Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Kaveh were being honest, twenty-eight was a bit too young for him to become a dad. Or pseudo-dad, but when his mom gave him the call that she had to move to Fontaine for her work thing, what was Kaveh supposed to do? Let his little brother’s life get uprooted at five years old by either emigrating him to another country while constantly moving and having no consistent adult around? No! Of course, not!

Kaveh may not have been there for his birth because of his early architect work, but now that he’d moved back home, he was determined to step up.

And so, after settling into his childhood home and helping his mom and stepdad pack up for the move back to Fontaine, he bid them farewell with Kasra sitting high on his shoulders and then he turned back and cooked Kasra a healthy dinner while also sitting down and watching a fun cartoon with him. 

Kaveh was pretty good at this new pseudo-dad thing. He did the gentle parenting thing that was getting big on the internet, held his temper when Kasra knocked something delicate over and helped him clean it up instead of yelling at him for having underdeveloped motor skills. When Kasra drew some blob-shaped lion or finished the twenty-five piece puzzle by himself, Kaveh asked, “Wow, did you have fun making that?” instead of calling him talented and smart and giving him fucked up standards of achievements.

But Kaveh was still in his twenties. He wasn’t all quite settled yet. He had this fuckass architecture job that worked him long hours with a pay too meager to compensate for the god-awful work life balance, and even if he generally liked the work, working these unsustainable hours was a lot harder with a toddler to take care of. It made him pick up Kasra late from daycare sometimes, and even though Kasra was joy condensed into the body of a toddler, it did leave this terrible ache in Kaveh’s heart seeing him be the last kid in the daycare, three employees sitting and waiting to close up but could not because Kasra was still there, long after all the other kids had left.

At least his mom had paid off the house so he could give Kasra a permanent residence to live and play in. And, selfishly, it made Kaveh feel better, too. Just the air of his childhood home made him feel safe, like he, too, was a child again. Even if he was the caretaker now.

But it was fine, or at least Kaveh was trying to tell himself that. When the school year started, he was going to be better about setting firmer boundaries with his manager. Or if not that, maybe he could leave the office when school let out, pick up Kasra, and then head back to the office after putting his little brother to bed. 

For the first day of kindergarten, at least, Kaveh had told his manager weeks in advance that he had to leave early that day, no exceptions. For Kasra’s first day of kindergarten, he was determined not to let Kasra be the last one at the school. That morning, he’d woken Kasra up bright and early, cooked him halim the way their mom used to make it, and then drove the ten minutes to the elementary school and dropped him off.

Then, after a full day of grueling work, Kaveh told his manager that he was heading out, “To pick up my little brother from school. As I’ve been mentioning these past few weeks,” he said.

“I remember,” nodded his manager, a little irritably. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

So Kaveh left work early and ran through a list of questions to ask Kasra when he saw him bounding out of the school on his tiny little toddler legs. Did you have fun? What did you learn? Did you make any friends?

He pulled into the little roundabout in front of the elementary school where all the other parents’ cars were lined up, feeling the strangest sense of world-flipping because the last time he was at the elementary school, he was the one getting picked up by his mother.

Kaveh slowed down as he neared the curb. He looked out through the crowd of all the other little kindergarteners playing in front of the school, searching for a familiar little blond head. All around him, parents were stepping out of their cars with open arms, waiting for their children to come bounding towards them with all the joy of returning home.

He stepped out of the car to get a better view. He scanned the little crowd before he finally spotted a familiar blond head near the benches. He smiled and took a step closer when he realized Kasra was talking to someone on that bench; someone tall and adult-like with an eerily familiar head of gray hair.

No, Kaveh thought. There’s no fucking way.

Kasra whirled around. “Kaveh!”

The figure on the bench lifted his head, green gaze colliding with Kaveh’s like a pair of magnets.

“Al-Haitham?”

-

Kaveh had met Al-Haitham his junior year of college. He’d lived two years blissfully unaware of his existence, just struggling through his architecture degree through the week and finding solace in playing drunk Genius Invokation with his friends on the weekend. It was a simple life. A peaceful life. Something he’d half expected to last forever when one autumn morning, two weeks into the semester, Tighnari dragged in a newcomer.

Nilou had lifted her head first because she’d been facing the door. Kaveh saw her eyes brighten, her smile soften into something friendly and open when she said, “Oh, hey, Tighnari. Who’s this?”

“This is my friend from high school,” said Tighnari. “I found out he hadn’t made any friends yet so I decided to drag him over.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” a deep voice said, rather rudely.

Kaveh then decided to turn around in his chair. He took his earbuds out—which really weren’t that great at blocking out noise anyway—and craned his neck to find a guy so tall he was absolutely towering over Tighnari. Broad shoulders and surly face with piercing green eyes peering through a curtain of silver hair, observing all of them with the cold distance one would use to look at ants.

“Nice to meet you,” said Kaveh, trying to be friendly. “I’m Kaveh.”

“Al-Haitham,” he said flatly.

Kaveh had tried not to frown. “Are you a freshman?”

“Yes.”

There was a beat of silence, made more awkward by the fact that everyone else was looking at each other awkwardly. 

But Tighnari seemed used to the clipped responses, because all he did was drag out a chair and gesture for him to take a seat. “Here, Al-Haitham.”

Al-Haitham took a seat.

There’d been a little round of introductions. Nilou and Dehya and Dunyarzad introduced themselves as well, though Al-Haitham already knew Cyno because Cyno and Tighnari were attached to each other by the hip—if not physically, then metaphorically because of how much they talked to each other.

“What are you studying?” asked Nilou.

“Linguistics,” said Al-Haitham. And then he pulled his headphones over his ears.

“Wow.” Kaveh blinked. Even Tighnari looked a little apologetic. Kaveh looked at Nilou. “Rude. He—”

“It’s fine!” Nilou waved her hands. “It’s okay, I’m sure he’s just a bit overwhelmed—”

“I can still hear you,” said Al-Haitham flatly. “I haven’t turned the noise-canceling on yet.”

Kaveh’s face burned. He’d turned to Al-Haitham. “What is your problem?”

“Not sure what you mean,” said Al-Haitham wryly, with his fucking headphones still over his ears.

“She was talking to you.”

“I believe she asked a question and I answered.”

“You could have—”

“Kaveh, it’s fine.” Nilou nudged his foot under the table. 

Tighnari sat up straighter. “Sorry, Al-Haitham is—”

“You don’t have to speak for me,” said Al-Haitham. “It’s not my problem your friend doesn’t like the fact that I don’t like small talk.”

“Well when you’re like that, no wonder you haven’t made any friends in two weeks,” snapped Kaveh.

The table fell silent.

Al-Haitham, for his part, didn’t look that offended. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

“Kaveh…” started Nilou.

“I’m sorry,” blurted Kaveh. “I didn’t mean that. That was rude.”

Al-Haitham shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I really don’t care what you think of me.”

Kaveh had sat back, aghast. He remembered his mouth falling open because he couldn’t believe that someone so rude and annoying actually existed. And he was sitting right in front of him! What the fuck!

“You—” Kaveh began.

Al-Haitham interrupted by reaching up to his headphones and pressing a little button—the noise-canceling feature.

“Are you fucking serious?” He demanded, but Al-Haitham didn’t even look up. He turned to his other friends. “Do you see this?”

“Let it be, Kaveh.” Nilou placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please, let’s just keep studying.”

Kaveh huffed. “Fine.”

So he did, only to keep the peace, but he’d spent the rest of the study date absolutely seething.

-

Al-Haitham startled. “Kaveh?”

He wanted to die.

“What the f—” Kaveh clamped his mouth shut as Kasra came bounding in at the corner of his vision. “Fudge?”

Al-Haitham’s expression fell flat as if he were unimpressed.

Well, fuck you, too. Was it really such a crime that he couldn’t come up with a more creative censor?

“Kaveh!” Kasra latched onto Kaveh’s arm, his hands gritty with the pebbles from the asphalt. “Are you picking me up early?”

He tried not to wince. “Hey, kid.” He ruffled Kasra’s head. “I…yeah! I wanted to be here on time for your first day.” On time, not late.

“He’s yours?” Al-Haitham nodded at Kasra.

“Clearly.” Kaveh made a little gesture to move his arm, but Kasra clung tight to him. His little brother laughed as if it were a game and dug his fingers in tighter.

Al-Haitham hummed.

Kaveh stood rooted to the ground, half terrified and half hysterical at the cruelty of the gods. He wanted to tilt his head to the skies and cry, but perhaps the end of the first day of kindergarten wasn’t the place. And besides, he didn’t quite want to give Al-Haitham the satisfaction.

He couldn’t believe it—Al-Haitham? Here? In the town Kaveh had grown up, at the elementary school he’d attended over a decade ago, standing in the same concrete area in front of the school where his little brother now stood. Here?

Al-Haitham looked so different from when he’d last seen him. Though, that was unsurprising since it’d been six years. He no longer looked like the punkass, arrogant freshman Kaveh had first met, the one that turned his nose up at a new friend group and retreated into his headphones yet still managed to get everyone to like him a few months in—everyone except Kaveh, of course. The last time he’d seen Al-Haitham, he’d been glued to a book, or his phone, one hand shoved in his pocket and always an earbud in his ear or headphones over his head in a clear Do Not Disturb type display.

Now, though, he had no headphones on. It was just his pale ears almost glowing around the tufts of his gray hair while he surveyed the area to make sure kids weren’t hurting themselves. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his business casual khakis and the sleeve of his dark green sweater climbed a little too high up his forearm, like the whole thing was a bit too small as the cotton stretched around his broad shoulders. The collar of a white button up peeked out and over the collar of the sweater. Al-Haitham looked professional and adult but when Kaveh saw him, he felt the leftover childish indignation from college flare through him all over again.

“Kaveh, I’m hungry.” Kasra tugged at his arm, shaking him out of the past. “Can we go?”

“I—” He couldn’t stop staring at Al-Haitham. Still couldn’t believe he was just right there. “Could you give me a second?”

Kasra peered up at him quizzically.

“Hey, if you bring your backpack to the car, I'll buy baklava for you.”

Kasra brightened. Though, he could clearly see the bribe, because he still said slyly, “Suuuuure.”

Then he turned and went bounding away.

Kaveh watched Kasra skip toward the car out of the corner of his eye, then it was just him and Al-Haitham in the eye of a storm of toddlers.

He looked at Al-Haitham for a long moment, heartbeat thumping in his head. Of all people to be here, he never expected to see Al-Haitham here. Especially not after he’d graduated six years ago.

“What—”

“He looks like you.” Al-Haitham nodded in the direction of the car.

What are you doing here? He’d wanted to ask, but that cut him short.

“Ah…yeah.” Kaveh tossed a glance at the car. Kasra’s hair had grown out since Faranak had moved, bringing it a length almost similar to Kaveh’s. All he needed was a little ponytail to keep the hair out of his neck and he’d truly look like a shrunken down Kaveh. “Genetics.”

“Genetics,” repeated Al-Haitham. “He could be your clone.”

Kaveh laughed, which startled both him and Al-Haitham. Even though they were half-brothers, Kasra had gotten a lot of Faranak. As had Kaveh. So really, Al-Haitham wasn’t far off.

“What are you doing here?” Kaveh finally asked.

“Ah.” Al-Haitham blinked. “I work here.”

Kaveh stared at him for a long moment. “Here?” He gestured. “Like the elementary school?”

“Yes?”

“Like, with all the kids?”

“Yes…” Al-Haitham said slowly. “I’m not sure what you’re having trouble believing.”

“I feel like that’s pretty clear, considering you—”

A scream cut him off as if on cue. Kaveh turned to find a toddler on the ground closer to the doors of the school, knee skinned red and peppered with gravel from his fall. He must have been running along the chalk-drawn path on the ground before tripping over his own feet in excitement. The toddler began to cry, and then he started to cough from trying to cry too hard, snot dripping down his face. Another adult came hurrying over to help him to his feet before they went inside to head, presumably, to the nurse’s office.

Loud, chaotic, dirty. Everything that went against Al-Haitham’s standards.

“Working here as what?” Kaveh blinked. “Like admin or something? That’s probably quiet and far enough from kids for you. Though—”

“No,” interrupted Al-Haitham. “I don’t.”

“Kaveh!” Kasra yelled from the car. “Are you done yet?”

“Kasra, please don’t yell.” Kaveh winced.

Al-Haitham almost looked amused. “Interesting parenting choice having your kid call you by your first name.”

Your kid. “Oh,” he rushed to clarify. “No, he’s my—”

Suddenly forty pounds of frantic toddler rammed into his leg. “Kaveh, I can’t open the door. So I can’t put my backpack away.”

He shot a desperate look at Al-Haitham. He wasn’t quite ready to end this conversation, but Al-Haitham just waved him away.

“Kaveh, please, I really want baklava.” Kasra tugged again.

“Go,” said Al-Haitham. “You don’t want to deprive him of baklava do you?”

Kaveh scowled. The conversation was far from over, but he couldn’t ignore his kid brother for some old stupid college drama.

“Fine,” he conceded. Then put on a brighter face. “Alright, Kasra. You don’t need to tug. I’m coming.”

Kasra unlatched like he was waiting for the command. He beamed up at Kaveh before turning his full-faced grin at Al-Haitham.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Al-Haitham!” Kasra cried sweetly.

“Oh, you’re devious,” said Kaveh, not without a certain amount of fondness.

Al-Haitham didn’t quite smile, but the corners of his eye crinkled in amusement. “You’re welcome, Kasra. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Kaveh was mid-turn towards the car when he finally registered the words.

“What the fuck?” Kaveh whirled around. “You’re his teacher?”

Kasra gasped. “Kaveh, you can’t say that word.”

Al-Haitham looked truly amused now, a glint in his eye that made Kaveh’s stomach turn. “Yes, I am.”

“What?” Kaveh blinked. “How the—heck. You? You’re terrible with kids!”

Al-Haitham snorted. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I know you.”

He knew Al-Haitham was the most annoying person he’d ever met, a realist to the point of condescension, couldn’t make small talk and didn’t bother coming off polite. He knew that Al-Haitham was rude and stuck-up and in no possible universe voluntarily chose to work with children—

“You do?” Kasra sounded delighted.

Kaveh panicked. “No, I mean—”

“Are you friends?” The excitement in his voice grew.

“No.” Archons, this was spiraling out of control. 

“You didn’t need to deny it so strongly,” said Al-Haitham wryly.

“I mean—” Kaveh pressed a hand to his chest, forcing himself to slow down. “We just…we went to school together.”

“Oh.” Kasra nodded sagely, as if he were finally understanding. “Like me and Zahra. We go to school together so we’re friends. But not outside friends.”

“No, that’s not—” Kaveh took a deep breath. “How are you a kindergarten teacher?”

Al-Haitham gave him a flat look. “I got a teaching certification, applied to this job, got it, and I’ve been working here since.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not my fault the truth doesn’t satisfy you.” Al-Haitham towards Kasra. “Don’t you have a baklava to buy?”

Kaveh scowled. “Don’t weaponize him against me.”

“I’m not a weapon,” interjected Kasra. 

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

Somehow, even after six years of not speaking, Al-Haitham could still knock him down so easily like that. The cadence of their arguments picking up even years later, like they’d never stopped.

Kaveh narrowed his eyes at him, tilting his chin in a challenge. You didn’t win this. Just that…Kaveh had to take care of his kid brother, and he had grown up enough to not let his own emotions ruin the first day.

“Come on, Kasra.” Kaveh held out his hand.

His brother happily took it.

“Bye, Mr. Al-Haitham!” Kasra waved.

And then Al-Haitham—fucking— smiled. “Bye, Kasra.”

Kaveh pulled Kasra away a little too hard.

He unlocked the car and helped Kasra into his seat, tucking the backpack onto the ground behind the driver’s seat so it didn’t fly everywhere. Then, he climbed into the driver’s side and slammed the door a little too hard as he started the engine.

The car hummed to life. When he pulled onto the road, he could hear it creaking under the weight of its own age. The little metal parts of the undercarriage clanked a near concerning amount, but Kaveh knew that despite its age, it was safe to drive. It lasted from his childhood until now for a reason.

“I didn’t know you know Mr. Al-Haitham,” said Kasra. “He’s my favorite teacher ever.”

“Already?” Kaveh asked through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. “On the first day?”

“Yep.” Kasra nodded vigorously in the rearview mirror. “He’s really funny. And really nice.”

“Nice.” Were they talking about the same person?”

“Yeah!” Kasra bounced in his seat, his pudgy little limbs flapping. “He gave me a book. And then he told me I’d be helping myself if I read it.”

Yeah, that sounded about right.

The drive from the elementary school to Faranak’s home was just a short ten minutes, but the rest of it passed in a strange silence as the music from the radio came tinny and muffled. Kasra looked at the window and chattered mindlessly, Kaveh interjecting with his usual responses.

When they pulled into the driveway, Kasra spoke again.

“How long do you know Mr. Al-Haitham?” asked Kasra.

“A few years,” said Kaveh. “But I haven’t talked to him since college, really.”

“Why not?” Kasra tilted his head, his eyes terrifyingly inquisitive—piercing and curious, like how Faranak had described Kaveh when he was young.

“We fell out of touch.”

“Oh.” Kaveh pushed open the side door and hopped out of the car. “It’s cool that you saw him again today after a really long time. Maybe you can start talking again.”

Kaveh stepped out and led Kasra to the front door. “Maybe.”

Like a wall breached, the first leak in years.

-

Kaveh had moved back to his hometown over the summer.

It wasn’t originally part of his life plan. When he graduated from the Akademiya six years ago, he’d planned to do the usual early-twenties thing of drunkenly chasing after grandeur. He’d traveled to all the nations of Teyvat, climbed the ladder of his career, worked countless late nights while also going out to bars on the weekends because he was young and crazy and had the energy to. He’d gotten his heart broken a handful of times, had flings in Liyue and Mondstat that lasted a whole of two days each before work pulled him away, met up with his old college friends when his work took him to where they’d scattered—all of them except Al-Haitham, of course.

He’d created his magnum opus at the insane and prodigious age of twenty-four: the Palace of Alcazarzaray, marking the pinnacle of his career. All the chatter that followed carried the same murmur of, What will he do next? Where will he go? How will the Light of Kshahrewar ever top this? Nevermind that he’d gone into debt to complete the project. Just having the damn thing in his portfolio skyrocketed his marketability and he told himself that he could make it back he would make it back.

He joined a prestigious architecture firm, dazzled his seniors and skips with his innovative designs and incredible with even just as a junior architect, charmed everyone so deeply there were whispers of him being promoted to project architect before he even hit thirty, on the verge of breaking into something grand once again, into the shining thing that everyone expected him to be. Then he clashed with some of the senior architects, and eventually one of the partners. He’d argued for the slashing of the budget on a particularly large project because, “The clients clearly don’t know what they’re talking about and they don’t need such a fancy library. It’s impractical and ridiculous, and I’d suggest we tell them now before we begin drafting.”

“What if they say no?” Some other junior architect had asked.

“They won’t,” said the partner. “If they have any amount of common sense—which they should since they hired this firm— they should know that we knew better than them.”

Kaveh had hated it. Had hated him so bad. What kind of partner was he? Did he just get so high up on the architect totem pole that he forgot that architecture, too, was art? That it was not just what the firm could do and what the firm could make, but how you could realize the vision of someone else?

He’d spoken up, of course. Kaveh had stood up right in the middle of the meeting to march up to the partner and tell him he was wrong, and ridiculous, and an embarrassment if he wanted to cut corners like that.

“Bold words from just a junior architect,” said the partner, dangerously low.

“I may just be a ‘junior architect,’” said Kaveh, voice soft in warning. “But I have far more principle and artistry right now than you’ve ever had in your entire career if you’re making those kinds of statements.”

They fired him on the spot. Kaveh didn’t even have time to clean out his desk. They’d just escorted him out of the meeting room and shipped his belongings to his shitty studio apartment. The whole event had been strangely quiet, despite the way Kaveh had absolutely shot the future of his career in the mouth. Then, the news from his mother came.

His mother Faranak, a similarly famous architect, had been called to Fontaine for a long term project. They wanted her to build a new courthouse. They wanted her to build the new symbol for the Nation of Justice. They wanted something big and grand, incorporating all the history of the nation, all the likeness of their public figures: the first Archon, the first court justice, all the leaders that upheld the equity of the nation. They wanted something to make everyone who walked in feel the might and the mercy of justice.

Basically, she had to uproot her life and move somewhere for, like, a few years. Long enough to disrupt the new life she’d just restarted.

Kaveh had attended the wedding of Faranak and his stepfather, Antoine, a few years ago in Fontaine and he knew they were trying for kids. Somewhere between graduating and building Alcazarzaray, Kasra had been born, but Kaveh had been so busy dazzling the masses and crying himself to sleep out of fear of not reaching his potential that he’d missed it entirely. He’d hated himself for it, but Faranak had just told him gently, “You didn’t miss anything. You have the rest of his life to see him.” So he’d flown home and met his baby brother, had put his index finger in the crib so Kasra could wrap his tiny hand around the circumference of it. Kaveh remembered melting—he’d probably cried too—and just feeling the soft, pudgy hands of his brother, skin still smooth and untouched by the troubles of the world, made him feel alive again. Like there was a future to work towards.

After that, Kaveh made an earnest effort to visit Kasra. At least once a month, if he could, or twice if he could not make the previous one. Amid the whirlwind of his early twenties, Kasra remained a steadfast anchor, even when he could barely comprehend what Kaveh was actually doing. He’d brought his whole family to Alcazarzaray after its construction. Kasra said his first words there, which were, “Ah! Kaveh!” Kaveh had cried then, too.

A week after getting fired, Kaveh had lain in his bed in the shitty studio apartment, looking up at the bare white walls and thinking about how for all the time he’d spent living there, he’d never turned it into a home. He’d been too focused on creating and building his career that he’d forgotten to build the rest of his life, too. 

Faranak called right before he fell down another spiral. He’d sucked back his tears and then picked up, listening as she went straight into the good news. She sounded so sweetly excited, talking breathlessly about the opportunity and the joy of creation and what an honor it was that they had selected her. But Kaveh was his mother’s son, and he could hear that undercurrent of fear in her voice as she’d spoken, that bit of breathlessness that came from trying to outrun your exhaustion.

“Mom,” he’d said, cutting her off in the middle of a ramble about securing a moving company. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” She’d said it too brightly, like she’d forgotten that she was supposed to be confused about the question. “Kaveh—nothing’s wrong!”

“Mom.” He gave her a look.

There was a pause and Kaveh knew he’d struck the correct nerve. He heard her breath fluttering through the phone before she finally admitted, “I…I’m just not sure I want to move Kasra to a new country. I know he’ll be able to adapt and make friends just fine, but I won’t be able to take care of him there even if I did bring him. I’d have to be on-site most of the day and so would Antoine.”

He listened to her breathe over the phone: long and shallow and shuddering.

“I’m just not sure it would be a good environment to grow up in. Especially because I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”

The idea lit his head immediately, kicking into gear right at inception.

“But—” Faranak said quickly. “I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to worry about it, Kaveh. I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place—”

“I could take care of him,” said Kaveh.

A pause. “What?”

“I can move back,” said Kaveh. “I can raise him in Sumeru while you’re away. So you don’t have to worry.”

“Oh, Kaveh. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, you weren’t asking.” Kaveh smiled. “I was offering. So.”

He could hear her exhaling through the phone. It was a tempting offer, truly the best solution and it’d fallen straight into her lap. Faranak hadn’t had to worry about him in years because Kaveh was all grown up, but with Kasra, she had the new mother jitters all over again.

But this really was the best solution. Kasra knew Kaveh, Kaveh knew Kasra, and she could trust him. She could pursue the job and know that Kasra would be in good hands for however long she was away.

“Kaveh…” Faranak began again. “I…don’t want to take your years away. You’re supposed to be enjoying your youth.”

“It’s my youth, so shouldn’t I be the one to choose how to spend it? You don’t think I’d enjoy being around my brother?” Kaveh adjusted his phone as he rolled over on his bed, heart pounding. “ I can’t believe you’d think so lowly of me, Mom.”

“Kaveh.” That smile was back, slipping through the reluctance. 

He suddenly wished he could see her face. It’d been far too long since he’d been home.

“Mom,” he said in the same tone.

“Thank you.” He could hear the relief in his voice. “Thank you, really.”

“No need.” Kaveh swung his legs and sat up, filled with a new vigor for his future. “Of course, I would do it. Besides, I got fired anyway so I have nothing else going on.”

“You what?”

And so, Kaveh had packed up his whole life from the city and moved back to his hometown. He moved into his old bedroom, which stayed exactly the same as he had left it ten years ago when he first went to the Akademiya, because Faranak was careful about preserving it. Kaveh remembered standing in his childhood bedroom, just soaking in the air while his moving bags weighed down his arms, and felt for the first time just how much he had changed.

Each time he’d been home before had just been a pit stop—a temporary holding place while he visited his mom and flitted around his old stomping grounds in the gasp of free time he had before rushing back into his whirlwind of a life.

Now, though, the dust was settling. He was replanting himself in a home that had nearly forgotten him. The too-small bed suddenly felt smaller in a way that was suffocating. He could bear it for a few nights, but when he laid down on it, it felt suffocatingly small knowing that he would have to endure it for the next few years.

His dresser—paint-scuffed and still full of old high school T-shirts he was too sentimental to throw away—didn’t have enough space for his adult wardrobe now. The books and toys and sketchbooks tossed haphazardly into corners were no longer background objects, but things he had to pick up and tidy to pull his room back into the timestream. The most startling realization of all was that he had to make this room into a place he could live in again.

Faranak had come in shortly after he finished unpacking, stepping tentatively like she was afraid of intruding. 

“Mom.” Kaveh had called toward the door, because her lingering there left a worse itch than a genuine rash.

Faranak had flushed, embarrassed at being caught. “Ah, I just wanted to check how the unpacking was going.”

“I’m almost done.” 

She walked up to him and he found that she only came up to his shoulder now. It was so strange having her stand next to him in this room while he was preparing to move back into it. The memories of the room superimposed on the present, and he felt both twenty-eight and five-years-old again, clinging to Faranak’s skirts, asking to be picked up so he could teach a taller shelf. Now, Kaveh could see the top of the bookshelf just from where he was standing. And his mother, once his greatest guardian, now stood so small.

“How does it feel being home?” she asked.

“...weird,” he said truthfully. “Nice. I mean—I’ve been home before, it’s not the adjusting. I just…it’s different moving back in.”

“I understand.” She pressed an open palm against his back. “Thank you. For doing this.”

He could hear the guilt still lingering in her voice. He turned and grabbed the hand that had been touching his back and squeezed it. “Of course. I would do it a hundred times over.” And he meant it.

A few hours later, Antoine had come home from daycare with Kasra in tow. Antoine had known that Kaveh was moving back in, but they’d left it as a surprise for Kasra. Kaveh and Faranak were waiting in the foyer when the front door opened, and when Kasra saw Kaveh, his whole face lit up.

“Kaveh!” Kasra had screamed, utterly delighted.

“Hey, kid!” Kaveh dropped to his knees and barely opened his arms in time for Kasra to collide headfirst into his chest. “Oof, have mercy on me, I’m not young like I used to be.”

“You’re twenty-eight,” Antoine had said, amused.

“That’s ancient!” Kaveh wrapped his arms around Kasra and then stood, hefting him up. 

Antoine rubbed his face. “If you’re ancient, what am I? Dust?”

Kaveh grinned. “Well, you said it, not me.”

They hadn’t quite told Kasra that Kaveh had moved back in at that point, only that Faranak had gotten that job opportunity in Fontaine, and that Kaveh would be staying at the house for longer than a week. That was good enough for Kasra.

Slowly, they’d started to introduce the idea that Faranak and Antoine would be away for a few years. They promised that they would video call, and she’d visit when they could.

Kasra took it pretty well, all things considered. He was mostly just thrilled that Kaveh was going to be there. 

“He really looks up to you,” Faranak had said fondly. 

Kaveh had snorted. “Not sure I’m the best role model.”

Faranak glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Why’s that?”

Kaveh winced. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m serious.” She turned to him. “You’re a good brother. And a wonderful person. Shouldn’t that make you a satisfactory role model?”

He snorted bitterly. “Please, if he’d seen me in the last few years, he definitely would not want to follow the path that I’ve gone down.”

“He would.” Faranak leaned closer, though Kaveh still looked straight ahead. “I saw what you did the last few years, Kaveh. And I’m extremely proud of you.”

She probably didn’t mean for it to, but Kaveh still cried at her words anyway. They came far too fast for him to even realize what was happening—only that one moment they were talking, and the next she was wrapping her arms around him while his throat grew thick and he began to soak the collar of her sweater.

Faranak held him like that while he sobbed into her shoulder on the couch, wrapping his whole body around her like he was five again and had broken a toy or scraped a knee. He’d grown so large, so long, that he couldn’t stretch his legs properly across the couch like he used to, but Faranak held him like he was still small. Like a child. And for a moment, the world tilted back into place.

The weeks after were filled with lots of packing and immigration paperwork. Faranak and Antoine were busy dealing with the headache of that, so Kaveh helped with the manual labor of packing. 

Most of the furniture would be left in the house, but there were a few things Faranak wanted to take with her to Fontaine: old architecture textbooks, photo albums, all things of sentimental value. She left the photo of Kaveh’s father on the mantle, but Kaveh didn’t miss the way Antoine subtly tucked it into her suitcase later, because even if Faranak wouldn’t admit that she missed him, Antoine knew her well enough that she would. She really had chosen a good man to remarry.

In between shoving things into boxes and talking to the movers, Kaveh went job hunting on his little laptop for open positions in little architecture firms around his hometown. They would be small, “below his caliber” as his professors might have once said, but they would hopefully be out of the loop from the architecture world enough that they wouldn’t have heard about his fallout with his last job. And there, maybe, he could start something new in a smaller place.

He got an offer the night before Faranak and Antoine were supposed to leave for Fontaine. Kasra and Antoine were asleep, but Faranak was still up, anxious about the whole trip and unable to relax. In that, she and Kaveh were alike. So, she celebrated quietly with him in the kitchen by drinking a single sip of screw-top wine before they both realized they should probably go to bed if they were to wake up on time tomorrow. 

Kaveh drove them to the airport at the asscrack of dawn. Faranak sat in the front to spend a little more time with Kaveh while Antoine and Kasra sat in the back. Well, Kasra was asleep, but the night before he’d begged to be taken with so he could say goodbye properly, no matter how tired he was. Even now, as Faranak chattered nervously about moving in and meeting the clients in person, the image of Kasra passed out and half drooling on the back seat made him smile.

Kasra woke up as they pulled up to the drop-off location. Kaveh helped them unload the car with all their luggage onto the sidewalk as Kasra dutifully held Faranak’s purse out of the way for her. When they finished, Faranak had taken about one step towards the door before she was whirling around and squeezing Kaveh into a tight hug.

“Please, please, please call me if you need anything,” she murmured.

“I will,” he promised, then hugged her tighter, resting his chin on top of her head. When had she gotten so small?

“Thank you again,” she said, pulling away. “I know this probably wasn’t how you planned to spend the latter half of your twenties.”

“Mom, I promise there is no better way I’d want to spend them.” He squeezed her hands. “Please, believe me.”

She smiled at him and her eyes suddenly looked too shiny in the shadows of the airport. Fuck, if she started crying then he was going to start crying, and he wasn’t going to risk that when he had to drive Kasra back.

The corners of her eyes crinkled.

“Stop, stop.” Or he was really going to cry. “Please, go check in for your flight.”

“Okay.” Faranak stepped back and sniffed, wiping her eyes.

Kasra hopped down from Antoine’s arms to run over and hug Faranak.

“Bye, Mommy! Have fun!” Kasra said cheerily.

Faranak lifted him and hugged him, burying her sniffling into his little shirt.

Kaveh swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to Antoine. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, the stretch of silence that usually settled between a stepfather and his stepson. They had a good relationship, Kaveh liked him just fine, but he didn’t know Antoine the way he knew Faranak and Kasra. What was the appropriate response here?

But then Antoine was stepping forward, wrapping him in a two-armed hug that pressed them too close but also lasted far too short. It was awkward—one light thump on the back—but Antoine had done it anyway, and perhaps that was the important part.

“Take care of yourself,” said Antoine, pulling away.

“I will.”

Antoine gave him a soft smile then, too. It startled Kaveh enough that he barely remembered to return it before Kasra was jumping down from Faranak’s arm and barrelling towards him. His little brother thudded into his legs with an oof before Kaveh lifted him up into his arms, giving him leverage to wave their parents goodbye.

When they disappeared behind the airport doors, Kaveh and Kasra climbed back into the car. It felt startlingly empty now that half of its original passengers were gone.

Kaveh remembered driving home that morning with a strange feeling settling in his chest. Like a dream, still half processing the fact that he’d really just bid Faranak and Antoine goodbye for the next three to five years and that he was really going to be raising his kid brother all by himself. The fear planted itself in his chest, the worry if he was really good enough to raise Kasra well. Would he turn out alright? Or would Kaveh fuck it up like he had with so many other things in his life?

But then he caught sight of Kasra in the rearview mirror again, wide-eyed and wide awake like this goodbye had woken him up for the day. He didn’t look too sad. In fact, he was just watching the world outside with the same quiet wonder he always did, as if he also didn’t just say goodbye to his parents for the next few years.

Kaveh cleared his throat, still thick with the goodbye. “Hey, Kasra. How are you doing?”

Kasra had turned away from the window. When he caught Kaveh’s eyes in the mirror, he broke out into a wide, toothy grin. “Good!” Kasra kicked his feet. “I wanna see pictures.”

“What?”

“Daddy said he was gonna send pictures.” Kasra kicked legs rapidly. “He said Fontaine has different birds so I wanna see them.”

“Oh.” Kaveh almost wanted to laugh. He was glad Kasra was so carefree about this. It was certainly better than being sad. “Well, it won’t be for a few hours. They still have to board the plane and then unpack.”

“I can wait,” said Kasra. “I’m good at waiting.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Are you sure about that?”

“I am!” Kasra kicked his feet. “I’m really, really good. Mommy said I was good at waiting.”

“Yeah? What about that one time I visited and you kept waking me up because you wanted to show me your puzzle?”

“That doesn’t count, you were asleep for forever!”

“Kasra, it was, like, twenty minutes. Actually less.”

“No, it wasn’t! It was so long!”

“Was your brain even formed enough to remember correctly?”

“It was! You’re too old to remember correctly.”

“You have to be nice to me,” warned Kaveh. “Because I get to pick dinner tonight.”

Because Faranak and Antoine were flying to Fontaine. And Kaveh was now the sole adult of the house. 

A little pit dropped in his stomach, tinged faintly with the scent of grief.

Kaveh swallowed and looked back at the road.

“Are you sad?” asked Kasra a moment later.

Kaveh nearly choked. “Why do you ask that, Kasra?”

“You got really quiet.” 

He could feel Kasra’s eyes on him in the rearview mirror. He was sure that if he looked up, he’d see entirely too piercing eyes looking back at him.

The perceptiveness of children always caught him off guard. Kasra was a sweet kid, always smiling and giggling in delight at every little thing going on, so it always startled Kaveh when Kasra said something that seemed to peer through him. Even people his age didn’t bother to look so closely, but perhaps that was the point. 

“I’ve been quiet before,” said Kaveh simply.

“You weren’t sad before.”

Touché.

“Are you sad?” Kasra repeated.

He swallowed, chest tight. “A little,” he admitted, thought it felt like pulling a barbed quill out of his skin. “I’m fine, though. I…I mean, I’ll be a little sad not having Mom around.”

“She said she was gonna call.”

His heart hiccuped. “She did.”

“So she will!”

So simple, so easy. Such rock-solid kid logic that Kaveh couldn’t help but believe it.

“You’re right,” said Kaveh.

“I am!”

Kasra grinned at him so brightly through the rearview mirror that Kaveh couldn’t help but return it. He turned the radio up a little more, and checked to make sure Kasra was looking out the window again before he let out another sigh.

That night, despite his threats, Kaveh ended up getting fast food for dinner to celebrate their first night in the house alone. Half because he and Kasra both wanted greasy, unhealthy junk. And half because if Kaveh had to cook something at the stove with Faranak’s nice pans without her standing behind him, gently but neurotically telling him not to use the metal utensils on the non-stick pan, he really would cry.

So he ordered a burger and Kaveh ordered fries and nuggets, and then they watched Kasra’s favorite cartoons until midnight when Kasra’s eyelids started drooping so comically heavy that Kaveh had to carry him to his room. Just like how Kaveh’s father used to do for him when he was young. After, he crawled back into his own childhood room onto his too-small childhood bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to soak in the fact that this was his life now.

The first few weeks without his parents were strange. Kaveh got into the routine of waking up early, dropping Kasra off at daycare, working his job, then coming back and making dinner and doing that all over again. It felt like being twenty-two and freshly graduated, but this time with an extra living being relying on him. 

He’d never expected to settle down quite so fast, but perhaps this slower routine was what he needed after the whirlwind of building Alcazarazaray. And besides, twenty-eight was a perfectly fine age to settle down. He was almost certain Faranak and his father had had him sooner. He’d always wanted a family anyway, especially remembering how it felt with Faranak and his father when he was young. He wanted to make that kind of family, too, but then got too busy to think of anything except his career.

But now he had Kasra, which was just as good. Especially since he didn’t have time to date or really settle down into a long term relationship, so having Kasra without having to go through the hassle was the next best thing.

Really, living with Kasra was the best. He was everything Kaveh used to be, and what he wanted to be again—like his childhood distilled and reborn into the little person he now had to take care of. Kasra reminded him of what it was like to be young, to look at the world with open wonder.

It reminded Kaveh of being small. Of wandering into Faranak’s office even when he could barely walk, but still finding her sketchbooks laying flat on the floor and the edges of the table, all open and inviting for his curious hands. It reminded him of what followed after: his mother taking him out to the buildings she’d designed in person, showing how her sketches had come to life. How she would tell him little design details in architecture until Kaveh could point them out himself, until Kaveh began to dream and draw and dig, passing interesting structures and wanting to pull apart how they stood, how they were formed, wanting to know. The ineffable need to make something that lasted.

