Work Text:
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“—and under Minister Azar’s new legislature, any persons even suspected of vigilantism may be arrested—”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Kaveh tries to ignore his phone vibrating in his pocket and focus on the teleprompter, trying to keep his words smooth and natural.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“—more at six,” Kaveh finally finishes. “Back to you, Faruzan.”
As soon as the camera is off, Kaveh hurries off set and checks his phone. Who could possibly—
Five missed calls from… Alhaitham?
Kaveh’s heart leaps into his throat. He hasn’t heard from Alhaitham since… since they broke up six months ago.
If Alhaitham’s calling him, especially five times in a row, something must be amiss. And given Alhaitham’s covert occupation as a superhero, Kaveh can only assume the worst.
He calls him back immediately, his heart pounding out of his chest.
“K-Kaveh,” Alhaitham answers, his voice breathy and wrong.
“Haitham? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Alhaitham tries to assure him, though his panting does the opposite. “I… I was in a fight. I managed to make it back to my place, but I, ah, can’t reach the wound in my back to sew it up.”
Kaveh wants to cuss him out, to lecture him on how he should be more careful. This is why he left him in the first place. But all he says is, “I’ll be right over.”
His workday is not technically over, but he tells his manager that he’s not feeling well and needs to head out early. It’s not a stretch, given the way his gut churns thinking about Alhaitham.
He hops on the subway and heads north. He hasn’t gotten off at the Treasures Street stop since the break up, but it’s familiar.
The walk from the subway stop to Alhaitham’s is familiar too, as he makes his way past expensive mansions and luxe shops and the cemetery in which Alhaitham’s parents are buried.
Kaveh keeps a brisk pace, and soon, he arrives at Alhaitham’s house. It’s as isolated as houses get in Sumeru City, surrounded by forest; it must have cost a small fortune.
He knocks sharply on the mahogany door, then waits.
There’s no answer. Kaveh is about to knock again, when the door creaks open.
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham pants. “You came.” He leans heavily against the door frame, pallid and covered in blood. He’s shirtless, with roughly stitched up cuts all over his body, and— and there’s a knife sticking out of his upper back.
“Gods,” Kaveh utters, stepping inside and closing the door. “What happened to you?”
“Knife user,” Alhaitham grunts. “I managed to subdue her, but she put up a good fight. She was well trained.”
The reporter in Kaveh wants to ask for details—who was she? What was she after? But there will be time for that later. “So what, exactly, are you expecting me to do here?” He gestures up and down Alhaitham’s bloody body. “I’m a reporter, not a doctor. I don’t know how to deal with a—a stab wound!”
“It’s not that deep, and it didn’t hit anything vital,” Alhaitham protests. “You know I can’t go to a hospital. And I— I don’t have anyone else I can trust. Please, Kaveh. Anything you do will be better than nothing.”
Kaveh sighs and ducks under Alhaitham’s arm, supporting him as he leads him through the kitchen toward the bathroom. “Let’s rinse this wound.”
The kitchen looks like something from a horror film. There’s blood everywhere—it’s frankly amazing Alhaitham’s still standing, even with help. His suture kit is open on the table, which Kaveh picks up and takes with them.
Kaveh brings Alhaitham to the bathroom and into the bathtub. Alhaitham dutifully removes his spandex leggings, then looks up at Kaveh as he slides his fingers under the elastic waist of his onyx briefs.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Kaveh says.
Alhaitham nods and slips out of his underwear, now fully naked. Carefully, he takes a seat in the tub.
Kaveh takes a closer look at the knife sticking out of his upper back, trickling blood. The blade is thankfully fairly small. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he takes a deep breath and gets to work.
Kaveh turns on the shower and lets the water run as he washes his hands, puts on gloves, and threads a needle. “Ready?”
“Mm,” Alhaitham grunts.
Kaveh removes the knife from Alhaitham’s back. The blood begins to flow again as soon as the knife is out, but at least it didn’t hit any major vessels. He turns off the shower after the wound has been thoroughly rinsed and dries the area with gauze. He stitches Alhaitham up as quickly as possible, keeping his sutures neat and tight. Finally, he places a bandage over the stitched up wound.
“Okay,” Kaveh says. “I’ve done what I can.”
Alhaitham looks up at him from beneath sopping wet bangs. “Thank you.”
Kaveh looks away, and hands him a towel. “Let’s get you some water, then get you to bed.”
Alhaitham nods as he wraps the towel around his waist. He stumbles for a moment before Kaveh slips under his shoulder.
