Archive of Our Own

It’s a Tuesday when Kaveh finds out. He’s at Lambad’s—a stupid decision, considering that he’s lecturing at the Akademiya tomorrow and the students are too observant to not notice that their guest speaker stinks of booze, but he started thinking about the meaning of human life earlier over dinner. Kaveh came to the same conclusion he always does—he is wasting his life. And the only thing that can stop Kaveh from wanting to die right now is alcohol, so here he is, nursing a vodka soda and tracing the water stains the glass leaves on the counter.

Lambad momentarily stops drying a pitcher to frown at Kaveh. “How many times do I have to tell you to use a coaster?” he scolds. “I just replaced these countertops.”

Kaveh mumbles an apology and acquiesces. The old TV hanging above his head flickers to life just in time for the 10 o’clock news. The weatherman starts discussing the next week’s report, and Kaveh snorts. That’s such an easy job. Kaveh could do it, no problem. All you have to do is get on camera and say the same things that are true every week. This week, the desert will be hot, the rainforest will be wet, and the city will be just as lonely as it always is. Kaveh stares at the rapidly dwindling vodka in his glass and waves to Lambad for another.

“In other news, tomorrow at Aranara Books & Gifts in Sumeru City, the renowned first-time author Alhaitham Volans will-”

Kaveh’s head whips upward. “Who?” he says aloud.

And then, there he is, as glorious and majestic and infuriating as he always has been. It’s Alhaitham, his face aglow on the television screen. Sure, he looks a bit older than when Kaveh last saw him, and he wears glasses now, but he’s still the same Alhaitham. He watches as Alhaitham settles into an armchair and shakes hands with the interviewer. The newscast switches between cameras, showing Alhaitham’s side profile. Kaveh squints. Yep. There it is. A flash of dark green behind Alhaitham’s ear. He’s still wearing that same old hearing aid Kaveh helped him make when they were just kids. Kaveh groans and drops his head into his hands.

Lambad looks up. “Oh, right, I forgot that you know him,” he remarks. “His book’s been getting a lot of traction. The wife’s been trying to get me to read it. The Infinite Tie, I think it’s called.”

“Your book, The Ties Eternal,” the interviewer says to Alhaitham on the television. “It’s a remarkable feat of literature-” 

“Oh. That’s right,” Lambad says with a shrug. “The Ties Eternal. Cool name. Think he stole it from some old poet. But I don’t know.”

Kaveh groans. “So he’s still a pretentious bastard.”

Lambad raises an eyebrow. “What happened with the two of you?” he asks. “You used to come here all the time together. You were good friends, right?”

Kaveh stifles a scoff. Good friends. Please. That doesn’t even cover the half of it. They were good friends, yes—Kaveh would have considered Alhaitham his best friend, back in the day. Alhaitham was the only one who ever truly understood him, who ever looked at him and saw more than a disaster waiting to happen. But Alhaitham and Kaveh were always so much more than that. Kaveh can still feel the texture of Alhaitham’s skin beneath his fingertips, can see the way Alhaitham’s figure seemed to glow beneath the city’s streetlights, can hear the way Alhaitham used to whisper Kaveh’s name into the crook of his neck. To call Alhaitham and Kaveh “good friends” was both the truth and the furthest from the truth at the same time.

The sound of the tap running brings Kaveh back to reality. He shakes his head. “Something like that,” he replies. “Didn’t know he was famous now, though.”

Lambad chuckles. “It’s hard to believe that you’ve gone so long without learning about his book,” he says. “It’s all anyone talks about, especially around here, considering he used to live so close by.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbles into his drink. He tries to act calm, but his curiosity festers within him, tinting his cheeks pink. It starts to feel hotter in the pub. Kaveh groans and plops his head down on the table. Fuck. He drank way too much. His lecture tomorrow is going to be absolute hell.

Lambad sighs loudly. “Go home, Kaveh,” he says, taking away Kaveh’s glass. Kaveh is about to protest that he wasn’t done drinking that, but the concerned look in Lambad’s eyes silences him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaveh grumbles, rummaging through his pockets and slapping a few mora down on the bar. “Night, Lambad.”

Kaveh barely sleeps that night. For one, he’s hot as all hell—Sumeru City is in the midst of a heatwave, and his crappy apartment doesn’t have air conditioning. All the alcohol in Kaveh’s system doesn’t help, either. Even worse, he can’t get Alhaitham’s stupid face out of his head. He gives into his burning curiosity and opens his phone, blinking at the harsh blue light. He quickly learns that Alhaitham doesn’t have social media—something only a pretentious luddite bastard would do, Kaveh thinks—and, in a moment of weakness, types his name into Google.

Alhaitham’s Wikipedia page is sparse, Kaveh learns. His fans call him a “deeply private person.” Kaveh snorts at that. For a second, he considers editing the Wikipedia page to tell the world everything he knows about Alhaitham. He wouldn’t leak any sensitive information, of course, but it would be kind of funny if the nearly-empty Wikipedia page suddenly was updated to include anecdotes about Alhaitham’s incredibly specific tastes in snacks and terrifying ideas about home decor. Kaveh humors the idea for a few moments, but eventually decides against it. Alhaitham would know who the culprit was immediately, and then he would think that Kaveh had been thinking about him. Which he hadn’t.  

Kaveh clicks off the Wikipedia page and scrolls through a few reviews of Alhaitham’s book. They’re almost all the same. His prose is always “poignant,” his philosophy is “piercing,” the man himself is “brilliant” and a “genius.” A news article reveals that he spent the last three years in Pardis Dhyai writing The Ties Eternal, and that the signing tomorrow marks the beginning of his permanent return to Sumeru City. What Kaveh’s the most interested in, though, are Alhaitham’s fans. It seems to help a lot that the author of the generation just so happens to be “an absolute daddy that could break my bones and I’d thank him,” as one Twitter user puts it.

Kaveh does the mature thing and throws his phone across the room.

***

Kaveh doesn’t go to the signing the next day. Instead, he makes sure to linger at the Akademiya for quite a while after his actual lecture ends, answering every possible question the students could possibly think of. (The students are excited by this. They seem to think this will become a regular thing. It will not.) When he finally leaves, he takes the bus to Aranara Books and arrives about a half an hour after the signing ends. Alhaitham should be on the road by then, he figures. Kaveh doesn’t want to see him. Not in the least.

