Archive of Our Own

The Merchants Sheaf is an exclusive guild in Mondstadt.

Now, the term "exclusive" can mean all sorts of things. To some people, it might mean that the guild comprises carefully selected, cream-of-the-crop individuals. To others, it signifies the members are untouchable, individuals from the higher echelons of society that not even those dogs in the Knights of Favonius would dare to touch. To most, "exclusive" simply denotes that the members are a bunch of stingy merchants whose deference to mora surpasses their regard for the Anemo Archon himself.

All these people are correct, of course. Yet the most important aspect of the Sheaf, and the very reason it is considered "exclusive," is because of this: the guild is difficult to get hold of.

No one knows the nature of the members' trades or the location of their meetings. Even the members themselves do not know the identities of their fellow members, referring to each other only by codenames, and the governing body ensures that it remains that way. No one can get ahold of the Sheaf.

The Fatui aren't just 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦.

Farro thinks on this as he sits at the head of the table, while the other merchants, fellow members of the governing body, engage in nervous conversation. They chose a sizeable structure for tonight’s meeting, dark and isolated with plenty of escape routes because everyone knew what the Fatui’s presence meant.

Someone caused trouble. Someone caused enough 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 to anger the fucking 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘪, and now the entire Archons-damned guild will pay the price. Farro would happily flay the idiot who got them into this mess if he wasn’t so terrified of what the Fatui would demand. Wine? Supplies? Blood ? He shudders at the thought of it.

The merchants don’t have to stew in their troubled thoughts any longer. A bribed knight from outside declares the presence of a Snezhnayan foreigner on guild grounds, and the members devolve into more nerve-wracking chatter. 𝘈 Snezhnayan foreigner? Singular? If the Fatui have come to threaten them, why send only one individual? Yet the questions die on everyone’s lips when the front doors open.

A Fatui Dendro agent steps into the room, a dark silhouette against the gunmetal night. His gait is slow and calculating, reminiscent of a predator, and the metal embellishments of his coat and the steel of his boots chink softly with his movements. In the silence of the room, the man exudes danger, and the merchants tremble among themselves at what his presence signifies.

“Merchants of Mondstadt,” says the fatuus, his voice low and distorted from beneath his mask. “The lot of you are poor negotiators, and the Fatui are busy individuals, so I’ll make this quick.” He folds his arms across his chest. “My name is Alhaitham. One of your members failed to uphold his end of an agreement and took a fatuus's life in the process. As per the contract, the Fatui are entitled to take whatever they want from the Sheaf as compensation."

He speaks evenly, arrogantly, a single individual who knows what he represents to a table of nine, and Farro hates that he does. “Speak then, fatuus,” says Farro. “Tell us what wine or supplies your organization wants, and the Sheaf shall deliver.”

The fatuus, Alhaitham, chuckles softly. A shiver runs up Farro’s spine.

“We have no use for your stock or liquor,” says Alhaitham. “We want a name. 𝘐 want a name. One of your men took the life of one of mine, and I intend to retaliate. A life for a life. Blood for blood.”

His words spur another discussion among the merchants. Farro sees all sorts of expressions on his fellows’ faces, anger and fear and disgust at the nerve of this foreigner, and one of them speaks.

“The Sheaf is not in the business of revealing members to their would-be murderers,” Oat hisses. “If you want revenge, you seek it yourself, Snezhnayan. We are not your conspirators.”

The merchants wait with bated breath as to how the fatuus would respond. Would he answer? Yell? Or would he decide that he has wasted enough time talking, and would unveil whatever blade he keeps on his person?

Alhaitham reaches for something in his coat.

The merchants startle, each reaching for their individual weapons, but the fatuus doesn’t pull out a blade. Instead, he reveals a book, a medium-sized tome with an emerald green cover, its dull metal edges and fraying spine indicating it has been much read in its lifetime.

Farro blinks.

The fatuus takes advantage of the merchants’ confusion to remove his mask, revealing wind-swept silver hair and cold teal eyes. “Last chance,” Alhaitham declares, voice gruff but clear, his leather-bound fingers tight around the book. “Give me the real name of the man I seek, and all of you will live to see the sunrise.”