Kaveh wouldn’t last. Neither would Kasra. Neither would Faranak. His father certainly hadn’t. But their blood would be carried into the next generation and the next and the next, and there was a legacy in that. 

An eternity, in its own way.

-

Kaveh didn’t always work late. Sometimes he was able to get off early and pick up Kasra from the school just like all the other parents. 

Like now, on a warm autumn day. He pulled up to the curb in his middle-aged car and watched all the kids scramble around the front of the elementary school in a little chaotic bundle. He scanned the swarm of children for Kasra and found him towards the center of the pavement, surrounded by a cluster of other kids all laughing and smiling around him.

He’s a lot like you, Faranak had said to him once when he’d gone with her to pick Kasra up from daycare. He attracts a lot of friends.

He remembered looking in through the window of the daycare, trying to block the glare of the evening sun as he watched Kasra with a group of children through the glass. He’d even managed to pull a shy boy in the corner into his circle.

Hopefully he doesn’t turn out like me, too, he’d laughed before he realized what he’d said.

She’d looked at him disapprovingly. What would be so bad about that?

Kaveh had sputtered. He hadn’t meant for the self-deprecation to slip out, but he was so used to making those jokes that he forgot his mother would actually call him out on them.

Ah, I mean, he sputtered. That…his future turns out better than mine did.

You turned out just fine to me, Kaveh.

He paused now, watching Kasra play with his gaggle of friends. He wasn’t quite sure what they were doing, only that they were laughing so loud they had to do that wet toddler cough to get more air. 

And all through it, the other teachers were surrounding the children with easy smiles and just the right amount of attentiveness to make sure they didn’t crack their heads open—and then there was Al-Haitham. Al-Haitham, standing there stoically with his giant arms and broad back and stony face, watching the kids with his arms crossed like a prison guard instead of a kindergarten teacher.

His eyes were too harsh. No fudging way Al-Haitham was a kindergarten teacher. Even after seeing definitive proof that Al-Haitham really did teach kindergarten at this school, Kaveh still couldn’t believe it.

Al-Haitham had studied linguistics in college, not education. Where did the interest even come from? Had he always wanted to corral five-year-olds for six hours a day? Or did he just wake up one day and decide he wanted his career to be babysitting children with underdeveloped motor skills?

If anything, Kaveh thought being a professor suited Al-Haitham more. Academia, being surrounded by other pretentious assholes; maybe he’d finally deem one or two of them worthy enough as intellectual equals with him, or maybe he’d look down on them, too. He’d probably love creating convoluted assignments just for the satisfaction of watching students struggle to comprehend them, and then laughing maniacally like a villain when they pulled all-nighters and still couldn’t pass his exams in the end.

Not this: not a bunch of snot-nosed kids screaming and running in circles, crying when they fell over. A few kids ran over to where Al-Haitham was standing. They tugged at his pants and shoes and jumped in circles around him as if he were just part of the playground and Kaveh expected him to push them off or step away.

Instead, Al-Haitham stood there calmly while the kids played peekaboo around his legs. And when their parents came, he pushed them forward with an all too gentle touch and an all too soft, “See you tomorrow.”

Kaveh’s stomach burned.

“Kasra!” He finally called through the open window.

Kasra pulled away from the woodchips. “Kaveh!” He shrieked, delighted.

“Ready to go?” He forced a bright smile onto his face and hoped Kasra couldn’t see the strain behind it.

“Yeah!” He scooped his backpack off the ground and went bounding toward the car. “Bye, Zahra! Bye, Akshith! Bye, Mimi! Bye, Mr. Al-Haitham!”

“See you tomorrow, Kasra.” Al-Haitham nodded.

Kasra yanked the backdoor open and flopped into the seat. “Hi, Kaveh!”

“Hey,” said Kaveh as he started the car. “How was your day?”

And as he pulled away from the school, Kasra babbling about his day, Kaveh swore he felt Al-Haitham’s eyes on him until he disappeared around the corner.

-

After he met Al-Haitham, there wasn’t a single moment they spent in each other’s presence that they weren’t arguing.

Post cafe-incident, he’d texted Tighnari later that night asking in what fucking world he thought it was a good idea to bring Al-Haitham, to which Tighnari had responded, Just give him a chance, Kaveh.

Like hell he would. Kaveh would rather swim naked through the Abyss than talk to Al-Haitham again.

Except as the semester went on, Tighnari kept inviting Al-Haitham to their group gatherings. To a movie night, to a drunk TCG night, to another study date—hell, even to a bar where Al-Haitham had spent the entire time on his phone. Kaveh had wandered over at some point to ask Al-Haitham why he’d even bothered to come if he was just going to stare at the screen the whole time, when he leaned over to find Al-Haitham reading some ebook. At that point, he gave up and went to talk to his friends in the friend group that he actually liked.

The more they met up, the more Kaveh, horribly, began to realize that the awkwardness between Al-Haitham and the others began to melt. Al-Haitham still barely did small talk, barely gave more than his clipped condescending answers, but instead of getting offended like Kaveh expected people would, his other friends would just laugh or smile and seriously consider whatever flat platitude he gave about their current issues. It was infuriating. How the hell was Al-Haitham becoming friends with his friends without even trying?

“Because you keep antagonizing him,” said Dunyarzad, one day. “You come to these hangouts expecting him to be terrible and you interpret everything he says as terrible.”

“How can I not? Have you listened to him?”

“If you spoke to him more,” said Dunyarzad gently. “You’d probably find it differently. He doesn’t always say things delicately, but that doesn’t mean he’s unkind.”

“How would you even know?” Kaveh grumbled.

“Well.” Dunyarzad tapped her chin. “I mean, every time I’ve asked him to proofread my essays, he always makes time and gives good feedback.”

Kaveh had choked on his water. “He what?”

“Gives me feedback on my essays?” she repeated.

“Him?”  

He couldn’t imagine someone like Al-Haitham sacrificing any of his precious time for anyone, let alone proofread essays for classes he wasn’t in.

“Yes.” Dunyarzad nodded. “I just remembered once that he had to write a lot of essays for his major, so I asked if he’d proofread an essay I had for a difficult class-”

“And he said yes?”

“Yes, Kaveh. Clearly.” Her voice was gentle and patient, but she nudged his foot lightly under the table to tell him to keep listening. “He gives good feedback. He’s very precise and he tears apart my essays when I ask him to, but he’s not cruel about it.”

“What did you have to do?” Kaveh still couldn’t fathom it. “Did you beg?”

“No, Kaveh. I did not beg.” Dunyarzad leveled him with a look. “I just asked, and he said yes.”

As if it were that simple. As if this parallel version of Al-Haitham where he was patient and straightforward instead of an asshole actually existed.

And it kept going like that with everyone he talked to. Dehya, Nilou, Cyno (he almost didn’t count Cyno because he had an obligation to at least be polite to his boyfriend’s friends, except then Cyno started having genuine conversations with Al-Haitham at drunk TCG night and Kaveh gave up them). He didn’t get it. What was everyone seeing that he wasn’t?

One day, they met up for a movie night. Kaveh didn’t know what he expected. Tighnari had messaged in the group chat, inviting everyone to his apartment, so of course everyone in the group chat would have seen the message. Kaveh, still half hopeful and half stupid, had held out hope that it’d be a peaceful movie night.

But of course, the moment he stepped in, there Al-Haitham fucking was, sitting all by himself on the couch on the corner while the rest of everyone else was chatting elsewhere, drifting from kitchen to living room.

“Kaveh, I’m glad you could make it!” Tighnari cried when he spotted him. “I almost thought you wouldn’t. You had that project, right?”

“I always have projects, Tighnari.” Kaveh stepped in and kicked off his shoes. “But having an excuse to leave the studio is always better than none.”

Kaveh, having been the last one to arrive, locked the door. Now, with everyone gathered, Tighnari ushered everyone back to the living room to start the movie. Cyno and Tighnari took a seat on the floor in front of the coffee table. The girls took a seat on the other couch, leaving just Al-Haitham’s couch for Kaveh to sit.

He’d looked at the empty cushion next to Al-Haitham for a long moment with disdain. Then he took the seat, because for all his own personal misgivings, Kaveh wouldn’t ruin the movie night for anyone else.

But of course, several minutes into the movie, something bright flared at the corner of his eye. Kaveh turned to find Al-Haitham’s face illuminated in the dark by the glare of his white phone screen.

Why did you even come if you weren’t going to watch? He thought moodily.

He quickly turned to face away from Al-Haitham, hopeful that if he wasn’t looking at him, then he could at least swallow the irritation rising rapidly inside him.

Kaveh didn’t quite remember what movie had been playing that night, only that at some point, the main character on screen had donated a bunch of money to impress his crush. She’d accepted, and so he kept dumping money into the charity to hold her interest.

“Archons, he’s so scummy,” Kaveh had muttered.

“Is he?” Al-Haitham piped up, which nearly shocked him into falling off the couch. “The impact of donating the money is still there. So what difference does it make?”

“‘What difference does it make?’” Kaveh whirled around, horrified. “The point is why he was doing it in the first place. To trick some girl into liking him! Isn’t that awful?”

“So you’d rather him not donate the money?”

“I never said that. In the end it’s good that he gave money, but he’s still doing it for a terrible reason.”

“Even so, he is still contributing to a greater good in the end, since he’s continuing to fund this charity? Doesn’t that, in its own right, redeem him a bit?”

“It’s not about the impact, Al-Haitham. It’s about the intentions.”

“How do you measure the good of a person if not their impact? Since that is the most concrete thing? What if you had a person always wishing to help, but they never got up and did anything?”

Kaveh frowned. “But how can you measure everything by objectivity? What about two homeless people, neither of them have much but one still tries to give half of his bread to the other. In the end, two loaves of bread would be the objective best, but in their circumstances this is all they can give. What about relativity? They both mean to help. How can you make judgements just based on impact then?”

There was a pause like a stuttered heartbeat. Then, Al-Haitham turned to look at Kaveh fully, eyes widening like he was seeing him for the first time.

“What?” Kaveh huffed, face feeling hot.

Al-Haitham opened his mouth but no sound came out. The colors from the movie splashed over his skin in the dark, making his face almost look flushed.

“Kaveh,” started Al-Haitham, voice too low, too soft.

“If—” Tighnari cut in, voice strained. “You could take your debate elsewhere while we watch the rest of the movie. That would be great.”

Kaveh realized then that his chest was heaving, and he immediately flushed with guilt at how loud they must have been speaking. He’d never had an issue with talking too loudly during a movie before. He’d never had any issues with common courtesy before until Al-Haitham walked into his life that autumn morning. He was so good at being calm and polite and normal, but he lost all sense of self-control around Al-Haitham because he was so terrible and annoying.

He turned to glare at Al-Haitham because it was his fault Kaveh was like this. But when he met Al-Haitham’s gaze, he paused.

Al-Haitham didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. In fact, he hadn’t sounded like he’d heard Tighnari at all. He just stared at Kaveh with this odd, lopsided expression that almost looked like wonder.

But that couldn’t be right. What would he be looking at Kaveh like that for? Kaveh narrowed his eyes, and the wonder fell away to something that almost looked like a smile.

Kaveh’s stomach curdled. The jackass didn’t even have the sense to look sorry! Fuck that. Fuck him. If he had the nerve to be smug after all this, after disrupting movie night, then Kaveh wanted nothing to do with him.

-

Another horrible thing about realizing that Al-Haitham was his little brother’s kindergarten teacher was the very real realization that Al-Haitham also, probably, lived in Kaveh’s hometown. Kaveh hadn’t quite processed this fact until he went to the grocery store one day, trying to find ingredients to cook Kasra a healthy dinner when he ran into a familiar face in the pasta aisle.

Or, well, Kaveh had been pushing his shopping cart into the aisle when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette: Al-Haitham standing in the aisle with his basket, head bent as he read the back of a penne box.

Kaveh barely managed to muffle his yelp before he quickly turned and yanked his shipping cart into the previous aisle. Unfortunately, he forgot how shitty these carts were, so when he tried to make his stealthy escape, the pivot wheel let out a blood curdling screech instead.

He froze in the next aisle, heart pounding, before he heard, “I saw you. You can come out, Kaveh.”

Kaveh came out.

He tentatively pushed the shopping cart back into the pasta aisle and found Al-Haitham watching him with a tired expression. “We are both adults.”

Kaveh frowned. “Okay, and?”

“If you have a problem with me, you can just tell me instead of avoiding me like a child.”

Kaveh flushed. “I am not—I’m not a child.”

“Obviously.” Al-Haitham gave him a flat look. “But I do work with children on a daily basis, so I know what they act like.”

“Fuck you.” Kaveh pulled the shopping cart back. “This is why I was trying to avoid you.”

“Because I point things out?”

“Because you’re an asshole.”

Al-Haitham pursed his lips. 

There was a beat of silence. Then, because Kaveh couldn’t stand the silence, he asked, “What do you want?”

“Nothing in particular,” said Al-Haitham, a bit stiffly. “But I won’t force you to talk to me if you’re so vehemently opposed.”

Kaveh winced. “I—sorry. Maybe ‘asshole’ was a bit strong.”

Al-Haitham didn’t say anything, but he did raise an eyebrow as if to say, You think?

Which was fair. The last real time he’d spoken to Al-Haitham was six years ago. Kaveh had certainly changed in that timespan, who was to say Al-Haitham hadn’t as well?

Maybe he could figure out just how much.

“So—” He started. “Kindergarten teacher, huh?”

Al-Haitham nodded slowly. 

“How did that career choice happen?”

“I just wanted to try out teaching,” said Al-Haitham. “And I’ve been enjoying it. So I haven’t stopped yet.”

“I see…” 

Another silence weighed between them, stiff in a way that was uncomfortable. Like an itch on the back of his neck that he couldn’t reach, no matter how he clawed through the fabric of his shirt. Archons, it was so fucking awkward but things weren’t supposed to be awkward with Al-Haitham. Even in college, things between them had never been stiff or stilted. They were always too busy arguing to ever let it get to that point.

But this was terrible and odd and Kaveh started to feel the years between them, like they really were strangers. He felt so brutally the time since they’d last spoken, the way he graduated and said goodbye to everyone except Al-Haitham.

“When did you move back?” asked Al-Haitham.

“Um.” Kaveh flexed his fingers around the shopping cart handle. “Over the summer. How long have you been teaching?”

“Since I graduated.”

After Kaveh had moved away. So all the times that Kaveh came to visit Kasra—had Al-Haitham been here the whole time?

“Should I say welcome back?” asked Al-Haitham.

“You could, but it’d be weird coming from you.”

Al-Haitham frowned. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve already been here for a few months. I’m not sure the welcome fits anymore.”

“Well,” said Al-Haitham stiffly. “I was trying to be polite.”

Polite? Kaveh wanted to say. I thought you didn’t care for niceties. He certainly hadn’t in college. But he reminded himself again that they weren’t in college anymore, so he shouldn’t.

“I… appreciate the sentiment,” said Kaveh, though he sounded strained even to his own ears.

“Do you?” Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

This was far too civil for how they normally talked to each other. Even the few times he’d spoken to Al-Haitham as Kasra’s kindergarten teacher had a little more punch than this, more like how they’d spoken to each other a few years ago. But they weren’t college students anymore wandering on campus anymore. They were both older, filing their own taxes, and shopping for groceries in the depths of the suburbs. They couldn’t quite get into a yelling match here no matter how natural it felt, and Kaveh, surprisingly, didn’t have it in him either.

He couldn’t stand the silence. Kaveh wasn’t made for it. But as he was scrambling to come up with something to say, Al-Haitham suddenly spoke.

“Do you ever check your email?”

He startled. “What the fuck? Why?”

Al-Haitham gave him a flat look. “I sent an email out to all the parents a month ago about signing up for parent teacher conferences. They start next week and you still haven’t responded.”

“Fuck.” Kaveh remembered scrolling blearily through his emails one morning on his phone, but then he realized he’d slept through his work alarm so he’d had to shoot out of bed and forgot all about it.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket now and started furiously scrolling through his inbox. Sure enough, with a timestamp marked with four weeks ago, was an email titled: Sign Up Now for Parent-Teacher Conferences: Your Child’s Progress Matters!”

“Fuck,” said Kaveh again. “Oh my gods.”

Even if that was true, dread still pooled in his stomach. How had he forgotten? Archons, maybe he wasn’t cut out for this parenting thing.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Al-Haitham, cutting him off mid-spiral. “Just sign up for a slot, though some time slots may be more inconvenient than others. If nothing works, we can arrange another time.”

“Really?” 

“Yes,” said Al-Haitham flatly. “It’s just a meeting.”

“Alright.” Kaveh tapped the link in the email to find a webpage with different time slots. Sure enough, a lot of the more convenient slots had been taken up, but there was one close to seven p.m. that he could probably swing.

So, right there in front of Al-Haitham—his little brother’s kindergarten teacher—Kaveh signed up for a parent teacher conference with the man in front of him. The Teacher to Kaveh’s Parent. How bizarre.

“Oh.” Kaveh looked up suddenly. “Is that why you cornered me?”

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows. “No.” His lips pressed together, and if Kaveh didn’t know any better, he’d almost say Al-Haitham looked upset. Then, “I just saw you and wanted to catch up. But then I remembered that, too.”

“Oh,” he said again. “Oh.”

Al-Haitham watched him for a moment longer before turning away. “Well, if that’s all, I have to get the rest of my groceries.”

“Right.” Kaveh stepped back. “Ah, yes. Yes, right, I have to do that, too. It was, um, nice to see you?”

Al-Haitham let out a quiet exhale, just shy of amused. “Don’t force yourself.”

“I wasn’t!” 

But Kaveh’s cries fell on silent ears because Al-Haitham was already walking down the aisle, disappearing to some other part of the store. 

He still couldn’t believe Al-Haitham was in the grocery store he used to run around in as a kid, there among the shelves that used to tower over him. But they’d both grown—both he and Al-Haitham—and now it was just one more thing to overlay this town, one more thing in the present to fuck up the carefully preserved past he had here: Kaveh’s childhood home without Faranak, Kaveh sleeping in his childhood bed more permanently, and Al-Haitham in the grocery story he used to run through as a child.

Kaveh waited in the pasta aisle long enough to look suspicious to any passerby, but he wasn’t risking running into Al-Haitham further down the line. When enough time had passed, he quickly bought the rest of his groceries before speeding back home.

-

Kaveh barely had time to worry about the parent-teacher conference, not with work kicking his ass and all that. Even though his resume demanded he probably have a higher-level architect position, the new firm he worked at was smaller with old guys with sticks up their ass, so he had all the grunt work of a junior architect and all the respect of one, too (read: very little). The news of his skyrocket to fame (and subsequent downfall) had not reached the ears of this town, and that in and of itself was a boon and a bane.

All this to say: he’d totally forgotten about it. Between drowning in work and picking up Kasra and staying at home long enough to cook dinner before running back to the office, he lost track of the days until a friendly notification during lunch from his calendar app reminded him of the parent-teacher conference.

“Fuck.” Kaveh’s spoon clattered to the table. He snatched it up hastily before checking if anybody had seen, but no one was paying attention to anything in this tiny break room.

Kaveh spent the rest of the day with his stomach churning in anxiety. He tried to focus on his work, tried not to get up every five minutes to throw up in the bathroom, but by the time he finished his work, he was late picking up Kasra again. 

He sped over to the elementary school, caught Al-Haitham watching him again, before driving Kasra home and cooking a very swift dinner. He got the neighbors to watch Kasra for the evening, then he sped back to the elementary school just in time to catch the previous parent walking out of the school.

As he walked through the elementary school, trying to navigate to where Al-Haitham’s classroom was, it finally struck him that he would be alone with Al-Haitham for an entire fifteen minutes. All of the times they’d caught each other before were in public. Now, it would just be the two of them in a room.

Kaveh found the classroom in the next five minutes. The door was propped and he could see Al-Haitham lounging at his desk, legs crossed so one ankle rested on the other knee, reading the way he always did back in college. The sight of it was terrifyingly familiar and Kaveh suddenly felt twenty-two and volatile all over again.

“The door’s open for a reason,” said Al-Haitham without looking up.

Kaveh scowled as he stepped into the classroom. “Can you let me have my moment?”

“You can have your moment without lingering around the corner like a stranger.” Al-Haitham sat up and set his book down.

“What if I need to brace myself in privacy?” Kaveh eyed the plastic chair sat across from Al-Haitham’s desk, set up for the parents, supposedly.

“Brace yourself for what?”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. He spoke with that leading tone he always used when he knew the answer to his own question, but still wanted to see what Kaveh would say. It had always infuriated him in college because it was usually a sign their arguments were about to take a turn for the worse. Now, though, it made him feel frantic.

“Talking to you,” said Kaveh flatly.

If Al-Haitham was offended, he didn’t let on. He just looked through something on his laptop silently. He scrolled for a long moment, and he was probably just digging up some notes, but Kaveh couldn’t stand the silence, the ticking of the clock dragging him an inch closer to madness with each second.

“Can you hurry up, please?” Kaveh asked before he could stop himself.

Al-Haitham paused and raised an eyebrow. “Have somewhere to be?”

“Yes.” He bit irritably. “Home. I left Kasra with the neighbors because I didn’t have time to find a babysitter, but I asked them really last minute so I don’t want to burden them for too long.”

That gave Al-Haitham pause. “Your neighbors are watching Kasra?”

“Yes?” Kaveh glowered at him. “That’s what I just said.”

Al-Haitham didn’t speak for a moment. His eyebrows furrowed. After what seemed to be much internal debate, he asked, “You don’t have…anyone else to watch him?”

“Obviously not,” Kaveh bit irritably.

“...no second guardian?”

Kaveh frowned. “Well, that’s a bit personal, isn’t it? Do you need to know that to do your job?”

Perhaps it was a bit harsh, but Kaveh didn’t need Al-Haitham prying into his life. But then Al-Haitham’s expression shuttered. He jerked his head away, and though Al-Haitham didn’t let it show, his mouth pressed into a deeper frown.

Guilt washed through him hotly. For some terrible reason, Kaveh didn’t think he had the power to actually hurt Al-Haitham’s feelings, but before he could open his mouth to apologize, Al-Haitham spoke again.

“No,” said Al-Haitham evenly. “I suppose not.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kaveh quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you’re correct. I do not need to know your marital status as a teacher, and it was a breach of privacy for me to ask that.” Al-Haitham swallowed, grimacing like he was swallowing a stone. Then, “I apologize.”

Kaveh felt like he’d been slapped. I never thought I’d see the day.

“Al-Haitham,” he said. “You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have—that was too—”

“I’ll save us both the trouble.” Al-Haitham held up a hand. “Why don’t we just focus on the actual point of this meeting?”

Kaveh swallowed. “Right.”

Al-Haitham scrolled through his laptop one more time before whatever was on screen landed in its final resting place. Then, he sat back in his chair and began to read.

“Kasra’s mostly on track with reading and writing,” began Al-Haitham. “He’s doing well with the beginner books, but having some trouble with the mid-level ones. Overall meeting expectations, just needs some more guidance. He is, however, doing very well with math. He’s beginning to do some basic arithmetic which makes him well ahead of his peers in that regard—”

“Okay, this is weird.” Kaveh squirmed. 

Al-Haitham paused. “What’s weird? I’m just doing my job.”

“Exactly.” Kaveh gestured vaguely. “This—this whole thing—your weird little teacher voice and you’re just talking about my brother like—”

“Brother?” Al-Haitham interrupted.

“Yes?” Kaveh blinked. “My brother?”

“Oh.” Al-Haitham’s expression softened all at once—no, that wasn’t the word. Before, his eyebrows had been hard and furrowed, bolting around the sharp wall of his face. But he looked truly surprised now, like that shock of the news had knocked him wide open.

“Oh—” Kaveh realized it all of a sudden. “Oh my gods, wait, did you think he was my son?”

“You look exactly the same,” said Al-Haitham, almost accusatory. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Our mother has very strong genetics.” Kaveh crossed his arms. “Al-Haitham, I’m twenty-eight and an architect. When do you think I had time to date and settle down and pop a kid out?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Al-Haitham matter-of-factly. “We didn’t keep in touch after you graduated.”

Kaveh’s face heated. “I don’t like your tone.”

“What tone am I giving?”

“Like it was my fault.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “You kept in touch with everyone else after you graduated.” Except me, was not said. 

Al-Haitham had texted him privately after graduation, a simple, Congratulations. Kaveh had chosen not to respond to it. Even when Al-Haitham had graduated two years later and everyone else congratulated him in the group chat, Kaveh still didn’t say a word.

Kaveh glared. “That’s because you—”

Al-Haitham’s face darkened. “I what?”

Al-Haitham had made a terrible joke—a really, really childish prank all things considered. It’d pissed Kaveh off so bad that he ignored Al-Haitham for the next six years. But now, looking at Al-Haitham in front of him with his collared shirt and shiny loafers and decorated kindergarten classroom, it reminded him brutally that they were adults now, and it suddenly felt strange bringing up petty college drama from so long ago.

“Nevermind.” Kaveh slumped back into his seat.

“Well, don’t leave me hanging,” said Al-Haitham wryly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, even though he had half a mind storming out of the room just so he wouldn’t have to come to terms with how childish he felt. But he’d survived getting ejected from one of Sumeru’s most prestigious architecture firms—he could survive this parent-teacher conference, too.

“Really?” Al-Haitham arched an eyebrow. “From what I remember, you used to hold onto grudges pretty badly.”

“Yeah, when I was twenty-two.” Kaveh huffed. “But I grew up, just like you did. I am an adult, despite what you think. I’m literally raising a kid.”

“Your brother.”

“My brother.”

There was a beat of silence, but Kaveh wasn’t built for silences. Never been and never would. Which was why he found himself tripping over his tongue to say, “Not my kid. He’s my half-brother. My mom had him with my stepdad, but they both had to move to Fontaine for a few years for one of my mom’s architecture projects and she didn’t want to drag Kasra all the way out there when she wouldn’t have time to take care of him. So I offered.”

Al-Haitham straightened. “You moved back here for Kasra?”

“Of course. Why else?”

“What about your career?”

“What about my career?” He could feel the irritation dragging through his teeth. “I’m still an architect. I work at an architecture firm nearby. Sure I’m not—” The Light of Kshahrewar. “Doing big projects like I used to, but I’m still doing things I like.”

Al-Haitham went quiet for another long moment. Kaveh began to wonder if Al-Haitham knew what happened to him, and then he felt arrogant for even wondering that in the first place. Why would Al-Haitham care about that anyway? Why was he so arrogant to think that Al-Haitham would even keep track of him in the first place?

“Besides,” he said, throat feeling thick. “I mean, it’s my brother. How could I ever—how could I just choose something else over him?”

There was a pause. Then, “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed.”

Kaveh glared. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing negative.” Al-Haitham pulled the laptop closer. 

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “You expect me to believe you?”

“Believe what you want.” It sounded like a jab, but when Al-Haitham looked up again, the furrow in his eyebrows had smoothed out into something neutral and open. “Let’s continue the meeting so you can get back to Kasra.”

Kaveh huffed. “Sure, fine, whatever.”

The parent-teacher conference moved forward with Al-Haitham reporting on various progress points while Kaveh sat back and listened, trying to reconcile the two images of Al-Haitham sitting in front of him with his teacher voice and his teacher clothes in his teacher room, and the memory he still held of him in college—same hair, same eyes, same snark.

The conference ended in exactly fifteen minutes, which was very in character for Al-Haitham. When it was all over, Al-Haitham stood up and held out a hand.

“Thank you for attending. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Kaveh looked down before taking it, trying not to look like he was holding a dead rat. “This is still weird.”

Al-Haitham’s palms were startlingly warm. He gave one firm shake before he let their hands fall. “I’m just doing my job.”

“It’s still weird.”

“Hardly, I’ve been teaching for four years at this point.” Al-Haitham sat down. “Now if you’ll excuse me, the next parent should be coming soon and I’d like to be respectful of the appointment times.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “You haven’t changed much either.”

“I’m assuming you didn’t mean that as a compliment.” Al-Haitham wasn’t smiling, but his voice sounded warmer in a way he couldn’t quite understand, to a miniscule degree he couldn’t quite measure.

“Of course not!” Kaveh snapped.

Al-Haitham made a sound almost like he was amused, but when Kaveh glanced back to check, all he saw was Al-Haitham staring intently at his laptop again, probably pulling up his notes for the next appointment.

Kaveh drove away feeling more unsteady than he should. Like he’d missed something crucial. Where did Al-Haitham’s bite go at the end? At what point did he decide the fight was over and forget to tell Kaveh? He felt like he was still teething at some toy while Al-Haitham had long left the playroom.

When he arrived home, he relieved his neighbors of their toddler-watching duties. Even though Mrs. Kapoor insisted it was no trouble and that Kasra was a delight, Kaveh still tried to shove a small pouch of Mora at them because Faranak had raised him with sharp manners. Of course, all that got him was an affectionate slap on a risk and a, “I’m surprised you’re still single, Kaveh. You know, I have a daughter around your age—”

After which Kaveh had hurriedly dismissed himself, much to Kasra’s confusion.

“What does single mean?” asked Kasra.

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Kaveh distracted him by turning on Kasra’s favorite cartoons and bribing him with a bag of corn snacks. They settled into the couch for half a minute before Kasra turned to him and asked, “Does Mr. Al-Haitham like me?”

Kaveh snorted. “That’s not what the meeting was about.”

“Does he?” insisted Kasra.

Al-Haitham’s face popped up in his mind. The clinical report he’d given on Kasra’s progress before Kaveh had been too weirded about by his teacher persona; the way his face had softened in that imperceptible Al-Haitham way after Kaveh had spoken about his family.

He’d changed since college—they both had, certainly. Yet somehow, Al-Haitham knew how to deal with Kaveh, but Kaveh didn’t know how to deal with him. It made him feel afraid, not knowing who his opponent was anymore.

But when he turned to Kasra, finding his little brother staring up at him with those wide, curious eyes, it lit a little torch in him. Not all was dark. Not all was unknown.

“Yes, he does,” said Kaveh. “You’re doing very well, Kasra.”

And Kasra broke into a brilliant grin the way Kaveh knew he would. There was something comforting in knowing that no matter how people changed, he’d seen Kasra through all the growing, and knew him still.

“Yay!” Kasra clapped like a toy monkey, but it was so genuinely him Kaveh couldn’t help but laugh. 

Kaveh had lived far too much life in the past six years, always torn between the vertigo of looking at the height of his potential career and the fear of letting the Light of Kshahrewar sputter out. But Kasra only knew his older brother Kaveh, through every event that brought him home. Kasra, always, anchoring him back to shore.

-

Perhaps Kaveh didn’t need to tell Kasra the former detail. It was important to tell him he was doing well, that he was working hard and to continue with these positive reinforcements, as the parenting books suggested, but Kaveh already liked “Mr. Al-Haitham” far too much, so hearing that Mr. Al-Haitham did, in fact, like him and think he was doing well only made his torment worse. 

It made Kasra linger longer at the doors when school ended, like he wasn’t quite ready for the afternoon with his friends and his favorite teacher, Mr. Al-Haitham, to be over. It meant Kaveh being exposed to Al-Haitham longer, the presence of him radiating against his side while Kaveh stayed near the car and looked pointedly ahead at only Kasra while trying to beckon him over. He was sure that if let his Al-Haitham exposure go on any longer, he’d get a rash.

Of course, that just meant he’d have to look at Al-Haitham again eventually, because when it came Kasra’s time to leave, he wanted to say goodbye to every single other kindergartener still left at the school and, of course, his favorite teacher, Mr. Al-Haitham. Kaveh would have to watch—still near the car, still hovering uncomfortably—as Kasra gave a full-body wave with his little arm and Al-Haitham gave a nod in response. Then, Al-Haitham would bend his knees—just a little, just enough to meet Kasra’s eyes without craning his neck—and give a light nudge towards the car. Kasra would come running, Al-Haitham would straighten, and inevitably, Kaveh would meet Al-Haitham’s eyes through the thick curtain of his silver hair, still on his way back to his full height.

He still didn’t quite know how to behave around Al-Haitham. Kaveh kept getting caught in the memory of Al-Haitham and who they were in college before he’d blink and slam back into the present—the one where Kaveh was living in his hometown again and Al-Haitham was the kindergarten teacher of his kid brother. They had to remain civil, at least, for the duration of the school year.

But he still didn’t see what Kasra saw in him. He had yet to see the parts where “Mr. Al-Haitham” was particularly nice or funny or whatever. Mostly, when he pulled up to the elementary school after work, he just saw Al-Haitham watching him broodingly and intensely until he managed to wrangle Kasra into the car and drive away.

After the fifth iteration of arriving at the school and trying to urge Kasra into the car before he remembered he had a teacher, Kasra fully planted his feet right before stepping into the car.

“Kasra, please,” said Kaveh, on the verge of desperation.

“Why won’t you talk to Mr. Al-Haitham?” Kasra asked in that loud speech-whisper that kids thought they were being stealthy in.

“Why do you want me to?” He suddenly felt so, so tired.

“He’s my favorite and you’re my favorite so you can’t be mean to him.”

Kaveh sputtered. “I’m not—I’m not meant to him—”

Kasra gave him a look so flat it looked almost comical, like it should be on a tired adult instead of his round toddler face. Perhaps he was learning too much from Al-Haitham.

“I don’t need to talk to him,” said Kaveh. “There’s—no reason for me to.”

Kasra looked at him for a moment. Then he turned and went running back towards the concrete. “I’m playing again!”

“Kasra, what—”

“Yay!” Another little boy ushered him back onto the square drawn on the ground. “Zahra’s still King so she has to make the rules.”

“Oh my gods.” There was no way he could drag his little brother out of another round of four square.

“Having trouble?”

Kaveh turned to find Al-Haitham watching him.

“Maybe,” he bit. “Kasra is…blackmailing me.”

“He’s five,” said Al-Haitham flatly.

“Five-year-olds are more capable than you think!” Kaveh looked back at the little crowd of kids, watching Kasra bounce the ball to another player.

“What is he blackmailing you for?”

Kaveh stumbled. My little brother wants me to be nicer to you. He couldn’t tell Al-Haitham that.

“Nothing,” muttered Kaveh. “Sibling stuff.”

Al-Haitham eyed him for a moment. “Alright.” Then he turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Al-Haitham paused and turned around slowly. “What?”

Kaveh bit his lip. Was he really doing this? He almost dropped his hand and resolved to sulk back near his car when he caught sight of Kasra watching him with a pout before the ball came flying back at him.

“I…” Kaveh sighed. “How are you?”

Al-Haitham looked at him, bewildered. “Why?”

“I’m being polite.”

“I’m working right now,” said Al-Haitham.

“You can say hello to someone on the job.” Kaveh scowled. Why did he even bother?

“You’re distracting me from watching my kids.” Al-Haitham waved his hand. “Go pick up Kasra and let me do my job.”

Fuck this.

“I was trying to.” Kaveh turned to look at the four square game to see it still in progress. “But he went back to his four square game because he wanted me to—” He swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to bother you. I didn’t mean to talk to you at all.”

Al-Haitham followed his gaze. “Do you want me to get him?”

He grit his teeth. He didn’t want to ask Al-Haitham for anything.  

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

Kaveh wanted to scream. Why did it sound like he was trying to be helpful when he was being an asshole earlier?

“Yes.” Kaveh stormed past him to the four square game.

Kasra had just bounced the ball out of another person’s square and mid-victorious fist-pump when Kaveh approached. All the other kids in line looked up at him and scrambled to get out of his shadow.

“Kasra,” said Kaveh, fighting to keep his voice controlled. “We need to go home now.”

Kasra looked up.

“Please,” he said a little softer.

Kasra set down the ball without a fight.

“Bye, Kasra!” A chorus of high-pitched voices sang.

“Bye, Mimi! Bye, Zahra! By, Akshith—”

Oh my gods.

Kaveh stood by patiently while Kasra waved to each of his individual friends. Then, he followed behind as Kasra started skipping towards the car.

Kasra suddenly stopped. “Bye, Mr. Al-Haitham!”

“Bye, Kasra,” said Al-Haitham, because of course he did. But he couldn’t say hello to Kaveh because it was too distracting.

Kaveh stormed past and ripped the driver’s side door of his car open. He leaned inside and started the car before straightening back up, finding Kasra skipping towards the car without a care in the world. Al-Haitham was back to watching the children, face turned away as if the interaction had never happened at all.

He plastered another high and false smile on his face. “Ready to go home?”

Kasra nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

Later, after helping Kasra buckle up and pulling away from the school, Kasra spoke again.

“Are you mad?”

“What?” Kaveh startled. “No, why would I be mad?”

“I dunno.” Kasra kicked his legs. “You look like this.”

Kaveh glanced up at the rearview mirror to find Kasra scrunching his face up in a near comical imitation of anger: eyebrows pulled together, nose crumpled into a wrinkled ball, and a frown so deep at the sides it looked carved. He crossed his arms and huffed so dramatically that Kaveh felt like he should have been offended at mimicry of him.

Instead, the sight of it alone startled a laugh out of him. It made all the irritation melt away.

“I do not look like that,” laughed Kaveh.

“Yeah, you do!” Kasra’s face returned to normal. “You were like. ‘Grr.’”

“I was not like, ‘grrr.’” Kaveh smiled.

“Yeah, you were.”

“Kasra, at what point did I make that noise.”

“The whole time.”

“The whole time of what?”

Kasra kicked his feet again and then devolved into some sort of toddler speak. Kaveh let it go one for another minute before he gave up on trying to interpret it.

“How was your day?” he asked.

Kasra stopped. “Good! I talked to all of my friends and Mr. Al-Haitham a lot.”

Mr. Al-Haitham, Mr. Al-Haitham, Al-Haitham—

“You really like him, huh?”

“He’s my favorite!”

Kaveh gripped the steering wheel and tried not to scream. “Kasra, hasn’t Mr. Al-Haitham been your only teacher? How can he be your favorite?”

“Because he’s the funniest and the smartest and he lets me paint his arm.”

Kaveh nearly choked at the mental image: Al-Haitham, stone-face, buried in a book, sweater sleeve rolled up to the elbow so Kasra could smear messy acrylic across his forearm. But of course, that wasn’t accurate because Al-Haitham would probably be as attentive in the classroom as he was outside after school and watch him the entire time.