“Easy,” Kaveh murmurs, steadying him. “Come on.”
Kaveh leads him back to the kitchen. He grabs a glass, fills it with water, and holds onto Alhaitham as he drinks it down.
When he’s done, he brings him to his bedroom and helps him into a pair of dark grey boxers before depositing him on his soft mattress.
Alhaitham lies down on his stomach. He cradles his head in his arms and turns to look at Kaveh.
“I’ve missed you,” Alhaitham admits, quietly.
Kaveh doesn’t dare make eye contact as he pulls the crisp linen sheets up to cover him. “Get some rest.”
Alhaitham nods, and within moments, he’s out like a light.
Kaveh watches over him for a while. His breaths are shallow but steady. Fast asleep, he finally looks at peace. Unbothered by the trauma that haunts his waking hours; a brief reprieve from his obsessive war on crime.
Kaveh moves to brush the hair from Alhaitham’s face but catches himself, and keeps his hands at his sides. His eyes move to the bloody uniform on the wooden floor. Shaking his head, he starts cleaning up.
By the time Kaveh’s finally done scrubbing traces of blood from the floor and furniture and walls, the moon hangs high in the sky amidst a sea of stars.
Kaveh enters Alhaitham’s room.
Alhaitham’s hair is still wet, stuck to his forehead. He stirs, and slowly, his eyes blink open. A slight smile graces his lips. “Kaveh.”
“Hey,” Kaveh murmurs. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m alright.”
“Good,” Kaveh nods. “I’ve gotta go home to feed Mehrak and change her litter, but I’ll be back soon.”
Alhaitham blinks at him. “You’re… coming back?”
“I can’t just leave you alone like this.”
Alhaitham’s lips quirk up. “I should’ve gotten stabbed six months ago,” he utters under his breath.
Kaveh frowns and steps forward, placing a hand on Alhaitham’s forehead. It’s unnaturally warm. He pulls the sheets away to reveal his wound. The skin is red and swollen. “Your wound’s infected. You’re sure I can’t take you to a doctor?”
Alhaitham’s mouth tightens. “You know I can’t fight villains from prison.”
Kaveh exhales through his nose. Alhaitham knows as well as he does that beating people with his fists won’t stop crime. It even encourages some of the so-called supervillains. But Alhaitham won’t stop—maybe can’t stop.
“Hey, Kaveh?”
“Mm?”
A bead of sweat drips from Alhaitham’s nose to his chin. “Are you happier now? Without me?”
A lump forms in Kaveh’s throat, solid and suffocating. “I— I’ll be back,” he whispers, and flees.
Six months ago, Kaveh had thought that if he cut Alhaitham out of his life, he’d no longer be plagued with worry, constantly afraid of losing him.
He was wrong, of course. After all, it’s impossible to forget about your ex when he’s Aquila, the most famous superhero in Teyvat, his image plastered everywhere.
And seeing Alhaitham now, it’s become abundantly obvious that he doesn’t care about him any less than when they were together.
Kaveh stews in his thoughts as he rides the subway back to his modest apartment.
As soon as he unlocks the door, Mehrak pads over to Kaveh and brushes against his leg.
“Hey, Mehrak,” he murmurs, bending down to give her scritches.
He turns on the lights and slips off his flats, heading straight for the plastic container of cat food on the counter. “Did I make a mistake?” he asks, pouring the pellets into her food dish.
“Mrrp?”
“Yeah,” he utters. He scoops out her litter box into a bag and tosses the waste.
He washes and dries his hands, then runs his hands through Mehrak’s dark fur. “I think I messed up,” he murmurs.
Kaveh packs his leather travel bag, grabbing what he needs for the night and the next day. “What should I do?”
“Mrr?”
“Yeah… You’re right.” He gives Mehrak a smooch, and then heads back to Alhaitham’s.
Alhaitham is fast asleep, his face flushed with fever, but he stirs when Kaveh walks into the room.
“Kaveh.” A soft smile traces Alhaitham’s lips in the moonlight. “You came back.”
Kaveh’s heart skips a beat. That private little smile, it’s something that was only ever for Kaveh’s eyes.
“Haitham,” Kaveh breathes.
“How’s Mehrak doing?”
Kaveh’s lips lift. “Same as ever.”
“She still shredding your favourite chair when you’re not looking?”
Kaveh huffs out a laugh. “You know it.”
Alhaitham smiles, but his expression grows more serious. “Kaveh, I— I want to apologize.”
