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He probably should’ve noticed something was wrong when Al-Haitham didn’t wake to the noise of their coffee grinder. Their grinder has effectively become his morning alarm these days; the moment Kaveh turns the crank, Al-Haitham appears from his room in all his sleepy glory—stumbling out to watch him make their morning coffee and shooting criticisms abound. Today, Al-Haitham hasn’t appeared even after Kaveh finished grinding the beans for both of them.
He probably should’ve noticed something was wrong when he finished brewing their coffee and Al-Haitham still hadn’t appeared. But, in his defense, Al-Haitham has never been a morning person, even when they were young. Kaveh wouldn’t put it past him to stay in bed for a few moments longer—stealing any amount of sleep he can.
It isn’t until Kaveh finishes his coffee and checks the clock that he starts to worry. If Al-Haitham wants to make it to work on time, he should be up and about by now.
The sudden high-pitched crying coming from Al-Haitham’s room is the last giveaway that something has gone terribly wrong—the most obvious too.
He rushes to his roommate’s door, wrenching it open.
“Al-Haitham, what—”
He freezes.
There is a child in Al-Haitham’s covers, on Al-Haitham’s bed. A child. They can’t be older than two or three from how tiny they are. Their hair is a messy bird’s nest of gray strands, and their hands are small—gripped tight to Al-Haitham’s sheets. The child is drowning in the shirt they have on, the sleeves reaching their elbows and the collar drooping over their chest. For one nonsensical moment, Kaveh thinks, Al-Haitham never told him he had a child.
The child’s watery eyes meet his. Kaveh sucks in a breath, struck dumb as he stares at the familiar teal irises and orange-rimmed pupils.
“Kusanali above,” he breathes, “Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham blinks, lips pressed together like he’s holding himself back from crying. He lets go of the blanket in his hands, lifting his arms and making grabbing motions towards Kaveh.
Kaveh stares. He does not move.
Al-Haitham’s eyes start welling up with tears. His breath hitches, caught against a cry. Kaveh doesn’t think he’s ever seen Al-Haitham cry—especially with eyes as big as these.
He let out a small sob.
Like he’s been shocked back to life, Kaveh crosses the short distance between Al-Haitham’s door and bedside and wraps his arms around the other’s—pressing him close to his chest.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he murmurs gently cupping the back of Al-Haitham’s head and rubbing smooth circles down his back. He feels Al-Haitham tiny hands grip his shirt and sniffle against it. How did Al-Haitham turn into a child overnight? “There’s no need to cry.”
Al-Haitham buries his head further into Kaveh’s chest, tucking himself small in his arms. Kaveh’s hands slowly still. He glances down at the little one trying to melt against him, suspicion creeping in him. This child isn’t acting very Al-Haitham-like. He never would’ve guessed Al-Haitham would be a clingy child—or an emotional one, for that matter.
“You are Al-Haitham, right?” Kaveh asks, voice soft. He tilts his head, gently pulling the child back. The child makes a noise of protest, squirming in his hold. Kaveh grunts, shifting back.
“No!” the child says, panicked. Kaveh flinches. The child’s eyes start welling up again, lashes wet with tears as he works his way out of Kaveh's hold only to dig his fingers into Kaveh’s shirt and pull him back.
Kaveh blinks. Awkwardly, he pats the child’s back.
“Does that mean,” he starts, drawing his words out gently, “you aren’t Al-Haitham?”
The child somehow grips him tighter. Slowly, he shakes their head.
“Does that mean you are Al-Haitham, then?” Kaveh asks, brows furrowed.
The child turns his head, tilting it up to meet Kaveh’s gaze. He looks almost shy when he nods, large eyes shifting away from Kaveh’s gaze like he’s embarrassed.
Kaveh exhales. That solves the question of where this child came from and where Al-Haitham went. The next question is how?
Al-Haitham buries into Kaveh’s chest again. Kaveh smiles, awfully endeared by the act. Gently, he cards his fingers through Al-Haitham’s hair, untangling the knots in the strands.
He doesn’t remember Al-Haitham acting any differently when he went to bed last night—or at least, not any different from how he’s been acting these past few weeks. The other’s been quiet ever since Kaveh hosted that dinner party to celebrate paying off all his debt, but that shouldn’t cause him to revert into a child. Was it some sort of curse then? Some leyline disorder Al-Haitham stumbled across?
“Al-Haitham?” Kaveh murmurs, knowing better than to try and meet his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”
Al-Haitham nods against his chest.
“Who am I, then?”
He huffs, the sound adorably annoyed. When Al-Haitham tilts his head again, Kaveh’s met with the sight of tiny furrowed brows and a small pout.
“You are Kaveh,” Al-Haitham says, voice higher pitched than normal and so very soft. Kaveh feels something in his chest melt. “You are… my most important person.”
His cheeks turn pink like he hadn’t meant to say that. Kaveh feels his smile stretch wider—his chest squeezing from how adorable Al-Haitham looks.
“Good to know you’ve still got your memories,” he says, booping Al-Haitham’s nose. Al-Haitham scrunches his face and ducks his head. “Do you remember anything that might have caused this to happen then, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham doesn’t respond, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Slowly, he shakes his head.
Kaveh’s smile fades. He sighs.
“I see. That’s alright,” he assures when Al-Haitham seems to curl in on himself at Kaveh’s disappointment. “There must’ve been something though. This can’t have happened out of nowhere.”