What does he intend to do, read them to death? Farro would laugh at the situation if he wasn’t so on edge by the fatuus’s lax stance. Experience dictates unexpected confidence speaks of incredible skill, and if the man’s easy visage is anything to go by, his words aren’t empty threats.

But he's holding a book. A worn-out, fucking 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 that might've been his grandmother's, and Farro cocks his musket. "You've overstayed your welcome. You want a name, fatuus?" he laughs. "Come and take it from us." He takes aim and fires.

When the fatuus entered the room, Farro and the other merchants could tell he was dangerous. They were nervous, aptly so, but not enough to rally their private warriors. A fatuus is terrifyingly proficient, but what is skill in the face of a bullet? He might as well have been livestock walking into a slaughter.

The merchants have never been so wrong.

Alhaitham dodges the first bullet, and steps away from the second. As Oat turns and snatches the knife at her waist, the fatuus reaches her and slams his book into her throat, the metal edge catching at her neck and opening her carotid artery.

The merchants startle and scramble at the spray of blood from their fellow merchant's neck, a dark arterial burst against the lamplight. Alhaitham darts between them and swings backhanded, crushing another merchant's throat. A man screams, saber at the ready, and another thrusts with his knife. Alhaitham ducks and breaks the man's knife-arm with a resounding crack, and uses his tome's spine to fend off the saber.

"Put down that damn book-–" the saber wielder hisses "--and draw your blade!"

“You don’t deserve my blade,” Alhaitham answers, and shoves him off to slam his book into the man’s throat. “None of you do.”

Farro watches all this from his corner, musket empty and all of his bullets buried in either the walls or his own comrades. Not a single one managed to hit the fatuus, who was steadily slaughtering his way toward the head of the table, face streaked with crimson and every bit the reaper come to life.

Farro decides to run.

Before he can take more than a few paces, the merchant’s legs are suddenly swept from beneath him, and he crashes into the floor as the fatuus slams his book into the merchant’s mouth.

“P-please!” Farro yells, his words almost incomprehensible as the flat of his tongue tastes the tome’s spine: bitter, metallic. Disgusting. “What do you want?! Mora? Weapons? I can get you anything, just name your price—”

“A name,” says Alhaitham. The merchant trembles beneath him. “I seek a man called ‘Rye.’ Tell me his true name so I may find him.”

“I don’t know!” Farro screams. “I don’t know it!” He gasps and writhes when the metal edge of the book teases his throat. “The Sheaf’s members operate under codenames—”

“Bullshit,” Alhaitham hisses. “You’re the Archons-damned president, and you’re telling me you don’t have a record of your own members’ identities?”

“I swear!” Farro’s eyes water. “I swear I don’t know—”

“Then tell me how I can find him,” Alhaitham snarls. He presses closer, his knees pinning the merchant firmly to the floor. “Tell me the truth, and perhaps I won’t hang your head on Mondstadt’s front gate come morning.”

Farro’s eyes squint shut. “S-Sumeru. In Sumeru City. He left for an inn close to the Akademiya this morning.”

A second passes. Two.

Farro opens his eyes hesitantly and sees a mild satisfaction on the fatuus’s face. If he doesn’t know any better, he’d say the man looks pleased.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” says Alhaitham. He smiles, just a slight tilt to his thin lips, and Farro’s blood runs cold. “The Fatui send their regards.”

As a reward for the merchant’s compliance, Alhaitham affords him a mercy he seldom extends: a quick death. Before the merchant can speak, the fatuus slams the book into the spot below the man’s nose, breaking it and sending bits of bone to his brain, killing him instantly.

As the man slumps onto the floor, no more alive than the rest of the merchants, Alhaitham rises to his feet and returns his book to his coat. He stretches his arms, sore and aching from tonight’s wetwork, and eyes the nasty blade sticking out of his ankle. One of the toffs managed to stab him through his boot when he was occupied, and his foot had paid the price. No matter; a few hours of sleep and solitude should set him straight.