(That’s not entirely true. It’s true that Kaveh doesn’t want to see Alhaitham, but only because he’d rather avoid the awkwardness and inevitable pain of being faced with him again. But, maybe, in some crevice of his hangover-addled brain, Kaveh wants Alhaitham to see him. He wants to be the vision that Alhaitham glimpses flitting between the bookshelves, a sight that has Alhaitham questioning whether Kaveh is real or a mirage. He wants Alhaitham to see how good he looks, how well he’s doing.)

The door to Aranara Books & Gifts opens with a faint ringing of bells. The activity in the bookstore seems to be waning, the excitement dying down after the high of the signing. Kaveh doesn’t need to look far to find Alhaitham’s book. He only wishes that he didn’t have to be assaulted by a giant cutout of Alhaitham’s face as he approaches the display table. Damn, these people are obsessed with him. 

“Oh, are you here for The Ties Eternal? ” the girl at the checkout counter calls out to him. “You just missed the signing, unfortunately, but there are some leftover signed copies on the right side of the table.”

Kaveh looks over his shoulder at the girl. She’s wide-eyed and excitable—probably a wannabe writer type. As much as Kaveh wants to scoff at her, he’s not in the business of ruining people’s days for no reason, so he gives her a small, tight smile. He glances down at the table, and picks up a book from the left side. The checkout girl lets out a small, appraising hum.

Kaveh pretends to browse for a few minutes, running his slender fingers over the spines of various new architectural texts that he doesn’t have the money for. He spends a few minutes basking in the glow of those rectangular overhead lights that always seem to be buzzing. A moth lands on a nearby windowsill. Kaveh cranes his neck into every aisle—no sign of Alhaitham. Well, he always did hate being in public for longer than necessary. Kaveh feels bad for whichever poor bastard is stuck being his manager.

He goes back up to the counter and buys the unsigned book, then leaves the store. On the bus home, Kaveh really observes the book for the first time. The cover is a pale yellow— tacky— with the title in big black letters. The Ties Eternal, a novel by Alhaitham Volans. The cover art depicts a line drawing of a bee landing on an indigo flower. Kaveh frowns. Simplistic, he thinks. I could do better.

He moves on to the back cover. He skips over the reviews from various other literature nerds calling the book “riveting” and a “tour de force” and all the other corny bullshit that critics say about any male writer with half a brain. Kaveh learns that the book is a triptych—again, what a fucking pretentious word—that tells the story of two men at three different times in their lives. “A stunning picture of love that endures over time, and the lengths we’ll go to so we may find the things we’ve lost,” one critic says.

Those words shoot straight into Kaveh’s heart, widening the chasm that resides therein. The lengths we’ll go to so we may find the things we’ve lost? Please. That’s nothing like Alhaitham. He doesn’t go looking for the things he’s lost, much less the people he’s lost. Alhaitham stays stagnant, letting things come and go. He’s never chased anything in his life, no matter how hard he wants it—or maybe because he’s never truly wanted anything at all.

Kaveh is living proof of that.

The bus pulls into Kaveh’s stop, and he climbs up the creaky stairs to his shitty little apartment. He takes one last glance at Alhaitham’s novel and shrugs. He tells himself he’ll read it next week, when work settles down a little. Then, he sets it down on the coffee table and strolls into the kitchen to make himself a nice dinner after such an emotionally taxing day. He forgets about the book almost immediately.

***

Kaveh squints at the document in front of him. Damn it, does he need reading glasses already? Is he really that old? No, that’s impossible. He’s only twenty-six. His vision shouldn’t be going so soon. And yet, the fine print on this contract seems to be smaller than any other fine print he’s ever read in his entire life. He moves to lift the document up, trying to get a closer look, but a small hand slaps it back down onto the table before Kaveh can raise it to his face.

Kaveh looks up, and Lord Sangemah Bay grins at him. “Do we have a deal, then, Master Architect?”

Kaveh gives her a small, appeasing smile. “I have to admit, it’s a really compelling project,” he says. “I’ve never had the opportunity to design something of this scale. But…” he gestures to the contract. “This writing… well, I just can’t make heads or tails of it.” He leans down towards the table and mumbles to himself. “This fine print is impossible to parse-”

Lord Sangemah Bay’s cutting laugh rings throughout the grand parlor of her residence. “My, Master Architect, maybe it’s time to look into reading glasses,” she teases. “Old age really sneaks up on you, you know.”

Kaveh looks at her curiously. She can’t be more than a teenager herself. He doesn’t quite know what business she has talking about old age, but he doesn’t really care to find out.

Kaveh’s eyes sneak back towards the contract. It’s a very good deal, all things considered—well, at least the parts he can read. Lord Sangemah Bay is granting him full artistic control over the design of this project, with the only caveat being that the estate should be “fit for a king—or, better yet, a god.” Kaveh isn’t sure what kind of hubris one has to have to claim that they deserve a home fit for a god, but the project seems to pay well, so he decides not to pry.

If everything goes well, if his artistic vision translates perfectly to the real world, if the building is as beautiful on the ground as it is in his mind, then this could be his big break. Kaveh’s world will change for good. His name will be forever tied to the glorious Palace of Alcazarzaray, and, after so many years of trial and tribulation, he’ll finally have a legacy to be proud of.

(His legacy might even outshine Alhaitham’s, which is a nice perk.)

Lord Sangemah Bay looks at him expectantly. “So?” 

Kaveh takes one last glance at the document before him. His concern about the fine print is pushed aside as he picks up his pen, excitedly scribbling his signature at the bottom of the contract.

Lord Sangemah Bay beams at him and claps her hands. “Great,” she exclaims. Then, she snaps her fingers, and one of her servants sets a massive pile of documents on the table, the papers landing with a loud thunk. “Now sign these.”

***

Kaveh spends that night in a frenzy. He finds himself stuck in a vicious cycle of sketching out a design, deciding that it’s actually terrible, then crumpling the blueprint into a ball and tossing it onto the floor. This goes on for a matter of hours, and Kaveh’s about to give up. But then, the heavens seem to open above him. They drop their blessing through the break in the clouds and there it is. He can practically see it before him—a beautiful green palace situated in a protected little valley, surrounded by pristine gazebos and fountains and padisarahs in full bloom. The images flutter through his mind like petals caught in a breeze, and he races to keep up with them, struggling to etch them all down before they drift away.