He purses his lips, absentmindedly tucking Al-Haitham within the crook of his elbow. There aren’t that many things Kaveh knows about that could change someone’s appearance like this. Nor their mental state. From the way Al-Haitham’s acting, even if he still remembers everything older Al-Haitham does, child Al-Haitham doesn’t seem to have the mental faculties that older Al-Haitham has. It’s as if his mind has reverted to that of a child too, not just his body.
Something like that must be the work of some powerful being.
His eyes drift to the clock on Al-Haitham’s bedside. He’ll need to let the Akademiya know Al-Haitham can’t make it today, but while he’s there, he may as well ask Sumeru’s most knowledgeable being and see if she had any ideas.
He glances down at Al-Haitham now firmly sitting in his lap. The other’s fully pressed against him now, his grip on his shirt loosening the slightest bit. When Kaveh gently shakes his shoulder, he glances up, eyes drooping and tired.
Kaveh resists the urge to coo.
“Are you tired?” he asks. Al-Haitham nods. “Did you not sleep well last night?”
Al-Haitham shakes his head, his cheek smushed against Kaveh. He yawns, eyes shuttering in the process.
“Really?” Kaveh asks, amused and terribly endeared. “You usually sleep like a log.”
Al-Haitham whines softly, annoyed. Kaveh chuckles.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll let you sleep.” He shifts, planning to move Al-Haitham back on the bed. As soon as he starts pulling away, Al-Haitham protests—yanking on Kaveh’s shirt and pulling hard. He cries, loud enough that Kaveh flinches and stops, which makes Al-Haitham stop too.
Kaveh blinks.
“You don’t want to sleep on your bed?” he asks. “I’m sure it’s much more comfortable than sleeping on me.”
Al-Haitham vehemently shakes his head, pressing his face against Kaveh again.
“Don’t leave,” he says, the words muffled against Kaveh’s chest. “Don’t go.”
Kaveh furrows his brows.
“I’m not going anywhere though?” he says softly. Al-Haitham shakes his head, pressing further into Kaveh. He hears the other start sniffing again—quiet like he doesn’t want Kaveh to know.
Kaveh’s frown. Slowly, he reclines against the bed until they’re both lying down, securing Al-Haitham in his arms.
“Okay, I’m not leaving anymore,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles on Al-Haitham’s back. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You can sleep if you want. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Al-Haitham grips him tighter. Kaveh brushes his fingers through his hair, continuing to murmur assurances to the child and whisper sweet nothings. Slowly, he feels the other melt against him, turning more and more pliant the longer Kaveh lulls him to sleep. When Al-Haitham’s breathing finally deepens and the grip on his shirt loosens, Kaveh lets out a small sigh and smiles.
“Cute,” he whispers, gently brushing Al-Haitham’s cheek.
He ends up asking Mehrak to send a note to the Akademiya about Al-Haitham’s leave—awkwardly penning the letter while he’s still got Al-Haitham tucked in his arms. By the time Mehrak returns from her mission, Al-Haitham’s only just starting to rouse himself up, squirming slightly on Kaveh’s chest.
“Good morning,” Kaveh murmurs, watching Al-Haitham raise his head. Al-Haitham blinks drowsily. He feels Al-Haitham’s grip on his shirt tighten again. “Sleep well?”
Al-Haitham hums and nods. A small smile spreads on his face that he hides against Kaveh’s chest. Something in Kaveh dies inside.
“You ready for a meeting with our Archon then?”
Turns out, their home has nothing small, three-year-old Al-Haitham could appropriately wear. And it’s not like he can bring Al-Haitham outside butt-naked, nor can he leave tiny Al-Haitham at home when he starts crying as soon as Kaveh makes any indication that he’s setting him down.
So Kaveh pins one of his shawls around Al-Haitham in some awful facsimile of a robe and takes him to the Grand Bazaar first. For how disagreeable Al-Haitham can be on the best of days, child Al-Haitham is surprisingly obedient. He lets Kaveh haphazardly dress him without complaint and follows him to the Grand Bazaar pressed close to his legs and holding his hand.
Kaveh tries to make the trip quick, picking out a simple tunic, undergarment, pants, and shoes for Al-Haitham to wear. He neatly avoids the questions about where this child came from, why he looks like Al-Haitham, and where Al-Haitham is—offering polite smiles and hasty goodbyes. They find a bathroom tucked in the Grand Bazaar and Kaveh has Al-Haitham change into the newly bought clothes inside.
“Come inside?”
“Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, stressed, “I’m not—I mean, for your uh… older self’s sake, I think you should change on your own.”
“But—”
“I’ll be right outside,” he promises. He lowers himself to Al-Haitham’s height, gently ruffling his hair. “If you need me, just yell, alright? I promise I’m not leaving.”
Al-Haitham frowns, lips curled into a pout.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Kaveh watches Al-Haitham’s face scrunch up in disgust before the child runs into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him. Kaveh sighs, rising from his crouched position. He props himself against the wall next to the door, eyes scanning the rest of Zubayr Theater. They’re tucked far enough away from the actual crowd that he can hear himself think as he mentally runs through his checklist of events.
After Al-Haitham’s dressed, they can make their way to Kusanali and figure out what happened to him. Once they’re done speaking with the Archon, it’ll likely be lunchtime. Then, right after lunch, Kaveh has a meeting with a client.
Would the client be okay with him bringing Al-Haitham? No, he should probably find someone else to watch over him. Someone who wouldn’t mind looking over a child for an hour or two. Someone who Al-Haitham trusts too—enough that he’d been willing to stay with them for a little while.
“Oh! Kaveh!”