“Kasra, that doesn’t answer the question,” he managed.

“Yes, it does.”

“Oh my gods.”

Kaveh didn’t get it. He really didn’t get it. Maybe he just needed to see Al-Haitham’s teaching skills in action, but all he ever saw was Al-Haitham standing stoically around the toddlers while they shrieked around him. He didn’t approach them unless they were truly screaming, but they still seemed to flock to him anyway! What the fuck!

Whatever anger Kasra picked up from Kaveh soon seemed to flee his mind. When they got home, Kaveh suggested they paint something together because the parenting books suggested arts and crafts was a good way to have quality time with your toddler. Besides, Kasra had apparently already painted on Al-Haitham’s arm—Kaveh, the actual artist, would not be outdone by that.

Kaveh drew a quick sketch of Alcazarzaray and felt a stab of satisfaction when he saw Kasra’s eyes light up. He let Kasra paint it all the wrong colors and praised him for the creativity. After, Kasra lifted it up and declared, “I want to show this to Mr. Al-Haitham!”

Kaveh agreed because what was he going to say—no? But gods. Gods. How the fuck did this happen? How did Al-Haitham end up teaching kindergarten? How was he still there? How had all the kids and Kaveh’s own damn brother declare Al-Haitham their favorite teacher? How had the world tilted so far? Where had Kaveh gone wrong?

-

Certainly, the worst part about being an architect was the whole staying-late-in-office thing. Kaveh had run late picking up Kasra more than once, but he was running late—far too late in a way that made him feel panicked.

The latest he’d get Kasra was usually an hour after school let out, but today his manager had decided to throw three new projects at him. All of them with severely unrealistic deadlines that had Kaveh scrambling to do enough proper analysis before he could bust out even the roughest of drafts. In a frantic scramble to get something done, he shoved his earbuds in and worked until his eyes burned and only when he started nodding off from sleep deprivation did he knock his head into the desk, wake his phone up, and catch a glimpse of the time.

“Fuck!” Kaveh shouted into the empty office.

That led to him speeding back home around seven p.m. in a panicked and guilt-ridden frenzy. The only good thing about leaving so late was that he’d past most of rush hour, leaving the highways and roads clear enough that he could race to the school with any further delay.

He pulled up to the front of the school, heart pounding. It was late enough that the evening was beginning to bleed into the sky, darkening it to a deeper orange at the edges and purpling towards the center. The kind of sleepy darkness edging in that signaled the end of the day, except he was here now and Kasra had been waiting for who knows how long.

His heart dropped when he saw how empty the front of the school was. He imagined Kasra standing at the doors, losing his playmates one by one to parents that actually picked up their children at a reasonable time until he was the last one there—alone and friendless, still unsure when he’d finally get to go home.

Kaveh had hated it as a kid. He knew his mother had been busy, but it still didn’t couldn’t stop the low wave of despair rolling through him. He couldn’t imagine Kasra liked it any better.

As he pulled up to the curb, he braced himself for a sullen Kasra finally spotting him from the doors. But when he looked forward, he saw no little brother waiting inside. He scanned the area. It took him another second, but he finally spotted two figures sitting on a bench off to the side, hidden by bushes, heads bent together.

It was Kasra and Al-Haitham. Kasra was speaking, hands flapping wildly as he talked emphatically about whatever was on his mind. And Al-Haitham was—

Al-Haitham was watching attentively, nodding along to everything with a serious sort of expression that showed he was really listening. It took Kaveh a moment to realize that he’d seen that face before—Al-Haitham didn’t listen to anything that didn’t interest him, but he’d at least always paid full attention when Kaveh argued with him in college. Al-Haitham was using that face now with his little brother: open, honest, attuned to the air around him. He wasn’t wearing his headphones—probably wasn’t allowed to as a teacher—but the sight was still strange, his ears like a pale splotch against the gray of his hair. It almost made him look too naked. Too unlike the Al-Haitham he should know.

“And I have a mommy, too,” he heard Kasra say. “She’s like Kaveh. She draws and she builds and that’s why she’s in Fontaine with my dad.”

“I see.” Al-Haitham nodded very seriously. “What is she building in Fontaine?”

“A court!” Kasra declared. “It’s like—um, it’s like a circle where everyone sits. And then you can tell people what they did wrong.”

“Interesting,” said Al-Haitham, as if he didn’t already know what a court was.

“Yeah!” Kasra kicked his legs. “My mommy’s building that. She’s gonna make it look really cool and my dad’s there because he was born in Fontaine so he shows her how to eat the bread and also the birds. My dad’s sending Kaveh bird pictures to show to me because I like birds and I’ve already seen all the birds in Sumeru. But—but my dad’s helping my mommy because she gets really busy and forgets to do stuff sometimes.”

“It’s nice of him to go out there to support her.”

“It is!” Kasra beamed. “My dad is really nice. He’s as nice as my brother.”

Kaveh’s heart clenched. He cursed the distance then because he suddenly wondered what Al-Haitham’s face looked like? He was sure that Al-Haitham wouldn’t describe him anywhere near “nice.”

“I’m sure he is,” said Al-Haitham. “Have you ever been to Fontaine?”

“Not yet!” Kasra bounced on the bench. “But I will when my mom’s done with the court. And then I’ll go with Kaveh and we can visit together.”

Then Al-Haitham smiled and Kaveh almost fell forward against his car horn. “That sounds fun. You should ask your brother to take pictures while you’re there so you can bring them back.”

“I’ll show you, Mr. Al-Haitham!”

Al-Haitham laughed, quiet and warm. “If I’m still your teacher, I would like to see them.”

Kaveh’s heart ached. He’d expected to see Kasra melancholy and sad at being the last kid picked up—Kaveh certainly had in his childhood. But he wasn’t; Kasra was lively and rambunctious and happy—because of Al-Haitham.

Archons, it was close to seven and both Kasra nad Al-Haitham were still here. The school normally closed at five, but Al-Haitham—who refused to do homework past six p.m. in undergrad—had stayed the whole time.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. Kaveh burst out of the car.

“Kasra, I’m so sorry I’m late—”

“Kaveh!” Kasra sprung off the bench and barreled toward him.

He caught his little brother with an oof before he hoisted Kasra higher up to his chest. His heart was still beating wildly from the race to get to the elementary school, but Kasra’s small heart beat steady and strong. No breathlessness in him, no fear. Just the simple joy of seeing Kaveh.

“I’m sorry I was late,” said Kaveh, throat thick.

“That’s okay. I got to talk to Mr. Al-Haitham!”

Kaveh opened his eyes and looked at the bench. Al-Haitham had risen, now watching both of them impassively. All the quiet warmth on his face had fled, replaced with his usual unreadable gaze. He wasn’t smiling anymore, jsut crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m glad you made it,” said Al-Haitham rather flatly.

Guilt flushed through him. He already felt bad enough that he’d picked up Kasra so late, he didn’t need Al-Haitham’s snark either.

But, terribly, Kaveh couldn’t find it in himself to be mad. Instead, he just felt terribly, terirbly grateful.

“Thank you for watching him,” said Kaveh as he set Kasra down. “I’m, um, really sorry you had to stay late to watch him.”

Al-Haitham shrugged. “I’m just doing my job.”

Kaveh laughed, startling them both.

“What?” Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows.

Kaveh looked at him, remembering the Al-Haitham of college. The one who never did more than necessary, who never went to office hours or did extra credit or stayed up late to study because he valued his free time more than anything else. This same Al-Haitham now who stayed two hours past closing just to watch over Kaveh’s kid brother.

“Nothing,” said Kaveh, that strange laughter bubbling up in his chest again. “Thank you, regardless.”

Then, against his better judgement, Kaveh smiled.

Something like alarm flickered in Al-Haitham’s eyes, but Kaveh was too far away to be sure. Al-Haitham shifted almost uncomfortably. “As I said, it’s part of my job.” He grabbed his bag from off the bench. “If you’re really picking him up, though, then I’ll be heading home for dinner.”

Kaveh winced again. “Ah, I’m sorry for keeping you.”

Al-Haitham waved it away.

“Kaveh, what’s for dinner?” asked Kasra.

“Um.” Fuck, he really hadn’t thought about it because he was so distracted with work. He ran through a mental list in his head to figure out what they had in the house.

“I’m heading out.” Al-Haitham started walking towards the staff parking lot. He paused for a moment to add, “Have a good night.”

“Thank you, Al-Haitham,” said Kaveh, meaning it.

Later, after helping Kasra into the car and making extra-double-triple sure that Kasra was okay and not mad at him (“I had fun!” Kasra promised), Kaveh pulled away from the front of the school and started the drive home. He passed Al-Haitham’s car on the way out, and when he peered inside, catching a glimpse of Al-Haitham serenely drumming his fingers along the steering wheel. He really didn’t look bothered being kept so late, and Kaveh started to think that, perhaps, teaching did suit Al-Haitham after all.

-

One strange thing happened during Kaveh’s senior year of college. 

Lots of strange things tended to happen during college just by the very nature of shoving a couple thousand extremely smart, yet very sleep-deprived and caffeinated, college students. Usually in the form of strange campus performances or lectures or essays or simply just watching people behave.

But this was a little different.

In a once-in-a-blue-moon type occasion, Al-Haitham and Kaveh were studying alone together.

Originally, it’d been a study date with the whole group. But then Nilou had to cancel because of some impromptu theater club rehearsal to clean up one of the songs, then Dehya had to bail because her recreational sports club needed another member for a game, then Candace was halfway to the House of Daena when she got a call that her car was getting towed, then Tighnari canceled because he was still hungover and Cyno subsequently canceled because of course he had to take care of his boyfriend.

Dunyarzad did end up showing up—thank the Archons—and she acted as a great buffer between Kaveh and Al-Haitham. Well, until she got a text from one of her one million project group chats she tended to have as a business major that they needed to rehearse for a presentation.

“I completely forgot about this,” said Dunyarzad. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Kaveh had said, trying not to sound too terribly strained. “Go do what you have to do.”

“Are you sure…?” Her eyes drifted subtly to the left where Al-Haitham was sitting. If Al-Haitham noticed, he pretended not to.

“Yes.” Kaveh would feel infinitely worse if she stayed for his sake. “Go, Dunyarzad. Good luck with your presentation.”

She smiled at him, relief cracking across her face like a sunrise. “Thank you. Good luck with your studying!”

And then she was gone, leaving him and Al-Haitham alone.

They were sitting in a quiet, cozy corner of the library. The House of Daena was the Akademiya’s largest library, renovated to all hell with thick floor-to-ceiling windows and decorative stained glass that muddled the light into a smeared color palette wherever it fell. All of it bright with light and open air, save for the little nook in the east wing of the library on the second floor that seemed to be preserved from a different time. It was all dark wood bookshelves and archival books with faded colors, antique lamps with incandescent light bulbs that burned too hot as yellow light shined through their glass shades. It was getting dark outside by the time Dunyarzad had left, the evening falling like a weary bird. And the fading sunset was bleeding the last of itself into the sky.

They were sitting near one of those lamps. This late into the evening, the usual hum of the library had faded to a softer murmur. Less voices and more keyboard taps, air vent humming, weary sighs. From the moment Dunyarzad left, Kaveh hadn’t said a word. But he wasn’t one to sit with silence for long, not even with Al-Haitham. So when another long minute passed without a word between them, he finally tried to make conversation.

Kaveh asked, “How much do you have left in you?” How much longer are you going to be here? How much work do you have left? He kind of expected Al-Haitham to bounce the moment Dunyarzad had because now they had no buffer. Yet surprisingly, Al-Haitham stayed.

“Hard to measure,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh bit back his irritation. “Can you give me a straight answer?”

“It is a straight answer,” said Al-Haitham. “It’s hard to measure.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes and went back to work irritably. The glare of his laptop screen hurt his eyes and the haze of the setting sun made it hard to focus.

“I don’t know why you’re like this,” he blurted. “Like, I don’t know why you’re still here.”

“I like you,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“I like you,” he repeated.

“As in—” Kaveh blinked. “As in, like, a friend?”

“No.”

Kaveh stared at him for a long moment, but Al-Haitham was still looking serenely down at his laptop like he’d just remarked on something as simple as the weather.  No, as in, no Al-Haitham did not like him as a friend. But Al-Haitham liked him. But not as a friend. Which meant—

“Are you pranking me?” he burst.

Al-Haitham finally looked up. “Am I what?”

“This is really funny, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh had bit. “But I don’t believe you.”

“What do you mean you don’t believe me?”

“It means I don’t believe you.” Kaveh slammed his hands down on the table. “What the fuck? Why would you say that? I don’t—” 

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows, all concerned and quiet confusion instead of the usual impassiveness which made him angrier.

“Kaveh…” he started.

“Don’t.” Kaveh shook his head and began packing up his backpack. “Don’t. Archons, why would you—that’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.” Now Al-Haitham looked angry, which made him angrier. Archons, the fucking nerve.

“Don’t.” Kaveh stepped away. “Whatever, I don’t care.”

“Where are you going?” Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows as if he were truly concerned.

“Home.” Kaveh slung his backpack over his shoulder. “You know, don’t—don’t pull this shit with me again. Do you think this is funny? Playing with people’s feelings? This is a fucked up prank. Even for you.”

“Kaveh, I’m not—”

“Don’t.” Then Kaveh had turned around and marched straight out of the library and into the dark, leaving Al-Haitham alone at the table.

He remembered thinking: what an asshole. What a fucking prick. Because how could you play with someone’s feelings like that with no regard? What did that even mean?

After that night, Kaveh had expected something to change. But no. Al-Haitham acted like normal the next time they met up, kept being normal and annoying and arguing with him as if the night had never happened. Like he’d never said something so strangely and terribly life-changing that it sent Kaveh’s world tilting on its axis. He got angrier at Al-Haitham because it was his fault Kaveh was feeling like this, acting like this: noticing and staring and feeling this hot and terribly itchy feeling in his throat when he looked at Al-Haitham. Like he wanted to vomit. And it was all his fault.

Kaveh had thought about talking to Al-Haitham again, just to reiterate what a fucked up and terrible little prank this was and ask him why. Why would you say that? Why would you do that? Except Al-Haitham kept acting normal and kept arguing with Kaveh, which further solidified for him that it must be his version of a practical joke. Which made him wonder in the first place why he’d ever said that in the first place. Why then and there he had decided to fuck with the fundamental nature of their relationship.

When Kaveh graduated, unbeknownst to what awaited him, he’d stared at the afternoon sun burning overhead, the Akademiya campus sprawled out before him in his green graduation robes and degree in hand. He’d thought about what a tumultuous four years it had been, how the latter two had been made worse by Al-Haitham. He’d gotten that Congratulations on graduating text from Al-Haitham shortly after the ceremony, but he didn’t respond. As if to say, Good riddance, Al-Haitham. I’m wiping my hands of you. As if to say, That’s what you get for fucking with my head. And now Kaveh would leave him behind. He would leave it all behind and never have to think about Al-Haitham or any of his antics ever again.

-

“And then what happened?” Faranak smiled through the phone screen on their weekly video call.

“My teacher said I’m doing really good!” Kasra beamed. “Kaveh went to a meeting and said my teacher said I was doing really good and I like drawing and I like math but I need to read better, but Kaveh said he’s going to help me.”

Faranak turned to look at Kaveh. “Is he now?”

“Yes,” said Kaveh.

“When do you think you’ll manage to do that?” The corner of her mouth twitched, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Mom—” Kaveh sighed. “If you think I’m working too much, you can just tell me.”

“I remember what it’s like being a junior architect, Kaveh. Just remember to take time for yourself, too.”

“I am, I am.”

Kasra let out a yawn in front of him. Kaveh shifted Kasra in his lap.

“Bedtime?” he asked.

Kasra nodded sleepily. 

“Give me a minute, Mom,” Kaveh told the phone.

“Goodnight, my love.” Faranak blew a kiss through the phone.

Kasra pretended to grab it and pressed it to both of his cheeks before Kaveh lifted him up and brought him to the other room. He put Kasra in his pajamas and tucked him into bed, and then Kasra was snoring softly before Kaveh made it to the lightswitch.

By the time he returned to the living room, he found Faranak still on the phone, looking at the corner. Kaveh picked up the phone again and stayed silent for a long moment.

It must have been the maternal instincts, or the empathy that came from coming from the same blood and behaving the same, but Faranak took one look at him before she asked, “What is it?”

Kaveh laughed a little deliriously. Of course she would catch him. “I…don’t know if I’m doing enough for Kasra.”

Kaveh loved taking care of Kasra, truly. But what he had learned from growing up was that sometimes the feeling was not enough without the action, and as earnestly as he tried to take care of his brother, it didn’t change the fact that he picked up Kasra late, that he had to tuck him in and then hurry back to the office. Kasra still smiled brightly, but Kaveh couldn’t help but feel the guilt.

Faranak was silent for a long moment before she asked, “Does Kasra seem happy enough?”

Kaveh thought for a long moment. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “I think—I think he loves kindergarten. It sounds like he has a lot of friends. He loves learning, loves going to school, and—” Kaveh admitted regrettably, “—really likes his teacher. It’s just—I picked him up really late from school once, but his teacher stayed with him the whole time until I came.”

Faranak smiled. “His teacher sounds kind.”

Kaveh paused for a moment. “It’s Al-Haitham.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened. “The friend you had in college?”

Kaveh laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t call us friends.”

There was a pause. “But he must have been significant if you remember him.”

Kaveh snorted. “He was definitely…significant in my life.”

He thought again, telling Al-Haitham, I know you. Did he know Al-Haitham? In college, would he have expected this to be the same man, the one that let children dance around his legs and was apparently funny to his kid brother and stayed late for two more hours talking to Kasra to get rid of the dread of being picked up late? Did he really know Al-Haitham?

Faranak raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quickly.

She smiled and leaned back against the chair. “Alright, if you say so. How are you doing otherwise, Kaveh?”

He thought about the future, about the state of things. How far he’d fallen from his early twenties into an ordinary junior architect role when he’d already created his magnum opus at twenty-four. Fall from grace, or perhaps he’d burned too bright and too fast like a star too bright, and so maybe he wasn’t always meant to last. But he was back full circle, back to where he first discovered his love for architecture, back in the home that nurtured it. It was stressful being a parent, even if it was to his brother, but there was joy in Kasra’s eyes and even when he picked him up late, he was still smiling.

He could afford his groceries, he had a home, and his brother was happy. So really, how bad could he be doing?

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said, and meant it. “I really am.”

-

Kasra’s Reading 8:00 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

Kasra hasn’t turned his reading homework in for the past few days. Normally this is not an issue for him, but since this is unusual, I wanted to bring that to your attention. I would suggest checking in on him and investigating why he would not be turning in his homework and I will do my best in the classroom.

Regards,

Al-Haitham

RE: Kasra’s Reading 9:12 AM

arch.kaveh @mail.com

What do you mean he hasn’t been turning in his homework??

RE: Kasra’s Reading 9:14 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh, 

I mean what I said in my original message. We have small daily reading assignments, but he has not turned in an assignment since last Friday. This is not usual behavior for him and he is usually pretty diligent, so I wanted to reach out and let you know in case there may be a root cause that I cannot investigate in the classroom.

Regards,

Al-Haitham

RE: Kasra’s Reading 9:28 AM

[email protected]

Al-Haitham you don’t have to keep adding “hi kaveh” and “regards” to the end of all your messages. This is weird.

Also has this been happening since Monday? I swear I’ve seen him doing all his homework. I sit down with him everyday. Also, daily reading assignments? Al-Haitham, this is kindergarten—what are you doing to these kids???

RE: Kasra’s Reading 9:40 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

Since this is a professional email regarding my student and you are his legal guardian, I will not be dropping these formalities as it would be unprofessional of me. 

Secondly, I am the one who obtained a teaching certification so trust that I know what I am doing in regards to educating my students.

Thirdly, yes this has been happening since Monday, per my original email. I’d like to follow up on the idea of investigating any root causes at home. Kasra has more of a natural inclination towards mathematics and our science, but he has been having a little more trouble picking up reading than others. I wonder if that sort of hiccup may be making him hesitate trying harder things.

Regardless, please keep an eye on him.

Best,

Al-Haitham

RE: Kasra’s Reading 9:57 AM

[email protected]

Al-Haitham, please, we literally went to college together. Whatever professionalism you’re trying to maintain is instantly tainted by just my memories of you.

Secondly, should I be concerned??? Is this normal for five year olds? I’ve never raised a five year old before. What do you mean by “keep an eye on him?” Do you think I’d be strangling his freedom by trying to enforce turning in homework? The books say that I should let my child make mistakes and learn on their own but like to what extent? Should I be getting supplemental help? I can try reading more to him, but I don’t have a lot of time. Will this hinder Kasra’s development permanently if I don’t do something now?

RE: Kasra’s Reading 10:11 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

No, this will not permanently hinder Kasra’s development. He’s just not turning in his homework.

If this is too much of a bother, I will keep track of this myself. But if this persists, I’ll follow up next month.

Regards,

Al-Haitham

RE: Kasra’s Reading 10:15 AM

[email protected]

Are you sure? Can we, like, talk about this in person? Come up with a plan?

RE: Kasra’s Reading 10:22 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

That’s not strictly necessary, but if it would put your mind at ease, we can talk about it in the parent teacher conferences next quarter.

Best,

Al-Haitham

RE: Kasra’s Reading 10:41 AM

[email protected]

Next quarter??? Can we not just meet up? 

RE: Kasra’s Reading 10:51 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

If you can find a time during the week where we are both free, I’m willing to meet. Here is my schedule for next week:

Regards,

Al-Haitham

[Attachment: 1]

RE: Kasra’s Reading 11:11 AM

[email protected]

You’re not gonna believe this but none of those work for me. I’m only free on Thursday but you’re busy that day. What about the week after on Monday?

RE: Kasra’s Reading 11:22 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

Unfortunately, that Monday I have after school activities. Are you available on Wednesday, though?

Regards,

Al-Haitham.

RE: Kasra’s Reading 11:43 AM

[email protected]

I have to finalize a blueprint draft for a client by Thursday so that’s not ideal. Maybe Thursday afternoon?

RE: Kasra’s Reading 11:55 AM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

Unfortunately, I also have the same after school activities on the Thursday. Are you available the week after that on the Friday?

Regards,

Al-Haitham

RE: Kasra’s Reading 11:56 AM

[email protected]

Don’t you get tired of typing “Hi Kaveh” all the time? You can literally drop it.

Also, we are now three weeks out from today for a meeting that will probably take like twenty minutes. What’s your number? Can we just call about it?

Kaveh didn’t get another response for the rest of the work day and he was not anxious about it. He did not check his email all throughout lunch and all throughout the day in between doing his work.

Asking Al-Haitham for his number? What the fuck was he doing? And why hadn’t he responded yet? It was the livelihood of his little brother they were talking about what the hell?

He didn’t get a response for the rest of the workday, not even when he left the office and drove to the elementary school. He decided to confront Al-Haitham there except when he arrived, Al-Haitham was nowhere to be found among the usual gaggle of teachers.

Kasra spotted him from afar and came barreling towards the car. Kaveh let him climb inside, and he tried to stay as long as he dared to see if Al-Haitham would come out, but then Kasra began to grow restless and hungry so he had to give up and drive home.

After driving home and helping Kasra out of the car, making him a snack, and then setting him in front of the T.V., Kaveh finally laid down on the couch and found a single email.

RE: Kasra’s Reading 7:25 PM

[email protected]

Hi Kaveh,

My number’s still the same. I haven’t changed it.

Regards,

Al-Haitham.

Kaveh stared at it for a long moment before he swiped out of the email app. He scrolled through his contacts and found Al-Haitham sitting at the top. He swiped into their messaging app and found their last messages to each other were from a few years ago, Kaveh saying, Tighnari wants to know where you are followed by a message from Al-Haitham a few weeks later with congratulations on graduating. After that, it was Al-Haitham saying he’d heard about the falling out with the big architecture firm. Kaveh had responded to neither of those messages.

It wasn’t entirely strange to keep the same number throughout the years, but he half expected Al-Haitham to lose it. But their messages were there, preserved in time. The last time they’d spoken they’d been entirely different people in entirely different circumstances. And now would be the first time texting since all those years ago.

Kaveh hesitated only for a moment before pressing the call button.

“Hello?” Al-Haitham picked up immediately.

“Why didn’t you respond to my email what the f—” He glanced at Kasra, still occupied by the T.V. “...heck?”

There was a pause. Kaveh swore he imagined the little snort, but when Al-Haitham spoke again, his voice was flat. “In case you forgot, I have a job, which is odd considering you also have one. But I had to teach.”

“We were emailing regularly just fine earlier in the day?”

“Silent reading time switched to the morning so I had more time to respond,” said Al-Haitham simply. “After that, I had to resume teaching in the afternoon.”

Kaveh bit his lip. “Okay, but—where were you after school?”

“Were you looking for me?”

From anyone else, it would have sounded taunting, suggestive in the implication that Kaveh was seeking Al-Haitham out specifically. But from Al-Haitham, it sounded like a genuine question.

Regardless, Kaveh’s face burned when he said, “I wanted to follow up on what we were talking about. Like, the…the meeting. And you weren’t responding.”

“One of my students fell and scraped her knee,” said Al-Haitham. “So I brought her to the nurse.”

“Ah.” 

Kaveh imagined Al-Haitham watching the gaggle of children from afar. He pictured it from the viewpoint he usually looked at Al-Haitham at—in his car, at a distance, but this time Al-Haitham wasn’t watching him. He imagined a little girl in a green dress tottering along the pavement before she tripped and fell to the ground. He imagined her face scrunching into a little wrinkled ball before she began to cry, and he imagined Al-Haitham swooping in out of the sky like a hero—or he would be from her point of view—and lifting her up. It’d be no struggle for him, either. Al-Haitham had always liked working out in college, to Kaveh’s extreme bewilderment, and he imagined that must have continued, so lifting some forty pound kid was no matter to him.

He couldn’t imagine Al-Haitham speaking softly. Even when he was talking to Kasra for two hours, he did not soften his voice. He did not warm it to falsehoods, but he spoke with a clear sense of truth and interest that must be more than what most children got. He couldn’t imagine Al-Haitham reassuring her with empty platitudes of everything being alright and calling her strong and brave, but he could imagine Al-Haitham saying, “We’ll be there soon. It’s not bleeding too much. It will heal quickly.”

“Yes,” repeated Al-Haitham. “‘Ah.’”

Kaveh’s face burned again. “I wanted—I wanted to talk to you about meeting up.”

Al-Haitham hummed through the phone. “Okay.”

“Since none of our weekdays work,” said Kaveh. “What about the weekend? Are you open to meeting up outside of the work week?”

Al-Haitham was silent for a long, long moment. So long that he almost thought Al-Haitham had hung up, except when he pulled his phone away from his ear, he saw the timer still counting up. 

“Hello?” Kaveh tried, and failed, not to let the panic creep into his voice. 

Did I say the wrong thing?

“I’m here.” Another pause. “That’s fine.”

“Cool,” said Kaveh. “We could get dinner or something? We might as well. I haven’t left my house for anything except work since moving back.”

Ak-Haitham was silent again, though the pause cut off quicker. “Fine. When and where?”

“Lambad’s?” suggested Kaveh. “This Saturday? I’ll need to get a babysitter, but it’s close to my mom’s house so I can get back quickly if needed.”

“Sure.”

“Great.” Suddenly, the great weight in his chest ceased, if only for the fact that he now had a plan of action forward. Kaveh was good with those, when he had direction. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

Kaveh hung up. It was only after he’d set his phone down, cleaned up the kitchen, and began to wash the dishes that he realized what he’d just asked: to see Al-Haitham on a weekend. At a bar. In any other context, it sounded terribly suggestive. But as they knew each other now, Kaveh was more hung up on the fact that he was seeing Al-Haitham alone. For the first time in years.

“Fuck,” he dropped his elbows to the kitchen counter.

“You can’t say that word, Kaveh!” called Kasra from the living room.

“Please, let me have my moment!

-

The scramble to find a babysitter was a hell that Kaveh would not wish upon his worst enemies, not even Al-Haitham. The babysitter Faranak usually called was busy so he had to resort to asking his neighbors, who then asked their neighbors, who then asked their family friends within the neighborhood to find one person who was trusted enough and also willing to watch Kasra.

Finally, his neighbor’s daughter’s best friend’s old brother’s girlfriend said she was available and willing to spend her Saturday night watching Kasra because she wanted, “to study early education in childhood and I’ve had lots of experience babysitting other kids so honestly I’m really fine. I’d love to watch him! It’ll be another experience to add to my essays when I apply to the Akademiya later.”

Kaveh thanked her profusely over email and promised her good pay for such short notice. She thanked him in turn, and Kaveh let out a sigh of relief that Kasra would be all taken care of.

Speaking of: Kasra watching him now from the floor as Kaveh sat on the couch, hunched over his laptop like a bridge troll.

“Are you okay, Kaveh?” asked Kasra.

Kaveh blinked. “Huh? Yes, yes, I’m good! I found a babysitter for you on Saturday.”

Kasra blinked at him owlishly. “Are you sure?”

Damn perceptive kid. Kaveh plastered on a smile and slid his laptop off his lap. “Yes, I’m very sure. She’s really nice from what I can tell. You’ll have a good night on Saturday.”

Kasra fiddled with the puzzle piece in his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting with a…friend, remember?” Kaveh leaned forward. “Just getting some dinner nearby and talking about something really fast. But I’ll be nearby so if you need anything, I can get home soon.”

“Mr. Al-Haitham?” shrieked Kasra.

“What—” Kaveh winced. “Why do you think it’s him?”

“You’re friends with Mr. Al-Haitham, right?”

“I never confirmed that.”

“But you’re eating dinner with him.”

“I also never confirmed that.”

Kasra slotted a puzzle piece into place. When he looked up, he was smiling. “Can you tell Mr. Al-Haitham I said hi?”

Kaveh sighed. “Sure, Kasra. I’ll tell him you said hi.”

The rest of the week rolled by alarmingly fast. Something to be said about working that office job again and coming home to his kid brother that, while well behaved, still had kid needs. Saturday pounced on him the morning he woke, struck with the immediate reminder that he was seeing Al-Haitham for dinner that night.

Kaveh jerked out of bed immediately.

He started making a simple breakfast before Kasra came stumbling out of his own room and sat at the table. Kaveh served him and ran through all his routines. He let Kasra play in the living room while he deep cleaned the whole house to get rid of his nerves—dusted the old bookshelves, mopped the floors, took a toothbrush to the crevices of the tile. Everything just to work off the nerve of the meeting.

Closer to evening, Kaveh disappeared to his room to try on outfits. Not that it should matter, but maybe the atmosphere of Lambad’s made him want to dress up. He tried on several combinations of shirts and pants before he came out in a red shirt and black khakis and opened the door to the babysitter standing outside.

“Here’s some Mora for dinner. Please call me if you need anything,” said Kaveh.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” Saanvi stepped inside. “Kasra and I are going to have a great night!”

Kasra giggled.

“Thank you again, Saanvi.” He stepped out the door.

“No problem.” Saanvi turned and began to close the door, their positions reversed. “Good luck on your date, Mr. Kaveh!”

Then she shut the door.

“It’s not a date,” he muttered, feeling very much like the air had been punched out of him. It was a professional discussion on the academic progress of his little brother with said brother’s teacher and very much not a date, though perhaps the outfit and the bar location didn’t help.

Not that Kaveh was going to drink much, if at all. He had to drive home, and he didn’t want Kasra to see him any amount of inebriated.

All of his nerves were buzzing under his skin as he drove to his town’s location of Lambad’s. Lambad’s Taverns was a small chain that existed throughout Sumeru, but the original location with the actual Lambad himself was back in Sumeru City with the Akademiya—Kaveh had met him during his freshman year of college and felt like he’d met a celebrity. The one he was driving to now was simply a branch that Kaveh used to sneak into back in his high school days.

The drive was both torturously long and far, far too short. Each passing landmark felt like a clock hand pulling him closer to the edge. Which was ridiculous! Since he had been the one to request the meeting in the first place, and the anxiety of fucking up Kasra’s childhood was clearly a much greater worry.

Archons. Kaveh imagined telling Tighnari about asking to meet up with Al-Haitham at a bar. He imagined Tighnari saying, The fuck? Did the Abyss freeze over? But Tighnari was all the way researching in the Avidya forest now where the signal was poor and his free time was sparse, so he didn’t text Tighnari like he would have once done.

Kaveh pulled into the parking lot with his heart rabbiting in his throat. The sky had darkened enough that Lambad’s was illuminated from within, and through the window, he could see Al-Haitham sitting at the bar area, nursing some sort of seltzer looking beverage, though he couldn’t tell if it actually had alcohol or not.

“Fucking hell,” muttered Kaveh. He sucked in a breath and stepped out of the car.

The sounds of the tavern blasted him across the face as he pushed through the doors. The first thing he noticed was how quiet this location was. The last time he’d been there was in high school, and his subsequent experiences with Lambad’s were all in the clamor of Sumeru City—the adults retiring in the bustling city, college students crowding in, all the clamor of the city condensed into a clean yet crowded establishment with Lambad’s loud voice booming through the restaurant.

Here, there were far less people. The atmosphere was less crowded mob and more quiet gathering place with its warm wood tables, soft green carpets, the limited patrons chattering in muted voices just below the crackle of the honest-to-the-gods real fireplace crackling in the corner. 

Did he remember it being this quiet? Or had he been so consumed by the thrill of getting in that his eighteen-year-old self had found more magic here than he thought? How, in all of the times he’d visited, had he not come back once? If Al-Haitham had been teaching here for years, did he now know this place better than Kaveh?

Someone cleared their throat. Kaveh jerked his head in the direction of the sound, just in time to see Al-Haitham bringing his drink up to his mouth.

Kaveh stalked over and plopped onto the seat next to him. “I saw you,” grumbled Kaveh. “You didn’t have to cough to get my attention.”

“You were standing there for so long, I was worried you’d forgotten how to use your eyes.”

“Fuck you,” he said automatically.

“You’re not supposed to use those words,” said Al-Haitham, then his face twisted like he hadn’t quite meant for those words to come out.

“Was that—was that your teacher voice?” Kaveh smiled despite himself.

“Yes.” Al-Haitham grimaced.

“Am I going to get in trouble if I say ‘fuck’ again?” Kaveh’s mouth twitched. “Will you tell me off if I say shit? Are you going to call my parents?”

“I don’t want to incur international fees calling your mom in Fontaine,” said Al-Haitham flatly.

The knot in his stomach uncoiled a bit. “What are you drinking?” asked Kaveh.

“Sparkling water,” said Al-Haitham. “I have work in the morning.”

“I do, too. But surely you must have a better tolerance than that.” It used to take Kaveh several beers before he started feeling something. And even then, he could go on for a while.

Al-Haitham looked at him. “Do you remember how often I drank in college?”

He felt a little jolt run down his spine. Every time they explicitly acknowledged the fact that they’d gone to school together, it made Kaveh feel strange. Like he wasn’t supposed to bring that part of him back to his hometown.

“I don’t have the tolerance you have,” said Al-Haitham. “Or, had. But don’t let that stop you from getting what you want.”

“I wasn’t going to drink tonight. I’d rather not be drunk around my five-year-old brother.” 

They both paused for a second, as if realizing that they weren’t there to catch up, but this was in fact a strange ad hoc parent teacher conference because of Kaveh’s immense worry that Kasra wasn’t going to be able to read.

“Have you eaten?”

Kaveh startled. “Huh? No, I haven’t.”

“Do you want to get something, then?” Al-Haitham nodded toward the bar.

His stomach rumbled. He’d been so caught up in finishing a good dinner for Kasra before the babysitter arrived that he’d forgotten to have his own share of food. “Sure.” Because he couldn’t imagine a world where he could keep a good and civil conversation with Al-Haitham while he was delirious from hunger and sleep deprivation.

Al-Haitham raised his hand and waved the bartender over. Kaveh ordered a small cheap shawarma wrap while Al-Haitham ordered a plate of skewers. 

They ate in silence. Kaveh supposed they should have been talking at that point, but the moment he took a bite of the shawarma wrap, he forgot his words and only focused on scarfing everything down. This was a parent teacher conference—or at least it was supposed to be, even at a bar on the weekend—but he couldn’t bring himself to speak while he ate and soaked up the warmth of the room.

Finally, when he shoved the last bite down, Kaveh spoke again. 

“So,” said Kaveh. “What do you think I should do about Kasra?”

Al-Haitham blinked, midway through shoving a skewer in his mouth. 

“About his reading,” Kaveh clarified. 

“Ah.”

Kaveh peered at him. “I’ve been watching him the past couple of days and I see him do his homework—and he usually doesn’t do anything else until he finishes.”

“Did you observe any unusual behavior like what I mentioned in my email?”

Kaveh frowned. “I—I don’t think so? We called our mom the other day and he seemed fine. I don’t know, I try to read with him when I can but I’m so busy that it’s hard—sometimes when I get home late he doesn’t want to read with me? Do you think he’s like…mad at me?”

Al-Haitham stared at him for a long moment like he was turning the answer over in his head. “Well, I can’t read his mind, but it’s possible.”

Kaveh tried not to sound like the air had been punched out of him. “Really?”

“Anything’s possible, Kaveh.”

Kaveh stared at the table for a long moment, dread churning an awful storm in his stomach.

An idea brewed in his mind but he was too afraid to broach it. But perhaps that was what dragging Al-Haitham out here was for.

“Do you think—I don’t know. Do you think he’s mad at me for picking him up late? Is this, like, acting out for attention?”

“Why would you think that?” asked Al-Haitham.

One of the parenting books mentioned something about kids acting out when they weren’t getting enough attention. Kaveh remembered being young and even knowing his mother was busy, had still wanted her to look at him. The closest he’d gotten was a slipping grade in history, which made her turn to him with worried eyes asking, Are you doing alright? Just the concern in her eyes made his heart crackle like a firework, like having her eyes on him reignited some spark. Oh, sure, he’d still had his father at the time as well, but they were both busy—so busy. Even between the two of them, even when he knew they loved him, selfishly, it didn’t feel like enough. It made him feel so, so horrible.