There is chaos for a few minutes, then stillness as Kaveh stares down at his drawing. It stares back up at him, welcoming him into its perfection, opening its arms and inviting him to bring it to life. He picks up the blueprint and stands, but his legs are wobbly from sitting for so long and he collapses to the floor. Kaveh breaks into loud, blissful laughter as he lies between dozens of crumpled ideas, clutching the perfect, inimitable one to his chest. Tears of joy and exhaustion roll down his cheeks. He lies there giggling until his neighbors yell at him through the walls, insisting that he shut up because it’s the middle of the night, for crying out loud.

He stumbles into his bedroom and a thought strikes him before he can stop it—he should really tell Alhaitham about this. Kaveh shakes his head. It’s a thought he has frequently even now. Every time something good happens to him, every time something funny happens in one of his lectures, every time he sees something unique at the Grand Bazaar, he is transported through time, like he’ll arrive home not to his apartment but to the little house by the Akademiya, and he’ll walk through the door and Alhaitham will be there waiting for him. He’ll turn on his hearing aids in like he always does when Kaveh gets home and Kaveh will flop down on the couch and tell him everything he remembers about his day until his lips get tired of talking, and Alhaitham will push back on everything he says, all with that insufferable, incredible smirk on his face.

But that’s the past, and time travel hasn’t been invented yet, and even if it is invented someday, Kaveh isn’t sure he would want to go back. How could he relive every good moment while knowing how futile they were? Why would he experience that life with Alhaitham again if he already knows how it ends? He tries everything he can to banish the thoughts of Alhaitham from his mind—and yet, in moments like this, they still pop up, as if haunting him.

Kaveh gets ready for bed and crawls under the covers. He reaches to his bedside table and grabs his laptop, opening it up and clicking over to YouTube. It’s a bad habit he’s developed—if he wants to fall asleep, he needs to turn on some long-ass video essay about some game he’s never heard of in his life. Kaveh doesn’t plan to disrupt his routine tonight, but something else pops up in his recommendations. It’s an episode of a podcast run by one of those drama YouTubers that Kaveh despises, entitled I SAT DOWN WITH ALHAITHAM VOLANS: ALL THE TEA ON THE TIES ETERNAL. On one half of the thumbnail sits a guy with a hand clapped over his mouth. On the other half of the thumbnail is Alhaitham with his arms crossed, staring impassively towards the host.

Kaveh snorts. This kind of interview is the exact opposite of something Alhaitham would be interested in. His manager definitely forced him to do it. Kaveh chuckles to himself as he clicks on the video. There’s no way in hell this could end in anything but disaster.

The interviewer is a man named Bilal. He seems to be a few years older than Alhaitham and definitely believes himself superior because of it. He greets Alhaitham enthusiastically, almost too enthusiastically, like a tiger about to gore its prey. Bilal attempts to make idle small talk with Alhaitham, which goes poorly because Alhaitham hates small talk, before giving up and jumping right into the “tea.”

“So,” Bilal says, “As you know, your book is, like, the biggest thing to happen this year.”

Alhaitham raises an eyebrow and says nothing.

Bilal looks at him for a second, then clears his throat. “As you can imagine, a lot of people have questions about the book.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll be any good at answering them,” Alhaitham replies seriously. For some reason, those words hit Kaveh like a truck. Not only because they’re just… so goddamn Alhaitham , but because it’s the first time he’s heard his voice in years. It’s only then that Kaveh actually takes in Alhaitham’s appearance. He’s still wearing those glasses, like Kaveh saw on TV—maybe old age caught up to him, ha —in addition to his hearing aids. He’s horrifically underdressed for the interview, dressed in only a form-fitted synthetic shirt and gray sweatpants. The shirt clings so tightly to his body that Kaveh forces himself to look away.

Bilal chuckles, like Alhaitham was joking, which he wasn’t. “Well, do your best,” he says with a grin. “So, the first question. Lots of people are talking about the dedication at the beginning of your book. Care to share who this mysterious person is? Maybe a long-lost lover?”

Kaveh barely has time to process this information before Alhaitham replies. “I haven’t shared that information in any interview I’ve given so far,” he says evenly. “I don’t see why I should start now.”

Bilal laughs again. “Oh, but the people are just dying to know. Why not give us all a little hint?” he urges. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious that the book is at least somewhat intertwined with your real life-”

“Who says it is?” Alhaitham interrupts.

Bilal continues smiling, but it’s clear that Alhaitham is testing his patience. “It’s pretty obvious,” he repeats. “Clearly, whoever the book is dedicated to is the same person as the character of-”

“I don’t see why it’s anyone’s business if the book is parallel to my life,” Alhaitham says sharply, immediately ending any argument. “Can we move on?”

Bilal is stunned for a moment before laughing and putting his hands up defensively. “Sure, sure,” he says. “But I’m just giving a voice to the public. Don’t shoot the messenger here.”

Alhaitham only shrugs at that. Bilal keeps talking.

“So, you’re deaf,” Bilal says. He pauses, like it’s supposed to be a question.

Alhaitham stares at him. “Is this news?”

“No, not at all,” Bilal replies. “The main character of your book is deaf, too. I’m just curious about your story regarding your disability. Like, how you became deaf.”

Kaveh scoffs. What kind of idiot interviewer would ask that? That’s probably the single most insensitive thing he could have said in that moment—and worse, he framed it so politely, asking Alhaitham to share his “story,” like it belonged to everyone else but Alhaitham himself.

Alhaitham, as if in agreement with Kaveh, frowns. “I’m not going to share that.”

“But, isn’t it relevant to-”

“Have I volunteered that information to you?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then you shouldn’t be asking about it,” Alhaitham retorts. “To be honest, a lot of these questions are more personal than artistic in nature. If we’re not going to talk about literature, then I’m going to leave.”