Alhaitham wrenches the blade out of his ankle with a pained grunt and starts to hobble his way to the doors. He pretends he doesn’t notice the quivering servant girl half-hidden behind the table.

He has taken enough lives for today.

..:|:..

Finding Rye had been laughably easy.

Easy because all Alhaitham had to do was send a raptor to his subordinates in Sumeru and instruct them to capture the double-crossing merchant, and laughably because, by the Archons, Alhaitham could’ve saved a roundtrip if he only knew that the slippery son of a bitch had fled to his assigned city.

Tsaritsa’s frozen tits. Executions are never personal, but Alhaitham makes a mental note to take his time taking Rye’s life. Fucking bastard.

At least the Archons-damned roundtrip to Mondstadt allowed him to see Dragonspine in person. It was a beautiful place, all crisp lakes and beautiful snowfall, and Alhaitham ached as he was reminded of home.

𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘦. He hadn’t been home in a while.

At least his most recent duties had taken him to the place closest to his heart outside of Snezhnaya. Sumeru is beautiful, Alhaitham thinks, as he stands at the precipice of a cliff overlooking the verdant, Dendro-blessed region. The land of Sumeru isn't his home, not really, but it had been his parents and grandmother's home long before they immigrated and passed away in Snezhnaya.

Alhaitham resumes his journey.

It took three entire days to cross the Mondtstadt border and travel through Liyue, and when he had arrived in Sumeru by nightfall, Alhaitham was filthy and exhausted and more than ready to snap Rye’s neck so he could finally get some downtime.

The members of the Corps of Thirty eye him warily as he soldiers through the front gates of Sumeru City, and he receives equally pointed glances as he ascends the winding steps to Treasures Street. Alhaitham ignores them, tugging off his stained leather gloves and replacing them with fresh ones, and slips on a new mask, muting the colors of his surroundings and limiting the scents in the air. He keeps walking, moving away from the main road into quieter streets, leaving the wary crowds and hollering merchants behind as he weaves through darker streets and ducks into a narrow alleyway.

As was agreed, two of Alhaitham’s subordinates stand at the edge of the alley. Kneeling between them, his face concealed by shadows, is the man the fatuus had hunted for days now.

Rye looks terrible; barely recognizable beneath his swollen flesh, bulging bruises, closed-up eyes, and the blood and pus that seep from his cuts. The recruits had done a number on the merchant, beaten him like an animal until he had become nothing more than tenderized meat.

Alhaitham doesn't commend them for it.

Yet before the fatuus can step closer to begin the ceremonial rite and get on with business, Alhaitham feels 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. Something soft and pure, wispy and otherworldly in the dark, stale alley. An elemental aura. A 𝘋𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰 elemental aura.

There’s a vision wielder in the alley.

All at once, Alhaitham's senses are on high alert, the exhaustion in his limbs quickly replaced by instinctual adrenaline. He knows none of his subordinates have visions, and neither does the damn merchant, and that means there is a potential threat hidden in the alley with them. Furthermore, dealing with a group of toffs is one thing; a vision wielder skilled enough to keep themselves hidden from a man such as Alhaitham is a whole other thing altogether.

Alhaitham switches to his elemental sight, taking stock of his surroundings as he tracks the Dendro aura. He presses forward, looking past his subordinates and the wretched bag of flesh that will be six feet under come sunrise, and peers into the shadows.

There, in the corner.

Hidden among the slivers of darkness is 𝘵𝘩𝘦 vision wielder, perfectly concealed if not for the thrum of Dendro emanating from their body. Alhaitham counts silently in his head, gauging the weak hum of elemental energy that glows naturally from their body as light emanates from a flame, and decides the person is not a threat.

At least not yet. If the fatui are lucky, the hidden vision wielder must’ve stumbled into the alley by accident and is simply too scared to interfere with tonight’s proceedings. A few threats and shoves should be enough to keep their mouth shut.

Still, Alhaitham curses under his breath. The vision wielder’s presence means more work for tonight. Fuck, whatever. He'll deal with the onlooker later. For now, back to business.