Kaveh wanted so badly not to repeat that. But maybe it was just part of him, part of his blood, part of the profession of being an architect: being able to create and love so loudly but still never able to give the world enough.

“Because I pick him up late. And—I don’t mean to, but it keeps happening. And he’s never mentioned it, but he could just be good at hiding his feelings because he learned that from me and Mom. I don’t know.”

Al-Haitham stirred his straw in his drink. “I’ve never seen him upset before in school. Have you asked him how he feels?”

“I feel like…I should just know.”

Al-Haitham gave him a look like he just said something stupid. “Why is that?”

“I’m—the older brother. Why should I have him try to help me parent him?”

Now, Al-Haitham really looked at him like he was stupid. “How can you expect to know what people are thinking if you don’t ask them?”

“It’s—” Kaveh waved his hand. He looked vaguely at the bartender and thought about how nice it would be to have a drink except he didn’t want to get drunk when he still had to get home to Kasra. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not,” said Al-Haitham. “You’re brother’s just having trouble reading.”

Kaveh suddenly felt very, very stupid. “Maybe we shouldn’t have met up. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten a babysitter, this was stupid. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Al-Haitham sighed. “All kids hit developmental hiccups, Kaveh. But that doesn’t necessarily indicate any failures on your part. Children will grow or stumble regardless of our interference.”

“Al-Haitham—”

“All this to say…” Al-Haitham turned toward him on the stool. “I can tell you’re anxious. A lot of new parents worry about their kids because for a lot of them, it’s their first time and there’s no easy way to prepare for being a parent. Things will happen, Kaveh. But sometimes you just have to let kids figure it out on their own. I only told you about Kasra because—” Al-Haitham paused. “Because I wanted you to be aware, but you don’t have to be concerned. Kasra and I will figure it out. If I truly saw any issues, I would have told you, and we’d be having a very different conversation. But it’s very clear that you’re doing your best given the circumstances.” Another pause, like he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to say it, but decided to anyway. “Any new parent situation is difficult, with or without any help.”

It reminded him of their first parent teacher conference when Al-Haitham had asked if there was a second guardian. Well, that’s a bit personal, isn’t it? He didn’t know why, but now, Kaveh suddenly needed Al-Haitham to know.

“There’s not a second guardian, by the way,” said Kaveh. “I know you…you asked about that a while ago. But yeah, it’s just me.”

Al-Haitham blinked at him. “I see.”

“Just…just thought you should know. It’s, um, hard.”

“Well,” said Al-Haitham. “I think you’re doing a fine job anyway.”

Kaveh suddenly wanted to cry. It was fucking embarrassing.

“Thank you,” he said, voice shaky. “Even though I keep fucking up.”

Al-Haitham gave him a flat look that said, Did our conversation mean nothing to you? What he said out loud, though, was, “You’re not fucking up in the way you think you are. You are trying, but even if you make mistakes, children are more resilient than we often give them credit for. Kasra will figure it out, and I’ll help him along the way.” Al-Haitham shifted in his seat, their toes brushing in the space between the stools. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

Kaveh sat there for a long moment, reeling. Al-Haitham stared at him unwaveringly, his green eyes sharp and perceptive and all too seeing. His heart thudded in his chest, and the knot in his chest truly unraveled and he couldn’t quite believe Al-Haitham of all people could have comforted him but—

Al-Haitham had been a teacher for years. For all Kaveh couldn’t believe it, Al-Haitham knew children, had worked around them often.

How little had he known Al-Haitham? How had he known Al-Haitham for two years and not known he could be like this? How little did Kaveh really know?

“I—” Kaveh’s throat felt thick. “You’re right.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “And you’re admitting that?”

Kaveh scowled. “I can take it back.”

Then, surprisingly, the corner of Al-Haitham’s mouth pulled up.

He suddenly felt hot. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” The smile disappeared.

“That.” He felt something itchy and hot rising in his chest. He did not remember Al-Haitham sounding like this in college, looking like this. It was uncanny. 

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows again.

Instead of feeling irritated, Kaveh felt warm. He took a sip of his drink to clear the thickness in his throat.

“Thank you, though,” he finally said. “I needed to hear that.”

“New parents often do.”

Kaveh looked at him. “Are you used to giving people pep talks?”

“Not particularly, no,” said Al-Haitham. “I only share my observations.”

Now that was something he was used to Al-Haitham seeing: Al-Haitham’s strange little side comments that were supposed to be objective, but erring in another direction. Though, it felt different now, sitting next to Al-Haitham at this bar, talking like real adults. Instead of feeling irritated, Kaveh felt like a revelation had fallen on him.

“I—” Kaveh stood. “I should go. That was everything I wanted to talk about, so…um, thank you for your time.”

He stood and walked to the register to pay, but when the bartender placed a receipt down, there was only one.

“Oh,” said Kaveh. “Can we split—”

“I got it.” Al-Haitham slid his card between them. 

“You don’t have to—”

But the bartender already took Al-Haitham’s card. He stared at Al-Haitham while the bartender processed the transaction, examining his face and trying to understand what he was thinking, but Al-Haitham stared ahead impassively. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Al-Haitham was avoiding looking at him.

“Here you are.” The bartender returned and gave the card back.

“Let me take a picture,” said Kaveh. “I’ll pay you back.”

But Al-Haitham had already finished signing the receipt. He gave it back to the bartender before shooting a quick glance at Kaveh.

“Don’t bother,” said Al-Haitham. “I’ll see Kasra on Monday.”

Then he turned and fled out the door, leaving Kaveh reeling.

-

(Shortly after the whole incident with Al-Haitham in the House of Daena, before Kaveh graduated, the group had met up again. They’d hosted another drunk Genius Invokation game because most of them were tired upperclassmen that had little desire to stumble around bars at night. Which suited Kaveh just fine because even at the supposedly sprightly age of twenty-two, he felt very un-sprightly.

They gathered in Cyno and Tighnari’s apartment as usual, crowding around the short coffee table as they spread out the playing cards alongside the many bottles of alcohol. Various plastic shot glasses and cups lay scattered across the table, waiting for someone to lose so they had to take a shot.

Al-Haitham was invited, of course, because people like Tighnari and Nilou and Dehya insisted on bringing him to everything. The moment Kaveh saw his face, the memory of the night in the House of Daena washed over him like a heatwave. Terrible stupid prank and he was just sitting there like he hadn’t done anything at all.

Kaveh remembered sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Nilou and Tighnari, Al-Haitham across the table and staring stone-faced at his cards. Even as he started to turn pink from the alcohol, his resolve did not waver. 

“Are you a lightweight?” Dehya nudged him.

“No,” said Al-Haitham, though his eyes looked glassy.

She smiled, amused. “Are you sure?”

He shot her a glare so unexpectedly forceful, even Kaveh laughed. He’d never seen an expression like that on Al-Haitham before; it was so startling he forgot his anger in the incredulity.

Al-Haitham turned to him, startled.

“What?” Kaveh froze.

“What?” Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you laughing at?”

“You,” said Kaveh, because he was also several drinks in with a partially impaired brain-to-mouth filter. “You look—”

“Your turn, Cyno!” Tighnari butted in pointedly.

“Ah.” Cyno took the cue and rolled his dice. “Alright, I’m using Fischl’s skill on your Diluc, Candace.”

“I look what?”

Al-Haitham’s eyes stayed heavy on Kaveh.

“Oh my gods,” muttered Tighnari.

“You were pouting,” taunted Kaveh. “Like a baby.”

“I was not pouting.”

“You were.”

“Oh my gods!” Tighnari said louder. “If you’re going to bicker, please do not do it across the table where the game is happening.”

Then, Tighnari stood and proceeded to maneuver everyone around the table in a complex manner until Kaveh ended up sitting next to Al-Haitham.

“There,” said Tighnari. “Now please, keep your conversation to yourselves.”

Kaveh had stared Al-Haitham in the face, the air between them heavy. He could feel the foot of distance between their faces like a rubberband pulled taut—one inch away from snapping.

“You were pouting,” said Kaveh, because he was also drunk and not quite thinking straight

“I was not.” Al-Haitham’s eyes narrowed. His mouth pressed into a hard line like he was trying to sharpen all his features, as if to say, I would never do something so childish.

Which was exactly what he looked like. Kaveh snorted. “You were.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“I was not.”

“Please, please, take this to another room or let us play in peace,” begged Tighnari.

Kaveh flushed and turned his head. He cast a sidelong glance at Al-Haitham.

“You’re such a lightweight,” he said, lowering his voice.

“I’m not.” In the light of the apartment, the tips of his ears almost looked pink. “I’m not drunk.”

“Oh, you absolutely are.” Why else would Al-Haitham entertain Kaveh for this long? “How many drinks did you have? Two?”

Al-Haitham seemed to flush redder though his face remained the same. “One.”

“Al-Haitham, that’s worse.”  

And then Kaveh was laughing. Al-Haitham scowled again and the look on his face amused him so terribly that he shoved Al-Haitham—bold move—right on the arm at the hem where the short sleeve of his T-shirt ended. Al-Haitham’s skin was astonishingly warm against his palm, like lifting the coffee mug too freshly out of the pot.

Al-Haitham lifted his eyes. Kaveh expected yelling or a deeper scowl, but instead he got something strange and unreadable: Al-Haitham’s eyebrows unpinched, mouth unlined. Mouth a bit open, watching with something close to awe.

Kaveh’s heart kicked up, the way it did in fear, and he swallowed and looked away.

The silence pulsed between them like a wound. Around them, the game continued with the same fervor, all laughter and spirit and everything sucked out.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.)

-

The next time Kaveh saw Al-Haitham was, once again, picking Kasra up from the elementary school. He didn’t come terribly late that night. In fact, there were still ten other kids there when he arrived. Perhaps not the highest bar to cross, but he considered it a win compared to the time he’d come at seven p.m. where Kasra had been left alone for two hours with Al-Haitham. Kasra wasn’t with the other kids, instead chatting emphatically with Al-Haitham while Al-Haitham nodded along.

Kaveh pulled up to the curb. Overhead, the sky was still a balmy blue this early into autumn, the air warm enough to smell like hope and the remnants of summer. 

“Kasra!” He called, stepping out of the car.

At the sound of his voice, Kasra turned away and his face brightened. “KAVEH!”

He came bounding down the pavement and threw himself into his arms. Kaveh caught him with a quiet oof before hefting him up, so Kasra could wrap his little arms around his neck.

“Good day?” Kaveh murmured into his fine hair, still soft from youth.

“Good!” Kasra nodded. “Very good!”

Kaveh let him down when he felt Kasra’s arms loosening. As he straightened, he lifted his head and was startled to find Al-Haitham walking over.

“Kaveh,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh blinked. They hadn’t spoken since dinner on Saturday, and all of a sudden all of the words he knew shriveled up in his throat.

“Hey, Al-Haitham,” said Kaveh, a bit awkwardly. “What’s up?”

Al-Haitham blinked at him once before his eyes trailed down slowly to Kasra. Kasra was looking back and forth between them, as if expecting something exciting to happen.

“Nothing,” said Al-Haitham. “Can’t I say goodbye to a student?”

“You don’t normally walk over here.”

Al-Haitham pressed his lips together. It suddenly reminded him of when they were in college, Al-Haitham drunk on two drinks and flustered at being a lightweight. Like he was annoyed that he’d been called out for it. He was pouting.

Kaveh felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “You don’t need an excuse to talk to me.”

“Don’t I?” Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Haven’t I needed to in the past?

He swallowed. Truly, perhaps, he hadn’t given Al-Haitham enough credit in the past.

Kaveh redirected. “Say bye, Kasra.”

“Bye, Mr. Al-Haitham!”

Al-Haitham’s eyes shifted down, and though his face didn’t change, his voice was a whole degree warmer when he said, “Bye, Kasra. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kaveh’s heart twisted funnily. “Did you need something?”

Al-Haitham looked at him for a moment longer before he shook his head. “No, I did not.”

“Cool.” Kaveh took a step back. Part of him felt dissatisfied with the ending of this conversation. So he said, “Thanks again for dinner.”

Kasra’s eyes widened. “Did you go on a date?” 

“Shh.” Kaveh clamped a hand over his mouth. “No! Kasra, what—do you even know what that is?”

“I’m five, not stupid.”

Al-Haitham made a noise behind his hand that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“What the hell?”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Kasra said, a little too smugly. 

“Kasra…”

“I watched shows with Mommy!” He cried defensively. “Before you moved back! They usually go to dinner. Did you go on a date?”

“No.” Kaveh darted a nervous glance up at Al-Haitham but only found the bastard hiding his smile poorly behind a hand. “We were just talking.” 

“About what?”

About how worried I am about you. But he couldn’t tell Kasra about that. It wasn’t his burden to bear.

“Stuff,” said Kaveh quickly. “Like friends do.”

“So you are friends!” Kasra’s eyes sparkled as if that was the best news he’d heard all day. Even better than the idea of Kaveh going on a date.

Kaveh’s gaze snagged on Al-Haitham’s. Al-Haitham nodded as if to say, Your move.

“We are,” he decided. “Friends.”

“Like me and Zahra!” Kasra cried again. “Mr. Al-Haitham, are you gonna come over for playdates?”

“No.” Kaveh ushered him away. “No, no. We already said our goodbyes. No more questions.”

“But—”

“Goodbye, Mr. Al-Haitham.” Kaveh looked at him pointedly.

Al-Haitham’s hand dropped, revealing a startlingly soft smile. Like a sunset outside of the city. “Goodbye, Kaveh.”

Kaveh placed a hand on Kasra’s back and ushered him away before it confused him any further.

-

Because Kaveh had a diagnosed anxiety disorder, he did email Al-Haitham again about Kasra. He asked about Kasra’s reading progress, to which Al-Haitham responded: Hi Kaveh, it has been four days. Give him more time. Thanks, Al-Haitham.

But Kaveh, paranoid and very, very invested in his little brother’s upbringing, emailed him again. And again. And after the fifth email, Al-Haitham stopped responding to him.

So he resorted to texting.

You

How’s Kasra doing?

Al-Haitham

Why are you texting me.

You

Idk it’s faster than emailing

And u weren’t responding to my emails :(

Al-Haitham

I don’t know if you should be texting your little brother’s kindergarten teacher.

You

Is it against the rules?? 

Aren’t there like a million romcoms about parent/romances?

Not that we’re dating

But like that’s infinitely worse than me texting you

Al-Haitham

Those are movies. And typically, the rule is to not date the parent of one of the children you’re teaching for impartiality reasons.

The same should apply here.

You

Yeah but like

I knew you from before you were a teacher

But also how is Kasra doing

Al-Haitham

Fine.

You

???

Al-Haitham

I mean exactly that. Don’t worry about him.

You

That’s physically impossible for me btw. Like it goes against more core values and the fundamental parts of me

Al-Haitham

Kasra is fine. Go do your job and let me do mine.

Kaveh sent him a few more sporadic messages but received no response. He gave up around noon, and resorted to his old college habits of throwing himself into work so he didn’t have the headspace to worry about anything else. It almost worked—the anxiety gnawing ceaselessly at his stomach fading to a dull ache towards the afternoon, but still there. Still teething.

Around four p.m., his phone buzzed.

Al-Haitham

[Attachment]

Below Al-Haitham’s default contact photo was a picture of Kasra. He was looking at the camera, the shirt Kaveh had dressed him in that morning was a little crooked at the collar, and his one wiggly front tooth slightly ajar in his open-mouthed grin like he was throwing his all into the command of Smile for the camera! Which Kaveh couldn’t imagine Al-Haitham saying, but he must have said it—or something to that effect because this wasn’t a candid photo taken from a far. This photo was up close, had called for Kasra’s attention, all in deliberation.

Oh.

You

Fuck you, you’re going to make me cry at work

Al-Haitham

He’s just reading a book.

You

Exactly!

Al-Haitham didn’t respond after that, which meant he must have gone back to teaching.

An ache pressed at the back of his throat, hard and demanding. The backs of his eyes prickled and Kaveh felt like he needed to shove a sock in his mouth before he really started crying in the office.

He thought about dinner with Al-Haitham. Kasra will figure it out, and I’ll help him along the way. That’s what I’m here for. And for all he did not trust Al-Haitham, that unraveled something tight and terrified inside him.

For all he had hated Al-Haitham in college, the one thing Kaveh knew was that Al-Haitham didn’t lie—his greatest vice and most honored virtue. To hear that, to know that Al-Haitham said that to him and meant it—it unraveled something tight and terrified inside him.

I know you, he’d told Al-Haitham. Because he thought he had him all figured out from the slash of time they shared together in college.

Kaveh looked down at his phone, at the photo of Kasra smiling brightly at the camera with a book in his lap. He imagined that Al-Haitham must have walked over and asked him to smile for a picture. Just to send to Kaveh.

I know you. But he didn’t. Not in the slightest.

But Kaveh thought that, perhaps, he’d like to now.

Chapter Text

You

Can you send another picture of Kasra

Al-Haitham

Stop texting me.

You

Please???

Please

🥺

I miss my baby brother

Al-Haitham

I’m busy.

Al-Haitham

[Attachment]

You

AHHHHHHHH

IS THAT A NEW BOOK?

HOW MANY IS THAT THIS WEEK

OH MY GODS

CAN YOU TELL HIM I’M PROUD OF HIM

AL-HAITHAM

AL-HAITHAM LOOK AT YOUR PHONE

-

You

Is reading time still in the morning

Al-Haitham

Yes.

…why.

You

Oh, so you’re available

Al-Haitham

I’m not.

You

Then why are you responding?

You

Al-Haitham

Hello?

What the hell

hello???

You

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham

Fuck you.

Al-Haitham

Can you censor yourself if you’re going to text me? I’m a kindergarten teacher

You

I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WEREN’T AVAILABLE

AL-HAITHAM

-

You

Can you send another picture of Kasra?

Al-Haitham

I’m not your photographer.

In other circumstances, it’d be highly inappropriate for me to have this many pictures of one of my students on my phone.

You

As his legal guardian, you have my permission

Also just delete them if you’re worried

But after you send them to me

Is he doing okay?

Al-Haitham

He has been doing about the same the last times you’ve asked me.

Which is: fine.

You

Fine can mean a lot of things. Like really subpar or terrible

Al-Haitham

I mean it in the way it is meant to be defined. Which is: satisfactory or well.

You

Well, you could have just said that

Al-Haitham

Fine. Kasra is doing well, are you happy?

You

…yeah

Thanks

Al-Haitham

You’re welcome.

-

You

Is it morning read time yet

Al-Haitham

You can’t text me that every morning.

You

you can’t stop me

You

Rude. hello??

Al-Haitham

Yes, it is.

Don’t you also have a job?

You

I have fifteen minutes before my next meeting and I’m trying not to throw up about it

do u still read?

Al-Haitham

Yes, I do still read.

Why?

You

just curious

you read all the time in college

didn’t know if you still did that as an adult

Al-Haitham

I do. I haven’t changed that much since graduating.

You

cool

what do you like to read?

Al-Haitham

Everything.

You

sorry for the delay, just got out of my meeting.

why are u the driest texter ever

elaborate!!!

Al-Haitham

I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish.

You

I’m just asking questions, Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham

Alright.

You

alright?

Al-Haitham

Alright, ask away.

-

You

do you still not drink coffee?

Al-Haitham

Correct.

You

I don’t know how you did that

how you do that now

how do you have enough energy to get through the day???

I barely survived in all my classes on three cups

Al-Haitham

I just get enough sleep everyday. It’s a better long term solution than coffee.

You

wow fudge you. not everyone has their life together

-

You

have you ever had a kid throw up on you?

Al-Haitham

Of course, I have. I’m a kindergarten teacher.

Why do you ask?

You

How

Uh

do u get the vomit out of your clothes

Al-Haitham

Wash them? If you’re really worried, use a stain remover.

You

cool thanks

Al-Haitham

You could have looked that up yourself.

You

then I wouldn’t have an excuse to talk to you!

-

You

notice how I’m always starting these conversations but not you

another person might say this relationship is a bit unreciprocal

Al-Haitham

I have a job where I have to stand and teach. How are you finding time during your day to text me?

You

he speaks!!

bits between meetings

waiting for other people to join the call

being a teacher sounds exhausting. I’m still a little surprised you picked it in the end

Al-Haitham

I like it. So I’m doing it.

You

yeah I gathered

can you send a picture of Kasra?

Al-Haitham

the other kids might accuse me of favoritism with how much I have to talk to Kasra because of you

You

rude. I’m not making you do anything

you could always say no

Al-Haitham

[Attachment]

You

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

-

If you told the Kaveh of seven years ago that he would be regularly texting Al-Haitham one day, he would have thought you were high. As it were now, he had texted Al-Haitham more in the past two weeks than he ever had in the two years of knowing Al-Haitham in college.

When he’d realized that, Kaveh scrolled to the top of their messages. The first one was from Al-Haitham seven years ago that only said: This is Al-Haitham. Tighnari gave me your number. To which Kaveh had responded: Why? Al-Haitham hadn’t responded to that one.

All their messages after that were various proxy communications where they served as an intermediary, like, Nilou wants to know you made it home from Kaveh, or Tighnari wants to know if you’ll actually be on time this time or if he should leave his apartment later from Al-Haitham. The stiffness and sporadicness of their messages was so clear, looking very much like the conversation thread of two acquaintances, two people that barely spoke to each other despite blowing up in each other’s faces nearly every time they met in person.

Now, though, it was all Kaveh asking random questions, sending several text messages in a row before Al-Haitham responded with a long one with all his perfect punctuation. All throughout the day like they were actually friends. At first, it had all been under the guise of asking about Kasra, but the more he talked to Al-Haitham, the more it became trying to unravel the tapestry he’d made of who he thought Al-Haitham was.

He imagined updating Tighnari, or Nilou, or literally any of their college friends with this new development. Then he imagined them keeling over in shock, their hearts unable to comprehend such a seismic shift. 

So for now, he kept texting Al-Haitham and asked about his life and hid his own smile from himself in the mirror when Al-Haitham responded with something funnier than expected.

You

when u said u don’t like soup the other day, were u serious or

Al-Haitham

Yes, I was serious.

You

what is wrong with u

have you always not liked them or is this a new adult thing like your tastebuds changing

Al-Haitham

It’s hard to read while having soup.

You

is that the only reason

Al-Haitham

Yes.

Kaveh pressed his forehead into his palm. Of course that would be the only reason.

You

That’s not a good reason to not like soup

Al-Haitham

What are the metrics you’re using to define what a “good” reason is? If it’s my subjective opinion

You

No metrics, just heart

There’s something wrong with you

Faranak’s face suddenly lit up across the screen of his phone, asking Kaveh to accept the call.

He jumped and swiped up on the screen. He’d been so deep in texting Al-Haitham that he’d forgotten it was nearing the time for his weekly call with Faranak.

“Hey, Mom,” said Kaveh brightly.

“Hi, Kaveh! How are you?”

“Is that Mommy?” Kasra called from beyond the door.

“Good,” answered Kaveh. “Let me get the kid.”

He could hear Faranak’s laugh echoing through the speakers as he set his phone down on his desk and went to the door to let Kasra in.

Kasra came bounding into the room before launching himself onto Kaveh’s bed. The mattress gave a little squeak from the weight, but Kasra hardly paid it mind as he flipped onto his back and then went scrambling for the phone.

“Hi, Mommy!” Kasra cried, holding the phone far too close to his face.

“Hello, my love. How are you?”

Faranak’s voice sounded so warm, but Kaveh could hear the weariness in it so clearly. It made him wonder how the job in Fontaine was treating her, if she was doing alright. Kasra went on babbling innocently while Faranak strained to keep the fatigue off her face for her two sons.

“I read two books this week!” Kasra beamed.

“Did you?” Faranak smiled. “Do you like reading now, Kasra?”

Kasra clambered into Kaveh’s lap and shoved the phone back into his hand.

“It’s okay.” Kasra thumped his head against Kaveh’s chest.

“Oof, careful,” huffed Kaveh. “What if your skull’s still soft?”

“That’s only for the first two or three months as a baby, Kaveh,” said Faranak, amused.

“It was hard,” continued Kasra as if there wasn’t another conversation happening around him. “And then I got a little better. But I’m trying to get more better.”

“I’m proud of you for working so hard.” Kaveh ruffled his hair. Beyond him, Faranak’s eyes softened in the little phone screen before they turned to Kaveh.

“How are you Kaveh?” she asked.

Kaveh lowered his hand. Kasra slouched so his back rested against Kaveh’s chest. He sat up a little further on the bed to support himself and Kasra against the wall.

“Fine,” he said idly.

Faranak raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Fine,” he repeated. “Genuinely.”

“Fine isn’t very promising, Kaveh.”

“Yes, it is! It means, like, ‘satisfactory’  or ‘well’ and those are both good answers, so like I’m fine.”

“When did you become so smart about word definitions?” It was half accusatory, but mostly joking. She was smiling as she said it.

Kaveh winced. Truly, since he’d met Al-Haitham.

“How’s your job going, Kaveh?”

Kasra started to play idly with the hem of Kaveh’s sweater.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m overworked. I have long hours. But it’s good enough and I like the work—”

“Just because you like the work doesn’t mean you should push yourself past your limits,” said Faranak sternly. “Remember to advocate for yourself. I remember when I was first starting out as a junior architect—”

A notification appeared on screen, covering the top of Faranak’s head on screen: Who’s heart are you measuring by? If it’s yours, then from my perspective, something must be wrong with you since I dislike soup in my heart.

“What are you smiling about?” Faranak asked, a little gleam in her eye.

Kaveh startled. Was he smiling?

“Nothing.” Kaveh swiped the notification away. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, nothing important.” Faranak readjusted the phone. “What were you smiling about?”

“Mom.”

“There was a text,” said Kasra, the fudging snitch.

“Kasra.”

Faranak’s smile widened. “From who?” 

Kaveh was glad she wasn’t there in person. She’d be able to see right through him.

“No one. An old college friend,” he amended.

His phone dinged again. A message from Al-Haitham that read: Though I imagine readability of books wouldn’t matter to you, since you seem to spend so much time on your phone anyway.

Kaveh scoffed involuntarily before he remembered his mom was on the phone.

“What?” her eyes widened, startled.

“Is that Mr. Al-Haitham?” Kasra lunged for the phone.

Kaveh pushed Kasra back by pressing his open palm against his whole face. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“It’s eight!” Kasra cried, voice muffled.

“So we have another half hour.”

“Kaveh.” Now Faranak’s voice sounded truly amused. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Kaveh released Kasra. “What would I even be embarrassed for?”

“You tell me.”

His phone buzzed again. Where’s your masterful retort? I’m waiting for it.

“Can I say hi?” Kasra whispered.

Kaveh looked between his little brother’s wide eyes and Faranak’s amused smile. With both of their attention on him, he felt his face burn.

“...sure. Give us a second, Mom.”

“Take your time.”

Kaveh swiped away from the video calling app and landed on his messages with Al-Haitham. Thankfully—or perhaps embarrassingly enough—they’d sent enough messages that all that was on the immediate page was just their conversation about soup, hiding any other incriminating conversation they may have had: like Kaveh typing any swears.

You

Wow a triple text from you

Never thought you’d be so eager

Al-Haitham

Hardly.

How is it that you can text so much during work but not in your actual free time?

Kaveh smiled again. He could feel the pout radiating through the phone.

“Kaveh?” 

He turned to find Kasra looking at him expectantly, and he remembered all over again that he had an audience. Faranak was still watching him from a little rectangle in the corner of the screen.

“Here.” Kaveh passed the phone to him.

You

Hi Mr. Al-Haitham!!

Kaveh let me have his phone

Al-Haitham

Hi, Kasra. I hope you’re doing well.

“Happy?” asked Kaveh.

Kasra nodded, handing the phone back.

“Tell him I said hi as well,” said Faranak, her voice stained with an absurd amount of amusement.

“Mom.”  

“I’m kidding. Partially.”

Kaveh huffed and typed another quick message.

You

Okay i let Kasra say hi

We gotta go, we’re on call with my mom

Al-Haitham

Sure. Give her my well wishes.

You

You don’t even know her!

“Mr. Al-Haitham says he’s giving you well wishes.” Kasra peered at the phone screen entirely too closely in a way that certainly wasn’t healthy for his eyes. 

“Kasra—”

“Aw, he’s polite,” said Faranak.

“He is not,” said Kaveh automatically. Then he paused. Was that even correct?

Faranak’s smile held strong, though, and just the glow of it made her look lighter than she had all night. Like Kaveh and Kasra’s antics reversed the weariness of the day. “I’m glad you’re keeping in touch with your friends, Kaveh.”

“We’re not…really friends. I mean, we weren’t.”

Faranak raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Al-Haitham is my favorite teacher ever,” interrupted Kasra. “He’s really funny. And he helped me get better at reading.”

“That’s really nice, Kasra.”

“Yeah.” Kasra bounced on the bed. “He’s really nice too. Kaveh’s just mean to him.”

“I am not mean to him.”

“Are to.”

“Kasra, I’m not arguing with you.”

Kasra smiled. “That means I win.”

“Oh my gods.”

Faranak suddenly yawned.

“Are you tired, Mom?”

“Yeah, a little. Long hours. But it’s alright.”

She wasn’t saying more. He could tell. He certainly was his mother’s son because he would do that same. He saw the wariness in her eyes and the way her voice had lowered, as if by speaking quieter, Kasra couldn’t hear.

But Kasra was her son, too, so of course he heard.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m good.” Faranak smiled. “Yes, I’m having fun in Fontaine. Though, I’m excited to see you in person again.”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Already asleep, but he’ll be on for the next call.”

“Oh, okay.”

A beat of silence, like all three players on a board unsure how to proceed when they all followed the same strategy.

“Why don’t we get ready for bed?” asked Kaveh. “It is actually getting close to your bedtime.”

Kasra narrowed his eyes. Even at five he noticed he was perceptive, but it must have been clear to him that they wouldn’t continue if he were there, so Kasra conceded.

“Be right back,” he told Faranak.

Faranak wished Kasra a good night. Then, Kaveh left her on the phone while he helped Kasra brush his teeth and get into his pajamas. When Kasra was tucked under his race car-patterned sheets, laying in the bedroom that used to be the guest room before his birth, he spoke again.

“Is Mommy okay?” asked Kasra.

Kaveh smoothed his hands over the sheets, right where they were tucked under Kasra’s chin. “She’s fine. Just tired, like me. But I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re both fine.”

Kasra looked up uncertainly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kaveh stood. “Goodnight, Kasra. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Kaveh.” His voice was small.

Kaveh turned and left. When he returned to his own room, Faranak had disappeared to somewhere off screen, leaving the camera pointed at the barren apartment. She’d been taking the call in the living room, which meant Antoine had most certainly gone to bed without her. The walls were bare like this was truly just a pit stop in her nonstop work day before she had to get up and going again.

It was disconcerting, considering how well the house in Sumeru was decorated. The apartment in Fontaine must be some kind of shoebox, the place where she cooked and slept and called her two children in another country while she worked. The time difference between Fontaine and Sumeru wasn’t terribly large, all things considered, but still. It was certainly late for his mother.

“Mom?” Kaveh said quietly.

“Oh.” He heard distantly. “Oh.” Faranak appeared again from around the kitchen. “Sorry, Kaveh. I was making myself a snack.”

“Did you eat dinner, Mom?”

“Yes,” Faranak said sheepishly, as if she were the one being scolded. “Antoine made something when I came home tonight. I was just still a little hungry, so I made a cute little sandwich. See? I love the bread in Fontaine.”

Kaveh looked at her. Suddenly, the lines in her face looked so stark in the shadowy room of their Fontainian apartment.

“How are you doing, Mom? Are you getting enough sleep?”

She smiled sheepishly, certainly an expression that Kaveh had made himself multiple times. “I’m…doing my best. Antoine keeps yelling at me to go to bed earlier, but he and I both know I can’t just shut my mind off like that.”

Truly. Like mother, like son.

“Mom.”

“Oh, don’t start with me. Don’t think I don’t remember how many three a.m. messages you sent me while you were in college.”

“Yeah, but that was when I was young and sprightly. You should be resting.”

“Are you calling me old?”

Kaveh sputted. “No, but—”

“I’m kidding.” Faranak laughed. “But really, I’m fine. The work is long and tiring and I’m definitely not sleeping as much as I should, but I’m having a good time. I really do love working with these people. There’s just so much to their history that I never would have learned otherwise, and knowing it and incorporating those designs into their court has been really interesting. I’m so excited to show them the final product when it’s all built.”

The knot in his chest loosened. “I’m glad to hear that, Mom.”

Faranak shot him a smile before taking a bite out of her sandwich. “But of course, I’m also excited for when I get to see you two in person again.”

“Don’t feel like you have to rush, Mom. We’re doing good, just focus on your project.”

“You’re too sweet, Kaveh. How did I get so lucky with you?”

Kaveh flushed. “I mean. You raised me. So I guess it wasn’t luck.”

Faranak smiled. “You know, I was a little worried about you and moving away. I know you said not to worry, but you and I are alike. I…” She paused, as if her throat were thick. “I’m just glad to see you’re still continuing with your life. And I’m glad to see you’re talking to your friends.”

“I…I’m not sure we’re friends.” But it felt wrong to say, especially now. “I mean, I’d like to be. If he wants to be.”

Faranak’s eyes looked warm in the light. “That’s really nice, Kaveh.”

He rolled his eyes, face burning. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“You know, one thing that happened to me when I first became a mother was that I forgot how to live the rest of my life. I know you want to take care of your brother, but you’re already doing such a good job. You should see your friends. If you have some. Remember the life you have outside of work and parenting.”

Kaveh sighed. It made something tight and terrible inside him loosen. Just a bit.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, my love. Don’t forget that we all start somewhere, and you still have me if you need anything. Even if I’m far away.”

Kaveh swallowed back a cry. “Thank you.”

“I love you. Please, think about what I said.”

Later that night, after saying goodbye and doing his own nighttime routine, Kaveh lay awake in bed staring up at the ceiling. He did think about what Faranak had said. Turned it over and over and over in his head. He thought about being friends with Al-Haitham and wanting to know how. He rolled around in bed a few times, trying to fall asleep with little success. Finally, he turned over and grabbed his phone off his nightstand.

You

Are u awake

Al-Haitham

Unfortunately. Why?

He hesitated. He half wondered why he even sent the text when he was already sleep-deprived and not thinking straight.

But what was life without a little risk? A leap of faith? Who would he be without Alcazarzaray?

You

Do you wanna hang out this weekend maybe?

If you don’t have any plans

A long moment passed where Al-Haitham didn’t respond. It made Kaveh terribly anxious, his heart thumping unbearably loud in his chest. And he felt a little foolish. Who was he to be asking these things of Al-Haitham when he’d been so hostile in college?

His phone buzzed a moment after he set it down. A single message, glaringly bright in the dark, that just said: Sure.

-

Kaveh had to go through the stress of finding a babysitter again in preparation for Saturday, but at least he remembered this time so it wasn’t a last minute scramble. Thankfully, by all of Kusanali’s blessings, Saanvi happened to be free again, so Kaveh paid her heavily to make up for taking her Saturday afternoon away and then embarked further into the town.

He and Al-Haitham had agreed to go to one of the old bookstores in the next town over. Mostly because Kaveh had come up with the idea first and he had no idea what Al-Haitham really liked other than books. But it was a fine choice anyway, even if Kaveh didn’t read as much as Al-Haitham, he liked books and he liked the atmosphere.

He bid Saanvi and Kasra farewell before punching in the address had given him into his phone. They’d agreed to carpool to save on gas, and it was just more practical. When the navigation began, Kaveh realized that Al-Haitham only lived fifteen minutes away from his mom’s house.

Fifteen minutes? All this time—every single time he’d visited home throughout the years, Al-Haitham had just been—right there?

He imagined again, returning home just before beginning the Palace of Alcazarzaray, bright-eyed and green to the industry but teeming with ambition, coming home to tell Faranak and Antoine about the wonderful news. Faranak had wanted to take him out to dinner, but Kasra had been a baby at the time so Antoine had stayed home to take care of him. Faranak ended up driving just to two of them alone to a nice dinner where she bought him nice wine and Kaveh had nearly thrown up at the gesture, insisting that he was about to start this large project and that he should pay for it, to which she’d said, “Like I could let my son pay for his own celebratory dinner.” How close had Al-Haitham been then? How far from the restaurant in his hometown?

He imagined again, coming home to break the news that he was broke, that he’d drained all of his savings to build Alcazarzaray. You had to excuse him for being twenty-four years old and stupidly proud, but there was still the ineffable shame that he’d done something so foolhardy, something someone of his caliber knew better than to do, but he’d been gripped by the terrible heart of an artist and wanted it done. He’d come home, unable to pay rent, and cried into his childhood bed for a week straight while Faranak and Antoine took turns trying to push food through his bedroom door. He remembered wondering what his friends must have thought—if they even kept up with him at all. Except then their messages had flooded in, but he’d ignored them all in favor of pressing his tear-stained face into his childhood pillow, flattened with age and smelling like the stale air of a home that was ten years old.

He’d gotten a message from Al-Haitham then, too, just, I heard what you did for Alcazarzaray. No preamble, not even a hint of embarrassment that Kaveh hadn’t responded to his last several messages. Kaveh had thought that Al-Haitham was trying to gloat. Now, he knew that was his way of checking in. Either way, it was just another text from Al-Haitham that Kaveh had left unopened, unread. After a few years, he just assumed Al-Haitham must have changed his number.

But just the idea that Al-Haitham had texted him as if he were gloating yanked him back onto his feet. Kaveh had flown back to Sumeru City, determined not to break down. He’d added Alcazarzaray to his portfolio and Lord Sangemah Bay as a reference and tossed his resume out into the wild and watched it catch wind like a dove fluttering out of its cage. He’d gotten a message back from several architecture firms within the week, and then got a sign on bonus large enough that he could pay rent before the end of the month.

He imagined again, going home after getting picked up by one of Sumeru’s most prestigious architecture firms. All those whispers following him, like, We snagged the Light of Kshahrewar. We got him. He’ll do great things. No way he’ll let us down. Telling his mother and Antoine, the both of them so thrilled for him—Faranak moreso because she actually knew the firm by name while Antoine patted his back as enthusiastically as he could because he knew it was a big deal for the both of them. I knew you could do it, Faranak had said. Of course, Kaveh would get picked up by them. Of course, he would. Big shot prodigy returned home for a little small town celebration, and Al-Haitham had been there, too. 