“…What for?”
“When you left, you told me you couldn’t stand seeing me get hurt over and over. And yet, when I got stabbed, the only person I could think to call was you.”
Kaveh swallows. “Oh. I, ah…”
“I’m not expecting forgiveness,” Alhaitham interjects. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Haitham…”
“It’s late,” Alhaitham says, looking out the window at the full moon. “You need to sleep too.” He shifts over to the left side of the bed—his side.
Kaveh swallows. He’d assumed he would be staying on the scratchy, stiff divan in the living room. But… well, maybe it would be better to stay here. Just in case Alhaitham needs something. ...Right? He pats the side of his travel bag. “Okay. Give me a few minutes.”
As Kaveh gets ready for bed, a wave of exhaustion rolls through him. Today has been… a lot. It’s still a lot. Even the bland artificial mint of Alhaitham’s generic brand toothpaste brings on a surge of conflicting emotions, mild revulsion mixed with longing and nostalgia.
After he’s washed his face and changed into his sleep shirt and shorts, he goes to the kitchen to get another glass of water and returns to the bedroom.
“Hey,” Kaveh says, quietly. “You should drink some more water.”
Alhaitham pushes himself to a seat and takes the glass from him. “Thanks, Kaveh.”
Alhaitham’s hands are shaky, and a bit of water dribbles from his lips. Kaveh holds the glass steady for him until he’s finished drinking.
Alhaitham huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “Teyvat’s greatest hero.”
“That poll was biased,” Kaveh teases, wiping the water from Alhaitham’s chin. “But even the greatest heroes need help sometimes.”
“I know,” Alhaitham says, quietly, lying down again.
Kaveh sets the glass on the nightstand. He plugs in his phone and crawls under the sheets on the other side of the bed.
Instinct wants Kaveh to nestle against Alhaitham, to fit their bodies together like they used to. But Kaveh resists. “Get some rest.”
Alhaitham nods and closes his eyes. “Night, Kaveh.”
“Night, Haitham.”
Kaveh wakes to tossing and turning.
Alhaitham gasps and moans in his sleep; tears run down his face. “…Mama… Baba…”
Kaveh’s heart clenches. He knows what it’s like to lose a parent—arguably two—but they weren’t killed violently in front of his eyes as a child. Alhaitham’s obsession with fighting crime… Kaveh doesn’t like it, but he gets it.
It’s generally better not to wake people from nightmares, Kaveh recalls from that segment he did with a sleep specialist, but with the way he’s thrashing, he might reopen his wounds.
Kaveh shakes his shoulder gently. “Haitham? Haitham, wake up.”
With a gasp, Alhaitham snaps his eyes open. “K-Kaveh?”
Gently, Kaveh pulls Alhaitham into his arms, avoiding his upper back. “You’re safe. You were having a nightmare, but you’re alright now.”
Alhaitham shudders against him, burrowing into his chest. Hot tears soak into his cotton t-shirt.
Kaveh strokes Alhaitham’s hair in a soothing motion and slowly, slowly, Alhaitham’s breathing evens out.
Carefully, Kaveh helps Alhaitham to lie down again, and this time, he keeps him tucked close against his body. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
It’s not long before Alhaitham is asleep again.
Kaveh doesn’t move away.
Sunshine spills through the window, illuminating Alhaitham’s bedroom. Sage green walls, oak furniture, books everywhere; it’s comforting and familiar. And of course, there’s the boiling hot form still nestled against Kaveh’s body.
Carefully, Kaveh extricates himself from Alhaitham’s limbs and gets out of bed, grabbing his phone and stepping out of the room.
In the living room, Kaveh checks his phone. 7:38 AM. He opens the email app and sends a message to his manager, calling in sick—and giving her a heads-up that he might not be in for a few more days.
He washes up in the bathroom, then heads to the kitchen to see what he can put together.
Alhaitham’s fridge is empty. His cupboards are bare, save for some protein powder, rice, and some expired spices. The hell has he even been eating?
The mattress creaks from the doorway.
Kaveh hurries back to the bedroom to find Alhaitham pushing himself out of bed, struggling to get to his feet.
“Hey, hold on—”
“Need to use the bathroom,” Alhaitham utters.
“Let me help you,” Kaveh says, taking Alhaitham’s hands and helping him up. He slips under Alhaitham’s underarm and slowly walks him to the bathroom, helping him to the toilet.
When Alhaitham is done, Kaveh assists him in brushing his teeth and washing up for the day.