Kaveh blinks, scanning the crowds. Across the pathway, Nilou bounds over—waving at him with a smile.
“Nilou,” he greets, offering her a grin. “How are you?”
“I’m good! Are you waiting for the bathroom to open?”
“Not exactly. I’m actually waiting for the person inside.”
“Oh.” Nilou nods. “Is Al-Haitham in there, then?”
“What?” Kaveh says.
Nilou tilts her head.
“Is it not Al-Haitham then?” she asks.
“Um… well.” He rubs the nape of his neck. “It’s… complicated.”
Nilou blinks, brows furrowing.
“What do you mean?”
Before Kaveh can attempt to explain, the stall door slams open. Al-Haitham bursts out from the bathroom, frantically searching before his eyes find Kaveh. His face lights up. Kaveh wheezes in surprise when the child barrels into his legs, gripping onto them and burying his face in his thigh.
Kaveh sighs, lips curling in an exasperatedly fond smile.
“Oh my gods,” Nilou breathes, hands covering her lips. Her eyes sparkle when she meets Kaveh’s eyes. “Who is this?”
“Uh…” Kaveh blanks, watching Nilou lower herself so she’s at eye-level with Al-Haitham.
“Hello,” Nilou murmurs, voice soft. Al-Haitham lifts his head away from Kaveh, staring at Nilou curiously. “I’m Nilou. What’s your name?”
“I know,” Al-Haitham says, blinking. “I’m Al-Haitham.”
Nilou’s smile freezes. She glances up at Kaveh, eyes wide. He offers her a helpless smile.
“That’s why I said it’s complicated,” he says.
Nilou’s lips part, nodding her head. She turns back to Al-Haitham, who’s still watching her rather than hiding behind Kaveh’s legs like he had for every other stall owner.
“I guess I already know you then, Al-Haitham,” she says, smiling. “How are you?”
Al-Haitham pouts, disgruntled.
“Tiny.”
Nilou hums sympathetically.
“I’m sorry. Did you wake up this way?”
Al-Haitham nods.
“We’re going to see Lesser Lord Kusanali to see if she knows what happened to him,” Kaveh explains, running a hand through Al-Haitham’s hair.
“Oh, that’s good. I hope it goes well,” Nilou says, standing up and brushing her skirts. “Hopefully, the Lesser Lord’s able to figure out what happened to you, Al-Haitham. Then, you can return to your big self.”
Al-Haitham frowns, eyes lowering. His shoulders slump, making him look even smaller than he already is.
Nilou glances at Kaveh, confused
“Did I say something wrong?” she asks.
Kaveh frowns. He lowers himself to Al-Haitham’s eye level.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, grasping both of Al-Haitham’s hands in his. He tilts his head, trying to meet the other’s eyes. Al-Haitham looks away petulantly, silent.
“Do you… not want to be big again, Al-Haitham?” Nilou hedges gently.
Al-Haitham shakes his head.
Kaveh jaw drops.
“Why not?” he asks. Al-Haitham startles at the noise, eyes wide. “Don’t you want to be big again?”
Al-Haitham bites his lip. Kaveh feels his tiny hands grip him tighter, which confuses him even more. Slowly, Al-Haitham inches forward, letting go of Kaveh’s hands to grip his shirt again, pressing his face against the crook of Kaveh’s neck.
“Up,” Al-Haitham murmurs against his skin, breath tickling his skin. Kaveh’s heart squeezes. He wraps his arms around Al-Haitham.
“Al-Haitham,” he placates, “you’re too heavy.”
“Please.”
Kaveh squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head, resigned. He thanks his lucky stars that he never met Al-Haitham when he was this young. He’s got him wrapped around his tiny finger a little too well. It’s no wonder he got so spoiled.
With a small grunt, Kaveh lifts Al-Haitham up, one arm tucked under his knees and the other around his back. Al-Haitham’s own arms wrap around his neck, head still tucked in the crook of Kaveh’s neck.
“You aren’t going to tell me why you don’t want to be big?” Kaveh murmurs, hefting Al-Haitham higher up against his hip. Al-Haitham shakes his head.
“He seems very attached to you, Kaveh,” Nilou says, stepping closer and tilting her head to catch Al-Haitham’s face.
“He’s been acting like this ever since he woke up,” Kaveh says, already feeling his arms straining under Al-Haitham’s weight. Gods, he should’ve brought Mehrak. “He refuses to let me leave his sight even for a second.”
Nilou chuckles, eyes gleaming.
“Perhaps, Al-Haitham’s just enjoying the attention he’s getting,” she says. Kaveh watches Al-Haitham meet Nilou’s knowing gaze before his cheeks flush red, and he hides himself against Kaveh again. Nilou laughs. “It’s not every day he can act this childish, you know?”
Kaveh snorts.
“I guess he’s getting some benefits from being this small and cute,” he says. He blows at Al-Haitham’s bangs, causing the other to whine softly. “I didn’t think he’d be so clingy, though.”
Nilou shrugs.
“I’m sure it’s because he feels the most comfortable around you while he’s this small, Kaveh,” she says, smiling.
“Maybe.” Kaveh hikes Al-Haitham higher up, feeling him slip already. “Regardless, I hope Lesser Lord Kusanali has some answers for us about Al-Haitham’s situation.”
Nilou nods.
“Let me know if you need any help, Kaveh,” she says. “I’ll be free all day if you need someone to watch over Al-Haitham for a bit.”
Kaveh perks up, lips quirking in a smile.