Bilal stares at him, mouth agape, before putting back on his poised influencer smile and readjusting his notecards. “Of course, of course,” he says. “So, lots of people have been inspired by your book, and decided to write fanfiction-”

Kaveh closes the tab there. He really doesn’t need to hear what this Bilal character has to say about fanfiction (and, honestly, he thinks he might combust if he hears what Alhaitham has to say about it). Instead, he decides to do some detective work for himself. It’s not long before he ends up on FicWorlds, a fanwork site he used to frequent during his time at the Akademiya, back when the most important things in his life were the queercoded men from Liyuen video games. It’s funny, he thinks, how Alhaitham always used to chastise him for “wasting his potential” on fictional men, and now here Alhaitham is, famous only because of fictional men. 

Kaveh types “the ties eternal” into the search bar, and a few thousand fics come up. Impressive, Kaveh thinks. Most of the fics are about the two main characters of Alhaitham’s book, but there’s a few X-reader fics about Alhaitham himself. Kaveh raises an eyebrow and clicks on one. 

In it, Alhaitham meets a young woman at a meet and greet and is immediately attracted to her. (That’s the first inaccuracy, Kaveh notes, as Alhaitham is as gay as that peacock man from that one gacha Kaveh played ages ago. Alhaitham just isn’t flamboyant, and he dresses like the worst straight men imaginable, so people assume he’s straight.) Alhaitham takes the reader out for drinks and they both get crazy drunk (second inaccuracy—Alhaitham’s always droning on and on about moderation) before Alhaitham takes her to his penthouse (third inaccuracy—Alhaitham hates opulence) and the two engage in the most unsexy heterosexual lovemaking possible.

“Alhaitham pinned you to the bed. He wrapped a hand around your throat. He fucked you roughly and relentlessly. ‘Beg for it,’ he said as he pounded you. ‘Beg for my cock.’ You let out a whimper and he only fucked you harder-”

Kaveh shuts the laptop immediately. That’s more than enough of that, he thinks. He can’t read any further—not just because it’s about someone he once knew, or because of the awkward and choppy writing, but because of how wrong it is. That’s the fourth inaccuracy, and the one that hurts Kaveh the most. Alhaitham would never be so rough with a partner. With Kaveh, he was always gentle. Reverent, even. He was so focused on pleasing Kaveh that whenever Kaveh tried to please him first, Alhaitham would deny him, saying that he got more than enough pleasure just from seeing Kaveh in such a state of bliss. He even turned his hearing aids up to high just so he could hear every single satisfied noise that came out of Kaveh’s mouth. 

Kaveh doesn’t blame the fangirl writer for not knowing this. How could she? Alhaitham always comes off as so cold and aloof in his interviews. It’s not the public’s fault for thinking that he would be some kind of rough, dominant guy. After all, nobody else in the world has ever seen Alhaitham for who he truly is. Only Kaveh has. He’s the only person in all Teyvat who has seen how tender Alhaitham’s heart is, how much he cares, how deeply his devotion runs.

If only that devotion didn’t dry up so soon. If only Alhaitham, beneath all his bluster, wasn’t such a coward. If only he would actually go after what he wanted and stop letting the world pass him by.

A stunning picture of love that endures over time, that one critic said of Alhaitham’s book. The lengths we’ll go to so we may find the things we’ve lost. That hurts Kaveh like nothing else ever has before. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t know Alhaitham at all. Maybe he never did in the first place. Maybe Alhaitham is the kind of guy who goes after what he wants, after all. 

Maybe Kaveh just wasn’t what he wanted.

***

Three months later, Kaveh finds himself standing before the completed Palace of Alcazarzaray. Its construction was a quick process, but Lord Sangemah Bay wanted efficiency, and Kaveh didn’t want to piss her off, so he delivered. 

The Palace is beautiful. It’s Kaveh’s creation, and every newspaper in Teyvat is buzzing about how incredible it is, how brilliant the Kshahrewar scholar at the helm is, how the art of architecture will surely be changed forever by this unimaginable feat. But looking up at it now, Kaveh feels nothing at all. There is no sensation in his entire body besides a deep-seated exhaustion that cuts all the way to his bones.

He spends the day responding to questions, smiling for cameras, and listening to compliment after compliment telling him that his name will be remembered for centuries to come. But, for once, Kaveh doesn’t care about his legacy. He doesn’t care about this fame that has suddenly been thrust upon him. If this is what success feels like, a black hole in his gut that only grows, then he doesn’t care for it. He just wants to curl up and sleep forever.

Kaveh stands next to Lord Sangemah Bay as she cuts the ribbon. The crowd oohs and aahs and then dissipates, with only a few journalists lingering behind in the courtyard, swapping notes and contact information. Kaveh lets out a relieved sigh. He can’t wait to go home, but he needs to get his paycheck first.

He turns to Lord Sangemah Bay and gives her a halfhearted smile. “So, you like the Palace?” he asks.

Lord Sangemah Bay claps her hands together excitedly. “It’s magnificent, Master Architect,” she chirps. “Truly a testament to your talent.”

“I’m honored,” Kaveh says, though the words sound flat and empty. “I should get going soon. It’s late.”

“Of course,” Lord Sangemah Bay replies, “but there is one matter we must discuss first.”

A wave of relief washes over Kaveh. Finally, he’ll get paid for his hard work. He won’t have to guest lecture at the Akademiya anymore. He’ll be able to move out of his apartment and into a nice house. Kaveh has accepted that he’ll be alone for the rest of his life, but he would still rather be alone in a place that feels like a home. He stands tall before the young merchant, eagerly awaiting the large sum that will surely come into his possession. 

The words that come out of Lord Sangemah Bay’s mouth are different. “You owe me five million mora.”

What she said doesn't process in Kaveh’s head right away. He stands there, blinking at her for a moment. “...What?” 

Lord Sangemah Bay hums, as if she was expecting this. “The contract clearly stated that, during the construction of the Palace of Alcazarzaray, you would be the one paying for all the materials used in the process,” she explains. “Until now, all that mora has come out of my pocket, so you owe me.”

Kaveh pales. His heart seems to freeze in his chest, and his lungs seem to flatten, emptying themselves of all air. “Where did the contract say that?” he manages, his voice cracking.

Lord Sangemah Bay grins at him. “In the fine print. You didn’t read it?”

Kaveh can only blink at her for a moment as the words register in his mind. Then, anger bubbles up in him, red and boiling hot, scorching the insides of his throat. “Y-you can’t do that!” he cries. “That’s… certainly, there’s no way that’s legal!”