And of course, he’d gotten fired from that, too. It seemed everything in his life was determined to crash and burn, with or without his assistance. Kaveh, it seemed, didn’t know how to hold onto the good things in his life. He didn’t know how to hold onto anything except Kasra.

And Al-Haitham had been there, too, when he’d moved back home and he had no idea. He was here now. Now, Kaveh was finally driving to Al-Haitham’s apartment, despite having been fifteen minutes away for all the times he’d visited before. It felt strange, like a dream restarting and taking another route. All these roads looked familiar, all of them overlapping with the past and present: the road that used to lead to the public library now led to the apartment complex where Al-Haitham had apparently been living for the past four years.

Kaveh pulled into a spot in the parking lot closest to the row of apartments and turned on his hazards. Then he texted Al-Haitham: here.

Not even a minute later, Al-Haitham responded: Coming.

Kaveh stared ahead through the windshield.

The sun was almost unbearable at this hour—at its peak and undilutedly bright. The sky was an unrelenting blue without any clouds, as if the bare sun made everything a near painful type of vibrant. He hoped the bookstore had decent shade, or at least good air conditioning. He didn’t know what he would do if he had to deal with this heat any longer.

Someone knocked on the passenger’s side window.

“Oh.” Kaveh jumped and unlocked the doors.

Al-Haitham opened the passenger door, letting in a burst of heat before he pulled it shut.

“Hi,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh swallowed. “Hey.”

Al-Haitham was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that exposed far more of his arms than any of his teacher outfits ever had. He looked so casual that it was startling, so ordinary and a far-cry from his usual collared shirts and khakis he wore for work.

“You were late,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh’s face heated inexplicably. It must be the sun. “I was not.”

“You were supposed to be here five minutes ago—why is this seat so close to the front?” Al-Haitham reached down and pulled at the lever under the seat until he went sliding back, making room for his long legs.

“My mom usually sits there,” muttered Kaveh as pulled out of the parking spot.

“Does she?”

He turned to find, startlingly, Al-Haitham looking at him with a faint smile.

“Yes.” Kaveh jerked his head back towards the front. “Yeah, but she, um, moved to Fontaine so she hasn’t sat in this car for a while.”

“I remember you telling me that.”

“Yeah.”

The wind scraped against the windows, filling the steady silence between them.

“What’s this bookstore?” Al-Haitham finally asked. “I’ve never been.”

“Me neither,” said Kaveh. “But I remember hearing about it in high school. It was a really popular—” Date spot. “Um, gathering place. There are like tables and old books and has a really nice atmosphere. Supposedly.”

“Does it?”

Kaveh nodded. His throat felt uncomfortably thick. Was this awkward? Why did it feel awkward? It shouldn’t feel awkward.

In this kind of silence, the air blasting from the vents became almost deafening. He could feel something pressing against his chest, something that demanded the silence to be filled or broken—Kaveh wasn’t one for silence—but for the life of him, he couldn’t find anything to say. That wasn’t him.

All at once, the situation slapped him across the face. He couldn’t fucking believe he was here with Al-Haitham because his mother had urged him to go out. What was he—ten?

The rest of the drive passed in a stifled silence. Even Al-Haitham, who leant himself to the quiet, seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Kaveh couldn’t help but think about how this was quite possibly the most terrible way to begin an outing. Then, all at once, he began to dread the next hour or however long they would be there. When was too soon to cut it off? To ask to go home? What if they stopped talking after this because they couldn’t handle each other in person? At least that hadn’t changed since college, and for every terribly and tumultuous thing that had happened since then, maybe there could be solace in that.

“I think you missed the turn,” Al-Haitham pointed out.

“Fuck.” Kaveh glanced at his phone and then the road. “Fuck. Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Just turn at the next light and make a circle,” said Al-Haitham calmly. 

“Right.” Kaveh swallowed. “You’re right. I’ll just—”

He did that. He made three more right turns around the block before he was back to where they started.

“Now make the turn here,” said Al-Haitham slowly.

“Fuck off.” Kaveh smacked his arm instinctually. The skin was warm. “I don’t need you patronizing me.”

Al-Haitham didn’t respond to that, but he swore he saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kaveh parked along the street and shut off the car. He stepped out quickly into the hot early autumn air and waited for Al-Haitham.

“This is it?” Al-Haitham sized up the building.

“This is it.”

The bookstore in question was an old red brick building stuck at the end of a long strip of other establishments: an escape room, a hardware store, a fudge shop. But the bookstore itself took the shape of an old house, extending further into a more interesting shape than just a plain rectangle. Little vines of ivy climbed along the walls in swirls, curling into the shadows of the nearby Karmaphala trees. It didn’t look particularly impressive. From this distance, it really did look like someone had just slapped Book Store across the front of someone’s house, but there was a long line curving out of the side entrance where the trees were bowing over the side doors. Almost like this could be something special.

Al-Haitham cast him a sidelong glance.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Kaveh started walking towards the bookstore. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“I can smell your skepticism from here.”

Kaveh marched forward toward the entrance. There was a long line waiting to get into the side of the bookstore, curling along the fence and almost spilling out onto the street. An employee came out and went to usher the other customers to curve further along the wall.

“It’s crowded,” said Al-Haitham.

“It is.” What the fuck? Why was the bookstore this crowded. “I didn’t…I didn’t realize it would be so popular on the weekend.”

“I’ve never heard of this place before,” said Al-Haitham.

“That’s because you never leave your apartment.” Or at least, that had been true in college. Not unless someone dragged him out. “Or, I mean, I’m assuming you don’t,” amended Kaveh.

Al-Haitham looked at him again, not quite smiling but the corner of his eye crinkling like the muscles of his face wanted to. “You’re correct. There’s no reason for me to, not when everything I need to stay content is inside.”

“Being ‘content’ isn’t the same as living your life, Al-Haitham.”

“And how would you know that?”

Kaveh shot a glance at him. Was this a test? Clearly, Kaveh had lived his life a little too hard the past six years, if the trajectory of his career had any indication of that. But now didn’t seem the time to bring it up.

“I just do.” Kaveh turned ahead, inching forward with the line. “You should go out more, Al-Haitham.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Without me.”

“I can’t say I’d have a compelling reason to leave my apartment, then.”

Kaveh whipped his head around, but Al-Haitham was just serenely looking at the books sitting on the table outside. He’d walked over to a set of clearance books that the bookstore had set outside, all of them random biographies, nonfiction books, and old textbooks marked down to fifty-percent of their original prices with an obnoxiously bold orange sticker. Al-Haitham picked up a book and read the back before neatly tucking it under his arm and rejoining Kaveh in line.

His heart hiccuped. What the fuck was that?

Despite the length of the lie, it actually passed by fairly quickly. Before he knew it, Kaveh and Al-Haitham were being ushered inside by the employees.

“Here’s a map,” said an employee with the name Youssef on his nametag. “There are three levels to the store with each general topic slash genre separated by these ranges of numbers. Exit signs and arrows are all along the floor and wall should anything happen.”

“Kusanali.” Kaveh grabbed the map. “I didn’t think this bookstore was so extensive.”

Youssef smiled, eyes sparkling with a little too much amusement. “We get that a lot. If you need any help, though, feel free to ask me.”

And then he winked.

Kaveh flushed and pushed Al-Haitham away toward the philosophy and politics section on the same level.

“Um,” said Kaveh, voice a little shaky. “Where, uh, where do you want to go first?”

“Do you need to catch your breath?” asked Al-Haitham flatly.

“Shut up.” His face flamed. “Shut up, I—” Archons, it certainly wasn’t Kaveh’s first time getting hit on in public, but it had been a long time. This kind of thing usually happened in seedy bars, darkened corridors, also usually with a little alcohol to blur his senses a little more. Not in broad daylight in his fucking hometown.

“He wasn’t bad looking,” said Al-Haitham.

“Then you ask for his number.” Kaveh buried his face in his hands. “Oh my gods.”

“Do you want it?” asked Al-Haitham, sounding genuinely curious. “I can get it for you.”

“Do not please—”

Al-Haitham laughed and it sent Kaveh’s heart into another panicked spiral. He opened the map and held it up over his face as he walked further into the bookstore, blindly and with the only destination of getting away from the entrance. He heard Al-Haitham’s footsteps follow a moment later.

They ended up in the young adult section with all the new bestsellers. It was more crowded in this section of the bookstore, lots of teenagers and children and their parents pushing through the narrow aisles of the bookshelves. Kaveh didn’t have a large interest in the genre, but he did take the moment to look at pretty covers and read the inside sleeves while he let his heart rate slow.

Al-Haitham sidled up to him a moment later.

“It’s crowded,” murmured Al-Haitham.

“I know,” agreed Kaveh. “It’s crazy.”

Al-Haitham didn’t say anything and instead shuffled closer.

“Al-Haitham?”

“It’s crowded,” he repeated.

Kaveh frowned. Then, something clicked in his mind. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s fine.” Al-Haitham shifted away suddenly, leaving Kaveh’s side cold. “It’s just. It’s crowded.”

Al-Haitham pushed away and headed toward an unoccupied nook of bookshelves. It was full of travel guides and cookbooks and other mildly useless things that it made sense that no one had wandered there, but Al-Haitham pressed himself into place and pulled out his phone.

It shouldn’t have come as a shock, but Kaveh realized then that Al-Haitham had done this in college, too—always going off to the side to read on his phone. He’d thought Al-Haitham was being obnoxious, but it turned out that he was just uncomfortable with crowds.

Guilt curdled in his stomach and he felt like the shit stain on the underside of a shoe. Kaveh walked toward him and lightly tapped Al-Haitham on the arm.

“Come on,” he said as Al-Haitham lifted his head warily. “Let’s go this way.”

Al-Haitham tucked his phone back into his pocket and silently followed.

Kaveh dragged them through the young adult section, keeping a tight grip on Al-Haitham’s wrist. He pulled them both up the stairs to what was labeled the “children’s literature” section. Here, there were significantly less people, mostly children and their parents standing off to the wayside.

“There,” said Kaveh, dropping Al-Haitham’s wrist. “That’s better.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “Children’s literature? Are you looking for something for Kasra?”

Kaveh looked at him, incredulous. “No, obviously not. I was—”  

Al-Haitham was watching him, arms crossed. Though he didn’t look particularly dangerous, Kaveh thought he saw something like a bit of warning in his eyes. And even more than that, a light pink to his cheeks, almost like he was—

Embarrassed.

Kaveh swallowed. “Fine, I was.” He stepped closer to the shelves. “I was hoping that if I found something he’d like reading better, maybe that would help him.”

“I can give suggestions,” said Al-Haitham lightly. 

Right, of course he could. That was what Al-Haitham had said at dinner: That’s what I’m here for. Even now, it still felt strange acknowledging Al-Haitham as an ally. But he was Kasra’s teacher, and he also wanted the best for Kaveh’s brother.

Strange.

Al-Haitham stepped closer to peer at the books, standing close enough that their shoulders brushed. Kaveh tried not to flinch, the heat of Al-Haitham’s shoulder startlingly strong. It must be the air conditioning, he decided. The stark contrast between the violently stale air and the heat of Al-Haitham thrumming under his skin.

“He liked the books with more vibrant illustrations,” said Al-Haitham.

“That sounds right.” Kaveh had been the same. Could that be genetic? Or was it just upbringing?

“Maybe he’d like this one.” 

Al-haitham reached in front of Kaveh for a book to his right, hand almost brushing Kaveh’s chest.

A loud BANG sounded behind them. Al-Haitham jerked away while Kaveh whirled around to find a table of books knocked over and a child sitting on the ground, crying right next to it.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean—ow—ow—” He sobbed.

All around, the other parents and children hovered nearby, murmuring to themselves about what to do. Kaveh found himself frozen, unsure what to do. Find the parents? Comfort the child? Pick the books up?

But before he could think, Al-Haitham was already walking over. He watched as Al-Haitham moved all the toppled books to the side before setting the plastic table back to its feet. Then, he put the piles of books back onto the table in no particular order before kneeling in front of the boy.

“I didn’t mean it—” the boy sobbed. “It was an accident. I didn’t want to hurt them.”

“They’re just books,” said Al-Haitham. “You couldn’t have hurt them.”

“I didn’t mean it,” repeated the boy, softer.

“Are you hurt?”

The boy touched his head for a moment as if gauging the pain, then he lowered his hand and shook his head. 

“Good, then there’s no need to cry unless you want to.” Al-Haitham leaned back. “The books are fine. You weren’t hurt. So nothing went wrong.”

The boy nodded slowly. When Al-Haitham spoke like this, his voice was low, soothing, like the focus was on the feeling instead of what he was saying. What he was saying, though, was a reassurance that nothing was wrong. No hysterical screaming, not panicked sounds, just the easy words that things were fine.

No wonder Kasra thought he was nice. Al-Haitham’s words weren’t cloying and sweet, just frank. And that frankness, the dignity with which he spoke to them, was kind.

“Where are your parents?” asked Al-Haitham.

“I don’t know,” said the boy, the panic rising in his voice again.

“We’ll find them,” said Al-Haitham, so calmly that it cut the panic short. “Just give me a second.”

Kaveh finally shook himself out of his stupor. He hurried over to where Al-Haitham and the boy were.

“Let me help,” he said.

Al-Haitham blinked at him like he’d forgotten he was there.

“I can stay with—” Kaveh paused and thought about it for a moment, then changed his mind. “You can stay with the kid. I’ll find his parents.”

Al-Haitham looked at him warily, but nodded.

Kaveh wandered further into the floor as he heard Al-Haitham’s voice again, low and soothing, “...he’ll find your parents. It’s not a very large floor. Should be easy—”

Kaveh did find the parents shortly after. They had been busy looking over picture books with their infant daughter on the other side of the floor and hadn’t realized that their son had gone wandering away. Kaveh half wanted to yell at them, but he wasn’t about to cause a scene in a public place. And it wasn’t like he could say anything about it either when he’d forgotten to pick up Kasra for two hours once.

They returned to the scene of Al-Haitham sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the boy. The boy was no longer crying, which was a miracle, and instead almost looked—happy? Al-Haitham wasn’t doing anything special, just chatting idly, but as they approached, Kaveh began to hear him more clearly.

“...which is why some books are in glass containers like that—because the humidity could ruin them.”

“Why?”

“Because the paper can expand and smudge the ink, making it difficult to read.”

“Why?”

“You can find your own answers,” said Al-Haitham, too gentle for how blunt the words were. “That’s what this bookstore is for.”

“Fahad!” The mother ran forward. “Kusanali, when did you wander off? We told you multiple times not to walk around by yourself.”

The boy—Fahad—suddenly looked sullen. “You were busy.”

The mother blinked, baffled. “Busy?”

Al-Haitham suddenly stood, taking a step back from the family scene.

“Oh.” The mother blinked. “Oh, did you walk away because we were too busy with your sister?”

Fahad didn’t quite nod, but he did look down, the corner of his eyes prickling with something refractive. 

The family scene suddenly seemed too personal, one that Kaveh felt like he shouldn’t be watching.

“Al-Haitham—” he murmured.

But Al-Haitham was already brushing past. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry,” he heard the mother say, and just the sound of it made his chest ache. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have ignored you—”

Al-Haitham pulled them abruptly into another room to give the family privacy. Their voices were still audible, but muffled by the thick bookshelves between them.

“Well,” said Kaveh after a moment. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Expecting what?”

“That felt like therapy.” He let out a quiet laugh.

“Hardly.” Al-Haitham idly picked up a book. “That felt more like an average day in kindergarten. Kids don’t know how to regulate their emotions yet, nor do they quite know how to communicate their needs.”

Kaveh lifted his head. “You really are good with kids.”

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows. “Why does that surprise you? I’ve been teaching for four years now. Even if in another scenario where I was not good with children, I would have had to learn at some point.”

There came the question again. “I still can’t believe you’ve been teaching for four years. How the hell did that happen?”

“I believe the pursuit of knowledge is the highest value one can provide to society. The best way I can aid in that pursuit is by teaching. Besides, I think more people would benefit from having better critical thinking skills.”

Kaveh nearly snorted. “You teach kindergarteners.”

“My point still stands.”

Kaveh raised an eyebrow but Al-Haitham’s gaze did not waver.

“But why kindergarteners?” he persisted. “Why not be a college professor? Or teach someone older that knows how to regulate their emotions or communicate their needs? I thought you’d be more annoyed with that extra emotional labor since you seemed—” He hesitated, but Al-Haitham was already lifting an eyebrow, as if to say, Go on. “Um, annoyed with the average college student over it.”

He remembered, vividly, their first meeting. The way Al-Haitham didn’t even engage in small talk because he found it tiring. How did Al-Haitham find it too tiring to respond to, Hi, how are you? but voluntarily chose to work with emotionally volatile beings for four years?

“They’re different,” argued Al-Haitham. “College students can have unresolved issues from their childhood that they’re still working through, but that’s not my responsibility. Kids don’t know any better, so they need someone else to guide them.”

“And you decided you should be the person to bear that responsibility?”

“Children are our future, Kaveh,” Al-Haitham said simply. “By caring for them, I’m nurturing from the roots.”

Kaveh’s first thought was, What a terribly lovely reason. His second thought was, And a very Al-Haitham response. His third: Is it a very Al-Haitham response?

But of course, it was. Something like that was so simple and clear for a person like Al-Haitham. That children were the future, that he saw their upbringing like taking care of a seedling.

His chest warmed with some unnameable feeling, almost like he really was getting endeared to Al-Haitham. Kaveh didn’t know what to do with it or how to get it out, so he just bumped their shoulders together, stealing a little of Al-Haitham’s warmth again.

Al-Haitham looked at him. “What?”

Kaveh smiled. “That was really sweet, Al-Haitham.”

Al-Haitham turned away quickly. If Kaveh didn’t know any better, he would have thought Al-Haitham was embarrassed.

“It wasn’t meant to be sweet. I was just sharing my thoughts.”

“Then I guess your thoughts were nicer than I expected.”

He saw Al-Haitham press his lips together. Al-Haitham’s eyes darted towards Kaveh before flicking back to the book in his hand. He lifted it, almost like a shield.

“Why did you invite me out here?” asked Al-Haitham, voice half muffled by the book.

“Um.” Kaveh rubbed his shoulder. “Well, to be completely honest, my mom said I should.”

Al-Haitham gave him a flat look over the spine of the book.

“Shut up, I’m serious!” Kaveh had half a mind to call Faranak right then and there, just to get proof. But she was probably busy at this hour. “She said I should, like, get out more. Remember my life outside of parenting.”

“And your solution was to ask me to come here with you.”

Kaveh looked at him. “Well, yeah.”

Al-Haitham stared at him, incredulous. The expression would’ve been almost comical, were half of it not hidden by the book. Al-Haitham looked at him for another long moment before he sighed and turned away, burying his face back into the book.

“What?” Kaveh grabbed his shoulder and tried to tug him back around, but Al-Haitham stayed stubbornly turned away. “Hey, don’t pout.”

“I’m not pouting—”

“I also like your company.” Kaveh dropped his hand as Al-Haitham turned around. “You’re a lot of fun to talk to. More than I expected. So maybe I just wanted to get to know you better, too.”

Al-Haitham blinked. “Why?”

Kaveh blinked back. “What do you mean why? I just—” Didn’t give you a chance before.

He hadn’t given Al-Haitham a chance before, had always assumed his friends were wrong, that they’d imagined this alternate-reality shadow-version of Al-Haitham where his bluntness was a form of kindness. But Kaveh had been wrong. Kaveh had been wrong.  

And then he’d ignored Al-Haitham because of that fucking prank from senior year. I like you. Because he’d thought Al-Haitham was fucking with his feelings because that would’ve been in line with the person he thought Al-Haitham was, the person that he was completely wrong about.  

But then…was it a prank?

Panic suddenly seized him. All these years later and he was suddenly thinking about that moment from senior year again—the reason he’d ignored Al-Haitham for so many years because he had this idea of Al-Haitham in his head that was wrong and if he was wrong about everything else, then what if he was wrong about that?

“Kaveh?”

He blinked, realizing that he’d cut off in the middle of the sentence and forgotten to continue.

“Ha.” Kaveh cleared his throat. “Haha, sorry. Um, something—mouth dry.”

“Do you want water?” Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows, a display of concern where his voice did not show it. 

“No.” Kaveh shook his head quickly, trying to burn out this mortifying feeling of, Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. “I’m good. Um, did you want to get any books?”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow again: I know you’re changing the subject and I’m letting you know I’m aware. “I do.”

“Great!” Kaveh went to grab the book Al-Haitham was holding. “What’s this about—”

Their fingers brushed and he dropped the book, skin burning.

Al-Haitham gave him another flat look. “Seriously?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Kaveh bent down and picked the book up before holding it out to him at arm’s length. “Let’s just—let’s just keep going. There’s still, like, two more floors we have to get through.”

“Alright,” said Al-Haitham, but he watched Kaveh warily anyway.

The rest of the afternoon passed by more peacefully. The crowd in the bookstore thinned as the day went on, leaving the main areas less crowded and more Al-Haitham friendly. The deeper they wove into the store, though, the less people they found occupying the spaces, leaving enough air for them to debate over books they’d read ages ago or talk about recent reads. 

Eventually, they passed a window and finally caught a glimpse of the outside world: the evening sun burnishing the sky orange. Meaning: it was fucking late and they’d both lost track of time.

Kaveh rushed them both to the checkout after, letting Al-Haitham buy his seven physical books because, We need to preserve physical media, Kaveh. Digital ownership isn’t true ownership and if the day comes where the internet shuts down, the only real thing we’ll own are the things we have on paper.

“I’m not helping you carry those,” said Kaveh as the cashier packed up Al-Haitham’s books.

“I don’t need you to.” Al-Haitham hefted the bag into his hand and Kaveh watched his bicep flex under the strain before he carried it easily out the door.

Kaveh jerked his head away, face burning.

When they got to the car, Al-Haitham set the stack of books between his legs as Kaveh pulled up the navigation to Al-Haitham’s apartment on his phone. He was about to hit start when Al-Haitham interrupted him. 

“Would it be alright if I said hi to Kasra? Before you drop me off.”

Kaveh blinked at him before his face tore into a grin. “Yes! Oh my gods, yes you can! Kasra’s the best, I fucking knew you liked him.”

“When did I ever say I didn’t?” muttered Al-Haitham.

Kaveh quickly cleared the search box and typed in the address to his mom’s house. Then, he started the car and began to drive, feeling terribly giddy and lightheaded all at once.

When they got back, the front door was already open with Saanvi standing at the entrance. Kaveh barely put the car in park in the driveway before Kasra was barrelling past Saanvi and to the driver’s door.

“Kaveh!” Kasra cried.

Kaveh pushed the door open, grinning. “Hi, Kasra! How was your afternoon?”

“Fun!” Kasra clambered into his lap. His hand pressed against the horn as he tried to get comfortable, but the loud HONK barely even made him flinch. “Saanvi’s funny. We played hide-and-seek and then she drew this monkey on my arm and made it talk.”

“I see.” Kaveh did not see.

Kasra suddenly froze, mouth falling open. Kaveh turned, wondering what he’d seen when Kasra suddenly shrieked, “Hi, Mr. Al-Haitham!”

Oh. Right.

“Hi, Kasra.” Al-Haitham’s voice sounded unbearably warm, almost like—god-forbid—he was smiling.

Kaveh turned to check, just in case, but saw no smile in place.

“Are those books?” Kasra climbed further into Kaveh’s lap, climbing almost over the stick shift. “Those are big. Are you bringing them on Monday? When can I read big books, Mr. Al-Haitham?”

“Maybe we should take this conversation into a less cramped space,” suggested Al-Haitham wryly.

“Right.” Kaveh pulled Kasra backwards and hoisted him to his feet outside. “Let’s take this to the house.”

He slid out of the car and closed the door and began to head towards the house. Halfway there, he was surprised to find that Al-Haitham was following.

“I can’t believe you played with Mr. Al-Haitham all day,” whined Kasra. “Why didn’t you bring me?”

“Maybe next time,” said Kaveh.

“Promise?”

“Did you have a good afternoon, Mr. Kaveh?” Saanvi was watching them from her spot at the door. She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows raised like she knew something. The way she said it almost reminded him of Tighnari, and the memory made him immensely nostalgic and violently wary.

“Yes, I did. Thank you, Saanvi.”

“What did you do?”

Kaveh blinked. “Oh, we went to the bookstore. Near downtown.”

“Was that all?”

Why the hell was he being interrogated by a teenager?

“Yes?” Kaveh blinked. “Um, how was your afternoon, Saanvi?”

Saanvi smiled and leaned back. “Good. Kasra was really good. We made dinner together, too.”

“Did you?” He turned down to look at Kasra.

“We did!” Kasra jumped. “We made pita pockets. Like a lot of pita pockets. We made enough for you, and Mr. Al-Haitham if he wanted some.” He turned to Al-Haitham. “Do you want some? I made a lot.”

Kaveh imagined letting Al-Haitham into the house and a strange panic seized him. He hadn’t cleaned the house properly, only the main living areas where he knew Saanvi would be watching Kasra. He didn’t want Al-Haitham to judge him. That would be terrible and strangely vulnerable-feeling, even though Al-Haitham had most certainly seen Kaveh’s messy undergraduate apartment however-many years ago.

“No, that’s alright,” said Al-Haitham. “I only wanted to say hi to Kasra. Maybe next time.”

Next time. Was this…going to be a recurring thing?

“Promise?” Kasra furrowed his little eyebrows.

“Sure.” Al-Haitham’s voice sounded warm with amusement.

“Alright, then we should get going,” said Kaveh. “So I can drop you back off at your place before the pita pockets get cold.”

“Can I come?” Kasra pleaded. “Please?”

Kaveh looked at Al-Haitham, who was looking at him back.

“If you’re alright with that,” said Al-Haitham.

“...yeah.” Kaveh nodded slowly. “Sure, let’s go, Kasra.”

“Yes!”

Kaveh thanked Saanvi again for her time and dropped a pouch of Mora in her hand as payment. She thanked him in turn and told him not to take too long with a strangely mischievous smile before walking back to the house next door.

After buckling Kasra into the back seat, Kaveh typed the address to Al-Haitham’s apartment into his phone again before beginning the drive.

“You get to know where Mr. Al-Haitham lives?” Kasra peered over the seat. 

“I—” Kaveh blinked. “I mean, I had to pick him up.”

“Does this mean we can go to Mr. Al-Haitham’s all the time?”

Kaveh shot a glance at Al-Haitham, who just snorted. “I don’t think Mr. Al-Haitham would appreciate that.”

“You don’t know that,” said Al-Haitham, who was definitely amused.

Kasra’s eyes sparkled.

“Well,” said Kaveh. “I don’t think I’d appreciate that. Who would want to see you more than necessary?”

“Were you not the one who sought out my company first?”

Kaveh tried to punch Al-Haitham’s arm while keeping his eyes on the road and missed, hitting somewhere on his torso instead. “Didn’t ask.”

Al-Haitham snorted again.

Kasra stuck his head between their two seats. “I knew you were friends.”

“Kasra, don’t do that, please. That’s dangerous.” Kaveh ushered him back.

“Friends,” mused Al-Haitham. “Is he correct, Kaveh?”

Kaveh cast him a sidelong glance. He thought about the whole day: the bookstore, waiting in line, Al-Haitham speaking softly to Fahad and guiding Kaveh away to give privacy to a family who had accidentally ignored their son, the laughter and ease that followed. The Kaveh of six years ago couldn’t fathom spending that many hours with Al-Haitham without losing his mind.

Now, though, he felt lighter.

And besides, Faranak had wanted him to get out more. This was him getting out. This was him finding his life outside of parenting.

“What do you think, Al-Haitham?”

The stoplight turned green as he asked the question, so Kaveh couldn’t see Al-Haitham’s face. But when he answered, “I would think so,” Kaveh was sure he was smiling.

-

Hanging out with Al-Haitham at the bookstore was like some kind of gateway drug because all of a sudden, Kaveh found himself seeking Al-Haitham’s company all the time. Al-Haitham wasn’t always free, but that didn’t stop him from asking.

Archons, it was baffling. What was it about seeing Al-Haitham outside of his teacher clothes and driving him around a familiar hometown to the unfamiliar parts that made him like this? It must have been the children—gods, Kasra was making him soft. Children are our future, Kaveh. By caring for them, I’m nurturing from the roots.

Gods. He wanted to kill himself.

All it took now was driving past some new store opening in his old hometown before he thought, I wonder what Al-Haitham would think of this, and then he was opening his phone and texting Al-Haitham—who was now always at the top of his messaging list. Or calling him. Or talking to him while picking up Kasra. Anywhere, just because he wanted to see how his hometown was changing with someone else superimposing the past on top of the present.

It led to moments of picking up Kasra where, after getting his little brother situated in the car, he’d walk up to Al-Haitham and ask point-blank, “Do you wanna try the new smoothie place that opened up?”

Al-Haitham would blink at him, wordless and certainly confused with his eyebrows furrowing in a way that said, You’re asking me now?

What Al-Haitham said out loud was, “Sure.”

Of course, that just meant arranging for another babysitter so he could leave Kasra alone for two hours. At least Saanvi was usually free, and if not that, at least very enthused about clearing up her time to make more money.

It made him wonder why he never did this in college with Al-Haitham. And then Kaveh remembered all over again that it was his fault that he’d never gotten to know Al-Haitham. But now, he knew that Al-Haitham was funny—in that dry humor kind of way, and one day he would admit that to Kasra. Perhaps when he was older.

And he knew that Al-Haitham was kinder than he’d ever expected, despite what his friends had been telling him. And that Al-Haitham was uncannily good with children, and saw them as the future and he, the gardener, caring for them from inception.

Kaveh had grown up enough to admit that he regretted it. That sour twinge in his stomach that followed whenever Al-Haitham let out the quiet little smile on their hangouts was regret that he hadn’t seen it sooner. He could have seen it so much sooner if he’d just given Al-Haitham a chance.

But he couldn’t change that now. Hell, he knew Al-Haitham would probably say something like, You can see it now. Don’t ruminate on what you can’t change. And it would make him fucking feel better. The nerve!

Kaveh told Faranak none of this in their weekly call. 

He only told her about the bookstore, casually omitting the detail where he watched Al-Haitham’s people skills up close instead of from behind the barrier of his car window. He mentioned that he lived only fifteen minutes away and that going out had been…fun.

“See?” Faranak smiled.

“Mom, don’t say—”

“I told you so?” Faranak’s grin broadened and Kaveh sighed. “I’m really glad you had a good time, Kaveh.”

Kaveh huffed. “It was fine.”

“It was clearly more than fine. There’s a new light in your eyes.”

Kaveh furrowed his eyebrows. “There is not.”

“Let me see!” Kasra clambered up to his feet until he was eye level with Kaveh and knocked their foreheads together. “I don’t see it.”

“Ow.” Kaveh shut his eyes and pushed back. “Not so close, Kasra. I’m old.”

“You’re twenty-eight,” said Faranak.

“Yeah.” He slid his eyes to the screen where his mother was narrowing her eyes at him. “Like I said: old.”

Faranak shook her head. “Have you seen him since?”

Kaveh hesitated, only for a moment, and that hesitation was enough of an answer that Faranak was smiling at him. His stomach burned, but instead of bearing the humiliation of having your mother scrutinize you, Kaveh pretended he hadn’t noticed.

“I have,” he said as evenly as he could.

“I see him everyday,” added Kasra.

“That must be hard for you,” said Kaveh solemnly.

“Nuh uh! He’s the best teacher and he’s funny and you keep seeing him, too.”

“Kasra!” Kaveh’s face burned.

Faranak smiled again. “Tell me more about it.”

Kaveh shot a glare at his brother, who only smiled back innocently with his front tooth hanging loose. 

“I just—” Kaveh sighed. “I’ve just been seeing him. That’s all. We try to hang out if we have time because the bookstore was…fun. There’s, um, a new smoothie place opening up on Main Street to replace that old Inazuman place. We’re trying that out this weekend.”

Faranak’s eyes sparkled. “That’s lovely.”

“It’s—we’re just hanging out.”

“I remember when your father and I met in college, we started out with a lot of outings, too.” Her eyes softened, her smile lines crinkling like the cotton of his childhood bedsheets. “It was…I remember. How nice it began.”

Kaveh furrowed his eyebrows. “What Dad have to do with anything?”

But Faranak just smiled, and then Kasra cut in with an update about Mr. Al-Haitham telling him his reading was getting better. Faranak turned her attention away, and then that was that.

And so, Al-Haitham and Kaveh did start hanging out more because it was easy and they were bored and it was a small town and in a world of uncertainty, they could at least guarantee a slightly better mood coming out than what they’d walked in with. 

Kaveh didn’t feel the same urge to talk to Al-Haitham after school anymore. When he went to pick up Kasra, he felt the greater desire to sit back and observe, like he was back in the Akademiya and doing a case study in real time.

Observations Kaveh made while watching Al-Haitham watch over a crowd of five and six-year-olds: Al-Haitham never raised his voice, he didn’t overreact when children fell and just waited calmly to ask if they needed to go to the nurse, all the kids like tugging on his shirt and his shoes and he let them—not just the image of unbothered, but the true honest-to-god embodiment of it. Kaveh wondered what his twenty-two-year-old self would think now, if he told him, One day you will look at Al-Haitham and see the gentle giant that he is. Punkass ambitious twenty-two-year-old would scoff and storm away, unbelieving of such a fundamental disparity in his world. Twenty-eight-year old Kaveh watched with an aching chest, like a fish hook had threaded itself through his ribs and kept tugging toward a drowning surface.

Sometimes Kaveh would still come late—it just came with the territory of being an architect—but each time, when he thanked Al-Haitham profusely with guilt already rising to its haunches in his stomach, Al-Haitham would say, “No need. I’m just doing my job.” Then the guilt would settle back and lay down, soothed to sleep.

So simple, so uncomplicated. Like the world was just job duties and not, anger and forgiveness. Once, they’d gone to college together. Once, Al-Haitham had texted him, Congratulations and Kaveh had hated him so much that he hadn’t even responded to that.

Now, he thanked Al-Haitham for watching his little brother. Now, he dragged Al-Haitham to bookstores and restaurants and plant shops just because they caught his eye on the street. Now, he thought of Al-Haitham as a friend, and Kaveh was fairly sure Al-Haitham thought of him as one, too.

Oh how the winds changed after the Light of Kshahrewar fell from grace. For once, in quite a long time, Kaveh thought that he was rather okay with how it had all turned out.

-

They didn’t have time for that smoothie place until a week later, but when the time came, they drove separately instead of carpooling like they usually did. Kaveh had just come from grocery shopping with Kasra and needed to drop him off at the house with Saanvi, and Al-Haitham had some weekend teacher duties for some club with the other elementary school kids.

A hectic morning, for sure, but the idea of meeting Al-Haitham at the smoothie place put Kaveh at ease alarmingly quickly.

When he arrived, Kaveh found Al-Haitham already inside. The store was packed—as packed as a small town store could be—patrons spilling into all the corners of free space, all of them trying to get a good view of the menu.

“Hey,” said Kaveh as he approached. He raised a hand to wave when a passing customer knocked into him. “Ah—”

He went lurching forward until he slammed into Al-Haitham’s absurdly muscular shoulder. Kaveh expected the impact to hurt, except when his eyes refocused, he saw that Al-Haitham had gripped him by the arms, helping stand up straight before tucking him into the empty spot against the wall next to Al-Haitham.

“Thanks,” said Kaveh, face burning.

“It was nothing.” Al-Haitham turned back to the menu.

Kaveh swallowed. There was still an uncomfortable amount of people in the little shop, crowding them close until their shoulders were pressed together. Al-Haitham was uncomfortably hot, and he suddenly wondered, Had Al-Haitham always run warm?

“Any idea what you’re getting?” asked Kaveh.

Al-Haitham hummed. Kaveh could feel the vibration of it where they were touching.

“No idea,” said Al-Haitham. “Everything looks overpriced for the concepts they’re selling.”

Kaveh huffed a laugh. “Damn, Al-Haitham. It’s just a small town smoothie shop.”

“That doesn’t free them from criticism.”

The smile came in full force, so strong it was a little unexpected. But Kaveh didn’t bother curbing it as he said, “You can just say no like a normal person and leave it at that.”

Al-Haitham finally looked at him, watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Then you wouldn’t be nearly as entertained, would you?”

Archons—maybe it was the long morning, but it almost sounded like Al-Haitham was smiling. But when Kaveh darted his gaze down, he only saw Al-Haitham frowning. When he looked up again, Al-Haitham had narrowed his eyes and glanced away.

…what the fuck?

Kaveh turned back to the menu.

After a long minute of pondering, Kaveh settled on a Green Goddess smoothie and turned back to Al-Haitham. “Have you decided?”

Al-Haitham shook his head. “Have you?”

“Yeah.” Kaveh bumped their shoulders together. “I win.”

Al-Haitham’s gave him a flat look. “Neither of us established this as a competition.”

“I did. In my head.” Kaveh smiled.

“Is it you or Kasra that’s the kindergartener? It’s hard to remember.”

“Fuck off.” Kaveh smacked him again, stealing another wisp of warmth. “I’m going to order while you think.”

Al-Haitham gestured with his hand as if to say, Be my guest.

Kaveh stepped away from Al-Haitham and rejoined the crowd, the side of his arm cold where it was no longer pressed to Al-Haitham’s. Not that it mattered, not with the crowd of strangers in front of him and all of their sweaty bodies.

“Is this the line?” he asked a woman in front of him.

The girl turned and he felt his eyes widen at the familiar face. 

“Inaya?” Kaveh ventured.

Her eyes widened and then she smiled. “Yep. To both questions.”

“Oh.” Kaveh stepped behind her. “Hey, hi. It’s been so long. How are you?”

He’d gone to high school with Inaya over ten years ago—Archons, was that a real number? They’d been decent friends, shared a lot of classes together, gotten along well enough but lost touch after graduating. He couldn’t believe he’d last seen her over a decade ago, and just the thought made his bones feel like they were crumbling to dust. Though, he wasn’t going to tell Faranak that.