“Actually, I think I’ll have to take you up on that later today,” he says. “I have a meeting with a client after lunchtime. I don’t think the client would appreciate me bringing Al-Haitham along, child or not. It should only take an hour or two, but if you don't mind…”
“Of course not, Kaveh!” Nilou exclaims, beaming. “You and Al-Haitham are my friends! I don’t mind helping both of you out in this… odd situation.”
Kaveh sighs, relieved.
“Thank you.”
Al-Haitham suddenly pulls Kaveh forward, Kaveh’s head jerking closer to Al-Haitham’s.
“You’re leaving?” Al-Haitham quietly asks, the words so low that Kaveh’s only able to hear because Al-Haitham’s speaking directly in his ear.
“Not right now,” Kaveh assures. “Only after lunch. There are still a few hours we can spend together. And not for long either. I’ll be right back once I’m done.”
“But you’re leaving.”
“I’m not leaving. I’m just… disappearing for an hour or two. Which, speaking of,”—Kaveh glances at Nilou, who’s watching them with a serene smile on her face—“thank you again, Nilou. I’ll come by after lunch to drop Al-Haitham off with you, but we should get going now.”
“Of course! I’ll be in Zubayr Theater around that time. You can count on me, Kaveh!.”
“That’s great! We’ll see you then, Nilou.” Kaveh readjusts his grip on Al-Haitham to wave at the dancer. “Al-Haitham, wave goodbye to Nilou.”
Al-Haitham presses against Kaveh, burrowing deeper against him. He does not wave Nilou goodbye. Kaveh sighs. Nilou laughs.
“Bye, you two!”
His arms give out as soon as they reach the ramp leading up to the Akademiya. Al-Haitham clings and squirms and shakes his head—refusing to let Kaveh set him down until Kaveh promises he can hold Al-Haitham all he wants once they’re home. Even then, Al-Haitham clings to his hand and presses against his legs as they walk up the ramp.
The worst part is Kaveh can’t even stay mad at Al-Haitham. Not when he’s so damn cute. Even when he knows he will wake up tomorrow with sore arms and a bucketful of grievances for Al-Haitham.
It takes a while for them to reach the Sanctuary of Surasthana with Al-Haitham’s smaller form, but eventually, they arrive at the double doors leading to their Archon’s home. The Matra guard lets Kaveh through the doors without him even asking.
“Lesser Lord Kusanali said to expect you and a tiny child,” she says, inclining her head.
“Oh.” Kaveh blinks. “Thank you.”
Lesser Lord Kusanali is already in the center of the Sanctuary when they pass through the doors, sitting on a swing just high enough for her to comfortably kick her legs out. Next to her is a dendro-formed bench big enough for Kaveh and Al-Haitham to sit on together.
“Good morning, Kaveh, Al-Haitham,” Lesser Lord Kusanali says brightly as soon as they’re under the gazebo. “I heard from a little birdie that you require my assistance?”
“Yes,” Kaveh says, drawing out the word in surprise. He bows his head in reverence. “Thank you for meeting with us during your busy schedule, Lesser Lord Kusanali.”
Kusanali smiles, eyes trailing down to Al-Haitham. Al-Haitham clings tighter to his leg. He settles a comforting hand on Al-Haitham’s shoulder.
“I’m sure you know why we’re both here,” he says, gesturing to Al-Haitham.
Kusanali nods.
“Of course. Please, take a seat, you two.”
Kaveh awkwardly shuffles towards the bench—Al-Haitham still clamped on his leg so he’s halfway dragging the little one across the floor. As soon as he’s close enough, he sits down and lifts Al-Haitham onto his lap, letting the other rest against his chest. Al-Haitham settles down, hands burying themselves in Kaveh’s shirt.
Kusanali tilts her head, green eyes wide and discerning.
“I believe I already have a guess as to what happened,” she says. “But, just to be sure, Al-Haitham, may I take your hand?”
Al-Haitham blinks, purses his lips, and nods.
Kusanali slips off her swing and walks forward, her footsteps soft against the floor. She places a hand out, letting Al-Haitham slip his hand into hers on his own terms.
“Is it alright if I search your memories, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham nods.
The next few moments pass by in relative quiet. The tips of Kusanali’s hair glow a faint green, her eyes closed and her brows pinched. Al-Haitham is surprisingly still as Kusanali does her magic. When Kusanali opens her eyes again, they seem to glow under the light of the gazebo. She slips her hand out of Al-Haitham’s and glances up at Kaveh.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she says, conjuring another swing for her to sit on. “Al-Haitham’s simply under the effects of a jinn’s magic.”
Kaveh blinks.
“A jinn?” he repeats. “I thought they were all lost to time?”
“There are a few still alive in the Desert of Hadramaveth,” Kusanali says. “The Traveler befriended one while they were exploring the ruins of Gurabad, and a group of adventurers recently brought one back to the Akademiya for study. Al-Haitham might’ve been in close enough proximity for the jinn to sense his thoughts and play a little trick on him.”
“But why Al-Haitham?” Kaveh asks. He glances down at the child below. “How did you ever get close enough to a jinn for it to curse you? I thought you just stayed in your office all day?”
“The jinn are attracted to those with strong wishes,” Kusanali explains. “Al-Haitham may have wanted something desperately enough that they decided it would be funny to grant it for him.”
“You wanted to be tiny?” Kaveh asks, incredulous.
Al-Haitham vehemently shakes his head.
“Not tiny,” Kusanali corrects. “He wanted something else. This was the jinn’s way of giving it to him and having a bit of fun in the process. A wish granted with a twist.”