The merchant quivers, attempting to shrink into the shadows as the Fatuus's attention is finally on him. He opens his mouth, revealing chipped, blood-stained teeth and a wet, dark thing for a tongue, and turns to the night sky. "Lord Barbatos, have mercy on me."

What a despicable thing, for a godless, mora-grubbing toff to start praying again at the brink of death. Pathetic.

“Lord Barbatos,” the Mondstadter continues weakly, his voice a broken, barely-there thing as it crawls out of his crushed windpipe. "H-have mercy on me. Lord Barbatos—”

“ Enough.”

Alhaitham gets down on one knee, meeting the condemned man eye to eye. The merchant trembles, what little left of his face crumpling in fear, and his swollen eyes begin to water.

Alhaitham watches him unblinkingly. "Do you know why I'm here?"

The man swallows. His bloodied hands quiver, and Alhaitham almost expects him to reply. But the Mondstadter loves his god more than he fears his executioner, and he resumes praying. “Lord Barbatos—”

Alhaitham sighs. In all his years as a Fatui agent, he hates dealing with cowards the most. "I'm here to collect a debt," he explains. "We had an agreement, Rye, and you failed to honor it."

His words fall on deaf ears. The merchant continues to avoid his gaze, eyes turned stubbornly to the sky. “Lord Barbatos," he cries. "Have mercy--"

Foolish man. Gods spare no mercy for the condemned.

Alhaitham grabs the man's head, fingers digging into his flesh. Rye screams, and the fatuus snarls in his ear. "It's not Barbatos you should be asking mercy from."

The man's eye widens, then narrows as his visage is contorted by something greater than fear: hate.

Pure, unadulterated hate colors the man's gaze and pulls the line of his mouth. He finally sees Alhaitham for what he is, and his loathing fuels his veins with what little strength his body has left.

The man yells, clawing at Alhaitham's arm, but the fatuus pins him to the wall. Alhaitham watches him, eyes his flailing limbs and the spittle leaving the gaping, screaming maw for a mouth, and removes his agent’s mask.

All at once, the colors in his vision are no longer muted, and stale air and the scent of rust crash into his senses. The man’s screaming threatens to drown out the fatuus's thoughts, and his weak, desperate fingers, with their drying blood and missing nails, claw insistently at his executioner's limbs. Yet amidst the turmoil, above the struggling traitor who will not live to see daybreak, Alhaitham feels 𝘪𝘵.

The Dendro from the corner heightens in intensity.

Alhaitham turns to it on instinct, almost drawing his weapon, but the vision wielder does not attack. They stay in their nook, their elemental energy rising and ebbing like the waves of a tide, frozen with an inner struggle Alhaitham couldn’t identify.

Whatever. If they’re not going to engage, then Alhaitham can pretend to ignore them for a little longer.

Alhaitham rises, summoning his beloved book as his subordinates grab the merchant by the shoulders. The merchant pants rapidly, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, and Alhaitham knows he isn't unaware of his fate.

"By Her Highness the Tsaritsa, you shall pay your dues," Alhaitham intones. "Blood for blood."

Before the man can blink, Alhaitham shoves the spine of the book into his mouth.

The Dendro aura flares.

The merchant screams, eyes wild, and chokes when Alhaitham crams the book further between his teeth. Alhaitham holds it there, strong and relentless and fueled by the past days’ exhaustion and bloodshed, and croons dryly to calm him. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

The merchant’s eyes water as his lips stretch to accommodate the book. His fangs scrape at the cover, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, and he whimpers as the fatuus shushes him softly. With an impassioned visage, Alhaitham grips the edge of the book. Then he slams it in.

Then he does it again.

And again.

The merchant’s skull knocks against the wall. His eyes roll to the back of his head. Alhaitham doesn't stop, even as the man whines, low and weak as life is slammed out of his skull.

As Alhaitham works, ending a person whose name he'll forget after a month or so, he feels for the Dendro aura in the corner, observing the rise and fall of its intensity.

The vision wielder must be scared out of their wits, frozen by shock and fear, and Alhaitham waits for the first sign of disgust that comes from his onlooker.