“Oh, you know.” She laughed and it sounded like a bell. “Fine, I guess. I didn’t—didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Me neither. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Inaya looked so different from when he’d last seen her, though that was unsurprising considering a decade had passed. The way Kaveh last knew her, she’d always had her slick black hair in a thick braid. She’d worn a pair of magenta glasses, and dressed in dresses with sleeves and long pants underneath. She was really sweet in high school—really smart, too, and Kaveh couldn’t think of a single person who disliked her.

Now, the glasses were gone. She must have switched to contacts somewhere in the past decade, giving full view to the endless pit of her dark eyes. Her hair was shorter now, layered and fanning around her face with various copper highlights. She wore a short sleeved dress and her fingers were decorated with various gold and silver rings, glittering in contrast to her matte burgundy nails.

“Really?” Her face pinked inexplicably, and Kaveh almost felt a little uncomfortable. “Ah, I—ah…”

Kaveh quickly rushed forward. “Not in a bad way! Just, just didn’t—” Kusanali, with all the mistakes he’d made over the past six years, why didn’t he ever learn how to not deepthroat his own foot. “You look nice. Um, anyway. What have you been up to?”

“Getting my PhD.” She smiled, the embarrassed flush from earlier softening. “I’m studying in the desert, but visiting home for a bit.”

“Oh, that’s really cool,” said Kaveh, genuinely. Inaya had always been smart, bright in the way that she wanted knowledge for the sake of knowledge. It made sense that she’d only pursue her studies further. “In what?”

“Linguistics of Deshretan runes in relation to storytelling. It’s an added challenge interpreting history from their mythology, but it’s interesting and I love it.”

Her eyes were glowing, warm in a way that felt like a hearth—steady and permanent. The light in her eyes reminded Kaveh of himself, back when he’d first started studying architecture at the Akademiya, green and hopeful and bright-eyed. Not that he’d lost the sparkle for architecture, but he learned the people could be quite a bit crueler. He wondered if she’d encountered that yet, and if she had, how did you keep a smile like that?

“Linguistics!” Kaveh brightened. “Oh, my friend actually studied that in college—”

He turned in Al-Haitham’s direction only to find him staring intently at them. His eyes looked almost black under the ridge of his brow, and Kaveh couldn’t tell if that was just his expression, or if he was well and truly glaring. Either way, Kaveh felt himself withering under that kind of intensity.

“Um, nevermind.” He turned away.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Finding Inaya back in his hometown felt like an entirely different homecoming than returning to his childhood house or seeing Al-Haitham at the elementary school that he had attended. This was seeing a person with a shared past—like every single time Kaveh had met up with someone from high school in the Akademiya—and slipping back to an old version of yourself that you’d nearly forgotten. It felt surreal: old friend in old town in new store, the world shifting around them while they shifted through the world, slamming to a stop for one brief moment in their meeting.

“What are you doing here? I thought you moved?”

“Oh.” Kaveh glanced back. “I’m here with…a friend. We wanted to try out the place, but he hasn’t figured out what he wants yet.”

Inaya looked behind him and she let out a quiet laugh. “He looks intimidating.”

“He’s harmless.” If you didn’t count the unexpected chest pain you could get from watching him interact with children. “He…he just looks like that.”

“I see.” She tilted her head. “How have you been otherwise?”

Kaveh laughed. “Oh. You know.” 

“Tell me.”

Kaveh looked at the dense line stretching before them, the five workers shuffling behind the counter still trying to find their footing in the new shop, and decided: sure, why not?

Inaya had not kept up with his history, which he hadn’t expected her to. All of his college friends had, of course, and so he had to see the pity in their eyes before he had the chance to explain at all. With Inaya, he could explain the disaster of Alcazarzaray and everything after on his own terms.

Soon, they reached the front of the line. Inaya ordered her smoothie, then patiently waited to the side while Kaveh ordered his. 

“You have had the most insane six years,” said Inaya as he stepped out of the line.

“I mean, I guess.”

“Don’t downplay it. You have!” Inaya looked at him almost incredulously. “Much more exciting than what I’ve been doing.”

“I don’t think you’d want to call that exciting.”

“Eventful, then.”

Kaveh found himself smiling. “Semantics.”

She smiled back at him.

It suddenly felt like looking at a warped mirror for a moment—expecting one thing then getting another. The conversation felt familiar, all the specifics of word specificity, but Inaya smiled more than what Kaveh was expecting. What was Kaveh expecting?

“I’m glad we ran into each other,” she said. “It was really nice catching up.”

Kaveh sighed, chest unspooling. “It really was.” 

One of the employees called Kaveh’s name with his smoothie. He grabbed it off the counter before returning to the wall they’d been occupying.

“Do you need to go back to your friend?” she asked.

Kaveh waved his hand. “He’ll be there. Who knows when we’ll catch up next, though.”

She smiled, a little tighter-lipped than expected. “That’s sweet, Kaveh.”

He blinked. He hadn’t meant to be sweet, it was just the truth.

“You know what’s crazy?” Inaya’s voice went quiet.

Kaveh turned to her. “What?”

“I couldn’t get over you for years.” 

He froze. “Uh…”

Inaya caught one look of his face and laughed. “Relax. I mean—I’m engaged now.” She lifted her left hand and he finally spotted it: among her many rings on her hand, there was one distinct one on her ring finger that looked more expensive than the rest. “But, it’s crazy thinking that for years, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how we’d probably never talk again, and then I just did one day. And now we’re talking again, but I feel normal. I think the me of a few years ago would be really happy to know that.”

Kaveh swallowed. What were you even supposed to say to that? 

He settled on the truth, which was, “I’m glad you found someone.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Kaveh. Do you have anyone in your life?”

Embarrassingly, his first thought was Kasra. But he knew she didn’t mean it like that.

“No,” he said.

Inaya almost looked amused. “Really? You. No one?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked defensively. “I was busy.”

“Ah. That makes sense then.” The corners of her eyes were crinkled in amusement.

An employee suddenly called her name before setting a pink smoothie on the counter. She turned to him for a moment.

“Hey, we should catch up again,” she said. 

He nodded. “We should.” It seemed like he’d be there for a while, anyway.

“It was nice seeing you, Kaveh.”

“You, too.”

Then, Inaya went and grabbed her smoothie, and he watched her disappear out the door and around the corner.

Kaveh sighed, feeling oddly tight. He took a sip of his smoothie before he turned to find Al-Haitham watching him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

Kaveh almost laughed. “Decide on a smoothie yet?” he asked, walking over.

“What was that?”

Kaveh stopped. Al-Haitham was standing a little stiffly, chin tilted up almost like he was trying to be more defiant, as if that were possible for Al-Haitham. His shoulders were squared off and rigid in a tight imitation of trying to be casual, though Kaveh didn’t have the faintest idea why. 

“What?” He tried to keep his voice light. “Are you feeling extra single? Never seen a friend get hit on before?”

Kaveh was joking, but he saw Al-Haitham’s eyes flash in a distinctly non-amused way.

“I have,” he said, voice tight.

“I was joking,” said Kaveh hastily. “I wasn’t getting hit on. That—she was a friend from high school and we were just catching up.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

“I…I mean, she had a really big crush on me in high school. Didn’t realize until senior year where she just dropped it on me, and I didn’t feel the same so I told her and…”

The oddest sense of deja vu suddenly slapped Kaveh across the face, but the deja vu was in the wrong order. An old memory resurfaced: the dark wood, the yellow lights, evening bleaching away into the night and Kaveh hating Al-Haitham and still sitting across from him because their buffer had left. The library closing its mouth and Al-Haitham murmuring, I like you. I like you. The way Inaya had over a decade ago.

“Not—not that that matters.” Kaveh swallowed.

“No, continue.” Al-Haitham tilted his head. “I’m curious.”

There was a sharpness to this voice that felt a little too strong to not be intentional. Kaveh hadn’t taken Al-Haitham seriously in that library. Not the way he had with Inaya. He’d taken Inaya seriously because they were friends, but it felt a little tactless to explain that to Al-Haitham when he, for all intents and purposes, had done the same thing.

Archons. Kaveh tried to imagine a world where he’d believed Al-Haitham the way he’d believed Inaya, but he supposed it didn’t matter—it would have ended the same.

“She didn’t tell me anything—I mean it was just a high school crush. Also she’s engaged now, so it doesn’t matter—I mean, like, good for her. But I wasn’t being hit on. I am also…very single.”

He winced as he said it, sounding terribly awkward to his own ears. He glanced up at Al-Haitham, who was watching him stone-faced.

“Say something, I’m embarrassed.” Kaveh’s cheeks were burning.

Al-Haitham finally snorted. “Thank you for the information. That was more than what I asked for.”

“Fuck you.” Kaveh lifted his smoothie if only to hide his face behind something. “You should have defined an upper limit of how much information you wanted then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” said Al-Haitham wryly.

“Are you going to get a smoothie?” he bit irritably.

Al-Haitham gave him a flat look. “After how long you spent in line, I think I’m good.”

“Then what was the point of you coming?”

“To see you,” he said simply. “Wasn’t that the point of all of these hangouts?”

Kaveh flushed. “What is wrong with you?”

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows, baffled. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t just—say that.” Kaveh turned and marched toward the door. “Holy shit, that’s even more embarrassing.”

“I don’t understand you.” 

He could hear Al-Haitham’s footsteps close behind him. Kaveh reached the door and pushed out, welcoming the cooler air after the suffocating heat of thirty bodies packed too tightly into a little shop. He took a momet to catch his breath, but just the very presence of Al-Haitham standing behind him made his throat close.

“Just—” Kaveh whirled around and thrust out his hand. “We came to the smoothie store to try smoothies. At least try my smoothie.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow but took the styrofoam cup.

Kaveh didn’t know what the fuck he was thinking. Truthfully, his head had been a mess since Inaya had said that thing to him and he’d had to explain himself to Al-Haitham after. When he gave the cup to Al-Haitham, he expected him to lift the lid like a normal person and take a drink from the rim.

But Al-Haitham, all for efficiency and low effort, closed his lips over the soggy paper straw instead.

“Um—”

Al-Haitham lowered the cup before Kaveh could figure out the rest of his sentence.

“Too sweet,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Kaveh’s pulse thundered in his chest, inside his head.

“Give—” he choked, reaching for the cup. “Give me my drink back then. Get your own thing.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Al-Haitham batted his hand away, skin warm where they brushed Kaveh’s knuckles. He took another drink.

“What the fuck?” Kaveh lunged for it. “I paid for that—”

Al-Haitham took another drink before passing it back. “There. Satisfied? Sufficient hangout criteria met?”

Kaveh stared at the paper straw, already deformed from both of their mouths.

“I mean. If you’re done, I can be,” he muttered.

“I didn’t say that.”

Kaveh lifted his head.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” Al-Haitham jerked his thumb toward the park across the street. “I’m sure you have another hour or so left with the babysitter, right?”

Kaveh swallowed. “Sure.” Because for all he wanted to run and trip over a fence, part of him couldn’t bear to leave before it was time.

Al-Haitham didn’t quite smile, but his expression softened.

They did walk around the park. Despite his complaints, Kaveh did keep passing Al-Haitham the smoothie, if only to keep his eyes off him, if only to stop Al-Haitham from grabbing the smoothie with his own hands himself. So Kaveh had control over how much contact they made.

He thought of Inaya, remembering the way her face had fallen so softly like an autumn leaf when he told her, I’m sorry.  

Al-Haitham had looked nothing like that when Kaveh stood up and left. He’d looked confused, and then angry, which surely meant he didn’t mean anything by it. But then why was Kaveh thinking about that now?

He imagined a world where he’d believed Al-Haitham’s confession, like Inaya—imagined Al-Haitham thinking of him and going through the years and waking up one morning, just, over it. Kaveh had thought it was a prank—and subsequently ghosted him for it, but what if it truly wasn’t? What would it mean for it to not be a prank? That Al-Haitham did like him before?

Then it would mean Kaveh was an asshole for turning him down so harshly. And years later, Al-Haitham was talking to him again. By choice.  

He tried not to think about it, because if he did, then the guilt would creep in. But they were friends now—at least, if the way Al-Haitham kept brushing their shoulders together as they walked through the park meant anything. 

Kaveh tried to focus on that instead of the unease still fluttering quietly through his ribs as the afternoon bled onward and their time together came to a close.

-

Despite the strange hiccup, the smoothie incident did not put a damper on their hangouts. Instead, they just kept picking up more: a new store, a new restaurant, a new limited edition card deck at the bookstore—all excuses just to hang out.

Eventually, though, it did become terribly inconvenient trying to get a last minute babysitter every weekend. Kaveh didn’t know when he’d become so bold, just that one day when Al-Haitham texted him asking for plans for the weekend, Kaveh responded, Just come over.

Just come over.

What? Al-Haitham had responded, and then Kaveh threw his phone across the room where his bed was and he buried his face in his hands.

What the fuck? What the honest fuck? Why did he say that?

There was a buzzing noise, the sound of his phone vibrating against the wall. He scrambled out of his desk chair and onto the bed, digging it out from the crack between his bed and the wall where his phone had fallen.

He swiped up to answer. “What?” he asked, a little breathless.

“You want me to come over?” Al-Haitham’s voice crackled through the phone.

Kaveh nearly dropped it. “Uh, yeah, uh. I mean, every time we hang out, I need to get a babysitter. Maybe it’d just be…easier if you came over. Since you, um, Kasra’s already familiar with you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Are you thinking about the ethics of going over to the houses of one of your students?”

“Yes.” There was a sound like the phone was being shifted from one hand to another. 

“Well, since when have you ever treated any of your students more favorably than another? You are so painfully objective it gives me hives, but knowing you and your strong maintenance of professional boundaries, I feel like you’re fine.” Kaveh paused. “Also, I’ve been spending a lot of money on Saanvi lately and I think she’s getting sick of not having weekends as a teenager anymore.”

A longer pause.

“Also, I’d like to see you. Still.”

Al-Haitham exhaled through the phone. “Fine.”

“Really?” Kaveh brightened.

“Try not to sound too excited,” said Al-Haitham flatly.

Kaveh frowned. “Okay, first of all, fuck off. Can I not be excited to see a friend?”

Al-Haitham let out a puff of air. If Kaveh didn’t know any better, he would have sworn it was a laugh. “If that’s all, I’ll see you Saturday.”

“This is a horrible way to end a phone call by the—”

Al-Haitham hung up.

Kaveh stared at the screen for a moment, picking out his reflection in the dark parts of his background. He stared at it, watching his eyebrow tick up before he set the phone back on the bed, laughing into the empty room.

-

Kasra first went on alert when it hit the afternoon and Kaveh was still in the house.

“Aren’t you playing with Mr. Al-Haitham today?” asked Kasra.

Kaveh winced, mostly at the thought that he was going out with Al-Haitham so much that one stray weekend without a babysitter had his brother on alert.

“Sure, we’ll be hanging out.” Kaveh moved his mug into the cabinet and pretended he didn’t notice Kasra’s stare.

“What does that mean?”

“Just give it a second.”

Not even ten minutes later, a knock sounded from the front door, sending Kaveh springing out of the kitchen.

“I got it!” He called, as if he were a child and Faranak were still in the house, curious to every person at the door. But it was just Kasra, watching his much older brother sprint to the door like he had something to hide.

He had nothing to hide. He flung the door open, a little breathless and flushed, but still smiling when he said, “Hey, Al-Haitham.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you need a minute?”

Kaveh’s smile fell. “Fuck off.” 

“Language.” Al-Haitham shot a pointed look behind him.

“Mr. Al-Haitham?” Kasra shot to his feet. 

“Would you like to come in, Mr. Al-Haitham?” Kaveh taunted.

Al-Haitham wrinkled his nose but stepped inside.

Kasra was watching him with the most adorably starstruck expression. Al-Haitham took off his shoes and carefully pivoted around him while Kasra stayed rooted to the ground like a pig on a spit roast, turning slowly to watch Al-Haitham enter his home for the first time. Kaveh closed the door, carefully, worried that any sudden movements would snap Kasra out of his reverie too abruptly and injure him like waking a sleepwalker from a dream.

“Hello, Kasra,” said Al-Haitham neutrally.

Kasra snapped out of it, face suddenly flushing entirely red. “Mr. Al-Haitham! What are you doing here?”

Al-Haitham glanced at Kaveh. “Your brother invited me over.”

Kasra turned to Kaveh. “What?”

“We’re hanging out,” said Kaveh. “We’re having a playdate, if you will.”

Al-Haitham shot him an unamused glance.

“Oh.” Kasra blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Al-Haitham’s eyes slide to Kasra.

“Can I—” Kasra slapped his hands over his mouth.

Kaveh glanced at him, concerned. “Um, Kasra?”

His little brother looked very much like he was trying not to explode from excitement. Though, when he took a deep breath and lowered his hands, he sounded very calm when he said, “Should I go to my room?”

His voice didn’t even waver.

“What? Why?” Kaveh looked at him, alarmed. “Why would you go to your room?”

“You always go to the kitchen in my playdates,” said Kasra.

“To give you space!”

“Do you want space?” Kasra looked at him pointedly.

“Oh.” Kaveh started to tear up. “Oh my gods, Kasra, you’re like the best kid ever.”

Kasra smiled. “I am?”

“Yes.” Kaveh wanted to squeeze him. “You’re so kind and emotionally intelligent and—”

“Alright.” Al-Haitham cut in. 

The smile melted to a mild look of confusion. “What does ‘emotionally intelligent’ mean?”

“It means you understand people well,” said Al-Haitham. “Kaveh’s happy that you want to give him space the way he gives you space.”

“I am.” Kaveh wiped an honest-to-the-gods tear from his right eye. “Archons, I got so lucky with you, Kasra.”

Kasra flushed again, looking terribly pleased.

Kaveh sniffled again. He was doing what the parenting books were telling him: modeling good behavior for the kid that he wanted to see the child repeat. Maybe he wasn’t a failure!

“Do you need a tissue?” Al-Haitham said wryly.

“Oh, fuck off. Let me have my moment.”

“Language,” mumbled Kasra quietly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to steal Al-Haitham’s phrase.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry.” Kaveh slapped a hand over his mouth.

Al-Haitham looked pointedly at Kasra. “Don’t say that word until you’re older.”

“Until he’s older?” Kaveh dropped his hands. “Shouldn’t you be saying, like, ‘not at all?’”

“Children get more autonomous as they age,” said Al-Haitham. “It’s harder to control their language as they get older, but we can curb some bad habits now.”

“Oh, shut up. Nobody asked you.”

“You just did.”

“Are you fighting?” Kasra asked, distressed.

Kaveh snapped out of the moment. “Oh, no, sorry, Kasra. We’re just having fun. This is how we talk to each other.”

Kasra looked at him skeptically.

“See?” Kaveh threw an arm around Al-Haitham and squished their faces together. “We’re, like, best friends.”

Al-Haitham lightly pushed him away. “Stop.”

He stuck his tongue out and then turned to Kasra. “You can go to your room if you want, but we can also hang out together later.”

“Okay,” said Kasra shyly. He turned and began to walk back to his room when he paused. “Can, um. Can I play with Mr. Al-Haitham, too?”

Al-Haitham honest-to-the-gods smiled, and Kaveh, inexplicably, felt like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him.

“Sure, Kasra. Later.”

“Okay!” Kasra brightened before racing up the stairs to his room.

When he disappeared, Kaveh turned to find Al-Haitham still watching after him, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth like an afterthought.

“Do you—” Kaveh choked, voice embarrassingly breathless. “Do you always look like that when you teach?”

The smile fell. He tried not to feel a pang of disappointment.

“What do you mean?” Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

“Like—” Soft. Fond. He tried to imagine Al-Haitham looking at a room of twenty-something toddlers with that same small smile and the same warm, indulgent voice, and something inside him promptly keeled over and died. “That.”

“You’ll have to specify.”

Kaveh turned, face red. “Nevermind.”

Al-Haitham snorted and even that only had a fraction of the warm indulgence he’d shined on Kasra. It made him ache in a way he couldn’t quite name.

“Alright, what plans did you have for inviting me here?”

“Oh.” Kaveh turned to him. “Well, I wanted to watch a movie.”

“You called me here to watch a movie?” Al-Haitham asked, a little incredulous.

“What’s wrong with that?” Kaveh crossed his arms. “You said you’ve never seen Deshret’s Bloom before, right? I haven’t either, so I thought we’d watch it together.”

Al-Haitham looked at him uncertainly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I thought you didn’t like historical movies.”

“Yeah, well.” Kaveh nudged him. “I’ll endure. Besides, I’d rather spend time with you than not.”

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows.

“Um, I mean—that sounded awkward. You know what I mean.” Kaveh took a seat on the couch and then patted the cushion next to him aggressively. “Just sit.”

Then, shockingly, Al-Haitham gave him that fond little smile—the one he’d given Kasra. “If you say so.” And took a seat next to Kaveh.

He sat right next to Kaveh—a little close considering the size of the couch, but Kaveh didn’t mind. Not when Al-Haitham smelled so nice and his arm was so warm. He grabbed the remote and pulled the movie up on the streaming service before leaning back onto the cushions.

The movie played hollowly through the old speakers, filling the room with all the wonderful old timey sound effects. It was certainly campier than Kaveh had expected—campier than what he thought Al-Haitham’s tastes were at least, but he seemed to be enjoying it, leaning forward at the more exciting parts and sighing at the emotional. It was nothing like the first time they’d watched a movie together all the way back in college, when they’d argued until Tighnari had yelled at them like a tired mother.

He’d been sitting on the couch next to Al-Haitham, too. Last time it was because there were no seats left, this time it was by choice. It was a little wonderful choosing Al-Haitham this time.

Kaveh sat forward at another exciting part, just to press the line of their bodies together. Al-Haitham really was so warm, like the fire of a hearth was trapped just below the surface of his skin. It was a little addictive.

“Are you liking the movie?” asked Kaveh.

“Yes,” said Al-Haitham, eyes still glued to the screen.

Kaveh laughed. “I can tell.”

Al-Haitham didn’t even react.

It was sweet watching him so enraptured with this movie. Kaveh wondered if he’d ever seen Al-Haitham like this in college, and then remembered that even if he did, he wouldn’t have paid him any mind. Kaveh mourned all the time he’d lost with Al-Haitham again, all he had missed out on through the years just because he didn’t give Al-Haitham a chance.

He glanced at Al-Haitham again, leg still warm through his jeans, eyes glued to the T.V.

Well, Kaveh thought, at least he had Al-Haitham now.

-

After they finished the movie, Kaveh gave Al-Haitham a house tour. He’d meant for it to be quick before he let Al-Haitham go on his merry way, but Al-Haitham seemed determined to comment on every little thing. Kaveh brought Al-Haitham to the kitchen to grab some water, but when he turned around, he found him standing at the kitchen table.

“Do you replace those?” asked Al-Haitham, gesturing to the flowers on the table.

“I do,” said Kaveh. “My mom always liked keeping fresh flowers in the kitchen. My, um, dad’s favorite flowers were padisarahs. So I keep up the tradition.”

“I see,” said Al-Haitham, and then nothing more.

Kaveh showed him the backyard, which was not nearly as filled with flowers as it once was, but the expanse was still nice and green and a good place to sit when he needed to be outside—when he remembered to be. He showed Al-Haitham Faranak’s office, where Al-Haitham immediately went hunting for the photo albums.

“Hey, it’s rude to look through people’s stuff without their permission!” cried Kaveh.

“Is this you?” Al-Haitham held up a red photo album open to a page with a picture of six-year-old Kaveh with cake smashed all over his face.

“Give that back!”  

Kaveh lunged for the photo album, but Al-Haitham dodged gracefully, pivoting on one foot so Kaveh slid across his back like water.

“You really do look a lot like Kasra,” mused Al-Haitham.

“Hey.” Kaveh spun around. “Kasra looks like me. I came first.”

Al-Haitham smiled fondly again, which snatched all the remaining words out of his throat.

Kaveh ended the tour with his childhood bedroom. He didn’t feel an ounce of hesitation until the moment they were at his closed door, hand on the door knob, and struck with the sudden fear that it was messy. When did I last clean it? What’s on the floor? Are my old posters still up? What if it’s embarrassing?

“Are you waiting for something?” Al-Haitham asked wryly.

That snapped him out of it. Kaveh shoved his door open before he could have any second thoughts and stepped inside.

The room was dim, curtains still shut from when Kaveh had rolled out of bed and straight down the stairs. The afternoon sunlight slipped around the cracks, throwing little ropes of light across his bedsheets, which were a respectful burgundy—thank the Archons eighteen-year-old-Kaveh had decided to retire the old cat-patterned bed sheets. His room wasn’t nearly as messy as he’d expected—at least all of his laundry was in the hamper. Kaveh’s desk was a mess, though, as always. A discarded sketch lay crumpled at the edge, clinging to the corner for dear life, and all of his pencils were scattered across the table in an almost artistic fan.

“This is my room,” said Kaveh, trying not to sound as awkward as he felt.

Al-Haitham stepped inside. He peered at the bookshelves wordlessly before walking around to other parts of Kaveh’s room—the cork dreamboard, the string of post-it-note sketches he’d made when he was sixteen, the dresser covered with souvenirs from all of Faranak’s trips. Al-Haitham looked at all of it, and it felt a little like Kaveh had sliced his chest open and told Al-Haitham: Look.

“So, this is where you grew up.” Al-Haitham peered at him, more statement than question.

“Yes.” Kaveh shoved his hands in his pocket.

Al-Haitham looked at him for another moment before turning back to observe the room around him. “I never thought I’d see this place.”

Kaveh snorted. “Well, honestly, I never thought you would either.”

That smile appeared again—small and insistent at the corner of his mouth like it was trying to fight its way forward. “Well, lucky for me that I did.”

“Lucky? Are you going to take pictures and use it for blackmail?”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “Do you have anything in here that could be used as blackmail?”

Kaveh huffed. “I’m not answering that.”

Al-Haitham did smile that time, but it was turned away from Kaveh.

“This is still your mom’s house, right?” 

Kaveh snorted. “Obviously. You think I’d be able to afford a place like this at my age?”

“You built the Palace of Alcazarzaray at twenty-four,” said Al-Haitham. “It wouldn’t be unusual for me to think you could accomplish homeownership before thirty, too.”

“Please, I lost all my savings finishing Alcazarzaray.” Kaveh tried not to let his voice waver. “Whatever money I should have made was all lost in that project.”

“I know.”

Kaveh lifted his head, surprised.

“But I wouldn’t be surprised if you made another miracle again.” 

The light from the slit between the curtains shifted, throwing itself across Al-Haitham’s eyes and for a brief moment, his green eyes turned an almost lovely shade of gold. Then Al-Haitham turned and squinted away from the light, stealing the color and the light away.

“I…” Kaveh felt a little too breathless. “F-flatterer.”

“Hardly,” said Al-Haitham. “I’m just stating what I believe.”

It suddenly became entirely too hard to breathe. Kaveh turned toward his dresser and studied a little snow globe Faranak had gotten for him from Inazuma when he was ten.

A thought struck him.

“I’m sorry for never responding to your text.” Kaveh picked up the snow globe and pushed his thumbnail in the groove between the glass and the stand.

He could picture Al-Haitham cocking his head to the side like a dog. “Which one?”

Guilt pooled low in his stomach, a little sour like bile. “When…when I first built Alcazarzaray—when I first lost all my money.”

I heard what you did for Alcazarzaray. Had that been Al-Haitham’s way of nudging open a door? Too bad Kaveh had been too blockheaded to realize, so he never took it.

There was a long stretch of silence.

Kaveh dug his nail deeper until the skin underneath turned white. “Please, say something.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

Kaveh jerked his head up to find Al-Haitham looking at him.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, a little desperate.

Al-Haitham blinked, a little bewildered. “What? No. I’m not mad at you. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Oh.” Kaveh looked back down at the snow globe. “Oh.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” said Al-Haitham, gentler. “It’s alright.”

Kaveh swallowed, throat feeling thick. “I’m just. I was surprised that you knew. That you even bothered to message me.”

“I kept up with you,” Al-Haitham admitted. “There were news articles, so I thought I’d keep up with an old college friend.”

Kaveh almost choked. “‘Friend?’ Al-Haitham, I was awful to you.”

Al-Haitham lifted his eyes. “Not always.”

Kaveh’s chest felt tight. “I’m glad we’re friends now.”

Al-Haitham didn’t quite smile, but his eyes were warm when he said, “Me, too. Very much so.”

-

Now that Al-Haitham had been to Kaveh’s house once, it was like a dam had broken. It really was so much more convenient to go to the house where they had a lot of space and a guaranteed parking spot. Al-Haitham didn’t seem to mind driving over all the time and Kaveh was saving money on a babysitter by giving poor Saanvi her weekends back. 

They did everything from doing puzzles to playing old video games to watching trash reality T.V. shows that they had to pause whenever Kasra walked into the room. Anything they did was fine and everything was fun with Al-Haitham, so Kaveh was glad to just have him over and in his space. Even Kasra began to emerge from his room. He’d been too shy at first, too starstruck at the prospect of being around his favorite teacher, but eventually he, too, started to wander around the common areas more and Kaveh couldn’t not be overjoyed.

At the start, Al-Haitham stopped by Kaveh’s house after lunch for a few hours before heading back. But as their hangouts began to go longer and longer, it started to stretch into the evening—late enough that they had to start thinking about dinner. The first move was ordering takeout, and it was fine the first three times, but the fourth time, Kaveh finally threw down his pizza slice and said, “Why don’t we just cook something together?”

Which led to the both of them on the couch with their heads bent as they stared at Al-Haitham’s phone, looking up decently easy but still healthy recipes. Kasra had wandered in at one point and asked what they were doing.

“Figuring out dinner,” said Kaveh. “Do you want anything in particular?”

Kasra thought for a long moment before he said, “Can you make fesenjan?

Kaveh turned to Al-Haitham. “How’s that?”

Al-Haitham looked up from his phone and Kaveh realized just how startlingly close their faces were.

“Sure. I can buy the ingredients while you stay home to watch Kasra.”

Just like how Faranak and his father had done when he was young.

“Oh.” Kaveh hadn’t even had time to worry about that yet. “Sure, yes, thank you.”

Al-Haitham nodded and stood to head to the store.

Thirty minutes later, Al-Haitham returned with a single reusable bag’s worth of ingredients. Kaveh paid him back half of the cost and then they pulled up a recipe on Kaveh’s phone to make the fesenjan.

They were surprisingly incompatible in the kitchen. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering their past, but Kaveh had been getting along with him so well lately that he’d forgotten he and Al-Haitham were diametrically opposed.

“It says half a teaspoon of turmeric, Al-Haitham. Just let me rinse out the measuring spoon—”

“It’s more efficient to eye it,” said Al-Haitham, giving two shakes of the turmeric container in.

Kaveh let out a pained cry. “What the fuck.”

“This isn’t baking, Kaveh. It’s fine if you estimate some of the amounts.”

“Why would we estimate when we literally have the measuring spoons?”

Despite all the turmoil in the kitchen, they did end up making the fesenjan with astounding success. Kaveh called Kasra into the kitchen and he watched as his little brother tiptoed toward the table, as if afraid of making too many sudden movements around Al-Haitham.

“He won’t bite,” said Kaveh, amused.

Kasra turned redder.

Al-Haitham sighed. “I can leave if you’d rather—”

“No!” Kasra hurried into his seat. “No, please stay, Mr. Al-Haitham.”

Kaveh shot Al-Haitham a grin. Though he didn’t return it, Kaveh could tell Al-Haitham was pleased.

Kasra grabbed the spoon and stuck it in the stew. Kaveh watched his eyes light up as he shoveled it into his mouth faster.

“Good?” laughed Kaveh.

“Mm hmm.” Kasra licked the stew off his lips. “Tastes like Mommy’s.”

Kaveh glanced at Al-Haitham to find him with his eyes wide.

“Hear that?” Kaveh smiled. “You have the makings of a mother.”

Al-Haitham looked at him, entirely unamused.

“You should stay forever, Mr. Al-Haitham,” said Kasra.

“Kasra,” admonished Kaveh.

Al-Haitham, for that matter, choked.

They all finished up dinner rather quickly. It’d been a long time since Kaveh could really cook something good and substantial, what with the little time he had. But having Al-Haitham there to look up the recipe, to go buy the ingredients, and even cook most of it while Kaveh mostly helped chop—it was really nice having a second person in the house while he was raising Kasra. He thought to his childhood again, the memories with his father still alive and Faranak bright-eyed and energetic. He remembered how tall they’d felt when he was a child and he remembered standing in the kitchen while they spun around him like a storm, cooking up a dish together before presenting it proudly to him.

“Slow down, Kaveh,” his father used to laugh. “Don’t choke on the food.”

He remembered how cold the house felt after his father had gone, how quiet and somber Faranak was like a candle with its flame blown out. She didn’t cook during that time, so Kaveh had learned how to. There wasn’t laughter in the kitchen anymore, no two partners-in-crime doing tasks parallel to each other, just Kaveh and the knife and the cutting board and the pan. He would bring whatever he made that night to Faranak’s door before retreating to his own room to eat at his desk while he did his homework.

Kaveh was glad Kasra would never have to experience that. And he was even more glad that Al-Haitham was here to help recreate that experience, even if for just a night.

“Do you want dessert?” asked Kaveh.

Al-Haitham cut him a sharp look like, We didn’t plan on dessert.

“Yes!” Kasra jumped out of his chair. 

“Great.” Kaveh went to the fridge where he’d kept a slice of lemon cake in the back of the fridge. He’d bought it from the Fontainian bakery on his way to work that Friday morning and stored it in the company fridge until later. There was no particular reason he’d bought it, just that he was craving something sweet and figured Kasra would want some, too, but he wasn’t sure when to bring it out to him.

Now seemed like a good moment. Kaveh remembered the warm feeling spreading like a starburst when his parents surprised him with dessert as a kid. Watching Kasra now, it almost felt like the memory was solid again.

“Oh!” Kasra’s eyes widened.

“Don’t eat too fast,” he warned, like his father had once.

Kasra nodded vigorously. “Okay!”

Al-Haitham shook his head. “You shouldn’t give him sugar this late.”

“Let him have fun,” smiled Kaveh. “He’s only five once.”

Later, after Kasra passed out from a sugar crash, and Kaveh felt ready to crash trying to keep his little brother entertained, Kaveh finally looked at the clock again.

“Oh, gods, how did it get so late?” It read nearly midnight on the microwave clock.

“We did a lot today,” said Al-Haitham. “I’m not surprised. I should probably head back, though, so I’m not leaving later.”

“Oh.” Kaveh couldn’t explain the pang of disappointment he felt when he watched Al-Haitham walk towards his shoes. It must have been the late hour, because before he could think on it further, he blurted, “Why don’t you just stay the night?”

Al-Haitham paused. “I’m not that far away, Kaveh.

“But it’s late and you’re tired.” Kaveh stepped toward him. “I don’t mind.”

Al-Haitham stayed frozen near the door.

Kaveh walked over and placed an arm on his shoulder. Even then, he was warm. 

“Please, Al-Haitham. For my peace of mind.”

Al-Haitham turned to look at him with a strange light in his eye. “Alright.”

Kaveh nearly sagged in relief, a little giddy that he would keep Al-Haitham with him a little longer.

He watched, satisfied, as Al-Haitham stepped away from the door.

“Is your couch comfortable?” asked Al-Haitham.

Kaveh paused. “Couch?”

“I’m assuming that’s where I’m sleeping.” Al-Haitham ran a hand along the head of the couch.

“Oh.” 

Al-Haitham sleeping on the couch. Right. Where else would he be sleeping?

“Oh,” repeated Kaveh. “Yeah, it’s pretty comfortable. I’ve taken a billion naps on it.”

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

“But, um, honestly you can take my parents’ room. They aren’t using it and they definitely wouldn’t mind.”

Al-Haitham looked at him for a moment before conceding. “If you insist.”

“Follow me,” said Kaveh stiffly.

He led Al-Haitham upstairs feeling a little like he didn’t know what to do with his limbs. He headed down the hall and gestured to the master bedroom.

“Here,” said Kaveh. “There’s a bathroom in there, but you can just use mine. I don’t have a spare toothbrush but, um, you can use your finger and my toothpaste?”

“I’ll manage.”

Kaveh went to turn around before he looked back. “Wait, do you want sleep clothes?”

Al-Haitham looked up from where he was pushing the master bedroom’s doors open. “Yes, please.”

“Right, I’ll get that for you.”

Kaveh hurried to his room and dug through his closet for his loosest T-shirt and a comfortable pair of pants. He and Al-Haitham were the same height so the pants were no issue, but Al-Haitham was a little longer horizontally than Kaveh because of his absurd muscles, so Kaveh picked a shirt, whispered a prayer to Lesser Lord Kusanali, and brought it out into the hall. He found Al-Haitham pointedly not brushing his teeth with a finger, but just washing his face in the bathroom.

“Here.” Kaveh held out the clothes. “I hope these fit.”

Al-Haitham looked down at the clothes, up at Kaveh, and then back down at the clothes before he grabbed them. 

“Thanks,” he said before shutting the door.

Kaveh didn’t know why, but he waited for Al-Haitham to finish changing. There was a thrum in his bones that had him worried the clothes wouldn’t fit, or Al-Haitham would decide he wanted to brush his teeth more and Kaveh would have to go hunting for a toothbrush, or that Al-Haitham would decide this break in his routine was a hassle and he really would rather drive home past midnight anyway.

Al-Haitham did none of those things. He just opened the door and Kaveh felt his heart stumble.

“The shirt’s a little tight,” said Al-Haitham. “But this is fine. Thank you.”

The shirt was more than a little tight, but Kaveh wasn’t going to say that out loud. Instead, he realized, embarrassingly, that his mouth was open and quickly shut it.

“No problem,” he choked out.

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow at him.

“Um, let me know if you need anything else.” Kaveh took a step back. “You know where my room is.” He took another step back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kaveh.” Al-Haitham’s voice went softer in the dark. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Of course, thought Kaveh as he walked away. It was the least he could do. It was the most selfish thing he could do. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was ridiculously, deliriously, wretchedly happy that he got to keep Al-Haitham a little longer.