Kaveh frowns. He holds Al-Haitham a little tighter.
“What did you wanted so badly, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham bites his lip. He shifts in Kaveh’s lap, hiding his face from view. He clutches tightly on to him, body tense.
Kaveh sighs. He holds Al-Haitham against his chest and rubs at the spot between his shoulder blades, feeling the other relax.
“How can we return him back to normal, then?” Kaveh asks.
Kusanali taps her lips.
“By my estimates, the jinn’s magic should wear off as early as tomorrow morning,” she says. “But, granting Al-Haitham his wish may also break the jinn’s trick as well.”
Kaveh eyes Al-Haitham. Al-Haitham, as if aware of his gaze, burrows closer to him.
“I suppose we can wait it out,” he concedes wryly. “I doubt I’ll be able to get much out of him.”
“You may be surprised,” Kusanali says, smiling. “The way I see it, Al-Haitham seems to hold you in quite high regard.”
Kaveh snorts.
“High regard has nothing to do with how open Al-Haitham is with me.”
“But it does mean he trusts you, no?” Kusanali kicks her legs, the swing swaying with the motion. “He trusts you to take care of him, Kaveh. Do you trust him too?”
“Of course I do,” he says without hesitation. He squeezes Al-Haitham tighter, glancing down at the top of Al-Haitham’s head—his gray tuft sticking up endearingly. “Of course I trust you, Al-Haitham.”
Al-Haitham peeks up, eyes wide. Pink dusts Al-Haitham’s cheeks. His ears turn a startling shade of red. Kaveh coos, endeared, and brushes Al-Haitham’s bangs out of his eyes.
Kusanali giggles, the sound tinkling.
“Is there anything else I can help with, Kaveh, Al-Haitham?” she asks, smiling wide enough that Kaveh feels it only right to smile back.
“No. I think that’s all for us.” He stands, holding Al-Haitham steadily in his arms. “Thank you for the insight, Lesser Lord Kusanali.”
“My pleasure!”
Al-Haitham’s given free rein to choose their lunch place once they leave the Sanctuary of Surasthana. When Kaveh vetoes going home, Al-Haitham grudgingly chooses Lambad’s. They buy two fish rolls and eat there, picking a table tucked in the corner where people won’t ask questions about why Kaveh has a child that looks eerily like Al-Haitham.
And then, the two of them walk back to the Grand Bazaar, Kaveh beelining for Zubayr Theater and Al-Haitham trudging behind him. He is compliant the entire way there, but his silence is telling. It sticks to the air, making Kaveh feel almost guilty for leaving him behind.
“Kaveh!”
Kaveh looks up from where he’d been staring at Al-Haitham, spotting Nilou waving at him by the Theater’s stairs.
“Nilou.” He smiles sheepishly. “I’m here to drop Al-Haitham off.”
“Of course, of course!” She kneels down and holds out her hand. “Hello, Al-Haitham.”
Kaveh feels Al-Haitham’s grip tighten. Gently, Kaveh pulls their linked hands towards Nilou’s open one.
“Kaveh?” Al-Haitham murmurs, directing his eyes up towards him. Kaveh watches him bite his lip, his small fingers gripping tighter.
Kaveh feels his chest squeeze.
“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” he says. “Nilou will look out for you in the meantime. You know Nilou, Al-Haitham. You like her.”
“I don't want to.”
“Haitham, I can’t take you with me to the client meeting.” He kneels down so he’s eye-level with Al-Haitham. “But I promise, as soon as I’m done, I will come straight back here and we can go home.”
“Home?” Al-Haitham repeats, blinking.
Kaveh nods.
“I’ll only be gone for an hour. Promise.”
Al-Haitham worries his lips, but nods once—the movement almost imperceptible. And then, he lets go of Kaveh’s hand and places it in Nilou’s instead. Nilou gently wraps his hand in hers, smiling softly at Al-Haitham.
His skin crawls watching Al-Haitham reluctantly stand by Nilou's side. Kaveh plasters on a smile past his sudden anxiety.
“The meeting’s just in Puspa Cafe,” he tells Nilou. “If you need anything, I’ll just be there. Thank you again for watching him, Nilou.”
“Of course! I’m happy to help!”
“Right. Right.” Kaveh nods and waves at Al-Haitham. “See you in an hour, alright?”
“One hour,” Al-Haitham repeats, voice stern in warning. Kaveh thinks it would’ve worked better if he weren’t half their size and so sweetly soft-spoken. “Come back soon.”
Kaveh snorts, gently ruffling Al-Haitham’s hair. Al-Haitham swats his hand away, pouting.
“I’ll be back. I promise.”
Kaveh has to double back to his and Al-Haitham’s home to pick up Mehrak before rushing down to Puspa Cafe, making it just in time for the appointment. After exchanging pleasantries with the client, he hands over the blueprints he prepared and dives into explanations on materials, costs, and time—noting any complaints or wants the client has.
The hour quickly passes—the two of them making slow work with the designs.
He’s sharing with her the last few drafts when the cafe doors suddenly slam open and someone’s crying sounds in the cafe. Kaveh jerks, glancing up to see Nilou hurry through the doors, eyes frantic as they look every which way. He stands from his seat, confused.
Not a moment after, he feels something small ram straight into his legs. Kaveh stumbles, looking down to find a familiar head of gray hair clinging to him—shoulders shaking and muffled sobbing coming from him.
“Oh, gods.” Kaveh sucks in a breath. He places a hand on Al-Haitham’s shoulder. Somehow, that makes Al-Haitham cry louder, the customers around them turning in their seats. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t know you had a child, Master Kaveh,” his client says, watching the kid curiously.