It doesn't come.

The pulse of elemental energy remains frantic, but Alhaitham doesn't detect the slowing thrum of repulsion. How strange; this vision wielder must have a lenient moral compass or a secret proclivity for what they see.

Ridiculous.

Alhaitham is so distracted by the vision wielder’s not-disgust that he fails to realize the merchant has stopped struggling. The man is still alive, barely breathing as his fingernails-less hands finally release the fatuus's leg, and Alhaitham knows the man has had enough.

With vision-blessed strength, Alhaitham jerks the book harshly and snaps the merchant’s neck. The man slumps against the wall, lifeless, just another dead man in a long line of dead men in Alhaitham’s lifetime.

At the same moment, a sound finally comes from the vision wielder: a muffled cry.

Hm. No secret proclivities then.

Alhaitham turns to his subordinates. "Get rid of the Mondstadter's remains," he instructs. "Burn it, bury it; I don't care. Just don't throw it into the river like the last time.” He resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “For fuck's sake, interns these days don't even know how to dispose of a body..."

"Yes, sir."

Alhaitham raises a hand before his subordinates can leave. Now that the main event is over, he can finally address the onlooker. By the Tsaritsa’s grace and for much-needed downtime purposes, Alhaitham hopes this ends quickly. "I almost forgot," he says. "We still have unfinished business."

"Sir?"

Alhaitham's eyes move, and his gaze snaps toward the vision wielder's hiding spot.

The Dendro energy stops.

Alhaitham smirks. "Enjoying the show, little eavesdropper?"

Before the vision wielder can move, Alhaitham activates his own vision for the first time in hours and 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴. It is a technique of his own making, developed after receiving his vision and designed to improve his mobility when wearing his armored and heavy Fatui agent uniform. Flickering had made him notable enough to rise through the Tsaritsa’s ranks until he reached a comfortable position. But to Alhaitham, flickering is not just some party trick, and more than just a means to an end.

𝘈𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘮. The Young Eagle. Alhaitham wonders if said raptor experiences the same freedom he does when flickering.

Again, Alhaitham flickers. He moves, faster than the eyes can track, falling somewhere with the wind rushing into his face, and before the thought can fully register in his mind, he’s behind the onlooker. Alhaitham moves in, blood thrumming in his veins, and grabs the vision wielder by the waist before they can struggle. The fatuus is about to slam his palm into the vision wielder’s throat when the person turns to look at him.

Alhaitham’s breath catches in his throat.

Struggling and hissing in his arms is the most beautiful man he has ever seen.

The vision wielder is lean and elegant, with delicate Sumerian features and wispy blond hair, his stunning crimson eyes speaking of wisdom far beyond his years. Yet it isn’t merely his looks that caught Alhaitham’s attention; this close, with the warmth of him against the fatuus’s chest, Alhaitham feels something, something hot and electric and 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵, like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

Holding the vision wielder feels 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 .

Before Alhaitham can ponder on this, the beautiful vision wielder cries out, and something hard and heavy slams into Alhaitham’s side. The fatuus grunts, white-hot pain traveling from his side and straight to his abdomen, and his arms loosen just enough for the vision wielder to slip out and run for his life, a floating briefcase wielding a claymore hot on his heels.

Alhaitham blinks. Then he blinks again and finally snaps out of his stupor. What the fuck is he looking at.

The Fatui subordinates rush to the vision wielder and the flying bag, weapons drawn, but the man is as formidable as he is lovely. The briefcase flies to his hand, and a burst of Dendro sends the fatui flying back.

Alhaitham would be impressed if he wasn’t so frustrated at his distraction. What the fuck happened to him?! Lax as he is, he has 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 been distracted while on the job, much less by a skilled Sumerian vision wielder who has no right to be as pretty as he is (and neither has the right to fit so perfectly in the fatuus’s arms). If he were a lesser man, Alhaitham would redden with shame. But he isn’t, he is an agent for Archons’ sake, so Alhaitham takes off and throws three Dendro daggers, intent on capturing the fleeing Sumerian himself.

The first one misses. The second grazes the vision wielder’s arm.