“You agreed to it,” Lord Sangemah Bay shrugs.

“Yes, but under false pretenses,” Kaveh snaps. Suddenly, the strength that has been holding him up all day seems to dissipate. His limbs give out and he crumples to the ground, burying his face in his hands. “I… I can’t…”

Lord Sangemah Bay sighs as her aides open the doors to the Palace. “The fact of the matter is that you owe me,” she repeats, leaving no room for argument. Then, a small laugh escapes her lips. “Enjoy your newfound fame, Master Architect.”

With that, the doors to the Palace of Alcazarzaray, Kaveh’s own creation, swing shut, leaving him alone in the cold night air.

***

He is plagued by nightmares. They form a story with no beginning, middle, or end, a tale in which every loss Kaveh has ever experienced curls into each other, coalescing into a singular beast that moves in an endless circle, devouring itself in the process. He hasn’t dreamed like this in ages, not since he was just a kid dealing with the loss of his father and the departure of his mother. Those dreams are back, but they’re intertwined with new dreams now—dreams of Alhaitham, of their story, of the way it ended. The wounds deep within Kaveh’s heart are opened again and again, widening that canyon further, eroding the fabric of his being until he’s entirely empty inside.

He remembers everything. He remembers the first day of his second year at the Akademiya, seeing that first-year sitting all alone in the courtyard, his nose buried in a book. He remembers walking up to him and trying to introduce himself, but the words seeming to die in the air until he waved his hand in front of the boy’s face. He remembers the way that boy read his lips like the rest of the world had temporarily stopped existing, like Kaveh was the only thing he could see. He remembers hearing Alhaitham’s voice for the first time.

He remembers how they became friends, how they spent every moment of free time together, how he could tell Alhaitham anything he was thinking and never fear being judged. He remembers sketching a rudimentary blueprint for hearing aids and showing it to Alhaitham, who insisted they build it together. He remembers how his heart used to flutter when Alhaitham would smile at him, that small, rare smile that the world seldom got to see. He remembers how peaceful life was then, in that liminal space where he never acted on his feelings but never felt he had to, because things were good as they were. Then, Kaveh’s senior year came and went and they were fighting, and he graduated and swore he would be able to live on his own.

He didn’t last long. Alhaitham graduated the next year and Kaveh found himself moving back into that same little house, and his feelings only grew and grew until Kaveh got drunk and kissed Alhaitham. They spent every night in each other’s arms after that, making love and talking until the early hours of the morning. The relationship was remarkably idyllic, mostly because they never spoke about what the relationship actually was. Kaveh had figured out that he loved Alhaitham by then, but there was no way that Alhaitham would ever feel the same. They were friends. They were casual. And that was just fine until their very last fight, the evening Kaveh learned how Alhaitham saw the world, the evening he saw the cynic behind the boy he had fallen in love with. 

The evening he learned that Alhaitham didn’t believe in love. That Alhaitham didn’t believe in anything at all.

Kaveh walked out the next morning. Alhaitham disappeared from the city. Kaveh spent three years getting by—each day was spent guest lecturing at the Akademiya, and each night was spent getting drunk and scrolling on his phone until his eyes ached. Through it all, he held onto the idea that surely, his big break was coming soon, so he spent three years working himself to the bone. Now, he finally has that success he had longed for, but he owes five million mora that he doesn’t have, all while Alhaitham is gallivanting around Sumeru, reveling in his newfound fame. In Kaveh’s head, the wicked memories speak, their voices repeating the same question like a mantra: what was it all for, Kaveh? What was it all for?

He is plagued by nightmares. He remembers everything.

***

He gets evicted. He knew it was coming—he couldn’t pay rent for a month, as every bit of mora he could muster was funneled directly into Lord Sangemah Bay’s coffers. Still, when he sees the notice on his front door, Kaveh feels any ounce of meaning that his life once held vanish. He knows deep in his soul that nothing matters anymore. He is in far too deep. It is easiest to swim downwards. He grabs a tiny bag of mora, some of the last he has left, and heads to Lambad’s.

Kaveh drinks. It’s not enough. Most nights alcohol lets him forget, but tonight it only adds to the black hole inside him, aiding in its parasitic growth, and he only gets sadder. He keeps drinking. He drinks until he’s slouched onto the bar and tears are running down his cheeks and the tavern is closing and he’s mumbling to himself about how he might as well just die tonight because there’s nothing left for him in this world, anyways.

Through the haze of his drunkenness, he hears Lambad make a phone call. It’s like hearing someone talk from underwater, but Kaveh can still make out a few words.

“Hey, kid… you’re back in the city, right? Well, I’m sorry to bother you so late, but… yeah, he’s here. He’s really not doing well. I think he got… yeah, it’s unfortunate. Listen, I know this is a lot to ask, but could you come get him? I don’t think he has anywhere else to go… Alright. Thanks, kid. See ya.”

Kaveh doesn’t know how much time passes. Lambad starts bringing him water, which he pushes away. He stares down at the counter, wallowing in his pain and muttering to himself, until he feels someone come up behind him.

“Thanks, Lambad,” says a familiar voice. A muscular arm enters his field of vision, offering a sack of mora to the bartender.

Lambad shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that,” he replies. “Just… make sure he’s safe, yeah?”

“I will,” the voice replies. A hand settles onto Kaveh’s shoulder. “Come, Kaveh. Let’s go.”

It’s only then that Kaveh turns. He has been forcing himself to stay still, willing that voice to go away, but he’s too weak. Kaveh’s barstool spins around and there he is, that boy from his wildest dreams, that man from his darkest nightmares. Alhaitham’s form pierces through Kaveh’s hazy vision, standing before him, his touch still lingering on Kaveh’s shoulder. He’s even more beautiful than Kaveh remembers. It terrifies him.

Kaveh shrugs away Alhaitham’s hand and glares up at him. “What’re you doin’ here?” he slurs.

Alhaitham crosses his arms. “Getting you out of here,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Kaveh shakes his head. “‘M fine,” he mumbles.

“You’re not,” Alhaitham says as he offers Kaveh his hand. “Come on. We’re going home.”

“Can’t. Got evicted.”

Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean your apartment, Kaveh.”

