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"Look at this!"
Al-Haitham has barely finished pushing the door open before Kaveh is in front of him, waving a small object in front of his face.
After a few seconds, Kaveh huffs. "What, no reaction?"
"I'm looking." Despite the fast motions distorting his vision, he is able to recognize it as some sort of toy. Judging by the round shape and distinctive smiling features, it's an Aranara plushie.
"It's an Aranara plushie!" Kaveh says, as if Al-Haitham isn't perfectly capable of coming to the same conclusion.
Acknowledging this with a simple nod of his head, Al-Haitham turns to close the door behind him. When he turns back around, Kaveh has thrown his hands into the air, the Aranara plushie getting a much closer view of their wooden ceiling. "Surely even you can admit that it's adorable?" he complains.
Al-Haitham ignores the question in favor of hanging his keys on the wall. "Where did you get that?"
"There was a grandpa selling them on Treasures Street. They're completely handmade, and all the proceeds will help him afford his rent this month."
"You are aware that's a scam, right?" Al-Haitham brushes past Kaveh to drape his cape across the back of the couch before sitting down. "Maybe you should be worried about your own rent."
Kaveh's glare follows him into the living room. He crosses his arms, the plushie peeking out from beside his elbow. "Does it really matter whether he was telling the truth?" he asks. "What if I just wanted the plushie because it was cute? Besides, I don't want to assume the worst of everyone."
This is true. Kaveh is not in the habit of assuming the worst of people. "So you assume the best of everyone, instead," Al-Haitham points out.
"You say that like it's a bad thing!"
This is not a conversation Al-Haitham wants to continue, lest it end disastrously. In the past two months that Kaveh has lived here, banter and debate have become familiar fixtures, just as much a part of their household as the lamps and tables. However, sometimes the undertones of their disagreements stray dangerously close to an old fallout that now haunts the edges of Al-Haitham's memory.
Given their fiercely incongruent ideals, Al-Haitham would not dare dream of a purely civil coexistence. Yet he is still searching for a way to navigate the tenuousness of their newfound relationship without having it all come crashing down.
There is a book on the coffee table that Al-Haitham remembers getting halfway through that morning. He picks it up now, opening it to the bookmarked page.
Kaveh plops down on the couch across from Al-Haitham. "At least try to guess what I named him," he says. "I bet you can't."
How astute of Kaveh, to recognize that Al-Haitham cannot possibly read his mind. "Unpaid rent?"
"Hah, hah," comes Kaveh's sardonic laughter. "I named him Fatteh, like the dish. Don't you think the leaves on his pale head resemble the garnish on a plate of Fatteh?"
Al-Haitham doesn't take his eyes off his book, though he is finding it difficult to pay attention to the words. "I hope you don't plan to eat it. You'll find that cotton does not have an appealing texture or taste."
"You—" Kaveh exclaims, then seems to think better of it, sighing too loudly. Maybe Al-Haitham should turn on his noise-cancelling headphones. "Forget it. I'm going back to my room."
Only when Kaveh is already crossing the threshold to his bedroom, his back disappearing from view, does Al-Haitham finally look up from his book. He has yet to process a single word of it.
In their days at the Akademiya, Kaveh was easily enamored by little trinkets, frequently buying keychains or carvings that caught his eye and were often accompanied by some sort of sob story. He amassed quite a collection, one that Al-Haitham was guilty of contributing to from time to time because he was unable to say no.
What happened to that collection when Kaveh sold his family home?
When Al-Haitham found Kaveh at Lambad's, he only had two suitcases with him. The contents of those suitcases, mostly sketches and clothes, now cover his desk and hang in his closet. Very little decorates his personal space, in line with his expressed desire to move out as soon as he can afford to.
But it seems that even Kaveh's lack of financial freedom cannot take away his love of small, sentimental objects. Some things will never change, perhaps to the detriment of Kaveh's life trajectory. At least he has a generous, patient landlord who will not grudge him for paying his rent a few days late—for the third month in a row.
The next plushie Kaveh brings home can scarcely be called a plushie. Commercially successfully toys are typically large enough to be held comfortably in one's arms, as well as soft and fluffy to provide a sense of warmth and companionship. Amurta scholars have conducted studies on the properties that make plushies psychologically appealing to old and young alike.
The tiny, dirty object in Kaveh's palm surely does not check off a single item on the list.
"What is that?" Al-Haitham can't help but ask, genuinely befuddled.