The third hits his briefcase square in the center.

The man screams as Electro runs up his arm, and the blood-curdling sound sends Alhaitham flickering behind him. The vision wielder’s briefcase falls from his hand, his eyes widening as he registers the blade embedded in the machinery’s surface, but Alhaitham kicks him in the chest before he can do anything about it.

The vision wielder slams against the wall. He crumples on the filthy alley floor as Alhaitham steps closer to inspect the briefcase.

It is stunning, exquisite work. The briefcase’s green eye-things narrow as Alhaitham shifts closer, noting the wear and tear on its surface and the organic, handmade feel to its craftsmanship. Whatever this thing is, it is good enough as a weapon, if the Sumerian’s impressive escape attempt is anything to go by.

Alhaitham wonders if the beautiful vision wielder made it.

When Alhaitham reaches over to touch the briefcase, a shout tears its way out of the vision wielder’s throat. “No! Don’t you dare touch her—!”

Her? Interesting. Alhaitham turns to regard its wielder. “Fascinating piece of machinery you have here.” Give credit where credit is due, after all. When the vision wielder starts to struggle again, the fatuus summons three Dendro daggers between his fingers.

The vision wielder snarls as the other fatui grab him.

"Hold still," Alhaitham warns. Even in anger, the man is lovely. Alhaitham scowls at the fact that he can’t take his eyes off him. "I'd hate to ruin something so beautiful."

The Fatui interns take it as their cue to drag Kaveh forward until he's kneeling before the agent. Under normal circumstances, Alhaitham would grab the man by the head and slam him into the ground. He 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 being distracted from his duties, knowing that distraction can lead to failure, and failure can lead to unwanted overtime, but his anger dissipates when sees the vision wielder’s face again. He doesn’t know what it is about this Sumerian that renders him inefficient; it could be the delicate curve of his cheek or the arch of his neck, but something about him makes Alhaitham’s shoulders droop and his fury peter out.

Fucking hell. He doesn’t even have the anger to berate the vision wielder.

"What shall we do with him, sir?" one of his subordinates asks. "According to the handbook, eavesdropping is usually punishable by death."

The vision wielder startles.

The other intern responds in Snezhnayan. “Perhaps it would be best to extend the same hospitality our superior showed the traitor.” He points at the merchant’s corpse, the book still lodged in his mouth.

The vision wielder’s eyes widen. Before Alhaitham can respond, the Sumerian releases another burst of Dendro, sending the Fatui skidding back and throwing one of the interns off. “No, gods, no—!”

Alhaitham grits his teeth, planting his boots firmly on the ground with the help of his own Dendro. They’ve already managed to subdue the man, and now one of the recruits scared him into losing control. Kids these days. Alhaitham soldiers past the struggling interns, making a mental note to tell them off later, and turns to the captive.

As expected, he didn’t take the threat very well. Capable as he is, the vision wielder is still human, and humans always struggle in the face of death. The Sumerian pants as he kneels, breaths coming in short gasps as he claws at the ground, and a strange, out-of-place, and tender 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 awakens in Alhaitham’s being.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But the 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 compels Alhaitham to 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, to approach the panicking Sumerian, and before he can think it through, and in full view of his subordinates, Alhaitham gets down on one knee and pulls the vision wielder to his chest.

The 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 expands beneath Alhaitham’s skin. The vision wielder stills against him, wide-eyed and startled, but then he trembles and sinks into the fatuus’s embrace. And at that moment, Alhaitham knows, from the marrow of his bones to the core of his being, that no part of him will ever be capable of allowing this man to die.

He doesn’t know how, or why. He just does.

"Breathe, darling," he croons into the man’s neck, his voice a low drawl as his fingers soothe the vision wielder’s neck. "We're not going to take your life."

His own actions surprise him. Alhaitham barely makes the effort to comfort another person, much less a vision wielder who is more than capable of taking his life, but something about the Sumerian draws him in and brings out a side of him he had long thought dead. The vision wielder is not weak, not at all, but it feels wrong to just let him stew in his panic.

