions specifically to cover what's truly in his core. Rational thought knows that there's no way that Alhaitham could have called for Kaveh's help once he learned about the ambush, especially with the Matras neck-deep in a case that has them well-entertained. The Scribe knows that this annoyance doesn't stem from Alhaitham being careless or reckless.
The room smells acrid and sweet, not unlike his roommate's own self. Not unlike the taste of his tongue. If Alhaitham breathes in enough, perhaps the scent would linger longer in the back of his throat.
As he takes hold of an unruly strand between the knuckles of his fore and middle finger, fastens it into one of the pins carefully, he scoffs. "Thank you."
He goes get a book from his study.
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His skin crawls with the movement of his fingers sifting through golden tresses and moving them accordingly where he likes them to be. Fine hairs on his neck stand, and he frowns. The pressure on his throat knots spiteful words that never see the light of day. He won’t give him the satisfaction that the gesture is well taken. In fact, it’s best if he says nothing at all, maybe Alhaitham will then admit to his own thoughts.
Of course all this twist in logic is bound to end in bitter disappointment when he simply walks away.
“Why are you thanking me?” Is rhetorical once he’s finished. Kaveh follows him to the frame of his door so he can close it. He leans against it and stays like this for a few moments savoring the ghost of his touch. “You are so unfair.” He numbers under his breath, it will never be loud enough that Alhaitham could catch wind of it.
He eventually emerges with fresh clothes on, and starts collecting dust from the corners of the living space, between the couches. Beside the shelves. The vases are also getting dusty inside.
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While the architect goes back and forth, Alhaitham prepares some food, some water, some supplies, just in case. The location is in the jungle, it'd be bad to go unprepared. Still, he's so methodic that it doesn't take long for him to take care of things that they'd both need. He's found reading a book, when Kaveh is done.
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They are almost picture perfect.
He never managed to clean away a stain in the corner from a previous fallen cup of wine. Long have been the days of them tormenting their surroundings with affections rather than each other. Kaveh ignores it.
“Are you ready? I can’t believe time goes by so fast,” also has a weight to it, as if he’s always reminiscing.
He puts away the broom and dirty rags and makes sure Mehrak is ready, too.
“It’s just a short trip. At least be glad we’re not going into the desert. You’re lucky you don’t understand a thing,” he meets Alhaitham in the hallway that leads outside and looks at him. “Mehrak can hold onto the food. The less you carry the better. It smells good. What is it?”
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Alhaitham checks everything quietly. Provisions, equipment, weapons. A willingness to clear some things. "I sent word to the rangers with our route and probable whereabouts. Just in case anything happens," Alhaitham is already playing mental chess in the possible outcomes and how to avoid this. "They'll come looking for us if they don't hear back."
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He remembers this time, and he's the one who locks the house on their way out.
Evening birds are seen gliding back into the heights of the canopies just over the sunset. "Are you sure it was a good idea going out this late?" Kaveh says once they reach the city gates. It's natural that there are eyes turning anywhere they go together. Whether it's curiosity on people's part, of the fact they're both vision carriers, or just easy on the eyes. With their positions among scholars, it wouldn't be a surprise that Alhaitham is more well known now than ever.
"Good. After all, you almost didn't make it home. I don't care where you go off to most of the time," he does, "I thought something was seriously wrong." It's the issue when he knows Alhaitham's habits and schedule inside and out. "Well, that's over now. Forget it," he glances up at the clouds and the strokes of color tearing day into night. "I look forward to eating some of those leftovers," a weak smile is thrown his way, "this almost feels like some camping trip instead, honestly. Haha."
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A gentle smile graces Kaveh's lips, a flicker of remembrance illuminating his eyes. The weight of their past, the shared moments, and intimate secrets feel weighty on Alhaitham's tongue, making his ribs increase resistance when he breathes in the sunset air. "You look excited."
The sun's graceful descent casts a golden veil upon the threshold of the city gates, the symphony of colors across the sky. The evening breeze brushed across Alhaitham's cheeks. Kaveh looks sculpted in gold and rich jewels against the light, aurian, belonging to the artists' favorite time of the day and the Scribe decides to focus on someone he catches staring instead, their head lowering and scurrying past them as though wanting to be unperceived. Alhaitham wonders if there will be informants in the city warning their targets about their movements, but they keep going to and fro across Sumeru at times, it wouldn't be unheard of that they'd leave so late.
Still, he needs to think about that possibility, as well.
Soon enough, the natural beauty unfolds around them, foliage rustling and whispering tales of ancient lore. They both hold an affinity to Dendro, and he knows that the scent of moss intertwined with the earth means secrets, the interplay of light and shadow that dance upon the canopy above, and the mesmerizing mosaic of emerald hues means language. Foliage and petals brushing across their fingertips feel unknown and unraveled messages that Alhaitham can't help but feel curious about, a slight trace of the peace his grandmother wished for him as nature kissed upon their skin.
"Have you ever been there, in your own travels?" The place they're headed, anyway.
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Sounds of the city eventually dissolve into sounds of the forest. There is some bioluminescence feeding light into what would be impossible terrain. Although surely, over the years Forest Watchers have made it easier for travelers to make out the trail in the density of darkness. Oranges fade to darker blues. Kaveh knows that the forest is always watching in one way or another, whether it's the mysterious creatures that poke around, or every leaf itself absorbing the memories into Irminsul. Every breath counts.
Kaveh glances at Alhaitham, "I'll take a break from bratty clients any chance I can get," but he enjoys spending time with him, mainly. It's something different to do than to grab dinner in the same places, eating the same things and walking home drunk. "You don't look like you're hating this entirely either, what a shock," he says, followed by a soft, airy laugh. Kaveh is not always intending on jabbing him in malicious ways. When he looks at Alhaitham, he sees someone he deeply cares about. The only person he truly cares about.