"A hamster," Kaveh announces in the sort of voice a parent might use when their child has done something particularly impressive for their age, such as passing the Akademiya entrance exam on the first try. "Her name is Lemon!"
"Where did you acquire this... rodent?"
"The Akademiya's lost and found had a stack of items recovered from the dorms that they were about to throw out, and she was right on top of the pile." Kaveh pouts. "I couldn't just let her be thrown away."
"So you picked this up," Al-Haitham says, "from a trash pile."
"Now, that's not quite—"
"Do you know how long those lost and found items have been there? What they've touched? How much dust they've collected?" A headache is beginning to form behind Al-Haitham's temples.
"Just because they've been lost by their original owners doesn't mean they don't deserve a loving home! What if Lemon's owner is out there somewhere, crying themselves to sleep every night because they miss her?"
Al-Haitham takes a closer look at the plushie. Perhaps, far beneath the dirt and grime, its patchy skin and beady black eyes do somewhat resemble a hamster. If he squints.
Kaveh must be squinting at everything that crosses his path. What an exhausting way to live, to try so hard to identify sparks of goodness even in something as mundane as a hamster plushie on top of a pile of lost things. Al-Haitham doesn't understand how he is so generous with his empathy—but what truly puzzles him is how that empathy is extended to everyone and everything, except for him.
"...Please wash that thing thoroughly," he finally says, suppressing a shudder.
Kaveh beams.
When Al-Haitham walks in public, he keeps his headphones in. They save him the hassle of making small talk with random strangers, and for the obtuse ones who cannot take the hint, they block out the offending noises. Unfortunately, having Kaveh by his side derails this clever strategy. Kaveh likes to chatter in Al-Haitham's ear about anything and everything and will become annoyed if he senses Al-Haitham isn't listening, leading him to cause a scene right where everyone can see.
Kaveh also enjoys small talk. Kaveh asks people how their days are going even when they're merely crossing paths for a split second and there is no way either party will be able to provide a satisfactory answer other than, "Good!" Kaveh stops in the middle of the street to engage in conversations, forcing Al-Haitham to drag him away before the establishments close. Kaveh has no qualms about walking up to complete strangers to offer his assistance if it looks like they have something on their mind.
Which is how Al-Haitham finds himself in Port Ormos, watching Kaveh cross the street and squat down to talk to a little Liyuen girl. Her dark hair is tied into twin braids, and she clutches a lamb plushie in one hand.
"Do you need help?" he hears Kaveh ask quietly.
The girl says something that Kaveh clearly cannot understand. With her free hand, she tugs on the puffy part of his sleeve.
Kaveh throws Al-Haitham a frantic look over his shoulder. "Some help here, Haravatat?"
Al-Haitham takes a moment to mourn the new coffee beans they were supposed to buy from a stall that will surely be closed by the time they manage to reach it. Still, he joins Kaveh, though he stays standing. Up close, he sees what must have spurred Kaveh to cross the street—the girl's face is wet with tears. "Are you lost?" he tries in standard Liyuen.
His accent is mediocre, but the girl's eyes widen in recognition. Her eyes dart between Kaveh and Al-Haitham rapidly.
"Do you need help finding your family?" Al-Haitham asks.
"Mama, Baba, I don't know where they went," the little girl says. Her voice quivers with fear. "I went inside the shop, but when I came out, they were gone!"
"We'll help you look for them," says Al-Haitham. "Where did you last see them?"
The girl points to a nearby furniture shop. Al-Haitham quickly translates the situation for Kaveh. "Poor girl," he murmurs, looking distraught. He gently extricates the girl's hand from his sleeve, squeezing it to comfort her. "Let's find her parents, quickly."
Luckily, after a few conversations with people around the docks, they are able to identify where a pair of visiting Liyuen merchants was last spotted. The little girl ends up being carried on Kaveh's back, her arms hugging his neck. She holds the lamb plushie right on top of Kaveh's shoulder, so the lamb gets a front-row seat to the hustle and bustle of Port Ormos.
Soon, they run into a very frantic-looking couple, who nearly melt with relief.
"Mama!" the little girl exclaims. Kaveh sets her down gently so she can run into her mother's arms. Al-Haitham looks away from the family reunion to give them some privacy.
"Thank you so much," the father says in the common tongue. "We had no idea where she had run off to; we were fearing the worst."