Alhaitham tucks the man’s head beneath his chin, breathing in his sun-warm scent, and listens to his slowing heartbeat.

Gradually, the man’s breathing begins to grow steady. He sniffles, a weak, kittenish hiccup slipping past his lips, and Alhaitham startles at how it sends another bolt of 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 through his chest. But despite his calmer countenance, the vision wielder still shivers and trembles, and Alhaitham yields yet again to the instinct to soothe him.

“There we go,” Alhaitham hums, his fingers ceasing in their work of drawing birds on the man’s neck. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The vision wielder blinks, almost sleepy in the way he gazes at Alhaitham’s visage, and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, kneeling in the alley, watching each other.

For a weak, 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 moment, Alhaitham is consumed by the urge to pull the Sumerian into his arms again.

But then one of his subordinates snorts, and the vision wielder’s cheeks flush red. Alhaitham turns to glare at the intern.

“He’s off-limits,” Alhaitham snarls with more force than necessary, bearing a strange annoyance at being interrupted. Interrupted at what, he refuses to name. “The 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘴 are off-limits.” A lie, but it’s not like the kid has the guts to question him. “The last thing we need right now is another diplomatic incident. Am I understood?"

The interns have the decency to look ashamed. “Yes, sir.”

Alhaitham rises to his feet, willing his ears not to tint at what he has done. The vision wielder remains on his knees, peering up at him with that arresting crimson gaze, and only then does Alhaitham notice something else in his eyes: trust. Solid, unwavering trust, and the fatuus resists the urge to consider the thought of how he earned it.

Fucking hell. Alhaitham turns to his subordinates instead. “I'll take care of him. You two, get rid of the body. Now."

The interns are not completely incompetent apparently. They leave without fanfare and take the body with them.

Alhaitham and the vision wielder are alone.

He eyes the man, watches his flushed, timid visage shift to one of anger when his eyes flit to the sight of his broken briefcase, and Alhaitham sighs. Anger. Finally. An expression he can work with, and perhaps one he can use to save face with the Sumerian.

The vision wielder scowls at Alhaitham. “You—”

Alhaitham hauls him up before he can continue. “Save your breath if you're going to berate me for breaking your toy."

The man’s crimson gaze turns ablaze with fury. “Mehrak is not a toy—”

Mehrak . A lovely name. “I don’t care what she is,” Alhaitham lies. The vision wielder’s face crumples with hurt. Alhaitham pretends it doesn’t deter him. “The Fatui aren't allowed to take the lives of the locals,” he hisses. “But that doesn't mean we can't roughen you up every once in a while.”

“Think of your little briefcase whenever you feel the urge to report us," Alhaitham sneers for good measure. "You could've easily been in her place.”

Without waiting for a response, and overcome by a sudden desire to flee from this strange, doe-eyed man who had looked at Alhaitham with so much raw trust in his eyes, and whose hurt felt so unsettling and wrong to Alhaitham’s insides, the fatuus flickers out of the alley.

..:|:..

Alhaitham runs above the rooftops, heart hammering in his chest as his fingertips tingle with the vision wielder’s warmth.

A thousand questions vie for his attention, but three of them throb insistently at the forefront of his mind: Who is the vision wielder? Why had he trusted Alhaitham so easily after a single moment of comfort?

How is he able to render Alhaitham so 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬?

Alhaitham thinks of these, gritting his teeth as he scales the wall leading directly to his office window in the Northland bank. Under ordinary circumstances, and if he were in a less frazzled state of mind, he would have hunted down the vision wielder for answers, because Alhaitham knows he won’t be able to sleep with so many questions boggling his mind.

But Alhaitham remembers how the man had looked at him, all sweet and doe-eyed and painfully trusting, and as much as the fatuus needs his answers, he knows he won’t be able to face a person who renders him so 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬.

Furthermore, the standard Fatui protocol has specific instructions on dealing with unexpected personal 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, especially the living, breathing kind.

So Alhaitham decided on the next best course of action: run away from the vision wielder. He is not proud of his choice, but Alhaitham has never claimed to be an honorable man; if the coward’s way out ensures he won’t have to take an innocent life, then he’ll be the biggest coward in Sumeru.