Kaveh awkwardly laughs.
“He’s not mine, Ms. Darya. He’s… a friend’s.” Kaveh hooks his hands under Al-Haitham’s arms and lifts him up. Al-Haitham immediately presses against his side, hands gripping his shirt tightly and crying into his shirt. He can feel his shoulder turning wet from tears and snot already. Gently, Kaveh rocks Al-Haitham, patting his back.
“Kaveh! I’m so sorry.” Nilou hurries over to the three of them—cheeks flushed like she’d been running. “I kept trying to tell Al-Haitham your meeting probably went over time and that’s why you weren’t back, but he was so convinced you left him. He wouldn’t stop crying, so I thought we’d come meet you here.”
“It’s okay, Nilou,” Kaveh assures, glancing at his client. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Darya. I’ll have to cut our meeting here.”
“It’s alright, Master Kaveh,” Darya says. “I should apologize as well. I’ve kept you over our appointment time.”
Kaveh huffs, wry.
“Thank you for understanding.”
Darya nods, smiling, quickly collecting her things and waving the three of them goodbye. Al-Haitham squirms and plasters himself closer, arms wrapped around Kaveh’s neck in a death-grip. Kaveh rubs circles into Al-Haitham’s back, hushing him gently. It takes a bit, but eventually, the crying stops, replaced by intermittent wet sniffles and hitched breaths.
“I can take Al-Haitham so you can pack up your things, Kaveh,” Nilou says, arms held out.
Before Kaveh can answer, Al-Haitham yells, “No!”
Nilou flinches. Al-Haitham grips tightly to Kaveh, his cries starting up again.
“Ahh, hey. Hey.” He presses his lips to the crown of Al-Haitham’s head, murmuring against his hair. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll keep holding you, Al-Haitham. It’s fine.” He glances at Nilou, watching a slight frown grow on her face. “It’s not your fault, Nilou. I was late and broke my promise. Even adult Al-Haitham doesn’t like it when his routine is disturbed. But, would you mind packing up the drafts into Mehrak?”
“Of course, Kaveh.” She grabs the papers off the table, shuffling them in a neat stack before slipping them in Mehrak and closing up the case. Mehrak’s blinks once, beeps, and floats next to Kaveh. “And don’t mind me. I’m just worried something’s happened with Al-Haitham.”
“Ah, I’m sure he’s fine,” Kaveh says. He hikes Al-Haitham up, a slight wheeze punched out of him. “I’m sorry I was late to return. Thank you for taking care of him, Nilou.”
“It was no problem at all,” Nilou says. “He was perfectly obedient until the hour passed.”
“I’m sorry,” he says guiltily. “I’ll make it up to you. If you need any help with the props in the Theater, feel free to reach out.”
Nilou waves her hands, dismissively, her smile easily returning. “It’s really no big deal, Kaveh.”
He feels Al-Haitham tug at his shirt. Kaveh glances down. Al-Haitham’s eyes are watery, lips wobbling and knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping Kaveh’s shirt.
“I want to go home,” he says, voice crackling and soft. “Can we go home?”
Kaveh’s brows pinch, his chest squeezing.
“Of course we can.” He glances at Nilou. “Sorry. I think it’s time for us to go.”
Nilou nods.
“I hope you feel better soon, Al-Haitham,” she says softly.
“Say bye to Nilou, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh coaxes gently.
Al-Haitham whines softly.
“I wanna go home,” he repeats, voice wavering on a sob. “Home.”
Nilou chuckles.
“It’s alright, Kaveh. I should get back to the Theater, anyway.”
Kaveh sighs.
“Okay. Thank you for all your help, Nilou.”
“When you’re back to your big self,” Kaveh grunts, arms shaking with strain, “you are making it up to Nilou, some way somehow, for having to deal with your uncooperative self. Got it, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham doesn’t respond. Kaveh sighs loudly.
“Al-Haitham, I can’t carry you anymore. I need to set you down.”
“No!” Al-Haitham protests, panicked.
Kaveh groans.
“I’m sorry I was late and broke my promise. But as soon as I was done with Ms. Darya, I would’ve come straight to the Grand Bazaar, I swear. I wouldn’t have left you with Nilou. That would’ve been rude to her.”
Predictably, Al-Haitham doesn’t respond.
“Please? Can I set you down now? I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Al-Haitham shakes his head. Kaveh exhales, resigned.
He almost cries when he sees their house in the distance, shifting Al-Haitham in his arms and patting himself down. He digs his keys out of his pocket and holds them out to Mehrak floating next to him.
“Could you open the door for us, Mehrak dear?”
Mehrak beeps, levitating his key. She slips it in the lock, turns it, and twists the knob—opening the door for all three. Kaveh sighs in relief as soon as he steps through the threshold, kicking his shoes off and marching straight for their divans. He drops down on the closest seat with a wheeze, setting Al-Haitham carefully on his lap and shaking out the numbness in his arms. Al-Haitham shifts—curling against Kaveh’s chest.
His hands settle around Al-Haitham’s form, fingers curling around his hip. He watches Mehrak flit down the hall out of sight and exhales.
“Now that we’re home,” he starts, tilting Al-Haitham so the other’s meeting his gaze, “what’s got you all worked up, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham blinks. He turns his head into Kaveh’s shoulder.
Kaveh waits.
“You don’t want to say?”
Al-Haitham shakes his head.
“Why not?”