-

And so began the more tenuous routine of Al-Haitham staying at the house when their hanging out went too late in the evening—he didn’t stay every night, but happened enough that it got to the point where Kaveh would go pick up Kasra on Fridays and say, “See you at home,” to Al-Haitham. And then Al-Haitham would come after wrapping up his after school duties with another bag of ingredients and a new recipe to try.

Kasra loved it, loved all these home cooked meals and, of course, spending time with his favorite teacher ever, Mr. Al-Haitham. Most of the time, Al-Haitham would cook most of the dish while Kaveh would assist with the chopping or scrolling to the next step of the recipe. 

This time, Kaveh wanted to try cooking Faranak’s classic ghormeh sabzi—an herb stew that she used to make him all the time as a child. It’d been his favorite dish, but because of life (moving out) and its adventures (Faranak moving out), he hadn’t had it as of late.

A few days ago, during their weekly call with Faranak, Kasra had seemed particularly melancholy. It took Kaveh far too long to realize that Kasra missed her, though he blamed it on the sleep deprivation. Kaveh missed Faranak too, like a bone-deep bruise. It felt like being eighteen again and freshly moved into his dorms at the Akademiya, all the excitement of a new life mixing with the sheer terror of being alone, alone, alone. There were times in the day when he’d spill coffee on his shirt or break a pot or get a new tax document he didn’t know how to fill out and he would just wish so badly that Faranak was a car drive away and not a whole country apart, but Kaveh was an adult and he needed to pull himself together. He was twenty-eight and he damn well should have figured it out by now.

But Kasra was still a child without his mother. So, Kaveh took it upon himself to ask Faranak for her ghormeh sabzi recipe and study it painstakingly while cooking it that night for Al-Haitham and Kasra. This was as much for Kaveh as it was for Kasra.

“I’ve got it tonight,” Kaveh had said. “Just keep Kasra entertained.”

Al-Haitham had looked at him suspiciously, but obeyed.

Kaveh had half planned to video call Faranak while cooking just to make sure that he was doing everything right, but she was working a late night at the office so he couldn’t reach her even if he wanted to. But that was fine, Kaveh was an adult and he could figure it out himself.

He measured all the spices, sliced up the herbs, stewed the meat to perfection. He tried it after cooking it and it tasted just like home which was how he knew it was perfect.

“Dinner’s ready!” He called, still pulling his apron off.

Kasra and Al-Haitham stepped into the kitchen shortly after while Kaveh was still spooning the ghormeh sabzi into bowls. He set the first one down in front of Kasra and tried to curb his excitement.

“Do you recognize this, Kasra?” asked Kaveh.

Kasra looked at him, confused. “No…?”

Kaveh tried not to frown. “Oh, okay. Try it then, maybe you’ll recognize it then.”

“Okay.” Kasra lifted the spoon and took a little sip. “Ooh!”

“Do you recognize it?” asked Kaveh eagerly.

“No,” said Kasra. “But it’s really yummy! Thank you, Kaveh!”

Kaveh burst into tears.

“Kaveh?” Kasra dropped his spoon in alarm. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s Mom’s ghormeh sabzi,” said Kaveh, a little pleadingly. “It’s her—she makes it all the time—”

“I don’t know what this is.” Kasra started to sound a little distressed. “I don’t think she’s made it for me before.”

“What?” What did he mean Faranak hadn’t made it for him before? Her ghormeh sabzi. The thing she’d made Kaveh all the time. Surely she made it for Kasra, too, unless that was another part of her life she’d dropped once Kaveh had moved out and found Antoine instead.

“I’m sorry.” Kasra began to shake. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Kasra, you—” 

“Kaveh.” 

He felt a warm pair of hands grabbing his shoulders. He turned to find Al-Haitham looking at him.

“Maybe you should step away for a second,” Al-Haitham said calmly.

Kaveh flushed with embarrassment. “Right.” He took a step back. “Right. Kasra, I’m—I’m sorry.”

Kasra opened his mouth but Al-Haitham stepped between them.

“Why don’t we give Kaveh some time to calm down?” Al-Haitham was speaking to Kasra more than Kaveh. “We can go play in your room for a little bit.”

“Okay,” said Kasra, voice shaky.

“Come on.” Al-Haitham reached out his hand and Kasra took it. Kaveh sunk to the floor of the kitchen as they walked around him.

He sat on the floor, feeling cold and empty and so terribly guilty. He’d done it again. He’d let his emotions get the better of him. He’d cried and scared someone. He’d done it to his little brother. He felt like the shitstain on the bottom of a shoe and wanted to curl up on the floor of the kitchen, though maybe even that would be too good for him.

Kaveh didn’t know how much time had passed when Al-Haitham returned, only that he was sitting on the floor and hugging his knees when someone warm and smelling of dry erase marker knelt in front of him.

“Kaveh, what happened?’ Al-Haitham’s voice wasn’t accusatory, just quiet.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Let’s try again.” Al-Haitham shifted so he was sitting cross-legged. He held out his open palms as an invitation, and Kaveh took them. “Why did you have that reaction when Kasra didn’t recognize your mom’s stew?’

Kaveh sucked in a breath. “I—I made it because we’re both missing Mom. I thought—I don’t know, he would taste it and it would make him feel better. But he said he never had it before.”

“And why did that distress you?”

Kaveh swallowed a hard lump in his throat. “My mom—she made it for me all the time when I was younger. So I just, I thought—it’d be the same. With Kasra. But it’s not.”

Al-Haitham was silent.

“Say something, please.” Kaveh felt like he was choking.

“I’m…not quite sure I’m connecting the dots. I have an idea, but I’d like you to say it. So I don’t misunderstand.”

Kaveh sucked in a breath. “I just—I love my mom, and I love Kasra so much, and Antoine is a fantastic guy, but they all came after I moved out to go to the Akademiya. Like, when I left, my mom was depressed because my father had passed away—which I don’t blame her for! I was sad, too! But when I saw her again, there was this new guy and he was nice but I didn’t know him at all. And then a few years later, she’s pregnant and suddenly I have a little brother. And I love Kasra so much, but sometimes it felt weird watching my mom start over with a new family without me. Like—what else is different here? What else of me has she forgotten?”

Al-Haitham rubbed his thumbs along the backs of his hands. “You feel like she’s forgotten you?”

“No. Just—” Kaveh swallowed. “The life we had with my father. The stew—I thought surely she must have cooked it for him, too, the way she did with me. But she didn’t. I know things change, but I just—” He choked again.

“I see—”

“And then I blew up at Kasra!” Kaveh pulled his hands away and buried his face in his hands. “Gods, I’m a terrible fucking brother.”

“You are not.”

“Yes, I am!” Kaveh gestured to the dining table. “Did you not just see my epic meltdown in front of my five-year-old brother? Gods, I’m supposed to be taking care of him. I’m supposed to be the adult, but I can’t—I’m still crying like a child.”

Al-Haitham grabbed his wrists, pulling them down from the air. “You’re an adult. But that doesn’t mean you’re perfect.”

Kaveh twisted his wrists inside Al-Haitham’s hands. The grip was loose, loose enough that he could break out of it easily if he could—Al-Haitham was giving him the choice, but he found that he didn’t want to. It was nice being held.

“I fucked up,” said Kaveh.

“That’s normal.”

“I think I traumatized Kasra for life.”

“You did not,” said Al-Haitham flatly.

“Gods.” Kaveh buried his face in his hands again, pulling Al-Haitham’s hands up with him.

There was a beat of silence, long enough that he could hear the sound of the air vents above his labored breathing again. He sucked in a breath and tried to breathe through the tidal wave of shame passing through him.

“I don’t know your mother the way you do,” said Al-Haitham. “But I don’t think she’d want you feeling this way. She seems too kind for that.”

“How do you know?” Kaveh half-laughed.

“She raised you,” said Al-Haitham. 

Kaveh made an ugly choked noise: half-laugh, half-sob. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m serious.” Al-Haitham gently pulled his wrists down. “I may not know your mother, but I don’t think she forgot the life she had before Kasra. Clearly, you are still part of it and there are photos of your father everywhere.”

“Then why didn’t she ever make the ghormeh sabzi for Kasra? Why did so much change after I left?”

“Timing,” said Al-Haitham. “Though, that is speculation on my part, of course. She happened to meet Antoine after you went to the Akademiya, she happened to get this job offer in Fontaine before she had a real chance to raise Kasra. Maybe she would have made the stew for him if she had time, but she was called to Fontaine, right?”

Kaveh nodded slowly.

“Whatever the specific reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that she trusted you enough to care for Kasra in her stead, including making the stew for him where she could not.”

Kaveh felt a weight release in him. “Oh my gods, I’m so stupid.”

“You are not.”

“I am.” Kaveh pulled his wrists out. “Where’s—is Kasra okay?”

“Kasra’s fine.” Al-Haitham sat back so their knees weren’t overlapping. “A little confused, though. I don’t think he’s ever seen you cry before.”

Kaveh snorted. “For a reason.”

Al-Haitham gave him a look that said, That’s not funny.

What he said out loud was, “Do you feel calm enough to talk to him now?”

Kaveh sucked in a breath. “Yeah.” 

Al-Haitham held out a hand. “Shall we?”

Kaveh took it, feeling the warmth of his palm—callused at the pads, writing bump on his index finger. He had the sudden and all-consuming urge to thread their fingers together, but clamped down on it.

Why?

Al-Haitham yanked him to his feet. Kaveh stumbled forward, nearly knocking their chests together, but Al-Haitham caught him by the shoulders.

“I wasn’t ready,” said Kaveh.

“What else did you think I was going to do?” Al-Haitham snorted and let go over him. Kaveh missed the warmth immediately.

Al-Haitham led him upstairs to Kasra’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and when Kaveh angled himself just right, he could see Kasra aimlessly stacking blocks on the carpeted floor. He didn’t look…too dejected, but he did move with a little more emptiness than before.

Was this…the first time Kasra had ever seen him upset? It made sense, considering how little Kaveh was home before, and how much he tried to hold it together. But of course, Kaveh had an epic meltdown in front of his brother over stew.

Kaveh swallowed, casting a nervous glance at Al-Haitham.

Go on, he mouthed.

Kaveh tugged him back an inch. His fingers were cold, but they warmed against Al-Haitham’s forearm.

“What do I say?” he murmured.

“Tell him what you told me,” said Al-Haitham simply.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Kaveh buried his face in his hands. “He’ll find out just how pathetic I am. I don’t know if he’ll get it.”

“Children are smarter than we think they are,” said Al-Haitham. “He’s your brother. He knows you aren’t perfect.”

Kaveh sucked in a breath.

“Go,” said Al-Haitham. “I’ll be out here to give you some privacy.”

Gods, what Kaveh wouldn’t give for Al-Haitham to be nosier. But this was something he had to do alone. Besides, he was talking to his little brother, whom he loved, who loved him back—not some beast in a cave.

Kaveh approached. He took a quiet, rattling breath and knocked on the door frame.

“Kasra?”

Kasra startled, dropping his blocks and knocking his little structure over.

“Sorry.” Kaveh stumbled. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Kasra quietly.

“Can I come in?” he tried.

Kasra lifted his head and cast him a single fleeting glance. Then, he looked back down at his blocks and started to stack them again. “Sure.”

His voice sounded so hollow it made Kaveh want to jump out the window, but that would probably traumatize Kasra more. So he stepped inside and shut the door.

Just the two of them. Alone.

Kaveh knelt down. “What are you building?”

Kasra glanced at him again before forcing his gaze back.

Alright then.

“Hey,” said Kaveh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Kasra, far too quickly.

Kaveh paused. “It’s okay if you don’t forgive me, too.” He exhaled. “I…I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It’s not your fault that—that Mom—” He clenched his fists. “Anyway. You’re allowed to be upset. That wasn’t fair of me to do that to you.”

Kasra continued stacking the blocks aimlessly. There seemed to be three distinct structures, but he couldn’t quite tell what Kasra was doing just yet.

Kaveh sat back. “I know you miss, Mom. I miss her, too, which was why I tried making that stew for you because she made it for me all the time. Whenever I’d make it while I was living by myself, it’d remind me of being home and it’d remind me of her.” He picked up a block and turned it over in his fingers. “I thought it would remind you of her, too.”

Kasra stacked another block at the northmost structure. It went from a wide base to a tapered top, like a little triangle.

“It didn’t, though, because she hadn’t made it for you yet because of—” He swallowed. “Fontaine. And, I freaked out on you because of it. And that wasn’t fair to you.”

“It wasn’t,” Kasra agreed quietly.

Kaveh’s heart clenched. 

“You’re right.” Kaveh leaned forward. “Can I put this block here?”

Kasra hesitated, then shook his head, pointing to another spot. When Kaveh set it down, Kasra picked it up and rotated it so it stood upright like a pillar. He must have a vision if he wanted Kaveh to place it somewhere—of what, was the question.

“I’m sorry,” said Kaveh again. “It’s been a long week and I know I always say that and I know it always seems like I have long weeks, but I do. But that doesn’t mean I still get to freak out on you. My stress is not your fault, so I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. And even if it was your fault, you still deserve to be treated kinder.”

Kasra stacked another block. If Kaveh squinted, he thought he could almost see some kind of method to the madness.

“I think a lot about Mom a lot, and my dad, too, but you’ve never met him.” And you never will. “I think a lot about growing up with the both of them around. They made this house feel really warm and wonderful and I want you to feel that way, too.”

He almost wanted to ask, but he didn’t know what he would do if Kasra said no.

“Mom was always really busy, like I am now, but at least I had my dad, though.” Kaveh swallowed. “But you only have me. I’m sorry I can’t be better for you.”

“You are good enough!” Kasra suddenly burst, dropping his block. “You—”

He cut off, tears welling in his eyes. Kasra clamped his mouth shut and turned around.

“Kasra…”

“You’re making me feel bad,” said Kasra.

“I’m sorry—” Kaveh blinked. “I didn’t mean to. I—”

“I already said it’s okay.” Kasra muttered. “But you didn’t believe me. That makes me feel bad.”

“I’m sorry.” Kaveh swallowed. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. You’re right. You said it was okay so I should have believed you.”

“I’m happy,” said Kasra resolutely. “With you and Mr. Al-Haitham. I miss Mommy, but it’s okay. We call her. Like you said.”

Then Kasra slammed the last block down and sat back.

Kaveh blinked. He didn’t know why it took him so long to realize it—considering he’d spent hours and hours pouring over the layout, stayed at it until his eyes felt wet with blood instead of tears, erased countlessly and sketched countlessly and then stood in the center of the blank canvas of the valley, directing builders and decorators and everything—but he realized now what Kasra was building with his blocks.

It was the Palace of Alcazarzaray in block form, blocks outlining the pathways, the slope of the roof of the palace, the bridge connecting the gazebo and the fountain, the shape of it, the curves hardened by the edges Alcazarzaray with all the details abstracted away by the building blocks—but Alcazarzaray nonetheless.

“Is…is this…?”

“Mr. Al-Haitham said to try building something that would make me feel better, so I tried to make Alcazarzaray,” said Kaveh, producing something from his side. “But I had to look up a picture. Mr. Al-Haitham gave me his phone.”

It was Al-Haitham’s phone wrapped in its plain dark green case. The screen was on and bright, and on it was a bird’s eye view of Alcazarzaray.

“Holy shit,” said Kaveh.

“Language!”

Fuck. Gods. Fuck, this fudging kid. Kaveh really did luck out.

“Can I hug you?” asked Kaveh, heart trembling in his throat.

Kasra glanced at him. “I guess.” If you squinted, you could see the faintest smile pressing at the corner of his mouth.

Kaveh learned forward and snatched him up. Kasra clambered into his lap and used it as leverage to throw his little arms around Kaveh’s neck. It almost felt like he was choking with how short Kasra’s arms were, but Kaveh didn’t mind, not with how warm Kasra was, not with the weight of his legs in his lap. He buried his face in Kasra’s hair—a little long, a little like Kaveh’s—and breathed in the watermelon smell of the children’s shampoo he used as he wrapped his arms around his neck, almost chokingly with how short his arms were, but Kaveh didn’t mind. Kaveh didn’t care one fucking bit.

“Thank you,” said Kaveh.

“For what?”

Kaveh didn’t respond because he didn’t quite know the answer, but Kasra didn’t seem to mind the hanging question. He just nestled his head deeper into Kaveh’s shoulder, and for a moment he felt a little less unstable, a little less uncertain, like perhaps maybe he was doing something right.

-

Kaveh put Kasra shortly to bed after because they’d both eaten and it was late and crying was an even better energy sapper than any amount of melatonin. Al-Haitham came in after Kaveh opened the door to grab some water.

“All good?” he asked.

Kaveh nodded. “All good. I was gonna read Kasra something before bed, but I mean, my throat’s kinda wrecked. Maybe you could start—?”

“I got it,” said Al-Haitham wryly.

Kaveh grinned. “Thank you.”

They switched: Al-Haitham taking the chair near the bed Kaveh had set up, and Kaveh walking downstairs to get some water in him after he’d cried so much of it out. He stood in the kitchen, bracing his hands against the counter, as he downed a whole glass of water in ten seconds before he felt brave enough to go back upstairs. 

He found Al-Haitham emerging from Kasra’s room, phone in hand. Before Al-Haitham closed the door, Kaveh managed to catch a glimpse of the closed storybook resting on the chair where he’d been sitting.

“He fell asleep in two minutes,” said Al-Haitham. “I barely got five pages into the picture book.”

Kaveh felt a strange tinge of regret at having missed the sound of Al-Haitham’s storytelling voice. 

“Ah,” said Kaveh, swallowing. 

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing, just—tired.”

Al-Haitham nodded like he understood. And maybe he did, far more than Kaveh ever gave him credit for.

“Are you staying the night?”

“I can,” said Al-Haitham. “Do you want me to?”

He did. He really did. The sheer want of it pulled swelled like a tidal wave so strong it threatened to knock him over. What is going on?

Kaveh said, “Do you want to?”

“It’s your house.”

“But you’re the guest.”

Al-Haitham looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching. “Sure.”

Kaveh nearly sagged in relief. “Cool. I’ll get you clothes to borrow.”

“Okay.”

Al-Haitham followed Kaveh back to his room. He felt it acutely when Al-Haitham crossed the threshold to his room, like he’d passed through a barrier. Al-Haitham had been in his room before, this wasn’t new, but something else was different. What was it?

Kaveh wandered over to his closet to dig through his clothes. All the other times Al-Haitham had stayed the night, he’d had trouble finding a shirt that fit Al-Haitham. Tonight, he had the strangest sense that he wouldn’t survive seeing Al-Haitham in a skintight T-shirt, so he did his damndest to find his largest shirt.

“What’s taking so long?” Al-Haitham muttered.

“Can you chill?” Kaveh turned around to glare at him only to find his brain short-circuiting instead.

Al-Haitham wasn’t doing anything special, just sitting on Kaveh’s bed while scrolling through his phone. He wasn’t even looking at Kaveh—just sitting on his fucking bed. Sitting on his childhood bed in Kaveh’s childhood bedroom, had just spent the evening playing with Kasra while Kaveh cooked them both dinner. Had come here weekend after weekend with grocery bags in hand to watch bad T.V. shows and trying not to let Kasra hear the swear words while he played with his blocks on the ground and cook dinner afterward. 

All through the night, when Kaveh first freaked out, he’d brought Kasra upstairs, distracted him with his blocks and gave Kasra his phone to have a reference of Alcazarzaray, which Kasra had used to calm down— trying to recreate Kaveh’s magnum opus as a way to feel better. Then Al-Haitham had come to talk to Kaveh, had told him his mother seemed kind, because She raised you. Had told him Faranak trusted him to care for Kasra, including making the stew for him where she could not.

What was it that Kasra had said? I’m happy with you and Mr. Al-Haitham. The both of them. Al-Haitham had slotted himself into their life so easily it was almost frightening—except, that wasn’t it either. Al-Haitham hadn’t slotted himself in—Kaveh had dragged him in, kept asking and inviting and pulling until Al-Haitham had stepped toward him, had come to the house and leaned into Kaveh’s shoulder while they watched bad shows and tried not to let Kasra hear the bad words. And he’d been kind about it, had come so easily for how terrible Kaveh had once treated him.

The guilt came again, swirling like the coming of a storm. But above the crackling, above the thunderhead, there was the frightening, catastrophic feeling that Kaveh wanted him to stay. Not just for the night, but for longer. Maybe forever.

“What?” Al-Haitham looked up from his phone and Kaveh finally realized that he’d been silent for the past few minutes.

“I—” Kaveh swallowed thickly. “Do you—”

Do you want to stay? Do you want the bed? Do you want me? 

“Do I…?” Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

Al-Haitham was already so permanent, so perennial, like he’d just entered Kaveh’s life at twenty and never left it no matter how hard Kaveh tried to leave him behind. He was always there at the cafes and at the libraries, no matter how he claimed to dislike people. And he was always there at the bars and the clubs, no matter how he shied away from too many people.

And he was there in Kaveh’s hometown while Kaveh was flitting around Sumeru—flitting around the world—building and ruining himself, over and over like the architect he was. He was there in Kaveh’s phone, texting him, Congratulations when Kaveh graduated and I heard what you did for Alcazarzaray like not quite an olive branch, but more of a foot in the door. Like the open window for a bird, but Kaveh never took it. Not until now. And oh, how he wished he’d gotten to know Al-Haitham sooner. How many years had they lost already?

Fame and prestige, youth and prodigy—all of it was so ephemeral, one beautiful burst of light before fizzling into nothing, But Al-Haitham was the evergreens, steady through the years. Over and over and over. 

I wish I’d known you sooner, Kaveh wanted to say, but he had. He’d met him eight years ago.

I wish I could keep you. But he was. Every time he asked Al-Haitham to stay, he did.

I wish—

What did he want? Where could he start?

“Are you still looking for clothes?” Al-Haitham’s eyes drew down to Kaveh’s empty hands and then back up.

What do I tell you? Kaveh wanted to ask.

“Yes.” Kaveh fidgeted. “I, um, I wanted to say something.”

“Oh?” Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

“I—um.” He scrambled forward. “Can—can I sit down?”

“On your own bed?” Al-Haitham actually looked bewildered.

Kaveh’s face burned. “Yes.” Next to you.

Al-Haitham snorted and it sent a disgusting little thrill down his spine at the thought that he’d made Al-Haitham laugh.

“By all means.” He gestured.

Kaveh tentatively took a seat next to him. 

“What?” Al-Haitham’s voice was so close, Kaveh could feel it rumbling through his shirt. 

Where to start?

“Thank you,” said Kaveh. “For tonight.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Kaveh shoved him. “Fuck off, asshole.”

“Language,” said Al-Haitham, though it was with a smile.

Kaveh returned it. “Kasra isn’t even here.” He leaned back on his hands, heart feeling like it was spiraling into the sky. Like that firework, but one froze right before the boom, the bang. “Thank you for taking care of Kasra while I was a mess. And thank you for taking care of me until I could get my ass up to apologize to him.”

“I hardly did anything.”

Kaveh kicked him this time, just for the excuse to knock their knees together. That part of Al-Haitham, too, was warm.

“It’s not like you to be modest,” said Kaveh.

Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow. “I’m not being modest.”

Somehow, Kaveh believed him. 

“You did. You did a lot.” Kaveh knocked their shoulders together this time. “Shut up. Oh my gods, you’re so insanely kind.”

“Thank you?”

“I never knew.” Kaveh wanted to lean into him and that was a horrifying thought. Would Al-Haitham let him? What did it mean? Somehow, he thought that if he were anchored to some part of Al-Haitham, it would make saying everything so much easier. “I always thought—I just didn’t know. I’m glad I do now.”

“What do you mean?” Al-Haitham wasn’t moving. Al-Haitham was staying right in his space, right where Kaveh wanted him to be.

“I like that I know you now,” said Kaveh. “I wish that I’d known you like this sooner, but I’m glad we reconnected.”

Maybe the touching was a mistake because Kaveh could feel the moment Al-Haitham stiffened.

Al-Haitham didn’t speak. Kaveh cast him a sidelong glance to find that Al-Haitham wasn’t watching him anymore. He’d cast his eyes to the side to watch some random spot on the floor.

Fuck. Maybe he’d said too much.

But since Kaveh didn’t ever learn his lesson, he said, “I mean. I guess it’s weird to say since…since I cut you off.”

Still nothing.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” Kaveh did want to say this at least. “For cutting you off. I—I shouldn’t have—just because you—”

Al-Haitham pulled away. “I get it.” 

Cold fear slashed through Kaveh, sharp enough to cut to the bone. Or maybe it was the furnace of Al-Haitham leaving him, pulling away.

“No, Al-Haitham—”

“I get it.” Al-Haitham stood and started towards the door. “It’s fine.”

“What?” Kaveh stumbled. “What do you get?”

Al-Haitham whirled around. “What did I do? What are you saying you cut me off for?”

His voice was dangerously low. There was definitely a right and wrong answer here, but Kaveh didn’t know how to start.

“The prank,” said Kaveh, trying anyway. “I’m sorry. For cutting you off like that. Even if it was a prank, it didn’t warrant my reaction.”

“Is that why you befriended me? Because you felt bad?” Al-Haitham asked, an edge to his voice. “Whatever you think, I don’t need your pity, Kaveh. I don’t need you to treat me like some project to assuage your eight-year guilt.”

No. That was not it at all. That was not how Kaveh saw him, but the edge to Al-Haitham’s voice only told him that he’d answered wrong.

“Al-Haitham,” he said, a little desperately. “You’re not a pity project—”

Al-Haitham snorted. “I’m not, aren’t I?” He turned. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”

Then he walked out the door.

Kaveh shot to his feet to chase after him. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Al-Haitham reached the front door right at the foot of the stairs.

“What?” Kaveh hurried after him so he could talk without yelling. “Why? What happened to staying over?”

“It wasn’t a prank.” Al-Haitham looked up, foot halfway in his shoe. “It never was. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore, so you can stop pretending like this friendship was out of anything other than pity.”

This was wrong. His bones were screaming.

“Al-Haitham, please, I don’t—”

Al-Haitham grabbed his coat from off the hook and fled out the door, slamming it shut and leaving Kaveh alone in the empty house as the last soul awake.

What happened to staying?

As Kaveh stood in the empty foyer, Al-Haitham’s words echoed through his head. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. And the dread came creeping in, the horrible, ineffable feeling that Kaveh was far, far too late.

-

Once, during Kaveh’s senior year, close to spring semester finals, the group had decided to go bar hopping. It’d been Friday, prime “going out” hour, and the night had been warm—the kind of warm that invited adventure, and with spring just peering over the horizon, calling all the restless souls winter had created, Kaveh and his friends took the opportunity to dive out of Tighnari’s apartment and spill haphazardly onto the streets.

“Thank the Archons, it's so nice out,” Kaveh had remarked in front of the apartment, still a little stir-crazy from studying in the architecture library for twelve hours straight the other day.

“Hope it stays this way,” muttered Dehya. “I did not bring a jacket.”

“You can use mine!” Nilou offered sweetly.

Al-Haitham had joined them again to the absolute bafflement of Kaveh. He knew Al-Haitham didn’t like clubs or parties or crowds, knew that he’d probably prefer spending the night reading articles on his phone or just reading an honest-to-god textbook, but he was out here with them. While the rest of them were getting drunk on the night air and alcohol, Al-Haitham was stony and sober.

Somewhere between the third and fourth bar they visited, Kaveh threw his arm around Al-Haitham’s shoulder and tugged him close.

“Why are you still sober?” he slurred. 

Al-Haitham wrinkled his nose and tried to pull away. “I don’t see a point in social drinking if I don’t want to.”

“Didn’t say you had to.” Kaveh tugged him closer and he felt Al-Haitham go rigid under his arm. “Just wondering. Why are you still here if you didn’t want to drink or talk or socialize?”

Al-Haitham cast a glance at him, wary under the streetlight. “No one said anything about me not socializing.”

“No?” Kaveh peered at him, leaning forward until he could feel the sharp intake of air from Al-Haitham’s nose. “Then why haven’t you said anything to me?”

Al-Haitham ducked and stepped out of his arm. “You’re too drunk already.”

Kaveh scoffed. “I am not! You’re—”

“Shhh.” Tighnari whirled around. “Don’t yell. We’re in public.”

“Please, Mom, I’m not disturbing the peace on Friday.”

“Don’t call me ‘Mom.’” grumbled Tighnari.

“Mommy?” tried Cyno.

Kaveh burst out laughing, everything a little soupier with the several vodka shots circulating through his bloodstream. It was a completely disproportionate reaction for the joke that was made, but it still had him doubling over and clutching a wall and laughing, buzzing, sucking in air just to keep himself conscious.

“Not that either,” Tighnari hissed, ears pulled back.

Cyno grinned looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Kaveh finally sucked in enough air to straighten and he found Al-Haitham watching him. It must have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn that there was a smile on his face.

“What?” Kaveh snapped.

The smile—or what was left of it—dropped. “Nothing.

Then, Al-Haitham turned around and kept walking.

When they entered the next bar, they scattered to their various spots: Kaveh to the bar to buy a drink, Nilou and Dehya to the dance floor, and the rest to find a table. As he stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice him, he felt unease still churning in his stomach.

It wasn’t like Al-Haitham hadn’t been completely sober at these kinds of gatherings before. Kaveh often caught Al-Haitham off to the side, on his phone, sipping water, not partaking in any of the festivities and shit and it made him mad. But come on, to be sober tonight, too? What was the point of being here if he wasn’t talking to anyone? Kaveh wanted to tell him to just leave, but then Al-Haitham had said he was socializing. What the hell did that mean?

The bartender was still preoccupied so Kaveh took the moment to look around. He spotted Al-Haitham actually talking to Candace at the tables. He was nodding his head, gesturing with his hand—what was he saying? And then the most insane thing—Candace laughed.

“What the fuck?” muttered Kaveh. What was Al-Haitham saying? What did everyone else see in him? What was Kaveh missing?

“How can I help you?”

Kaveh whirled around to find the bartender finally available. 

“Ah,” said Kaveh. “What’s your strongest drink?”

One strong drink and a few lost bills later, Kaveh was stumbling toward the tables where his friends were sitting. That strong drink definitely had much more of a kick to it than he’d expected, but it was just what he needed. It made him feel light, airy, like nothing really mattered.

“Hi, guys!” Kaveh slammed his hands down on the table right in between Al-Haitham and Cyno.

Dunyarzad jumped for a moment before relaxing. “Oh…oh dear, Kaveh. How much have you had to drink?”

Kaveh pulled up a chair and plopped down into it. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dunyarzad laughed nervously. “Oh, I’ll worry about it.”

“One!” He burst. “One, don’t worry. Just the one thing they gave me. It’s fine.” He jerked a thumb at Al-Haitham. “You should worry about the sober guy who chose to be around drunk people all night instead.”

He saw Al-Haitham pull away out of the corner of his eye. “Why?”

“It’s weird,” said Kaveh. “You don’t even like us.”

“Where did you get that idea?” 

“Kaveh, that’s not true,” said Dunyarzad gently. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t like us.”

“Oh, so you just don’t like me,” said Kaveh.

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” Al-Haitham sighed, sounding exceptionally tired.

“You don’t hang around me.”

“Because you always antagonize me.”

That shut him up. Even drunk out of his mind, Kaveh at least had the sense to know that this was true. “No…..um.”

“Take this somewhere else, please,” Tighnari said wearily. “Go get your one-on-one time now. I don’t care. Just don’t do it in front of me.”

“Fine.” Kaveh stood. “Al-Haitham, come dance with me.”

Al-Haitham eyed him warily.

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a trick question.”

“...fine.”

Al-Haitham stood.

“Good luck,” Candace whispered, tapping Al-Haitham’s shoulder.

Kaveh furrowed his eyebrows. “Good luck on what?”

“Nothing.” Al-Haitham stalked past.

“What?” Kaveh followed. “No, it wasn’t. What was that about?”

“She was just saying it,” said Al-Haitham. Then, “Are you sure you haven’t had enough to drink?”

“Oh!”

And so, instead of going to the dance floor, Kaveh and Al-Haitham detoured back to the bar. And Kaveh had forgotten to ask again because he bought himself a drink and became entirely too drunk.

“There,” said Al-Haitham, satisfied.

“I don’t get why you’re here.”

Al-Haitham blinked. “What?”

“Why are you here?” asked Kaveh.

“Why does it matter?”

Why did it matter? Kaveh couldn’t quite tell. He couldn’t fathom the idea that Al-Haitham actually liked them, then what did it mean for Kaveh? All of his dislike of Al-Haitham and perhaps it had been unfounded. Why was he here? And sober, too. Did that mean Al-Haitham really liked their company?

“Will you drink if I buy you something?” Kaveh blurted.

Al-Haitham blinked. “You’d buy me something?”

“Yes,” said Kaveh. “Why not?”

“Ah, well. Don’t give me the wrong idea.”

Kaveh faltered. Al-Haitham must be joking because that sounded almost flirtatious, except Al-Haitham didn’t have a flirtatious bone in his body.

“Why would I give you the wrong idea?” asked Kaveh.

Al-Haitham furrowed his eyebrows, quiet and confused and Kaveh suddenly thought of the library. The time in the library with the yellow lights and the quiet dusk and the murmur of pages, keyboard clicks, and Al-Haitham—only Al-Haitham. Everyone gone and only Al-Haitham across the table, their legs bumping each other under the table, the heat of his knee—

“Oh, get over it.” Kaveh sighed. “I’m over it.”

Al-Haitham frowned. “You are?”

“Yeah, it’s whatever. I still don’t get why you said it, but in the spirit of my graduating soon, let your senior buy you something.”

“I…”

Kaveh leaned forward—it was alarmingly easy—close enough that their noses could have bumped if he let himself fall a little more forward, but he didn’t. He hovered.

“Come on.” Kaveh let the corner of his mouth lift.

Al-Haitham looked down then up, none of the uncertainty leaving him.

“Sure.”

Kaveh bought him a drink, and maybe that was the gateway drink because then Al-Haitham got another drink all by himself. And then another. And then another. And then Al-Haitham, too, was roaring drunk and a little lopsided. Some girl bought him a drink and slipped her number underneath the glass. Al-Haitham took neither drink nor number, but Kaveh was still pissed off regardless.

“What the hell? Why hasn’t anyone bought me a drink?” Kaveh complained.

“I’ll buy you one,” said Al-Haitham.

“Ha.” Kaveh laughed like it was a joke, because since it was Al-Haitham, it most certainly was.

The alcohol made the night funnier, lighter, nothing mattered and nothing meant anything. Everything felt so inconsequential and soupy that he felt like he could do anything and it would leave no mark. He did end up dancing with Al-Haitham, holding his wrists and trying to make him twist with the music. Al-Haitham did not—only moved limply with Kaveh’s movements.

Later, they found Nilou and Dehya swaying to the music. Later, Tighnari and the others wandered away from their table and found Al-Haitham still unable to detach Kaveh from his wrists. Kaveh had ignored the bewildered look on Tighnari’s face and focused on trying to make sense of Al-Haitham.

Later, the whirlwind slowed to a stop. Kaveh didn’t know how he got there, but he was on the floor and someone’s head was on his shoulder. Warm, still. Kaveh turned his head to find Al-Haitham there. Somehow, he didn’t mind.

“Hey,” said Kaveh, voice low. “Are you good?”

Al-Haitham’s cheek was smushed all the way into his shoulder. Kaveh could feel his jaw moving when Al-Haitham murmured, “It wasn’t a prank.”

Kaveh leaned down. “What was that?”

Al-Haitham buried his face deeper into Kaveh’s shoulder and fell asleep.

He must have imagined it, or maybe it was the old fear again. Drunk Kaveh imagined what it would like to believe that. Drunk Kaveh imagined a strange world were it were true. What would he lose—the years of antagonism for nothing? Had it all been in his head?

Perhaps, it would be better  to pretend he hadn’t lost at all—the fear of knowing, the fear of fucking up, the fear of sweeping it under the rug like he hadn’t made the whole thing up. There was no way it would be true because if it were, then he really had been a horrible, horrible person.

But only Drunk Kaveh wondered this. When he woke in the morning, sober and severely hungover, the night had flown out of his head like a desperate bird and he found that he couldn’t remember a thing.

-

A few days passed in palpable, agonizing silence. No texts from Al-Haitham, no calls, no nothing. Even when Kaveh went to pick Kasra up from kindergarten, he found that Al-Haitham wasn’t at his usual post outside.

“Why isn’t Al-Haitham watching you guys anymore?” Kaveh asked tentatively.

“He’s watching from his window,” said Kasra simply. “He said the air made him itchy.”

Which was bullshit, because in college, Al-Haitham had always bragged (or rather, remarked objectively) that he had no allergies. Which meant he absolutely was avoiding Kaveh on purpose.

It made him feel restless and confused and itchy as Al-Haitham’s skin would be if he weren’t fudging lying—that yawning mouth of despair threatening to swallow him whole. Kaveh wanted to text Al-Haitham, but didn’t know what to say. Worse was the idea of sending a text and getting no response at all.

You don’t have to worry about it anymore, Al-Haitham had said. Don’t worry about the prank. Don’t worry about his feelings.

I was too late. Imagine if he’d realized sooner. What would that look like? More shoulders, more of Al-Haitham’s furnace-like warmth, more of his eyes and his hands and all the mundane things he’d taken for granted—all of it, now lost. Yawning mouth of despair. Et cetera.

To make matters worse, things at home weren’t quite the same either. Kaveh had thought he and Kasra made up, except Kasra started being shifty, secretive. He imagined that this was what Faranak must have felt like the moment Kaveh turned thirteen: little child thing suddenly growing so fast, so rapidly it passed in a blink and you suddenly didn’t know all that went on in their head anymore. Except Kasra was five! What the fuck! What secrets could he possibly have?

The only event he could chalk up the difference to was the stew thing. Kaveh had thought they’d made up but…

Kaveh would walk into the kitchen where Kasra usually did his kindergarten homework. Sometimes Kasra wouldn’t hear his footsteps, sometimes he would, but whenever Kasra realized Kaveh was standing behind him, he’d gather up his items and start out of the kitchen.

“Hey kid, where are you going?” Kaveh would ask.