Kaveh doesn’t know what gets to him more—the way Alhaitham says his name the same, even after all these years, or the way he so effortlessly refers to his house as their “home.” Regardless, Kaveh suddenly feels all of his pent-up rage boil over inside him, and he jabs a finger into Alhaitham’s chest.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” he snarls. “You can’t just abandon me for years and then pretend like nothin’ happened.”

Kaveh wants to shove Alhaitham away. He tries to stand up, but immediately stumbles forward. Before he can hit the ground, though, Alhaitham’s arms wrap around his middle. Kaveh groans.

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” Alhaitham says curtly.

Kaveh shudders. There would be nothing more embarrassing than having to be carried through the city by Alhaitham, of all people, because he’s too drunk to walk on his own. He grumbles, but forces himself to his feet. He lets Alhaitham put an arm around his waist and they leave the tavern.

The city is quiet tonight. The air is thick and humid, and everything seems to stand still. The only noises Kaveh can hear are the distant buzzing of bees and two sets of footsteps on the cobbled street—Alhaitham’s steps are sturdy and even, while Kaveh trips over his feet every few seconds. Neither of them speaks. 

They walk for what feels like an eternity until they arrive at Alhaitham’s house. As soon as they step through the front door, Kaveh is hit by a wave of nostalgia that nearly crushes him. Save for a few copies of Alhaitham’s book lying around, the house hasn’t changed at all. Every painting handpicked by Kaveh still hangs on the walls. Every piece of furniture that he and Alhaitham fought endlessly about still sits right where Kaveh left them. The place still smells like padisarahs, too, though the scent is dull and wilted now.

Alhaitham guides Kaveh to the room that was once his. Exhaustion takes over, and Kaveh can’t stop tears from running down his cheeks. He lets Alhaitham tuck him into bed like he would a child. Everything hurts. Everything hurts too much, and Kaveh can’t handle it anymore. There’s nothing he can say to escape this hell he’s somehow found himself in, so he simply curls up on his side and cries. 

Alhaitham turns off the overhead light. He stands in the doorway for a brief moment, his eyes never leaving Kaveh’s form. Then he lets out a sigh and turns around.

“Goodnight, Kaveh,” he says over his shoulder. Alhaitham pulls the door shut, and Kaveh is alone.

***

The next morning, Kaveh wakes up confused. He has a migraine, and his bedroom looks unfamiliar. It takes a few minutes of sitting in silence before he fully remembers what happened last night. He groans and flops backwards on the bed, covering his face with his hands. How is he supposed to get out of this? How can he possibly save himself now?

From the nightstand, his phone dings. He picks it up to see that it’s almost dead, but hey, at least he didn’t lose it last night. There’s only one notification—an email from Lord Sangemah Bay. Kaveh wants to scream. If there’s one person who can make an already horrible situation worse, it’s that little witch. He clicks on the email.

“Dearest Master Architect,

Congratulations on the relief of your debt! Lucky you. If only all of my debtors had a rich author hotshot to bail them out, haha. Enjoy your life and please do come visit the Palace when you can!

-DSB”

Kaveh’s eyes widen as he reads the email again and again. He can barely believe it—Alhaitham paid his fucking debt ? Why the hell would he do that? He doesn’t even like Kaveh. Does he see him as some sort of charity case? Is that why he did this?

Kaveh is enraged as he storms into the kitchen, where Alhaitham is standing with a plate of scrambled eggs. When Alhaitham sees Kaveh, he turns on his hearing aids and starts to greet him. Before he can get a word out, though, Kaveh shoves his phone in his face.

“What the fuck is this?” Kaveh hisses.

Alhaitham’s eyes glance over the email before he shrugs. “I paid your debt.”

“But why? ” Kaveh shrieks. “I didn’t ask you to do that! Why the hell would you do that?”

“You needed help,” Alhaitham replies, like it’s obvious. “So I helped you.”

“You-” Kaveh growls. “You can’t fucking do this to me, Alhaitham. It’s not fair.”

Alhaitham sets down the plate, looking at Kaveh with narrowed eyes. “What’s not fair?”

“This!” Kaveh cries, gesturing wildly between the two of them. “This is not fucking fair! You don’t get to abandon me and then suddenly reappear three years later because you pity me. I don’t give a shit that it makes you feel good about yourself to throw around all the money you made from that stupid fucking book- ”

“Did you read the book?” Alhaitham interjects.

Kaveh laughs incredulously, Alhaitham’s words only making him angrier. “Seriously? That’s what you care about right now?” he huffs. “You’re such a fucking egomanic, you know that?”

“Answer the question, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Did you or did you not read the book?”

Kaveh blinks at him, then shakes his head. “No,” he answers truthfully. “I bought it, though. Didn’t have time to read it.”

Alhaitham looks at him curiously for a moment, then looks down at his watch. “I have a meeting with the publishing house,” he says. “You should read it while I’m gone. It should only take you a few hours.”

Before Kaveh can yell at him, Alhaitham leaves the kitchen and grabs his backpack before walking towards the front door. “See ya,” he calls over his shoulder before leaving the house.

Kaveh is left in the kitchen, his mouth hanging open in shock. Alhaitham spoke in the same blunt way he always did, but it still managed to catch Kaveh off guard. He crosses his arms and lets out a huff. It hits him that he could leave. He could walk out of Alhaitham’s house right now and forget any of this ever happened. But where would he go, anyways? He certainly couldn’t go back to his apartment. He hasn’t spoken to any of his friends in weeks, so he doesn’t think he could just show up at any of their places now. And Lambad might kill him if he tried to go back to the tavern.

There’s a copy of Alhaitham’s book sitting on the kitchen counter. Kaveh glares at it. The cover is just as tacky as the day he first saw it, and Kaveh still thinks he could do better. Maybe it’s for that reason, that tiniest bit of spite, that he grabs the plate of eggs and the book and sits down on the couch he chose all those years ago. Kaveh opens The Ties Eternal to the first chapter and begins to read.

It’s hot. Suffocating, even, and Hamid can’t stand the feeling of his shirt slick against his chest, of every stray hair poking into his skin, of the cacophony of sounds filtering through his hearing aids. It’s like his head has been cracked open, naked and bared to the world, and every little thing is like a fingernail scraping along the smooth bone of his skull. 

