Chapter Text
Kaveh is many things.
He’s the Light of Kshahrewar, the designer of the Palace of Alcazarzaray, a friend of the General Mahamatra and the senior-slash-roommate of the Acting Grand Sage.
He’s also the man who follows his heart more than his head, the man who pursues beauty and emotions over logic, the man who can’t hold his alcohol but divulges in it far too often.
But a man who lazes around? That, Kaveh is not.
So it's to no one's – not his, nor his roommate's – surprise, when his lights remain on for an impossibly long time as Kaveh works himself to the bone in his study once more, half-eaten dinner long forgotten on a side bench.
Kaveh scribbles aggressively on the paper, pencil lead gliding across parchment smoothly as he traces out a magnificent garden – as per requested by his client. Trees of varying species stand tall over incomplete flower beds under Kaveh's skillful hands, grandiose fences lining the edge of each winding path through the greenery.
He pauses as his hands move to the gaping blank reserved for flowers. What, exactly, is he aiming for here? Passionate and warm colors to show love to visitors? Or graceful, cool tones to outline the beauty of wildlife?
Kaveh finds his book for flowers in design buried under his caboodle of blueprints and drafts. Glaze lilies, Cecilias, Sakura blooms, Padisarahs…
He briefly ponders over his sketches and prints, before settling upon the idea that – yes, indeed, purple would fit the theme. And as for the exact species…
Ah, yes - Salvias, Irises, or something of the like would probably work wonders. The small plants would certainly fit the overall grandiose atmosphere of the requested courtyard.
But Kaveh isn't so sure. Maybe he'll be better off asking for outsider advice…
Kaveh cuts himself off before his path of thought continues. Even if it is the afternoon, it's far too sudden to search for anyone else, until his promised visit to Tighnari and Cyno for tea; the only opinion he can get is that of Alhaitham’s – but let's face it, that man has no appreciation for the arts, Kaveh thinks, as he rolls his eyes.
Alhaitham. The polar opposite to Kaveh himself in almost every way possible, and yet somehow they still share a home – a place to return to every night after a busy day.
Whereas Kaveh is full of emotion and expression, with a creative and artistic soul, Alhaitham is all logic, stoicness, and never, ever letting emotions get the better of him. Even the basis of their ideals vary so widely – and yet, at the end of the day, they're roommates who, unbelievably enough, care for each other.
But, if he had to be honest, Kaveh probably went further than just caring.
How could he not? Even back in his Akademiya days, Alhaitham brightened his otherwise dry days. For all his 'Light of Kshahrewar' glory, Kaveh found his school life dry – until Alhaitham, ever the stoic, serious, yet wise man, came into his life. And even now, after their falling out, Alhaitham was kind enough to lend a helping hand to Kaveh – who, honestly, would be starving on the streets without Alhaitham’s assistance.
Yes, they disagree over the smallest things; yes, they had fallen out long ago. But these bickering moments are short and silly, and it leaves Kaveh feeling exhilarated and lively, his mind whizzing for comebacks – the fastest it would buzz about, other than at his projects and works of art.
A part of him even wants to show Alhaitham his designs, asking for his opinion, just to hope to earn some sort of praise from the man over how finely designed it is – a distant and rather impossible hope, considering Alhaitham’s blindness to art and beauty, but that tiny voice in Kaveh's head still hopes nonetheless.
Kaveh cuts himself off with a retch. He swallows, hard, before whatever it is gathering in his throat spills, haphazardly cramming it back down his throat.
He sighs. Truth be told, he's been sick with nausea for days – almost a week, even. And yet, Kaveh can't find it in himself to stop working for some measly dizziness; it is a big project, and he can't afford to cut off his flow of ideas over something he could easily fix by simply swallowing down whatever surfaces to the tip of his throat.
Kaveh cleans his lips with the back of his hands, his eyes scanning the room for once.
His gaze lands on the clock.
Silence.
Then there is a lot of scrambling as Kaveh searches for his outfit and accessories, haphazardly pinning his hair back into its usual style as he falls out his door with the grace of a hilichurl.
He pays no mind to Alhaitham’s deadpanning, inquisitive stare from his spot on the sofa. Instead, all Kaveh throws at the other man as he picks up his keys are the words "Tighnari and Cyno”, "tea time", and "late".
Alhaitham can only look on, baffled, as the door shuts with a slam.
~
When Kaveh arrives at Tighnari's house, he's met with amused gazes from his two friends.
"Well, aren’t you early," Tighnari sighs, his lips pulled into a slanted grin, arms crossed.
Cyno nods, sipping his tea as his eyes continue giving Kaveh its usual blank stare.
"Sorry, sorry! I was–" Kaveh heaves, taking pants between his words, and he feels nauseous once again. He pays it no mind; after all, he’s clearly still winded from his dash to Tighnari's house, "–I was working on my new project…"
Cyno waves his hand carelessly, pouring Kaveh a cup of herbal tea. Kaveh picks it up, and it's spicy floral scents remind him of Alhaitham as it wafts into his airway –
Okay, Kaveh, you need to stop.
Kaveh lets himself appreciate the smell. The aroma of definitely-not-Alhaitham, but tea leaves, spices and the barest hint of wood tickles his sense of smell–
–And sends everything he's trying so hard to swallow right out his throat before anyone could react.
Cyno and Tighnari on, frozen stiff with terror and shock, as Kaveh doubles over and chokes on air, clutching his chest as he convulses and retches, spluttering out broken coughs, throat constricting on apparently nothing.
Kaveh, honestly, is just as panicked as the other two are – not that he can really express it, with how much his throat burns, his chest aches as it tries to push out whatever it is in his system. He feels something solid, soft, scratchy dragging along his airways, and he coughs, keeps coughing, as he tries to get it out.
He feels liquid – warm liquid – fall out of his mouth with a splat onto his hand over his lips. It’s sticky to the touch – Kaveh’s eyes take a peek through the thick, increasing pain, and the red glint of the liquid catches his eyes.
It’s blood, Kaveh vaguely acknowledges, but he’s unable to do anything else about it – not when every breath is a chore, when he feels like he’s about to cough his lungs out.
Kaveh thinks he sees Tighnari scrambling to pull out a handkerchief he could borrow; he thinks he feels Cyno’s calloused hands, shaking, as he pats him on the back, attempting to soothe him. He isn’t sure – the pain is unbearable, to the point where his senses are dulled, and Kaveh's vision is doubling, blurring.
He thinks he blacks out for a few seconds.
When Kaveh comes to, he sees Tighnari and Cyno, deathly pale, eyes fixed on whatever laid before him on the table.
Kaveh finds his own face matching theirs seconds later.