Al-Haitham shakes his head again. Kaveh groans.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what it is, Al-Haitham.”
“Don’t want help,” Al-Haitham mutters.
“Why not?” Kaveh squeezes his hip, trying to hold back his frustration.
Al-Haitham doesn’t respond. Kaveh squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.
“You were rude to Nilou today, Al-Haitham,” he says. “You’re usually very nice to her. What happened?”
“Nothing,” Al-Haitham says. “It’s nothing.”
“It can’t be nothing,” Kaveh prods. “You were crying when you came in. You refused to let Nilou hold you. You wouldn’t let me set you down even for a moment. What is it that you’re hiding, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham shakes his head, gripping Kaveh’s shirt tighter.
“Is it related to your wish?” No response. “Is it related to why you don’t want to become big?” No response. “Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, exasperated.
Al-Haitham stiffens.
“Don’t be mad,” he says, voice tinny and weak. The trepidation in Al-Haitham’s voice makes his words shake; it makes Kaveh give pause. “Don’t be mad, Kaveh.”
Kaveh frowns.
“I’m not mad. I’m frustrated you aren’t answering me.” He purses his lips, replaying his words. Slowly, he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. This isn’t his adult roommate. This is a child. He can’t just yell and argue his way through his stubbornness. “I’m worried about you, Al-Haitham. I can tell you’re hurting. I want to help you with whatever it is.”
Al-Haitham tucks his head out of sight, his tiny body wound up and tense. Kaveh gently rubs his back.
“Is it related to why you don’t want to be big again?” Kaveh asks, keeping his tone even and friendly. “I promise whatever it is, I won’t be mad.”
Al-Haitham peeks at Kaveh, expression scrunched like he’s trying to hold back tears.
“Promise?”
Kaveh smiles, brushing Al-Haitham’s hair from his eyes. Al-Haitham leans into his touch.
“Promise,” he says.
Al-Haitham sniffs. He presses his face back into Kaveh’s chest, body shuddering. Kaveh waits, combing his hands through Al-Haitham’s hair.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Al-Haitham mumbles after a while, the words pressed against Kaveh’s shirt—so muffled, Kaveh’s almost not sure he heard right.
“You don’t want me to leave?” he repeats, confused.
Al-Haitham shakes his head.
“But… I’m not going anywhere?” he says, gently tugging the strand of Al-Haitham’s bangs that’s longer than the rest. “I’m right here. I don’t plan on leaving.”
“You do,” Al-Haitham insists. He looks up, expression still pinched hard like he’s a moment away from crying. “You want to move out.”
Kaveh blinks. His brows furrow.
“I… I guess?”
Al-Haitham’s eyes well up. His breathing quickens, tears already rolling down his cheeks. Kaveh panics, hands flying up to cup Al-Haitham’s face.
“Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Kaveh says. “What’s with the tears?”
Al-Haitham shakes his head, his tears falling faster.
“I don’t—don’t want you to go,” he says, breath catching on his cries. “I don’t want to be big. You’ll leave if I turn back.”
“I won’t leave if you turn back, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh murmurs, brushing the tears away as they come. “I won’t leave if you don’t want me to.”
“No,” Al-Haitham protests. “No, no, no.”
“No?”
“No. If… if you don’t want to be here… then, you should leave,” Al-Haitham says, voice thick. Each word stutters out of him through every hitched breath. “You’ll be sad. And mad. I don’t want you sad. I don’t like when you’re sad. Or mad at me.”
Kaveh stares. He wipes Al-Haitham’s cheeks gently, then guides his head against his chest, squeezing him tight.
“I think I understand,” Kaveh murmurs, carding his fingers through Al-Haitham’s hair. “You don’t want me to move out, but you don’t want me to stay if I don’t want to. And you think, if you return to normal, I won’t stay?”
“You won’t have to take care of me anymore,” Al-Haitham mumbles. “You’ll leave.”
Kaveh huffs, squeezing him tighter.
“I’m not going to leave,” he says, smiling wryly. “I haven’t even looked for other places, Al-Haitham. It didn’t even cross my mind that I should. I’m content here, living with you. I don’t mind it at all.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Al-Haitham goes quiet.
“What about,” he starts, “living with bigger me?”
Kaveh snorts.
“I lived with bigger you for three years,” he says, pressing his lips against Al-Haitham’s temple. “If I did mind, I wouldn’t be here now taking care of smaller you.”
“But, smaller me is cute. Obedient. Big me is… not.”
“You’re still Al-Haitham, aren’t you?” Kaveh asks. “You’re still you, no matter your age. Besides,”—he makes a show of sighing dramatically—“I can’t really argue with little you. I can argue with big you though.”
Al-Haitham lifts his head. Kaveh’s smile widens. He boops Al-Haitham’s nose, laughing when the younger scrunches his face.
“I enjoy you just the way you are,” he says. “That won’t change, no matter what age you are.”
Al-Haitham bites his lip, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Gently, Kaveh rubs the wrinkle away.
“Will you tell big me this? Tomorrow?”
“Big you is going to have to be brave and ask his senior these questions to get an answer,” Kaveh says magnanimously. “But yes. I will tell big you this when you change back. And my answer won’t change, even then, Al-Haitham.”
Al-Haitham’s lips curve into a hesitant smile, eyes still glittering with unshed tears. He giggles, the sound soft—as if he and Kaveh are in on a secret only they know. Kaveh’s heart clenches. He squeezes Al-Haitham tightly.
“Archons, you’re so cute,” he mutters. “Thank god you aren’t usually this cute. You’d get away with so much more if you were.”