"You should be careful," Al-Haitham cautions. "Many Eremite factions are active in Port Ormos, and not all strangers are kind."
The father nods seriously. "Of course. Rex Lapis must be watching over us for our daughter to have fallen under your care, but we will not need the same blessing again."
"You're visiting merchants from Liyue, correct?" Kaveh asks. "How long have you been here? What do you sell?"
Al-Haitham sighs, dreading another conversation that he cannot pull Kaveh away from. However, as the parents eagerly chat with Kaveh about their line of work, the little girl walks up to Al-Haitham and looks up at him with large eyes.
"Thank you, big brother," she says.
"No need for thanks," Al-Haitham replies, as is customary.
She raises her arm to push the lamb plushie into his hand, which instinctively closes around it before it can fall to the floor. "Giving it to you," she says firmly.
Al-Haitham's eyebrows shoot up. "No need." He tries to give it back, but she quickly steps out of his reach. "It's your toy; why are you giving it to me?"
"Because I want to," she says. "Two big brothers helped me, so I'm giving you Yang Yang."
Yang Yang. Liyuen for lamb lamb. Al-Haitham looks down at the plushie, then at the girl. The stubbornness in her expression reminds him of a certain someone. Because of this, he recognizes that she is unlikely to budge. "Thank you."
The little girl smiles toothily at him before running over to Kaveh, hugging his legs. Kaveh, who appears to be wrapping up his conversation with the parents, lets out a startled laugh.
"We've already taken enough of your time," the father says. "You should be on your way. But we are thankful to have crossed paths with you, and we wish you the best of luck in your endeavors."
"Thank you," Kaveh says earnestly. "May you and your family stay safe." He waves them goodbye after patting the little girl on the head once more, then turns to Al-Haitham. "Well, that was—" His gaze falls upon Yang Yang. "Oh? Is that her plushie?"
"Her name is Yang Yang. It... means lamb in Liyuen." Because he isn't quite sure what else to do, he holds Yang Yang out.
Kaveh's eyes soften as he accepts the plushie. For a moment, Al-Haitham is worried he might start crying. "A very fitting name," he says, voice a little thick. "Well, let's take good care of Yang Yang."
Kaveh usually returns from dinner in Gandharva Ville inebriated, his actions clumsy and his words slurred. "Cyno challenges you to a TCG duel and says he looks forward to kicking your ass," he says, inelegantly toeing his shoes off. "Tighnari says hi, and that you should be nicer to me and start picking up your books around the house."
Upon hearing a loud noise, Al-Haitham looks up from his book, only to see Kaveh knocking his hand against the keys on the wall. "I have a hard time believing Tighnari said that."
"Oh, and Collei said I'm her favorite!"
"Favorite among who? Architects named Kaveh? That's not a competitive pool. Or drunk visitors who embarrass themselves at dinner?"
Kaveh continues as if he hasn't heard Al-Haitham, which may be true. "Look what she made me!" He pulls out a green plushie from his satchel. "My very own Cuilein-Anbar doll!"
"Is that..."
"She had some questions about how to make them lighter," Kaveh says. "So I helped her test out some modifications to the formula, and she was so happy with the results! She told me I'm her favorite and gave me my very own Cuilein-Anbar! Isn't that adorable? The youth of Sumeru have such promising futures ahead of them. I can't wait to introduce Cuilein-Anbar to all of its new siblings." He frowns. "Their siblings? Her siblings? I should've asked Collei about pronouns."
"Don't Collei's dolls explode?" Al-Haitham asks. "Collei gave you a bomb."
Kaveh freezes. After a moment, he steals a glance at Cuilein-Anbar. "What, no—don't be ridiculous! I'm sure Collei gave me a safe, non-explosive version." As he says the words, he gingerly holds Cuilein-Anbar further from his face. "But maaaaaaaaybe I'll keep it separate from the other plushies. Just in case."
Kaveh leaves the room quickly, only managing to bump into one lamp along the way, muttering something that sounds like what the hell are Cuilein-Anbar's pronouns under his breath.
Al-Haitham isn't sure how to feel about harboring a bomb under his roof, but hopefully the radius of Collei's weapons is not yet large enough to destroy his entire house. That would be woefully inconvenient—Al-Haitham likes his home the way it currently is.