Kian sits on the ledge, one knee held tight to his chest, the other dangling into the sweltering city air. He looks unbothered, peaceful even. Hamid often feels like the world is rejecting his very being, but Kian—Kian embraces the world, and the world embraces him back.

The Ties Eternal, Kaveh learns, is a story that follows two boys as they age into young men. The main characters, Hamid and Kian, meet as children and grow up together until an academic disagreement forces them apart. They reconcile as adults and become lovers, but only for a short time. Their relationship suddenly implodes. The writing is beautiful, the dialogue perfectly articulated, the images illustrated with the most precise pieces of language. Kaveh loses himself in the heart-wrenching story, reading for hours upon hours.

“I don’t think you’re right,” Kian says. It’s not something Hamid’s used to hearing. People hardly push back against him anymore, but from Kian’s mouth, the words are anything but cruel.

Kian picks up a pebble and tosses it over the railing. “You’re always so pragmatic. It’s infuriating sometimes,” he says.

Hamid shrugs. “I just don’t feel the need to believe in something I can’t prove exists,” he states. “That seems perfectly fair.”

“If we were still talking about a higher power, I would have agreed with you,” Kian replies. “But we’re talking about meaning now. So I think you’re being stupid.”

“What’s different about it?” Hamid retorts. “It’s still something fantastical and invisible. I don’t see why I should believe there’s such a thing as a greater meaning, just as I don’t see the reason to believe in a God.”

A bee lands on Kian’s arm. He swats it away. “Hamid, the only proof you need to believe in a greater meaning is your own existence,” he says with exasperation.

“Don’t go all Descartes on me,” Hamid retorts.

“I’m not, ” Kian snaps. “And Descartes was trying to prove the existence of God, idiot. Not the existence of meaning in a nonreligious sense.”

Another pebble flies over the railing. “Besides, things exist that you can’t see,” Kian continues. “Like… I dunno, like gamma rays, and inflation rates, and love.”

After a moment of silence, Kian turns to Hamid. “You do believe in love, right?”

Hamid is silent, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Kian sighs, the look on his face tired and forlorn. He stands up and goes back into the house. 

So much of this story feels familiar, but Kaveh’s too engrossed to understand it yet. After Hamid and Kian separate, Hamid falls into a deep depression, until inspiration strikes him, and he goes about getting Kian back in one of the most unorthodox yet beautiful ways possible.

It’s only in the depths of his agony that Hamid realizes what he has to do. The memories come to him in order, but not as pictures trapped by frames. They come to him as words, whispering and colliding and flowing endlessly into each other. Hamid has never been particularly good with words, and yet they come to him now. The past and present curl and crumple in on themselves, leaving the future empty. Leaving the future up to him alone.

The words come out, first in stops and starts, and then in one long torrent that has Hamid alone in his house for weeks at a time. His coworkers express concern, so he quits his job and moves across the country to a place far away from the chaos and noise of the city. This place is silent. There is ample space for his words.

Three years pass in a blur and then Hamid is at a meeting with a man who has recently become his editor, and there is a bound manuscript on the table before them, and the man is saying how much he likes the book, how he thinks there’s really something special here, and would Hamid like to make any final edits before they send it off to publishing?

Hamid thinks for a second, then draws a pen from his pocket. For K, he scribbles on the inside cover. The editor lets out a noise of approval. Then, Hamid grabs a nearby pad of paper. He wordlessly etches a note, taking his time to let the words flow through him. The editor taps his own pen against the table, no doubt thinking about his next meeting and wondering to himself why this kid author can’t hurry up, but he says nothing.

It’s like a brush fire that spreads in a matter of seconds, scorching the earth it leaves behind. It’s like an entire forest being leveled in the blink of an eye. It’s like an eddy suddenly expanding to the size of a hurricane, destroying everything in its path, leaving the world bare and new in its wake.

Kaveh realizes everything all at once.

Hamid clicks his pen shut and tears off the note, then carefully sticks it behind the last page of his novel. The editor frowns. “Is this some kind of author’s note?”

Hamid shakes his head. “It’s part of the story.”

When Hamid leaves the building that day, the sun shines down on his face, its heat skirting the upper limit of comfort. He reaches up to turn off his hearing aids and settles down on a nearby bench. One part of Hamid tells him that his plan is completely illogical, that it’s entirely up to chance, and that the possibility of the plan working is so tiny that it’s not even worth fighting for. Three years ago, Hamid would have listened to that part of himself without hesitation. But now there is a new voice in his head, a voice that says to try anyway. That no matter what happens, trying will have been worth it. That is what life is about, after all, isn’t it?

In the end, the voice of love wins out over the voice of reason. Hamid’s past is in a delivery parcel on its way to some publishing plant in the city. His present is one last moment of silence before he stands up. His future is uncertain, but it is the only way forward.

Hamid turns his hearing aids back on. A bee buzzes in the distance. Hamid picks a padisarah flower, tucks it into his breast pocket, and his journey begins anew.

All the air leaves Kaveh’s lungs. If he wasn’t certain before, he’s certain now. Alhaitham has ended the book with a letter. Kaveh’s fingers tremble as he turns the page.

K,

You may never see this, and that’s okay. It’s a long shot, I know, but in the case that you are reading this please know that I never stopped thinking of you. There is a part of my mind that belongs only to thoughts of you, and no matter how much I try to silence it I cannot. 

You asked me once if I believed in meaning, and I said nothing, and I will regret that for the rest of my days. I know now that what you said is right, that the only proof I need for meaning is my own existence. I know now what you meant. I am the only being that can decide what the meaning of my life is, and I have come to realize that that meaning is love.

You asked me once if I believed in love, and again, I said nothing, but the truth is I have believed in love all this time, if only because of you. You, K, are what I loved then, and you are what I love now, and you are what I will love until the end of my days. Even when the world seems out to get me, even when it seems to reject my very existence, I remember that you are out there, and then I know that there is something in the world worth loving. I never stopped loving you.

You were always braver than me. You have always stood firm in your ideals and never wavered, and you accused me many times of not being courageous enough to take what I wanted. You probably are out there now, still believing the same about me, lamenting how I’ve never fought for anything in my life, how I’ve left everything that we were behind, and there is nothing I can say to that but this, if it is any consolation:

I never stopped searching for you. This is the proof. I hope it is adequate.