“Really?”
Kaveh narrows his eyes.
“Don’t let that get to your head,” he warns, poking Al-Haitham’s forehead. Al-Haitham laughs. Kaveh feels his smile widen too, unbidden. He shifts his arms so Al-Haitham’s cradled against his chest, his hands playing with the errant strands of his hair. Al-Haitham presses his face against his shirt again, cuddling closer.
“Kaveh,” Al-Haitham mumbles, the words muffled. Kaveh hums. “I love you.”
Kaveh huffs. He pinches Al-Haitham’s cheek.
“I love you, too, Haitham.”
When Kaveh wakes up the next morning, it’s not with tiny child Al-Haitham curled fast asleep next to him, but adult Al-Haitham. A very awake, very naked adult Al-Haitham.
Kaveh screams, throwing the blanket over Al-Haitham’s face. He scrambles away, his hand slipping off the edge of the bed. The realization that his world is careening comes a second too late before he tumbles off the bed, collapsing on the wood floor.
“Ow,” he groans, lying on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
“Good morning,” he hears Al-Haitham say above him. Kaveh twists his head, shooting him a withering glare.
“Why do you have no clothes on?” he hisses. “Go put some clothes on.”
Al-Haitham stares, his brow raising. He slowly shifts off the bed, the blanket falling away. Kaveh squawks.
“Wait, wait. On second thought, I’ll bring you a change of clothes. Just—give me a second.”
Al-Haitham snorts.
Minutes later, a fully clothed Al-Haitham sits on the edge of Kaveh’s bed, looking up at Kaveh. Kaveh crosses his arms, eyeing Al-Haitham up and down.
“So. I guess the jinn’s magic wore off sometime last night,” he muses, eyes narrowing.
“Obviously.”
Kaveh’s brow twitches.
“I guess that means your baby clothes are destroyed,” he says, ignoring Al-Haitham. “A shame. We could’ve donated them or given them to someone who actually needed it.”
Al-Haitham shifts the blankets around, lifting the torn shirt and pants he’d gone to sleep with. Kaveh makes a face. The clothes look mutilated.
“They look terrible.”
“I apologize for not being small enough for a three-year-old’s clothing,” Al-Haitham drawls.
Kaveh squints at Al-Haitham.
“I liked you better when you were a child.”
Al-Haitham stares back.
“That wasn’t what you said yesterday.”
“Oh?” Kaveh tilts his head, feigning confusion. “What did I say yesterday, then?”
“You claimed you enjoyed me just the way I was,” he says. He sets the tattered clothes down on Kaveh’s bed again and stands, copying Kaveh’s stance. “Going back on your word already, senior?”
“I also remember telling a certain three-year-old that adult them is going to have to be brave and ask me the same questions little them asked if they want their answers again,” Kaveh says haughtily. He watches Al-Haitham stiffen. “So? Where are those questions, Al-Haitham?”
Al-Haitham meets Kaveh’s eyes, cheeks tinted pink and ears burning red.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he deadpans.
Kaveh raises a brow.
“I didn’t realize three-year-old you had more guts than adult you now,” he accuses.
“Younger me also lacked the emotional maturity and awareness to realize my emotions were irrational at the time.”
“That made you honest, Al-Haitham,” he says. “Ask me again.”
“I already know what your answers are.”
“Do you?” Kaveh challenges.
“You don’t want to move out,” Al-Haitham confidently states. A smile flickers on his face—like the starting spark of a roaring hearth. “You hadn’t even considered moving out.”
Kaveh’s breath catches in his throat. He clears it roughly.
“I haven’t.”
“You enjoy my company.”
“I do.”
“You love me,” Al-Haitham says. A shadow of uncertainty passes his expression before it smooths back to neutrality. Al-Haitham stares at him, eyes piercing and expectant. Kaveh feels his heart beat against chest. “You love me.”
“I do,” Kaveh says quietly, before following up with an accusatory “You love me too.”
Al-Haitham huffs a half-laugh.
“I do.”
Kaveh smiles.
“Ask me again, Al-Haitham,” he says, eyes gleaming.
“You aren’t moving out, are you, Kaveh?”
Kaveh’s hand shoots out. He yanks Al-Haitham forward the scant few steps between them and wraps his arms tight around the other, feeling the way Al-Haitham’s chest hitches in surprise against his. A moment later, Al-Haitham has his hands tentatively wrapped around Kaveh.
“I’m not moving out,” Kaveh murmurs. “What gave you the idea that I was?”
“You always said you’d move out after you paid off all your debt,” Al-Haitham answers. Kaveh feels him bury his face against Kaveh’s shoulder, his words coming out muffled. He squeezes Al-Haitham tighter, chest clenching tight and irrationally endeared. “I figured you’d make good on that promise soon.”
“I haven’t mentioned moving out in months, if not a year, Al-Haitham.”
“I didn’t want to assume.”
“You could’ve just asked me, too,” Kaveh says, “instead of wallowing.”
“I wasn’t wallowing,” Al-Haitham mutters.
“I suppose that jinn randomly decided your biggest wish was that I don’t move out then?” Kaveh asks. “They turned you into a child so I’d have to look over you, you know.”
Al-Haitham squeezes the breath out of him. Kaveh wheezes.
“You know I’m right,” he says, strained. He feels Al-Haitham burrow his face further into the crook of his neck.
“Thank you for looking after me.”
Kaveh smiles. He presses his lips against the crown of Al-Haitham’s head.
“You were cute,” he says. “It was worth it.”