Seasons come and go. Al-Haitham's house remains intact. The flowers in Sumeru City burst into brilliant blossoms. Cyno challenges Al-Haitham to many more games of Genius Invokation TCG. Kaveh starts sleeping in Al-Haitham's bed occasionally, then often. Al-Haitham learns two new languages, buys five types of coffee beans, and rejects every single one of Cyno's challenges. And throughout it all, Kaveh's haphazard collection of plushies only continues to grow.
"What do you need so many for?" Al-Haitham asks, when Kaveh comes home with a set of two scruffy bears he bought from a secondhand market.
"Have some respect." Kaveh sets the bears on the counter. "Mango and Goldie are listening."
"My apologies for speaking ill of the inanimate objects," Al-Haitham deadpans. "I'm sure their feelings are hurt."
Kaveh sighs, tweaking one of the bears' ears. Al-Haitham assumes that one is "Mango," only because the bear's fur is slightly darker. "They have sensitive ears. And they're... comforting, you know? I like having them in my room. They're my companions."
You have me, Al-Haitham doesn't say. Because even though their regular outings have morphed into something like romantic dates, and Kaveh is by his side these nights more often than not, he's not sure if that crosses the complicated lines Kaveh has woven for them. What comes out instead is, "You have Mehrak."
"Mehrak isn't soft and cuddly."
I can be cuddly, Al-Haitham doesn't say. It's good that he doesn't, because it would be a stupid thing to say—Kaveh would certainly never let him live it down.
But the next time they're at the marketplace and Kaveh spots a stall selling cute stuffed animals and turns to Al-Haitham and gives him an imploring look, Al-Haitham still pulls out his wallet and pays. Perhaps that inadvertently says more than the thoughts he withholds.
Kaveh pushes the token in, and the machine rumbles to life.
"So this is what Fontainian engineering is like." Kaveh's eyes scan the machine from top to bottom, appraising each detail of its construction, from the glass paneling to the sleek controls. He makes an unimpressed noise. "Hmm."
Nilou recently told them about a new invention from Fontaine, where brave challengers must remotely control a large, clawed metal arm within a machine in order to win a plushie. Personally, Al-Haitham thinks it's an obvious scam, albeit a creative way to prey on humanity's penchant for gambling. However, the machines are apparently very popular in Inazuma, and they've now found a perfect target—Kaveh.
Kaveh pushes down on the controls, sending the claw a certain amount of distance to the right. Al-Haitham stands off to the side, far more interested in observing the way Kaveh's eyes dart around rapidly than the machine itself. Clearly, his brain is making some quick calculations. However, when the claw comes down, it doesn't quite manage to take anything with it.
Kaveh swears loudly.
"Don't let the plushies hear you," Al-Haitham says. "I'm told they have sensitive ears."
"Shut up. That was a practice run." Kaveh's hands gather up his hair into a quick ponytail—a sign that he is taking this seriously. "I'll get it this time."
On his next try, Kaveh manages to snag one of the colorful ponies within the machine. However, a split second before success, Al-Haitham sees the claw twinge, almost imperceptibly. The plushie falls to the side, just missing the chute that would have transported it straight to Kaveh's waiting arms.
"What?" Kaveh shrieks. "No! I had it!"
"Kaveh. It's rigged."
"No, I almost had it. The controls are just a bit clunky. Let me try again."
Al-Haitham lets him try again. And again, and again, wasting more mora—Al-Haitham's mora, in fact—on tokens when his first batch runs out. Eventually, Al-Haitham begins to feel like it is his moral obligation to intervene. "Kaveh. If you want a plushie, I can buy you one from somewhere else."
But Kaveh frowns and points at a plushie within the machine—a pink horse with a horn on its head. It seems to be modeled after some sort of Fontainian mythological creature. "I want that one," he says. "Trust me, I've figured out how the mechanism works. I'm close. I just need to compensate for the weight of the plushie with the precise angle of the claw..."
Kaveh, for all his faults, is a brilliant architect with a deep understanding of technology. Al-Haitham wholeheartedly believes this to be true, to the same extent that he believes no one can beat this scam of a machine through skill alone.
"My turn," he says, grabbing the controller before Kaveh can. Of course, he smoothly maneuvers the plushie to the chute. He watches it tumble out of the machine, then looks up to see Kaveh staring at him, mouth agape.
"How?"
"Luck."
"Fuck you." Kaveh shakes his head, turning around to walk away.
Al-Haitham grabs the plushie. The horned pink horse is soft to the touch, but shaped quite firmly, as if he's holding a pillow. He rushes after Kaveh, tapping him on the shoulder.
