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Sumeru is very green, Kaveh thinks idly. This isn’t a particularly profound observation, of course, but it feels like one as he meanders through the city streets, higher than he’s ever been in his life. Al-Haitham’s hand is a comforting, steady weight on the small of his back as he walks them home from Tighnari’s. He hadn’t meant to get this high — he hadn’t meant to get high at all, actually. Kaveh hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary when his friend set a plate of brownies out after breakfast. However, upon reflection, there were plenty of signs that something was off:
Number One: The fact that Tighnari had baked brownies in the morning. (Honestly, this alone should have been enough to tip him off).
Number Two: The way Collei had seemed thrilled about being allowed to have half of one while the adults (save for Al-Haitham) had a whole one each. Kaveh had chalked it up to Tighnari being a strict parent about sugar and shrugged it off.
Number Three: The way Tighnari had reacted when Kaveh went back for seconds, insisting he eat Collei’s other half instead of an entire second brownie. While this was strange, he, again, thought Tighnari was simply being a stickler about sweets at nine o’clock in the morning.
Eventually it was explained that he had, in fact, consumed about 150% of the recommended dosage of Tighnari’s specialty hallucinogenics . He didn’t feel anything for quite a while, but several hours later he is definitely feeling it.
“It’s so green today,” he says to Al-Haitham. His words come slowly and he has to put more effort than usual into stringing together a sentence. It must have been a coherent thought, because Al-haitham hums as if earnestly considering what he’s said.
“The city’s color palette does feature quite a lot of green,” he says, passively agreeing to the only mostly cogent thought that Kaveh has managed. It’s an improvement from complaining every few minutes about being hot, so he has no qualms about the topic of conversation being how it’s ‘so color outside today.’
Kaveh hums, knee deep in a thought that would normally barely reach his ankles. “Mhm… but there’s more than usual today. It’s more green out right now…” Kaveh trails off as a dusk bird’s call trills through the air. If he tries hard enough, he is certain he could taste it.
“The only thing green out here is you,” Al-Haitham replies. It takes Kaveh a few seconds longer than usual to understand the joke, but when he does, he doubles over in the middle of the street and laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. A few passersby stare and walk around them, which makes Al-Haitham glad that Kaveh isn’t present enough to notice and spiral about it for the next week.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Cyno,” Kaveh says when he finally catches his breath. As he inhales, he finds himself distracted again by the faint smell of grilling meat. Al-Haitham only shrugs at his words and gently coaxes Kaveh down the road toward their house. Instead of following Al-Haitham’s lead down Treasures Street, Kaveh turns toward the Grand Bazaar, in search of the source of the scent of delicious food. They did just eat, of course, but he suddenly feels as if he hasn’t eaten in days.
“You want to take the long way home? Tighnari told you to hurry home and lie down,” his roommate asks.
“If I don’t stop for food right now, I’ll cry myself to sleep when we get home,” Kaveh says, voice deadly serious. The melodramatic response earns him a surprised laugh from Al-Haitham, a real one, instead of the short scoffs he tends more towards, and Kaveh leans into his side to feel the way it rumbles through his chest.The laugh trails off, but Al-Haitham doesn’t force him away, instead wrapping an arm around his waist fully, using it to direct Kaveh towards the bazaar. Kaveh feels the weight acutely, letting the warmth of his hand on his waist seep into him, become part of the textures and colors that make him, him, right now.
The moment the ornate doors of the bazaar swing open and the two enter, Kaveh breaks away and beelines for the food stalls. There are only two food vendors in this section of the market, set up across from one another in front of the grand theatre’s stage. One vendor is a young man, Shevirme, who sells all manner of comfort foods – shawarma, falafel, kebabs of all kinds. The other is run by an older woman and she stocks fresh, handmade desserts. Kaveh more often than not stops by at least one of their stalls whenever he passes through during his regular shopping. He idles in the pathway between the two stands, locked in deep thought as he considers his options.
“You should get some kulfi,” Al-Haitham suggests when he returns to Kaveh’s side. When the blond blinks at him, confused, he continues. “You said earlier that you were too hot.” The understatement of the year – Kaveh would forget his words as soon as they left his mouth and has complained about the heat no less than ten times in the last hour.
Based on how deep in thought Kaveh appears to be at that moment, one would never assume he’s simply deliberating what to order as a snack. He turns to his roommate and announces, as if it was his idea all along, that he’d like to have some kulfi. He turns on his heel and heads toward the food with the kind of single minded focus one can only achieve while this high.