“Still don’t see why you need this fancy face wash,” Alhaitham mumbles, as Kaveh lathers his face with the avocado foaming cleanser he’d brought from home.
“Bar soap is for heathens,” Kaveh quips.
“Bar soap is economical,” Alhaitham counters.
“Yes, because you’re strapped for cash.”
“I’m not going to spend my inheritance on fruit soap.”
Kaveh sighs, rinsing Alhaitham’s face. “I’ve told you before, cleanser is different from soap.”
“Whatever you say,” Alhaitham says, though his lips are quirked up.
At least he’s coherent enough to tease Kaveh.
Kaveh slips an arm around Alhaitham and helps him back to bed.
“I’m going out to grab some food,” Kaveh says. “What do you want?”
“Not hungry,” Alhaitham murmurs.
“You need to eat,” Kaveh argues.
“I… I feel sick.”
The admission makes Kaveh’s stomach curdle—it’s unlike him to admit as such unless he’s really unwell. “How about I make you something easy on the stomach,” he offers. “Rasam?”
“Yeah, I— I think I could manage that. Thank you.”
Kaveh nods. “Then I’ll be back.”
Groceries are decidedly more expensive at the boutique store closest to Alhaitham’s place, not to mention Kaveh needs to repurchase all the spices. But if it’ll go towards something Alhaitham can keep down, it’ll be worth it.
Kaveh stops at the pharmacy while he’s out, picking up anything off the shelf that looks like it could be useful. Saline wash, antibiotic ointment, wound dressings... Kaveh puts it all in the basket and hauls it back to Alhaitham’s.
A quick peek into Alhaitham’s bedroom confirms he’s asleep again.
Satisfied that he doesn’t need anything right now, Kaveh begins cooking.
Rasam is a dish Kaveh’s mother used to make, back when she was well. Roasting the spices is key, she would tell him.
Kaveh roasts the spices.
He stirs, crushes, chops, sautés. Mixes, boils, simmers, tastes. Another dash of salt; a little more tamarind.
The final dish is a perfect blend of sour, sweet, and spicy. It’s flavourful, but not overpowering.
Kaveh leaves the pot on the stove and waits for Alhaitham to wake.
Alhaitham sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.
He wakes once and asks for assistance in getting up to use the toilet. But when Kaveh tries to get him to eat, he just says he’ll eat later.
(Kaveh makes him compromise by at least drinking a glass of water.)
His fever is worse. 39.8 C, according to the thermometer Kaveh bought at the pharmacy.
Kaveh wishes, not for the first time, that he were a health care professional of some sort; that he had some idea of what to do. A fever can help fight off infection, but how high is too high?
With the kinds of injuries Alhaitham sustained, his identity would most certainly be put into question if he were brought to a hospital. But what if it he gets worse? What should he do?
Kaveh continues scrolling on his phone through conflicting medical advice, until eventually, night falls.
Alhaitham still hasn’t roused, so Kaveh decides to wake him.
He shakes Alhaitham’s too-warm shoulder. “Haitham?”
“…Mm…?”
“C’mon, wake up, sleeping beauty. You’ve been asleep all day. You need to eat something.”
Alhaitham’s expression is dazed, but he smiles. “…You think I’m beautiful?”
Kaveh scoffs. “C’mon. I made you rasam.”
Alhaitham leans heavily against Kaveh as they make their way to the kitchen.
He all but collapses into the wooden dining chair Kaveh pulls out for him.
Kaveh ladles two servings of rasam into deep porcelain bowls, and brings them to the table. He brings Alhaitham another glass of water while he’s at it.
Alhaitham’s hand shakes as he tries to lift the spoon to his mouth.
“Let me help,” Kaveh insists. “I worked hard on this dish. I don’t want you spilling it all over the table.”
Kaveh scoots his chair over and takes the spoon from Alhaitham. He gets a new spoonful and brings it to Alhaitham’s lips.
Cautiously, Alhaitham sips the rasam.
“Well?”
“It’s delicious,” Alhaitham admits.
“I roasted the spices,” Kaveh boasts.
“Thanks,” Alhaitham utters. “For taking such good care of me.”
Kaveh gathers another spoonful. “Less talking, more eating.”
“As you wish.”
The days are long.
When Kaveh has a break from taking care of Alhaitham and prepping meals and cleaning up and searching the internet for medical advice, he sifts through Alhaitham’s massive book collection.
There are all the abstruse, esoteric volumes he remembers from before, but there are some new additions he must have picked up since Kaveh left.