Kaveh spins around as if he's prepared for a physical fight, but upon seeing the plushie, his face softens. Al-Haitham holds it out wordlessly. Kaveh takes it.
"I wanted to win it for myself," Kaveh says, one hand already patting the plushie's snout. "It's no fun if you're the one that did it."
"Why not? At the end of the day, you get to keep it. What's so difficult about accepting it from me?"
He doesn't mean to sound so accusing, but Kaveh flinches, instinctively wrapping his arms tighter around the plushie. And Al-Haitham recognizes that look. It's guilt—the kind that flashed across Kaveh's face when Al-Haitham first offered him a place to live.
"You always have something to say when I bring more plushies home," Kaveh says. "'Waste of money,' or 'Why did you get more?' I don't even understand why you helped me win this one."
He's clearly avoiding the question. Which is fine, seeing as Al-Haitham has already puzzled out the answer.
As for why he helped him? Too many reasons to articulate, especially if it isn't already obvious to Kaveh. But perhaps this is the simplest one: if Kaveh has a small army of beloved plushies waiting in his room, he's less likely to pack up all of his belongings in the middle of the day. He's less likely to depart from Sumeru City with no plans to return. He's more likely to fall asleep with a smile on his face, in a house that feels like a home.
"Maybe," Al-Haitham says, "I just have a charitable soul."
At least the absurdity of that statement seems to shake Kaveh out of his funk. "You, charitable? Please." He scoffs loudly, then sobers up. "But whatever your intentions were... Thank you."
"They say that earnest thanks should—"
"I will throttle you where you stand, Al-Haitham, so don't test my patience," Kaveh threatens, looking so murderous that Al-Haitham decides not to finish the sentence. Lifting the plushie to eye level, Kaveh's mood instantly brightens. "Anyways, I need to give her a name. How do you feel about 'Pinkie?'"
"Ah, Al-Haitham, wait, stop, ah—"
Al-Haitham instantly stops kissing him. He detangles his hand from the blankets beneath Kaveh's shoulders and pushes himself upright, giving Kaveh space to catch his breath. "What's wrong?" he asks, clearing his throat after hearing how strained his voice sounds.
Kaveh sits upright, wiping some spit away from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry," he says, a little breathless. "I just... I can't do this right now."
"Oh." Concerns pile up in Al-Haitham's head. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, just—" Kaveh groans and falls back onto his bed, his golden hair fanning out beneath him. His hands trace out a vague gesture in the air, directing Al-Haitham's attention to their surroundings.
Al-Haitham isn't quite sure what he's supposed to see, and then he registers that all of Kaveh's plushies are still on the bed, staring them down with their artificial eyes. Honestly, he didn't notice them at all until now. He was... a little distracted.
"The plushies," he says dryly. "Really."
"I don't want them to stare at us while we're making out, Al-Haitham," Kaveh says, scandalized. "They're like my children."
"You do realize you just made it even weirder."
"Ugh, just... Give me a moment."
Kaveh swings his legs off the side of the bed to stand up. Al-Haitham can only watch in disbelief as he reaches for the closest plushie—a cute, squishy version of a Frostarm Lawachurl—and adjusts its positioning so its head faces the wall.
"Are you going to do that for every single one?"
Instead of answering, Kaveh pats the next plushie—a white bear with large black spots, its left paw sewed on upside down—gently on the head before turning it around.
Al-Haitham cannot believe this is his life. This is going to take all day, especially with the level of care Kaveh seems intent on showing every plushie. Kaveh places a gentle kiss on Pinkie's head—the same plushie from that claw machine—and flips it around. Al-Haitham appreciates that Pinkie's unsettling gaze is no longer tracking them, at least, as far as he can see. Ever since they brought it home, he can't shake the feeling that its large black eyes follow him no matter where he stands in the room.
Despite his best efforts to be patient, he can't get over how pointless this is. He opens his mouth. "We can go to my room—"
"No, no, I'm almost done." Kaveh is barely halfway through the stash. He has reached two seal plushies stacked on top of each other, one about a tenth of the size of the other, and he squishes the smaller seal's round face fondly before moving them.
Al-Haitham sighs, reaching out to flip the plushies closest to him—a white lion and a black bull from the same collection. This is ridiculous. Next time, he's dragging Kaveh to his room so he never has to deal with all of this again.