The merchant gives the pair a wide smile and waves as they approach, and Kaveh takes a beat longer than usual to return it. He hasn’t attempted to speak to anyone except Al-Haitham since the drugs began to take effect and he’s barely been able to navigate those conversations. He clears his throat and attempts his best impression of himself.
“Good afternoon sister, you look well! Gorgeous weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he says sweetly. Beside him, Al-Haitham discreetly looks up at the ceiling covering the area but remains quiet.
The woman smiles bashfully up at him from behind her table. “Sister? I only hear that when someone wants something for free!” She laughs heartily and Kaveh laughs along with her. As his laugh peters off, he turns to Al-Haitham and leans in to speak directly into his ear – or, rather, his earpiece. The other man clicks down his noise canceling and leans in to meet him halfway.
“I can’t remember this auntie’s name and it’s been so long it would be impolite to ask. Do you think she knows?”
“Honey, you’re not whispering. I can hear you,” the woman says with an amused, albeit awkward smile.
“Sorry auntie,” he says quickly. He turns back to Al-Haitham and remembers to lower his voice this time. “Do you think she knows I don’t remember her name?”
The corner of Al-Haitham’s lip twitches upwards. “She doesn’t have a clue. You’re hiding it very well,” he replies.
“That’s good,” Kaveh says with a relieved smile. “I would lose a week of sleep if I hurt her feelings.”
The interaction stalls for a moment as Kaveh’s mind wanders. His thoughts feel syrupy, slow moving and sticky. He’s easily distracted by the sights and sensations around him. He feels warm and light, and everything he looks at is vibrant and soft around the edges. It isn’t until he becomes enraptured with the sounds his cape makes when he sways side to side that Al-Haitham steps in.
“What flavors of kulfi do you have?” he asks the merchant. Kaveh perks up at the mention of the dessert, suddenly reminded of their purpose for being there. The merchant looks up from where she’s stirring a fresh pot – Kaveh hadn’t noticed her move at all – and gestures to the chalkboard sandwich sign next to the stall.
“They’re all listed right there. Let me know when you’re ready,” she says as she churns. “I’ve got a new flavor, it’s coconut with flakes – ah, I see we’re not a fan of that one?”
How’d she know I don’t like coconut? Kaveh thinks as the muscles in his face relax suddenly. Al-Haitham and the kulfiwallah exchange a look again, smiling at each other with their eyes, and Kaveh focuses on the menu instead of attempting to decipher their glances.
He leans forward, forward, forward to look at the sign. Al-Haitham reaches out just in time to catch him by the arm before he tips over
“Do you need some help, senior?” Al-Haitham asks. Kaveh considers it. Currently, he can’t seem to draw his eyes away from where Al-Haitham’s hand rests still on his arm. Menu, shmenu.
Kaveh nods.
Al-Haitham leans over his shoulder to read the menu and suddenly Kaveh’s consciousness is wholly engrossed in how close their faces are. His body feels hot all over, not just from the herbs, and he can smell Al-Haitham’s cologne from here. The notes of lemon and rosewood wash over him and he’s a moment away from closing his eyes and leaning back onto Al-Haitham’s chest again when the man himself finally gets his attention.
“Ka~veh,” he sing-songs near his ear.
“Hm?”
“Did you hear even a word from that list, or do you need even more help?”
In Kaveh’s defense, his thought process in and of itself is still coherent. What he means to say is ‘sorry, I was distracted and didn’t hear you’ because he was focused on picking the subtle undertones of Al-Haitham’s cologne. What he says instead is:
“You smell really good,”
–as if that’s an acceptable answer to his question. Luckily, Kaveh left behind his sense of embarrassment about one point five brownies ago, so instead of spiraling and holding his breath hoping he dies, he turns his attention back to the menu.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in years,” Al-Haitham says. His tone would be unreadable to some, but Kaveh can hear the smile in it. Suddenly, this feels like a conversation they shouldn’t be having in public.
(A small part niggles him in the back of his mind that it feels like a conversation they shouldn’t be having at all. A treacherous path, one he can’t quite see the end of. He ignores the thought.)
Al-Haitham, ignorant of all of Kaveh’s inner glooms and dooms, instead begins to read out the list of flavors from the board
Kaveh stares at the menu board with single minded focus, as if the ideal choice of flavor will appear if he glares a hole into the sign. He’s shaken from his thoughts by Al-Haitham getting the merchant’s attention beside him.
“Could we get one of everything?” he asks. Kaveh gapes at him and Al-Haitham looks at him, just as confused. “What?” he asks, as if Kaveh is the weird one here
Kaveh blinks at him once, twice. Is it his birthday and he forgot? Is he hallucinating? Did he collapse and die of an overdose after stumbling home on his own and this is a posthumous dream state?