"I've come through this area before, yes. It's a lot different during the day, I must say. I'm not exactly sure where you had your," he eyes him up and down, "cut, as you lightly put it. I wouldn't be surprised if I was familiar with it. You just never know where some clients end up wanting to build. It makes me wonder, where would I want to build if I did come up with the funds to make my own place. Definitely not the desert."
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His steps are measured, careful not to disturb the delicate equilibrium of the rainforest. Alhaitham studies the behavior of the fauna; his headphones turned off to listen intently for any telltale signs of disruption. He observes the patterns of sunlight filtering through the foliage, seeking irregularities that may indicate the presence of a concealed structure.
Turning to Kaveh, Alhaitham's voice sounds neutral, though he lowers it. Who can say if it’s because he doesn’t want to disrupt their surroundings or because he can’t help but match the airy laugh that follows Kaveh’s comment? “I was never opposed to a change of scenery every now and then.”
Though he knows he needs to focus more on what lies ahead, Alhaitham does wonder about Kaveh’s own place. The idea of him moving out seems sometimes closer to the realm of possibility more often than not, and he doesn’t really understand the coiling feeling in his gut whenever that seems the case. He doesn’t understand because, he knows, if you love something or someone, you set it free.
…right? “You’d need a nice road for the wine crates to get to your place every week,” is what he says instead.
He scans the surroundings, his gaze flickering between the towering trees and the dense undergrowth, searching for any sign of the elusive base hidden amidst the verdant expanse.
Eventually, they find the place. The sign of a fight, etched in the tree bark, the remnants of the dendro of his blades still resonating with their own. Splintered wood, spread out and cut leaves, a small crater on the ground from when he flickered to higher heights to send a plunging attack after being surrounded. Sand scattered everywhere. Something dark tainting the floor.
He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and marshaling the information he needs to convey. “This was the place,” he tilts his head in one direction. “There’s a house that a scholar is renting nearby, which is where I was coming from. We should look for clues.”
Alhaitham's hands gesture subtly, outlining an imaginary map of the rainforest's pathways and potential avenues of approach. When did he have time to do that homework? Maybe on his way. "We must be mindful of their traps and surveillance mechanisms. We cannot afford to give away our presence prematurely."
He still glances at the architect. “Do you want to continue?”
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The moisture in the air begins to fall over their shoulders steadily, scattered. As if the clouds themselves are in rush to truly tear away into a frenzy and bringing calamity to the forest. Still, they are very much surrounded in petrichor.
Kaveh admires everything, even the way Alhaitham's skin shines underneath the dimming daylight.
The peace never lasts when it's about them, especially as they enter foot in the remnants of Alhaitham's fight. Kaveh can't deny his strength or intelligence, but witnessing how deep the cuts on trees had been, he can only imagine the men must have left in worse condition than him.
Mehrak goes on to scan the area.
"What? Of course I want to continue, what other point would there have been in me coming with you? . . Mehrak!" Equipped with his claymore and ready to help, the toolbox gears and grinds it's core, swinging a fallen piece of cloth out of the way for Kaveh. The ground is damp under his shoes. "So what are you trying to look for here? We should go inside before it really rains hard on us. Ah," he deadpans, "a map, really? Do you think whatever it is you're investigating is underground?"
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Eventually, he kneels down to gently trace the tracks left behind by the assailants who managed to escape. The imprints in the damp soil reveal a mix of hurried footfalls and deeper gouges, indicating some carrying others. The rainforest's embrace seems to have preserved these traces of their presence, preserving a trail to follow. Alhaitham's mind races as he analyzes the patterns. "There are signs of a hasty retreat, but they weren't able to cover their tracks completely," he murmurs. "It is possible that they ventured underground, the Scholar did say that he tended to meditate in nearby caves." He points toward a dense thicket, the vegetation seemingly unyielding to their intrusion, "they went in that direction."
As they approach the underbrush, the rainforest's symphony grows louder, the chorus of insects and the rustling of leaves enveloping them in a cloak. Alhaitham is quiet, attuned to every sound, every subtle movement that could reveal hidden dangers. He reaches for Kaveh when he notices a trap in the way, gently nudging him so they can walk around it without triggering it, and around the safeguard trap as well.
A pit with spikes underneath. "Crass," he mutters. The rain intensifies, which is good, in a way, as it covers their footsteps. The awning of a cave just behind a tall and thick tree makes him stop in his tracks. "It's here, I believe."
He walks in without waiting.
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"Huh!" He flinches the second Alhaitham nudges him out of the way from the mechanism. "Well, that was close," it had been dangerously camouflaged. He wonders how often Alhaitham deals with these things, how else would he be so good in being attuned to where enemies place their traps? The questions are left in a tab for later, though the expression he carries reflects every single one of them as he follows behind him. His gaze bores into the back of his head.
"Hey, wait a minute, Alhaitham," he whispers harshly, but it's too late. Kaveh curses under his breath and follows him inside. He's already partially soaked from the rain that pelted through the canopies and inside the cave, it's a lot colder. "We need to stick together. Are you sure they're in here? What if there's more than five?"
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Though he shakes his head at the Architect's concerns. He doesn't mean to dismiss them, though. This little plan of theirs does involve risk that Alhaitham keeps calculating and reformulating at the back of his mind, an intricate tapestry of factors and vectors. "We're aiming at the leader, not the people they hired. It is likely that whoever attacked me went and reported back, and it would make sense that they would cut their losses." Alhaitham tilts his head, though. "I thought you could carry yourself into a fight."
Oh, now he's just taunting.
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beautiful
LMAOOO i'm so sorry
"is this a flirt? sorry, i have to go" LMAOO
JEEZ
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