While rifling through a box of old books that belonged to his grandmother, Al-Haitham stumbles upon something that reminds him of Kaveh. Later, during a lull in their dinner conversation, he brings it out of his pocket and places it in the middle of their dining table. "I found this today," he says.
Kaveh stares.
The tiny black and white cat plushie has clearly seen better days. Its once-curly fur is a little messy, and its whiskers have been bent completely out of shape. But Kaveh picks it up almost reverently, letting it sit perfectly in the dip of his fingers.
"His name is Chip," Al-Haitham says. "I named him when I was very young. My grandmother and I must have been eating pita chips at the time."
Kaveh's gaze turns to the plate of pita chips on their dining table, then back to Chip the cat. "You never told me you had plushies," he accuses, but there is little heat behind his words.
"I didn't, really. My grandmother figured out quite quickly that I was far more interested in books than toys, so she didn't buy any after that. Chip must have been one of the first. He's the only one that survived this long. I found him in a box of old books."
"He's adorable." But Kaveh sounds uncertain, as if he is still calculating how to respond.
This seems like a good time to be direct. "He's all yours. My grandmother never minded that I didn't take good care of my toys. But I think she would be overjoyed for you to have him, especially after all this time."
Unexpectedly, Kaveh groans, using his free hand to cover his eyes. "You... Do you even know the things you're saying?"
"I put a lot of thought into my words," Al-Haitham says, confused.
"No, I mean—" Kaveh sighs, then groans again. "This might be the most romantic thing you've ever done."
"Then why do you sound displeased?"
"Because," Kaveh says, his voice clearly strained. He doesn't elaborate, leaving Al-Haitham confused.
"...Does that mean you'll let me give Chip to you?"
Kaveh peeks at Al-Haitham through his fingers. It must help him come to some kind of a decision, because his hand soon leaves his face. "I... I didn't think you were capable of being this thoughtful."
"Thoughtful," Al-Haitham echoes. "Is it thoughtfulness if I just want you to accept my kindness, Kaveh?"
"Is that what this is about? Some kind of test of my character?"
Somehow, Kaveh has managed to take away the opposite of what Al-Haitham wanted to express. But Al-Haitham remains resolute. "No," he says, "that is not what this is about." And then, in case he needs to spell it out even more clearly, "I wanted to give Chip to you because I thought he would bring you joy. And it seems like I was right. So what use is there in continuing to deny yourself the things that bring you joy?"
Kaveh holds his gaze for a long moment. Then, he sets Chip down on the table, out of range of any potential food spills.
"What are you—" Al-Haitham begins to ask, but is interrupted by Kaveh standing up, making his way over to Al-Haitham's side of the table, and kissing Al-Haitham square on the mouth.
Upon seeing the bundle in Kaveh's arms, Al-Haitham's first thought is that his roommate has actually lost his mind and acquired a child through some strange means. His second thought is that his peaceful, comfortable life is about to become a nightmare.
Thank the Archons that what Kaveh unwraps from the blanket is not a living, breathing infant, but the largest Aranara plushie Al-Haitham has ever seen. He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he squints.
"That plushie looks like me," he points out.
"What?" Kaveh says. "Don't be ridiculous. He's so cute and happy, and you're... not."
"Its hat is the exact color of my hair," Al-Haitham says. "And it looks like my eyes. They're the same shade."
"Those are silly coincidences. We're in Sumeru. Aranara are forest fairies! Of course he's green."
"You've previously described my eye color as 'teal.' The plushie is teal."
"Green-ish."
Al-Haitham points to the top of the plushie's head. "That leaf looks just like the strand of hair you always refer to as my 'hair sprout.'"
"So you are listening when I tell you to comb your hair properly," Kaveh fires back.
Al-Haitham shrugs. If Kaveh wants to deny it for mysterious reasons, Al-Haitham will let him, but the truth seems abundantly clear: Kaveh has, for whatever reason, purchased an oversized Aranara plushie that looks exactly like Al-Haitham.
He can't help the small smile that plays across his lips at this thought. To distract Kaveh from noticing this and flying into a fit, he asks, "Have you given it a name?"
"Yeah," Kaveh says. "Sabz. Like Sabz Meat Stew. Because he's green."
"Of course," Al-Haitham says, as if this logic makes perfect sense.
Thus does the little house on Treasures Street gain another occupant—the latest in a long series of additions that Kaveh has made and will continue to make to the space.
After all, it is Kaveh's home.