“Room!” Kasra called.

“Why?”

Kasra wouldn’t answer, already halfway up the stairs and away. It felt like Kasra was avoiding him, too.

He couldn’t ask Al-Haitham about it because they weren’t talking. And he couldn’t tell Faranak because he didn’t want to show that her son was an even greater failure than he already was. 

Maybe he had fucked everything up for good. Maybe nothing good was meant to last for him.

Kaveh was in the office late at night again—because he still had work and not because he wanted to avoid being in a place he’d spent so much time with Al-Haitham—slaving away at the design documentation for a new project coming up in a month when his phone buzzed.

It was embarrassing, but he dropped his computer mouse and snatched his phone up immediately. But there were no texts on his phone, just a single email with the subject, Sign Up Now for Parent-Teacher Conferences: Your Child’s Progress Matters!

He didn’t know what came over him, but he suddenly found himself pulling up Al-Haitham’s contact in his phone—their last message to each other from over five days ago, when just those five days ago, they used to text every hour.

You

hey, can we talk?

There was a long pause. Long enough that Kaveh started to feel stupid for expecting a response from Al-Haitham at all when ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Al-Haitham

If this is regarding Kasra, then please wait for the parent teacher conference.

You

for fuck’s sake, Al-Haitham, clearly this is not about Kasra.

can we talk?

Al-Haitham

I just sent the email. Please choose one of the allotted time slots.

You

Al-Haitham holy fuck you can’t be serious

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham???

Kaveh waited another ten minutes for an answer but got none. That sense of despair yawned over again—the idea that he’d fucked it all up because he didn’t know how to keep good things for himself. He wanted to scream, cry, call his mom and ask for help, but he was in the office so he couldn’t. He had to pull his big boy pants up and keep going.

So, he opened the parent teacher conference email and clicked on the link. And when he signed up for the last possible time slot—just so he could put off seeing Al-Haitham for as long as possible—he felt like a coward.

It really felt like one of the archons had made a doll of his fate and decided to spit on it, over and over—maybe kick the thing a little, shake it upside down—because at that moment, Kaveh’s phone lit up with Faranak’s contact photo.

“Fuck,” he muttered, because no one else was in the office around him. Then, he plastered on his best smile and answered. “Hi, Mom!”

She saw right through him immediately. “Are you okay, Kaveh?”

“Ha, fine.” Kaveh forced out a laugh, then winced because it sounded false even to his delusions. “Um—”

“Are you still in the office?”

“Yes.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

“Mom,” whined Kaveh like he was a teenager again. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Clearly there is,” said Faranak. “You always used to work late in college when you were worried about something.”

He hated that she knew him so well. But it was also a relief, in a way, that he didn’t have to explain.

“Well,” he started, then stopped. Then opened his mouth. “I—”

“No need to rush, my love,” Faranak said gently. “I can wait. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

Kaveh bit back a cry. He logged out of his computer, stood up, then packed his work bag before walking out of the office and out to his car in the parking lot. He slid into his car, propped his phone up on the dashboard, and promptly began to cry.

“I’m a failure,” Kaveh sobbed.

“Oh!” Faranak’s eyes widened. “My love, no you are not.”

“I can’t keep anything good,” Kaveh cried, feeling alone and eighteen-years-old again, freshly entering college and crying at the sheer overwhelming freedom of living far from home—and how much it frightened him. That no one was watching him, that no one had his back, that every mistake he made was his own. He felt naked like a baby again, so terribly confused but without the reassurance that he would learn. He’d forgotten how to learn, everyone expected him to know, but he didn’t know and he didn’t know how to find out and the world was running far too fast for him.

“Kaveh, what does that mean?”

“I’m a coward.” Kaveh sucked in a breath. “Everything I try to do—everything good that happens to me—I fuck it all up and I ruin it and I don’t know if I was meant to create things when I’m better are ruining everything.”

He buried his face in his hands. He wanted to scream. His cheeks hurt and all he could taste was salt, slipping through his fingers and into his mouth and all over his shirt. He felt so much like a child it scared him—that he could go through so much and grow up so much but still regress back to this when his mom was on the phone.

“Kaveh…” Faranak’s voice was soft, warm. Just the sound of it felt like a hug through the phone. “You are none of those things.”

“I am.” Kaveh wiped furiously at his eyes.

“Kaveh,” said Faranak, a little firmer. “What happened tonight?”

“Not tonight,” said Kaveh shakily. “Well. Not all tonight. It started a few days ago, but I got this email tonight about parent teacher conferences—and I tried texting Al-Haitham, but he wouldn’t talk to me and I felt horrible because we used to talk all the time—not in college. I mean, after college before now, we—”

“Slow down, my love. You’re not making sense.”

“We weren’t friends in college.” That much he could say. We only started talking this year when I found out he was Kasra’s kindergarten teacher. He—he said something to me in college, but I thought it was a joke. And I brought it up again and he thought I was just being friends with him out of pity and—maybe it started that way? Maybe I felt bad watching all the kindergarteners loving him but me not getting it? But then I did get it, and I wanted to—I wanted—”

“In and out, Kaveh,” said Faranak gently. “Breathe.”

He wasn’t breathing. He was suffocating. He was gasping like a drowning man, all the salt flooding into his mouth like an ocean, but Faranak reached through, anchoring him gently, telling him to breathe until he settled between the waves.

“In and out,” she said. “Now take a drink of water. Do you have a water bottle?”

Kaveh did. He took a drink. He felt like he was nine four again, scraping his knee on a playground and crying so hard he was gagging because he was a toddler that hadn’t experienced pain like that before. Faranak had come running, had pressed her graceful hand to his little pudgy back. In and out, my love. That’s it. Breathe.

“Are you alright?” 

“Gods.” Kaveh choked out. “That was embarrassing.”

Faranak gave him a flat look, startling a laugh out of him. “Not funny,” she said.

“Kind of funny.” Kaveh wiped his nose. “That was gross. I’m, like, twenty-eight.”

“What, you think you just turn twenty-eight and forget how to cry?” asked Faranak.

“I feel like I should just be better,” said Kaveh. “This college bullshit is following me all the way out here.”

“It isn’t ‘college bullshit’ if this concerns a friend you have in the present.”

Kaveh didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to explain the snarled little knot in their past: the part where he’d called Al-Haitham’s feelings a prank and was mean to him and never believed he was kind. He inhaled, trying to feel the air swell in his lungs, just so he could feel them against his ribs.

“Al-Haitham…your college friend, right?” asked Faranak. 

“Yeah, well.” Kaveh scrubbed another tear away. “He was my friend.”

“I thought you became friends with him recently?”

“Yeah, but then I fucked it up.”

“Kaveh, what do you mean?”

Kaveh looked down at his lap. He rested his phone against the wall, just because his arm was getting tired and he didn’t want Faranak to see his face anymore.

“I just ruined it. I said something stupid and awful. As usual.”

A long moment of silence passed.

Faranak pursed her lips. “Kaveh, is it alright if I ask you something?”

Kaveh sighed. “What is it?” 

“Why did you call yourself a coward?”

Kaveh winced. “Do I have to?”

“Kaveh…” She lowered her voice in warning, scolding in a way that made him feel nostalgic.

He laughed despite himself—a little hiccup in the sea of his pathetic, breathless sobs. “I just…I should have said something earlier, instead of when I did. The timing of it was really bad. And now I don’t know if I can fix it.”

“Do you want to talk about it more specifically? Maybe I can help.”

Gods, if only. Kaveh smiled sadly. “I don’t think this is something you can fix, Mom. I’m sorry.”

She pursed her lips as if she’d expected that answer. “It’s alright, Kaveh.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You know, this is the hardest part about being a parent,” said Faranak. “No matter how old I get, no matter how much ‘wiser’ I get, I can’t fix all of your problems, though I wish I could.”

“I know, Mom. Thank you, though.”

Faranak smiled at him. “No matter what happened, you are still a wonderful man, Kaveh. I’m so proud of how you turned out.”

Kaveh felt his heart caving in. “I miss you so much,” he choked.

“I know, my love.” Faranak smiled, soft and sad. “I miss you, too.”

“I wish you were here.”

“I’ll be on the call as long as you need me.”

She meant it. With his mom on the phone, Kaveh mustered enough energy to start his car and drive home. And when he got back into the house he was raised in, he brought the phone upstairs and fell asleep to the sound of Faranak humming. When he woke, he found her fast asleep on the screen, steady and permanent, as long as she had promised.

-

A week passed, then two, but the secretiveness with Kasra did not lighten up and the parent teacher conference only approached closer. Kaveh came downstairs one morning to find Kasra up early and working on his homework at the dinner table.

“Hey,” said Kaveh softly, trying not to startle him.

“...hi.” Kasra shifted his homework away.

“What are you working on?”

“Homework,” Kasra said curtly.

Kaveh paused.

“Archons, what is Al-Haitham assigning you?” He said lightly. “You’ve been working on this assignment for forever.”

Kasra didn’t respond, only pulled his homework a little tighter under him.

Well, if that wasn’t quite the indication. He chewed his lip before he asked, “Do you want any help?”

“No!” Kasra burst. Then, he flinched and looked up hesitantly. “Um…when will Mr. Al-Haitham come over again?”

Kaveh tried to pretend like a thorn hadn’t blasted straight through his heart. “Oh, um, I’m not sure.”

“Why?” Kasra tilted his head curiously.

“We’re—um.”

We’re fighting. Was that something he should burden a child with? Or was it better to trust them with the truth? Al-Haitham would know the answer, but he wasn’t here to ask.

Kasra tilted his head, curious and nonjudgmental.

Kaveh took a leap of faith. “We’re arguing right now, but it’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

“Oh,” said Kasra. “When are you going to say sorry?”

Kusanali, don’t you think I’ve tried? He wanted to say, but Kaveh took a deep breath and said slowly, “I already did. It depends on if he accepts it.”

“Oh.” Kasra kicked his feet under the table. “I hope he says it’s okay soon. I need his help with my homework.”

Kaveh tried to pretend that he didn’t feel like he was bleeding with the ache of a bruise. He forced out a laugh. “Wow, do you like Mr. Al-Haitham better than me? Your own brother?”

Kasra’s eyes widened. “No, no, I like you better. But—”

“Then what’s your homework? Let me help.”

Maybe it was a little childish, but Kaveh leaned forward and pressed his finger to the corner of Kasra’s homework. There was no goddamn way Al-Haitham could come into his house, steal his heart and snap in half, and then steal his little brother, too.

Kasra pressed his little hand on top of Kaveh’s finger. “Kaveh, stop it.”

He froze.

“I need Mr. Al-Haitham’s help specifically on this homework.”

“Oh.” Kaveh withdrew his fingers. “I see.”

Kasra peered up at him, his wide red eyes—the same red as Kaveh’s, as Faranak’s—watching him with a sharpness that felt like an arrow through the chest. “You’re still my favorite.”

Kaveh flushed. “Well, I didn’t need you to tell me that—”

“Do you believe me?”

Kaveh blinked. “Sure.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, only for a moment, before he said, “Yes.”

“Pinky swear?”

Kaveh held out a pinky. “Pinky swear.”

Kasra hesitated only for a moment before hooking their pinkies together. “Okay.”

The tight knot of tension in his chest unraveled. “Thank you, Kasra.”

Kasra beamed. “You’re welcome! You should make up with Mr. Al-Haitham so he comes over and makes dinner again.”

“I’m trying.” He felt the ache of loss so acutely, he could have doubled over were Kasra not there. He looked down again at the homework that Kasra did not want him to see, that Kasra insisted Al-Haitham help him. He felt like he was losing again, and Kaveh still selfishly reached out for it. “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“You have to believe me.” Kasra looked at him significantly. “You promised.”

“Right, right.” Childish. Selfish. Kaveh pinched himself. “Sorry.”

Kasra smiled again.

“Okay, bye.” Then he skipped upstairs.

Kaveh half wanted to chase after him, but his pinky was still warm from where Kasra’s little sweaty toddler hand had gripped it. He chose to trust him then, even if it left him uneasy that he couldn’t ask. He’d promised after all.

But still, that ache of loss was there. Ever burning like a scar.

-

Another week passed and then came the parent teacher conference.

Kaveh braced himself like he was preparing for war. He texted Saanvi’s parents again asking if she was free to babysit, and when she was, he sighed in relief knowing the cavalry would come. He started picturing every possible scenario in his head, practicing scenes where he would show up and put his childishness aside and pretend nothing had happened so they could talk about Kasra alone. He imagined scenes where he came in crying—not on purpose, but taking on look at Al-Haitham’s face and just losing it, looking at grief in the eyes and the things you couldn’t take back. He imagined…nothing. Sometimes he couldn’t picture how it would go, and instead let the yawning fear of that stretch over him.

The evening of, he was a nervous fucking wreck. To soothe himself, Kaveh got home from the office early, made some snacks for Kasra, and then promptly spent the next three hours picking out an outfit to wear. He cycled from a suit he would wear to meet clients to the worn T-shirts he wore at home when Al-Haitham visited to, finally, just a nice sweater and a pair of khaki’s—nice enough that he looked put together, casual enough that it didn’t look like he was trying too hard. He realized, belatedly, that it was the same sweater he’d worn the night he dragged Al-Haitham out to Lambad’s to neurotically worry about Kasra.

Like a date, he thought and then wanted to slap himself.

The doorbell rang, knocking him out of his delusional reminiscing. It was Saanvi with her phone in hand and a backpack of random children’s books.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes…” winced Kaveh. “It has.”

Saanvi looked at him with that itching curiosity that was only held back by the absolute muzzle of manners her parents had ingrained in her. Kaveh knew because he was like that—infinitely curious, infinitely nosy, reigned in only by Faranak’s teachings.

“Um, after this, I might not need to call you again for a while,” he said.

Saanvi looked like she wanted to burst. “I’m surprised you didn’t need me for a few weeks. What, um, so like what—”

“Nothing important. Sorry,” he said when her face fell.

Saanvi nodded slowly. “Well, good luck with whatever you’re doing.”

“Thank you.” He’d need it.

Kaveh called for Kasra to come downstairs and waited five minutes before Kasra towards the foot of the steps. He peered his head out cautiously from around the pillar, but the moment he saw Saanvi, he burst into a grin.

“Saanvi!”

“Hey, kid! Long time no see!”

Kaveh sighed. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Kasra looked at him. “Tell Mr. Al-Haitham I said hi.”

“I will,” he promised, heart heavy.

Kaveh left them in the house with a hundred Mora to buy pizza for dinner. Then, he climbed into his car and let out one, deranged war cry before starting it. The scream did not make him feel better, but he was out of time.

He drove to the elementary school, squeezing the steering wheel like a lifeline the whole way there. When he reached his destination, heart threatening to crawl out of his throat, Kaveh was struck so acutely with the desire to not be there, to be anywhere fudging else in the world—including naked in a Snezhnayan winter or the literal Abyss itself. But since he had to be there, had to be present, he held his head up high as he walked through the elementary school—so much smaller than he remembered because he was so much bigger than he used to be.

Kaveh found Al-Haitham’s classroom with ease. He was the last time slot of the day on the final day of parent teacher conferences. Al-Haitham must have gone through this with so many parents before, all the same routine he was about to do with Kaveh. He wondered, then, if Al-Haitham was dreading it the way Kaveh was.

He knocked on the doorway. “Hello.”

Al-Hatham didn’t jump, but he did stiffen, shoulder blades scrunching up to his neck before some voice in his mind told him to relax.

“Kaveh,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh laughed nervously. “Yeah, hi.”

A beat of silence.

“Are you going to come in?” Al-Haitham raised an eyebrow.

“Um, yes.” Kaveh scrambled forward. “Yes, yes, sorry.”

Al-Haitham said nothing as Kaveh took a seat across from him at the desk. The chair was a little too small, a little too short, like all the ordinary chairs in the school—other than the teachers’—were made for children.

There was a beat of silence. Terribly awkward. Terribly suffocating. For all his rehearsing, Kaveh had no idea where he wanted to start.

“Um, where do we start?”

Al-Haitham’s eyes widened like he’d expected Kaveh to confront him. 

“I’m not going to say anything,” said Kaveh quietly. He started talking to Al-Haitham under the guise of wanting to help Kasra, had invited him home because of Kasra, he wasn’t going to use this space about Kasra’s development to talk about his own problems. “Just…do your job. Tell me about my brother.”

“Alright.” Al-Haitham eyed him warily for a moment before he pulled his laptop in front of him and started to scroll. “Kasra is on track for math. He’s doing well in science and the art teacher says he’s also doing very well…”

It was strange being back here with Al-Haitham talking in his teacher voice. The last time he saw Al-Haitham in person, Kaveh had felt warm all over. Al-Haitham’s hands on his wrists, speaking in soft tones, telling him his mother trusted him to make the stew for Kasra where she could not. Al-Haitham on his bed while Kaveh dug for sleep clothes again, just comprehending the magnitude of how integral Kaveh had made Al-Haitham a part of their lives. He remembered Al-Haitham’s shoulders, warm like his voice, warm like his hands. Their legs were long enough to brush under the desk, but these school teacher desks had a separator, so Kaveh’s knees only felt the bite of the cold metal.

Now, he watched so coldly, so stoically, so terribly. Like they were strangers—like the way Kaveh must have once looked at him. 

Like nothing had happened at all. And that was all Kaveh’s fault.

Al-Haitham read through the rest of his notes before looking at Kaveh again.

His heart seized. Al-Haitham was looking at him like he was going to say something terrible and piercing, but all he said was, “And Kasra’s reading has significantly improved. Whatever work you’ve been doing to encourage him has been very helpful. Good job.”

Kaveh burst into tears.

Al-Haitham startled. “Kaveh?”

Somehow that was the worst possible thing he could have said, because Kaveh didn’t do shit. It had all been Al-Haitham— bugging Al-Haitham and pestering him to send pictures and inviting him to their house and Al-Haitham doing all the encouraging at Kaveh’s insistence. He couldn’t take credit for good parenting, not when he’d had a crazy meltdown over Kasra not tasting Faranak’s stew, not when Kasra kept hiding things from him.

He was a failure. He’d fooled everyone. His mother thought he was doing great. He tricked Al-Haitham into thinking he was a good person, worthy of his feelings. He’d somehow built Alcazarzaray as a prodigious young architect only to crash and burn less than five years later. It was terribly embarrassing. All the good things in his life were built on lies.

“I’m not doing anything well,” Kaveh muttered miserably. “I’m a mess.”

Al-Haitham didn’t say anything. Kaveh could barely see the way Al-Haitham’s eyes widened through his tears.

“Please don’t tell me I’m doing a good job.” Kaveh pressed his wet, embarrassing face into his miserable hands. “I don’t deserve it.” 

“Kaveh, what do you mean you don’t deserve it?” Al-Haitham’s voice was gentle, like in the kitchen, like before their fight where Al-Haitham thought he’d befriended him out of pity.

“Stop, stop, fuck.” Kaveh sniffled. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be about Kasra but I made it about myself again.”

“Kaveh,” said Al-Haitham, firmer, as if he hadn’t spoken. “What do you mean you don’t deserve it?” 

“I haven’t done anything,” said Kaveh miserably. “I’m not…doing enough. I didn’t do anything to help his reading. I’m a terrible parent. You said my mom trusted me to watch him but all I’m doing is fucking it up.”

Al-Haitham sighed.  “What I have learned in my four years as a teacher is that students don’t exist in a vacuum, clearly you can’t have done nothing.”

Kaveh didn’t say anything. He stared at the tears that had slipped through his fingers and splattered darkly on his khakis. 

“Say something.”

He clenched his fists. His voice came out weak and rattling when he squeezed out, “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that. What are you sorry for?”

It felt dangerous to answer. Sorry for being a coward. Sorry for being the worst person ever to like. Sorry for being selfish. Sorry for crying at the parent teacher conference when you were supposed to be talking about the student. Sorry, Kasra, for crying about forgotten stew.

“I’m not…a good enough person to raise my brother. I shouldn’t have told my mom that I could.”

Al-Haitham looked at him for a long moment before sighing. “Let me show you something.”

Kaveh lifted his head. “What?”

Al-Haitham shoved the tissue box toward him before standing. “I assigned a project to my kindergarteners a few weeks ago. I asked them to create a dedication to a hero of theirs.”

Kaveh watched as he walked toward the cubbies. Al-Haitham scanned them for a moment before reaching into one towards the bottom right, pulling out a thick piece of paper with various things glued onto it.

“I’m showing you this because I think you need to see it,” said Al-Haitham. “But remember to act surprised when you see it again.”

He set the paper down on the desk.

Kaveh wiped his tears before leaning over it, just to make sure he didn’t accidentally get it wet. The letters for MY HERO IS: was glued onto the paper in poorly cut, bright yellow construction paper. Below the letters was a grainy picture of Kaveh.

“What?” Kaveh blinked.

“This is Kasra’s project,” said Al-Haitham, returning to his spot on the other side of the desk. “I gave very little guidelines on what the criteria for ‘hero’ was because I wanted the kids to pick someone they looked up to, whether they be real or fictional, a peer or not. Some kids did celebrities, fictional superheroes, their parents, their friends, even Lesser Lord Kusanali herself. Kasra chose you.”

“Oh.” Something in his chest tightened, like a fist had grabbed onto his innards and slowly began to twist.

“Read,” commanded Al-Haitham.

Kaveh did.

Below the photo was a block of white paper with a child’s scrawl across it, reading: MY HERO IS MY BIG BROTHER KAVEH. HE IS REALLY COOL. HE WORKS FOR A LONG TIME BUT BUILDS PRETTY THINGS AND HE ALWAYS COMES HOME AND TELLS ME HE LOVES ME. I WANT TO BE LIKE HIM WHEN I GROW UP.

The rest of the empty space in front was decorated with stick figure drawings of Faranak, Antoine, Kaveh, and Kasra. And on the back was a rough drawing of Alcazarzaray with two stick figures again—Kaveh and Kasra—standing in the center holding hands.

“Oh.” Kaveh’s voice wobbled, watery like his eyes. “Kasra…made this?”

“There’s more,” said Al-Haitham. “I asked them also to draw their favorite moments of their hero. As well as various other assignments to get them really thinking why they admire this person. They were allowed to change their hero at any time these past few weeks. Kasra kept the same hero the entire time.”

It suddenly made sense—why Kasra was avoiding him and not letting Kaveh help with his homework. It must have been the enormous My Hero assignment Al-Haitham gave him, and also why he’d been hiding for so long. Kaveh found it difficult to breathe again, heart seizing, lungs caving, the big weight of relief knocking the air clean out of him.

Al-Haitham looked at him significantly. “Clearly, you must be doing a decent job if your brother thinks so highly of you.”

Kaveh couldn’t help it. He let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I’m tricking him, too, just because I’m the big brother that didn’t used to be around a lot.”

Al-Haitham gave him a flat look. “Kaveh.”

“I’m just exploring all the avenues.”

“You are not.” He paused, then, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Thanks, I know.”

Al-Haitham sighed. “You are not tricking him. I see the evidence of your parenting everyday. Kasra is kind, he offers his peers crayons, invites people who are left out to play with him, and speaks politely. And when he fails, he doesn’t cry, he smiles and tries again. That kindness to yourself is something you’re taught by the people who raise you. Whatever you think you’re doing, you’re doing just fine. You’re raising him right.”

Kaveh burst into tears again, heart overflowing. Too full, too much. He couldn’t take it.

“You’re too nice to me.” Always had been. Al-Haitham was so much nicer than Kaveh ever gave him credit for. “I don’t deserve it.”

Al-Haitham startled again. “Kaveh, it’s not about deserving. I’m just telling you the truth of what I see.”

“Not that.” Kaveh curled into himself on the chair. “I don’t know what you saw in me.”

He saw Al-Haitham stiffen out of the corner of his eye. “Kaveh…where is this coming from?”

“Our fight,” he clarified. “Before you left. I didn’t befriend you out of pity, I got to know you because I saw how kind you were. I never gave you any credit in college because I was an asshole, but you’re actually so ridiculously nice I can't believe I didn’t see it. And even after all the bullshit I put you through in college, you were still willing to be friends with me eight years later.”

Al-Haitham said nothing. It frightened him, but the disaster was already in motion. Kaveh was an avalanche that couldn’t stop.

“You could have liked someone better than me. You deserve someone better than me.” He scrubbed at the tears on his face. “You—you’re so—you’re the best person I’ve ever met and I didn’t realize it because I was an idiot. I was so mean to you back then, I don’t know how you could stand me.”

It was as close to a confession he felt he deserved to make. Even then, it felt selfish, but his chest was caving in. He was so close to drowning he felt desperate to let every secret out.

Al-Haitham was quiet for a long moment. Then, “You weren’t that mean.”

Kaveh lifted his head.

“Not as mean as you remembered,” said Al-Haitham slowly. “You were more abrasive to me than others, but I didn’t mind. Your kindness shows in other ways. And I was always attracted to brilliant minds like yours.”

It almost sounded like he was talking about the present, but that couldn’t be right. But some stupid, hopeful part of him still seized.

Kaveh laughed nervously. “But not anymore, right?”

Al-Haitham didn’t respond. The silence was thick enough to feel like a death sentence.

“Ah,” said Kaveh, deflating. “Of course. I guess I was too late then. I’m glad I got to be your friend though.”

Al-Haitham stumbled. “What do you mean: too late?” His voice sounded strangled, like there was a vice around his neck.

Kaveh slid down his chair. “Ahh, come on, Al-Haitham. You’re smart. Have mercy on me, this is embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing?” 

Kaveh turned to find Al-Haitham suddenly standing leaning over the desk.

Too close. He swallowed.

“Dude, come on.”

“I want to make sure I’m not misunderstanding you.” Then, surprisingly, the corner of Al-Haitham’s mouth ticked up. “I mean, the way you misunderstood me in Daena.”

Kaveh winced. “Damn, okay. I mean, you may not believe me, but I’m not pranking you.”

Al-Haitham suddenly grabbed the front of Kaveh’s sweater, twisting the fabric in his fist. Despite the smile, Al-Haitham’s eyes did not look like they were joking. “You aren’t?”

Kaveh could feel the tremble in Al-Haitham’s fist, rattling the fabric of his sweater.

He swallowed. “You tell me.”

Al-Haitham kissed him.

Part of Kaveh wondered what if felt like to kiss someone after loving them for so long. Not to be presumptuous, but at least for Kaveh, kissing Al-Haitham after waiting for the past few months felt like reaching the oasis in a desert. It was a lot like drowning, a lot like dying, a lot like staring down the edge of a cliff for so long and finally jumping over. 

His heart plummeted down to his toes, down to the roots of Teyvat. Al-Haitham buried his free hand in Kaveh’s hair and yanked him closer with the hand in his shirt. Kaveh stood and slid a knee onto the desk, climbing up so he could press his mouth more firmly against Al-Haitham’s. He wondered if Al-Haitham had ever kissed anyone before, if the thing he was doing with his chin was something he’d learned in books.

Kaveh looped his arms around Al-Haitham’s neck to pull them closer: chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. He felt exhilarated. He felt insane. He felt the way he did standing at the base of Alcazarzaray—completed—and thinking: Look at what I built.

This close, he could feel Al-Haitham trembling. That alone was enough to startled him away. When Kaveh pulled back, Al-Haitham’s mouth was wet and pink and half open in shock like he couldn’t quite believe that had just happened.

“Why are you shaking, Al-Haitham?” Kaveh smiled.

“I’m not,” said Al-Haitham, though there was a bit of indignation in his voice.

The smile broadened. “You’re pouting.”

Al-Haitham scowled. Kaveh kissed it until it melted away. 

He pulled away again and gave Al-Haitham a significant look.

“I’m not going to answer if you’re just going to make fun of me.”

Kaveh kissed him again. “What about now?”

Al-Haitham scowled again. “Stop that.”

He laughed and let it go, finally pressing their foreheads together. Al-Haitham’s face was warm, too, just like the rest of him. Kaveh let his eyes fall shut, feeling Al-Haitham’s breath puff hot across his face.

“I didn’t befriend you out of pity,” said Kaveh.

“I believe you now.” There was a bit of a laugh in Al-Haitham’s voice.

Kaveh’s face heated. “Yes, well, I just wanted you to know.” He squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid to look at Al-Haitham, still a bit of a coward. “It wasn’t out of guilt either. I meant it when I said you were one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

“Tall words, Kaveh.”

“I mean it.” Kaveh pulled back. He kept his eyes lowered, but he could feel Al-Haitham watching him. “That night—when we had our fight—I wanted to tell you. I wanted—I really, really wanted you to stay. And I thought: maybe that means something. So I tried telling you, but I fucked it up.”

“I assumed wrong.”

“So did I. So I don’t blame you.” Kaveh looked up. “Eight years ago in the library. I didn’t take you seriously, and I’m sorry for that. I should have said it sooner.” 

“It’s okay,” said Al-Haitham.

Kaveh wanted to argue that no it wasn’t. But he remembered Kasra telling him it was okay, But you didn’t believe me. That makes me feel bad.

He told himself to believe Al-Haitham now. The apology was in his hands, the acceptance was not—neither was the rejection.

Kaveh gripped Al-Haitham’s shoulders. They were muscled things in his hands, but the skin felt soft when he squeezed.

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” said Kaveh.

“I didn’t mind waiting.” Al-Haitham tilted Kaveh’s chin up with a finger. “There wasn’t anyone else.”

“Archons.” Kaveh breathed. “Don’t—that’s so sappy. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Don’t say anything at all.”

Kaveh smiled. He leaned forward and didn’t speak again for a long, long while.

-

About a week later, Kasra did show him that “My Hero Project” and Kaveh pretended to be very, very surprised. Al-Haitham was there when it happened, sitting next to Kaveh right in the living room as Kasra brought the thing out from behind his back. Kaveh gasped, covered his mouth, picked up the paper and the folder of comics and exclaimed, “Oh my gods, what is this? Kasra, did you make all this?”

Kasra had beamed. “I did! Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Kaveh had said, and that he did not need to pretend for.

Later, in Kaveh’s room, Al-Haitham remarked, “This is why you did architecture and not theater.”

“Fuck you,” Kaveh had said, shoving Al-Haitham back onto the pillows. “There are a lot of reasons I did architecture instead of theater.” Not that it mattered, Kasra seemed to buy it anyway.

Al-Haitham smiled, smug, and it pissed Kaveh off so much that he just had to wipe it off his face.

About a few days before the “My Hero Project” reveal, Al-Haitham came over again to make dinner. Kaveh didn’t tell Kasra because he wanted to keep it a surprise, but when Al-Haitham walked through the door, Kasra honest-to-god fell to the floor. He cried, “Mr. Al-Haitham! You’re back!” 

And then he’d climbed to his feet and launched his tiny body into Al-Haitham’s waiting arms.

“Mr. Al-Haitham, can you please marry my brother so you can live with us?”

Kaveh choked on his water.

“Maybe after a few more years,” said Al-Haitham with a smile.

Then, Kasra pulled back and asked very not-subtly if Al-Haitham could help with his “homework.” Kaveh didn’t mind this time, not now that he knew the truth. After disappearing to Kasra’s room for an hour, Al-Haitham re-emerged and immediately went to the kitchen to help Kaveh finish dinner. Kasra devoured his whole plate. Kaveh felt warmer than he had in weeks. They ended the night watching bad reality T.V. shows again while Kasra played with his blocks on the ground, pretending not to hear all the bad words the adults were saying. 

That night, Kaveh leant Al-Haitham sleep clothes again, and then Al-Haitham followed Kaveh into his own bedroom instead of the master bedroom.

It was nice. Really nice. It felt wonderful asking Al-Haitham to stay and getting that rare, soft smile that felt as warm as a banked ember when Al-Haitham said, “Of course.”

Kaveh didn’t know who to break the news to first. He considered telling Tighnari first because he’d been something of a best friend in college, then decided against it because Tighnari would probably pass out on the spot. Then, he debated telling Nilou, but he also decided he didn’t want to cause her undue stress while she was traveling Teyvat with her theater troupe. He cycled through the rest of the list of their friends before Al-Haitham said, “Why are you putting so much thought into this?”

Kaveh had stared at him. “What do you mean ‘why am I putting so much thought into this?’ It’s exciting! We’re dating! I thought that since you had like an eight year long crush on me you’d want to tell people.”

Al-Haitham jerked his face away.

Kaveh paused, then laughed. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No,” muttered Al-Haitham. Then, “It was nine.”

He looked so adorably flustered that Kaveh had to kiss him right there.

In the end, it didn’t matter who they decided on telling first because it was at that moment that Faranak decided to video call him.

Kaveh scrambled away from Al-Haitham and leapt to the other side of the room before he hit answer.

“Why are you—” started Al-Haitham.

“Shhh.”

“Kaveh, who are you shushing?”

Fuck.

Kaveh looked down. “Oh, uh, hi Mom! How are you?”

Faranak furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m doing well. Who are you shushing?”

Kaveh resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. He couldn’t hide anything from his mother, could he?

“Ah…um.”

He could see Al-Haitham smiling over his phone, entirely too amused for the situation. Kaveh scrunched up his face and stuck his middle finger up from beyond his phone where the front facing camera couldn’t catch it.

“Kaveh, is someone in the room with you?”

Kaveh winced. “Ah, um. Yes?”

Faranak raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“My…” He looked up again to find Al-Haitham still watching him, still smiling with that infuriatingly amused grin. “B-boyfriend.” He had to force it out through gritted teeth.

Faranak’s eyes widened. “When did you get a boyfriend?”

“Uh.” He looked at Al-Haitham. “Like, last week? Right?”

“Yeah.” Al-Haitham’s voice suddenly sounded terribly loud in the space of Kaveh’s childhood bedroom.

“Oh.” Faranak’s eyes widened. “Do I get to meet him?”

Kaveh sighed. “I mean. I guess, since he’s already in the room.”

“‘You guess.’ Kaveh, if he weren’t in the room, were you just not planning to tell me—”

“Hello, Auntie.” Al-Haitham suddenly appeared beside him. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, he’s polite.” Faranak smiled. “I like him.”

“Thank you.”

“Shut up.” Kaveh jabbed his elbow into Al-Haitham’s side and was disappointed to find that it was firm just like the rest of him. “Fuck off. You are not.”

“Is that how you treat your boyfriend?” Faranak’s voice was tinged with amusement.

“Yes, because he’s annoying.” Kaveh nudged Al-Haitham’s arm again, but when he dropped his hand, Al-Haitham threaded their fingers together. “Um. Mostly.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it’s nice to finally meet you, too. Kaveh’s told me a lot about you.”

Al-Haitham craned his neck to look at him. “Have you, now?”

“Mom.”

“I’m just teasing. Though, it really is wonderful to meet you Al-Haitham. I’ve heard many great things about you, from both Kaveh and Kasra.”

Al-Haitham squeezed his hand, but he was polite and mild-faced when he said, “I’m happy to hear that.”

Kaveh’s face burned. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“I’m missing context—will you tell me more about how you two met? And…I thought—sorry if this is too personal—but I thought you had a fight?”

“It’s a long story.” Kaveh sighed.

“I don’t mind telling it,” said Al-Haitham. “We have the time.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. “Mr. Al-Haitham! I have a question about the math homework!”

Faranak brightened. “Is that Kasra?”

Kaveh turned. “Can you let him in, Al-Haitham?”

Al-Haitham nodded and went to grab the door.

“Wow,” said Faranak. “So even Kasra knew before me?”

Kaveh flushed. “Mom, the only one that knows is Kasra. Well, I didn’t tell him we were dating, but he probably figured it out.”

“Is that Mommy?” 

Kasra dashed over and crowded onto Kaveh’s lap, legs dangling in the spot where Al-Haitham once sat. Al-Haitham didn’t mind, though. He just took a seat on the floor again and lifted Kasra’s legs into his own lap.

“Hi, Mommy!” Kasra rolled over. “Mommy, did Kaveh send you the picture of my project?”

“He did,” said Faranak warmly. “It’s very sweet that you think of him as your hero.”

“I worked really hard on it. Mr. Al-Haitham helped me a lot.”

“Did he?” Faranak’s eyes slid to Al-Haitham, mischievous in the same way when she was about to tease Kaveh.

Al-Haitham pointedly looked away.

“He did! And he helped make dinner again. Which is good because Kaveh’s cooking is only okay but it gets better with Mr. Al-Haitham.”

Kaveh burst. “What the fuck?” Faranak and Al-Haitham both turned sharply toward him. “Um, I mean, what the fudge?”

“Perhaps you’re not as good of a cook because of your potty mouth,” said Al-Haitham.

“You did not just say ‘potty mouth’ to me in that pretentious ass tone—”

Faranak laughed suddenly. “Wow, and here I was worried about you having to raise Kasra by yourself.”

Kaveh paused. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean—” Faranak smiled. “I’m glad you have some help.” Then she looked to the side. “Thank you, Al-Haitham.”

Kaveh was still processing her words when Al-Haitham said, “Of course, it was my pleasure.”

Help. When Kaveh really thought about it, Al-Haitham was helping him raise Kasra—the dinners, the way he helped Kasra calm down while Kaveh was having his meltdown, the way he’d slotted so easily into their lives. When he looked down at his phone, the three of them squished into the minimized video view, he thought that they really did look like a family.

“Ah.” Kaveh’s face suddenly felt hot.

“Did you just realize that?” Al-Haitham looked at him incredulously.

“Shut up!” He shrieked. “Shut up! I appreciated your help, I just didn’t think—” Family. Family. Fuck that, he wasn’t saying this revelation out loud.

“Why don’t you tell me the story of how you met?” interrupted Faranak, still smiling. “I’d love to hear it, since it seems I missed out on it.”

“I’ll tell it,” said Al-Haitham. “You can help Kasra with his math homework.”

Gods. They really were partners-in-crime. Kaveh wanted to kiss Al-Haitham suddenly, but wasn’t going to in front of his poor mother and brother.

“Sure. Come on, Kasra.”

And so, Kaveh handed Al-Haitham his phone and then hoisted Kasra up to his feet to look at his math problems on the floor of Kaveh’s childhood bedroom. Al-Haitham began to speak, telling the story of how they’d met, and his voice was a murmur as they worked, like cricket song in the summer—the steady tinge of nostalgia and the whiff of home on the horizon.