In that moment, Kaveh’s heart stops. He snaps the novel shut, clutching it to his shirt, holding it next to the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his lungs struggle to keep up with his racing mind. He can’t stop staring down at the book, his crimson eyes wide. Suddenly, the cover design doesn’t feel so stupid. Suddenly, the title isn’t so pretentious. Suddenly, the soul that he had long since lost rushes back into his body, and Kaveh can’t help but weep.

He sits still for what feels like hours until the front door opens. Alhaitham stops when he sees Kaveh and lets his backpack fall to the floor. “So you did read it,” he says, sounding almost impressed, although his voice masks his true anxiety.

After a moment of silence, Kaveh looks up at him. His voice breaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I tried,” Alhaitham replies. “I’ve been trying. That’s why I wrote the book.”

Kaveh just stares at him for a second, before a sudden, shocked laugh escapes his lips. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he whispers.

Alhaitham sighs and sits down on the couch next to him. “No, I’m an idiot.” 

His eyes are fixed on the floor. Alhaitham takes a deep breath, then begins to speak. “You were right, Kaveh. You always were. I was so young and stupid back then. I… I felt like the world was meant for anyone but me, so I was cynical. I didn’t believe in anything.”

Alhaitham shakes his head, before finally meeting Kaveh’s eyes. “It took losing you to realize that this world has meaning in it, as dumb as that sounds,” he says earnestly. “You’re… you’re everything to me, Kaveh. You’re the reason I wrote that book. It was never about the money or the fame—it was always for you. It was always a desperate attempt to find you.” 

The next words seem to hang in the air long after Alhaitham says them, their impact reverberating again and again, echoing through the house, imprinting themselves on the fabric of Kaveh’s being forever.

“You’re the reason I believe in love, because I loved you then, and I love you still. And…” Alhaitham murmurs, his hand snaking towards Kaveh’s, “I don’t let the world pass me by anymore. I’m the kind of person who goes after what he wants. So, provided that you still love me, and that you’ll let me stay by your side, I promise to never let you go again.”

Kaveh’s eyes dance over Alhaitham’s face, searching for any hint of insincerity, any tell that this is just another sick cosmic joke the universe is playing on him. He peers deep into Alhaitham’s green eyes, deeper than he’s ever looked before, and at their core he finds nothing but love. 

Kaveh tries to think of something to say, anything that could possibly match the eloquence of the novel, the letter, or the speech Alhaitham gave just now. Kaveh searches and searches, but he comes up with nothing. 

He gives up. At the end of the day, Kaveh has never been good with words. Instead, he leans in and kisses Alhaitham, caressing the side of his face, letting Alhaitham pull him closer. Alhaitham embraces him, and Kaveh knows in that moment that Alhaitham will make good on his promise, that anything life throws at them they can face together, that he may struggle, but never in vain, because Alhaitham will always be there to remind him of the meaning of it all.

Kaveh knows in that moment that he couldn't possibly love someone more.

***

A few weeks later, Kaveh and Alhaitham are in Gandha Hill for a picnic. It’s a lovely day out—the sun is shining, and the mushrooms look especially vibrant in the light. There’s a slight breeze to offset Sumeru’s summer heat. They decide to drive to Gandharva Ville and walk from there, which turns out to be a bit more difficult than Kaveh expected. When they reach the top of the hill, Kaveh doubles over from the exertion. Alhaitham snorts and lays out the picnic blanket.

By now, Kaveh has moved back into Alhaitham’s house, though it belongs to both of them now. He’s taken it upon himself to do some redecorating, about which the two bicker relentlessly, but Kaveh always wins in the end. They sleep in the same bed, talking and making love late into the night, and it’s even better than it used to be because there’s no pretense of casualness wedged between them anymore.

Kaveh and Alhaitham both know they have a lot of lost time to make up for, but they both agree to not wallow in their guilt about it. After all, there are two sides to every story, and this one is no different—they both made mistakes. They were both huge fucking idiots, as Kaveh once eloquently put it. But it doesn’t matter anymore, because Kaveh and Alhaitham have both apologized and agreed to leave the past where it lies. Dwelling on it any further would only serve to distract them from the love that’s right in front of them.

Even besides their reconciliation, the past few weeks have been exhausting. The success of the Palace of Alcazarzaray has led to many prospective clients begging Kaveh to take on their projects. Kaveh doesn’t have the time for all of them, obviously, so he reads every offer carefully, making sure there are no strange stipulations hidden in the fine print. Honestly, though, he’s thinking of taking up a different project entirely. It’s been all over the national news recently that most public libraries in Sumeru have grown dilapidated. Kaveh thinks he can help to change that. 

On Alhaitham’s end, his influence has only continued to grow. The Ties Eternal is up for a huge international book award, and is projected to win. Despite this, Alhaitham doesn’t have any plans for his future literary endeavors. Maybe he’ll write again if he has an idea, he tells Kaveh, but for now he has everything he needs. Kaveh insisted that they should at least celebrate his award nomination, to which Alhaitham replied that he didn’t want anything too fancy. A picnic for just the two of them would be nice.

Alhaitham sits down on the picnic blanket, and Kaveh follows, sitting so he can recline into Alhaitham’s chest. They talk and watch the world in orbit around them. A bee lands on the length of Alhaitham’s arm and he stiffens, glaring at the insect with the most violent disdain in his eyes, until Kaveh laughs and swats it away.

Things between them aren’t perfect. Nothing ever is. They’re still Alhaitham and Kaveh, so they still fight for hours about things that don’t matter. Sometimes, Alhaitham still struggles to communicate, and Kaveh still finds himself tormented by his own insecurities. But they know now that giving up fixes nothing. They are happy, not despite the imperfections of the world, but because of them—because everything that has tried to keep them apart has failed.

It’s hot, though not quite suffocating, just muggy as the summer always is. The beginnings of stars poke through the blanket of the sky. It’s quiet, yet every tiny sound gives way to a thousand other sounds, and everything is alive and vibrant and here. Alhaitham’s arms tighten around Kaveh’s middle. They sit and watch the sun fall beneath a faraway canopy of trees. They embrace the world, and the world embraces them back.