“One of every flavor? You’re not going to charge me more rent this month, right?”
He eyes Al-Haitham dubiously as he hands over the mora without complaint. He almost wants to double check to make sure Al-Haitham wasn’t paying with Kaveh’s own wallet, but even now he’s aware that that’d be ridiculous.
“I was given strict orders to take care of you today, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
It takes a little while before their massive order comes out, but time passes differently. Kaveh, instructed to sit and not move from where he was parked at a little side table, occupies himself with the sounds of the bazaar. Once familiar enough as to be rote, they now weave around him like a tapestry that he could spend a lifetime picking apart each individual thread.
Kaveh looks down at the tray piled high with frozen treats, appearing before him as if magic, then up at Al-Haitham, the source of the beautiful magic. He’s blindsided by the surge of emotion that washes over him over something as simple as ice cream. Suddenly they’re students again, sharing sweets in between classes and kissing the flavor from each other’s lips; suddenly Al-Haitham isn’t his ex-friend and shameful secret, Al-Haitham is his closest companion again.
“Haitham, I’m in love with you.”
The words roll from Kaveh’s lips so naturally, as easy as breathing, as if he’s never stopped speaking so freely. Al-Haitham freezes and stares slack-jawed at Kaveh for a moment. (As does the kulfiwallah, who’s making a serious effort to not look like she’s been eavesdropping.) It’s a far cry from how Al-Haitham has grown used to being addressed by his roommate; he had long since made his peace with the fact that he would never hear Kaveh say those words to him again, yet he says them so easily over something like ice cream.
Ah, but it’s not very surprising at all. Kaveh has been volunteering truths, relevant or not, since long before they entered the city.
“Mehrak has an ‘obliterate Al-Haitham’ command. I’m not telling you what it actually does.”
“Last year, my mother forgot my birthday and I’m afraid she’s finally forgetting about me too.”
“The only reason I think your soup pizza is stupid is because I think you should just put it in a mug instead of turning it into a completely different state of matter!” (He then spent the next five minutes belaboring this point.)
“I don’t actually hate Cyno’s jokes. I’m pretty indifferent on puns but I pretend to hate them so I don’t look weird for not reacting.”
“Haitham, I’m in love with you.”
Now it’s Al-Haitham’s turn to stare for a beat too long. Kaveh is happily eating his mango treat when he blinks himself back to reality, blissfully unaware of the crisis he’s just created for the other man. Al-Haitham gives him a soft smile that feels like the sun on his skin, though the sadness around the edges goes unnoticed for now.
“Tell me again tomorrow and I’ll believe you,” he says finally.
Kaveh perks up at that. “Will you say it back?” he asks, as if that isn’t the loaded question to accompany the bullet of a confession.
“Of course,” Al-Haitham says. Kaveh smiles at him, full and bright, because he knows he means it.
Some time later in their shared home, Kaveh looks up in alarm around a mouth full of almond blossom and makes a little “mmh!” noise. Al-Haitham looks at the blond from over the top of his book with a raised brow.
“I still don’t know the kulfiwallah’s name,” he says, brows knitted with distress.
“She probably sees about a hundred people every day. I’m sure she won’t take it personally if you ask for her name next time you’re at the market.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, brows knitted with distress. “I still feel like I should remember it by now…”
“Of course. She didn’t tell you her name so she has no reason to expect you to know it. It’s not as if everyone’s name and occupation is hovering over their head for easy reference,” Al-Haitham replies with a hint of a smile, clearly amused by his own joke. Kaveh giggles at the imagery and leans back on his end of the divan, stretching his legs over his roommate’s lap and letting his head hang over the armrest. He closes his eyes and slowly turns his head from side to side to feel the way his hair sways loosely. The fog of the high is beginning to clear, but he still wants to enjoy the feeling for a little longer.
“This was nice… I should do drugs on purpose next time,” he says, audibly tired despite the joy that laces his voice.Al-Haitham laughs outright at that, loud and clear and bright. Kaveh lets out a little pleased hum and sinks further into the couch. “You should laugh more often.”
“You’re far too honest in this state,” Al-Haitham says, his voice slightly muffled. Kaveh doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the way the other man’s covered his mouth to hide his fluster; he’s done it since they were students.
“Maybe… That one was all me, though.” Kaveh opens his eyes to wink at Al-Haitham before closing them once more. The two lapse into a comfortable silence, Al-Haitham’s hands coming to rest on Kaveh’s ankles, delicately but familiar. His hands on his skin aren’t as overwhelming as they were when he was feeling it way more, but they settle something in him. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so hard, so scary to walk this path together. But maybe he’s still not sober enough for thoughts like that yet.