Picking Up the Pieces: How to Move On with Your Life.
Healing from Heartbreak.
How to Love Yourself When Nobody Loves You Back.
“Gods,” Kaveh utters, guilt swallowing him whole.
He picks up one of the books and cracks it open. The margins of the book are filled with emerald green ink in the form of Alhaitham’s beautiful handwriting.
Kaveh skims over the loopy, precise letters. Alhaitham’s words form well-crafted arguments, refuting the author’s statements.
He flips through the pages and finds more of the same.
Kaveh shakes his head and slams the book closed. His stomach churns with a mix of remorse and pity.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Kaveh…?” Alhaitham pants, as Kaveh sticks the thermometer under his tongue.
Kaveh raises his index finger to his lips and watches as the temperature goes up and up, until eventually stopping with a quiet beep at 40.2 C.
He brushes the sweat-damp hair from Alhaitham’s face.
“You don’t like seeing me like this,” Alhaitham murmurs.
“Of course not.”
“But you’re here anyway.”
“I am.”
Alhaitham touches his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Kaveh doesn’t flinch away. “…Me too.”
“…Kaveh…”
Kaveh’s arms wrap around Alhaitham, holding him close to his chest as he shivers and shakes.
“I miss them,” Alhaitham whispers.
Kaveh strokes his hair. “I know,” he soothes.
“I need to… need to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else…”
“I know.”
“I’m s-sorry I couldn’t—”
“Ssshh,” Kaveh hushes.
“S-stay?” Alhaitham pleads, clutching Kaveh’s hand.
“I’ll stay,” Kaveh promises.
Kaveh takes care of Alhaitham, day after day.
He tends to his wounds as best he can. He cooks meals from scratch—lentil soup, khichdi, curd rice, hummus and pita. He helps Alhaitham to the bathroom, helps him to bathe.
Caretaking, this comes easily to Kaveh. After all, if someone is in need, helping them is the obvious choice, no matter who it is. There’s nothing difficult about it, no thinking involved.
Slowly but steadily, Alhaitham recovers. His wounds start to close up. His fever breaks, and he regains his strength. Eventually, he’s no longer dependent on Kaveh.
“What’s on your mind?” Alhaitham asks, from across the kitchen table, eating his shakshuka. “You have that look on your face, when you’re thinking hard about something.”
“You’ve recovered well,” Kaveh says. “You don’t need me anymore.”
“…I’ve recovered well,” Alhaitham concedes. “But you might want to check your sources on that last part.”
“Haitham—”
“You left me,” Alhaitham says, “and I survived. But don’t think for a second that I’ve been doing well without you.”
Tears well up in Kaveh’s eyes. His spoon clatters to the table. “I— was so sick of worrying about you. But I still— I still—”
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham murmurs.
Saltwater spills down Kaveh’s face. “I’ve missed you too,” he chokes out. “So much.”
“Kaveh,” Alhaitham repeats, his voice impossibly gentle. “You can always come back.”
Kaveh wipes his face with his sleeve. “You’d still… take me back…?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Pride? Dignity? I have no use for such things. I will never stop loving you, Kaveh.”
An ugly sob bursts out of Kaveh’s throat. And before Kaveh can register what’s happening, he’s out of his seat and Alhaitham’s sturdy arms are around him, holding him tight.
Carefully, avoiding his upper back, Kaveh returns the embrace. "I'm sorry," he murmurs into Alhaitham's shoulder.
"So am I," Alhaitham says."I... I can't live the kind of life you wanted me to live.”
“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” Kaveh admits, “But if you’re going to get hurt anyway, I want to be here for you.”
“Well, if you’ll have me—all of me—I’m yours.”
The choice… is obvious.
“Then be mine, Aquila.”
Alhaitham responds by meeting his lips, one hand raking through his hair, the other clutching his shirt like a lifeline. It’s a deep, hungry kiss that leaves Kaveh breathless and wanting.
Intertwining their fingers, Kaveh leads Alhaitham to the bedroom.
He pushes him to the bed, nipping at his jaw and throat and collarbone—but before Kaveh can show Alhaitham exactly how much he's missed him, they're interrupted by the sharp ringing of the telephone in the living room. Aquila's hot line.
Alhaitham flinches. "I..."
"Go," Kaveh assures him, with a kiss on the cheek.
"But—"
"I'll be here when you get back," Kaveh promises.
Alhaitham smiles that little smile that’s just for him, and there's no doubt in Kaveh's mind that this is where he wants to be.