Alhaitham is about to open the window frame that leads directly to his office when he detects it: a familiar Dendro aura.

His heart drops to his stomach at the same time the annoyingly tender 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 fills his chest: the beautiful vision wielder has followed him.

The vision wielder followed him for whatever reason, and if this goes on, the fatuus might have to do the unthinkable for the second time tonight.

Alhaitham wants to groan.

He risks a glance behind him; the vision wielder isn’t in sight, not yet, but his aura is approaching at a steady pace, and Alhaitham will be able to see him if he doesn’t get a move on.

Fucking hell. Why did the vision wielder decide to follow him?! Alhaitham is simply trying to save the man’s life (he ignores the tiny voice in his head berating him for refusing to admit his own cowardice).

Alhaitham releases the window frame, falling a bit more noisily than he prefers on a lower building. Fine. If the vision wielder wants to play, then they’ll play. Alhaitham will engage him in the most exhausting cat-and-mouse game known to man, and hopefully, that will encourage the beautiful, stubborn man to fuck off.

Alhaitham activates his vision and flickers.

Alhaitham snakes through the rooftops of Treasures Street, running and flickering as he attempts to lose the pursuer hot on his heels. For a few minutes, he succeeds; despite having the same kind of vision, the man seems incapable of flickering. His inability makes Alhaitham’s task a little easier. A little.

But after ten minutes, the vision holder is suddenly back on Alhaitham’s trail, his Dendro energy looming closer and closer with predatory precision. Whenever Ahaitham would change directions, the man would follow without fail, as though he could tell exactly what choice the fatuus would make next. If he were a lesser man, Alhaitham would be terrified.

It’s like the vision holder knows exactly how he thinks.

First, the 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 his presence causes, and now the man seems capable of reading Alhaitham’s mind. For fuck’s sake, just how many of Alhaitham’s weaknesses can this Sumerian draw out of him?

After twenty minutes of running around in circles, Alhaitham decides to give up. It’s impossible to lose a man who knows exactly how he thinks, so it’s time for a tactic he’d rather avoid: threaten the vision holder head-on. Decision made and groaning endlessly in his head, Alhaitham flickers to a tower.

As expected, the blond Sumerian appears below him, panting heavily. For such a relentless pursuer, the man looks strangely winded, his head swiveling around in confusion, and Alhaitham softens unbidden with fondness. Then he shakes his head vehemently when he realizes he’s smiling.

Damn vision wielder.

When the vision holder creeps closer to the base of the tower, Alhaitham moves to a crouch. He considers dropping his book over the Sumerian’s head, but that sounds childishly unsuitable for someone of his standing. Fucking hell.

Alhaitham summons his sword.

The vision holder continues to amble closer and closer to position, lips pursed in thought, and right when he stands below Alhaitham’s shadow, the fatuus jumps.

Rushing wind. The thrill of falling. Alhaitham swings, heart pounding in his chest, and as expected, the vision holder whirls on instinct and blocks him with his claymore.

For a moment, their eyes meet over their blades, wide-eyed crimson against cool teal. But then Alhaitham skids away, landing gracefully on the same rooftop, and the vision holder thrusts his foot behind him to steady himself against the force of the fatuus’s attack.

Alhaitham rises, the frustration of the chase and the sharp relief of not taking a life lending an edge to his voice. “So you finally figured it out.” 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦. It sounds cowardly even in his head.

The vision wielder shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, mussing up his mane further, and Alhaitham pretends his throat doesn’t run dry at the sight. “It took me a while,” he replies.

Took him a while…? How humble. It only took him ten minutes to figure out the fatuus. Vision wielders are rare, but vision wielders who actually bother to use their brains instead of relying on raw power are even rarer. Alhaitham laughs without mirth. “Something tells me you’re not an ordinary vision wielder.” He’s not an ordinary vision wielder to Alhaitham specifically, anyway. The fatuus’s hand tightens on his sword. “Why were you following me?”

The vision wielder startles. Alhaitham’s eyes narrow. What is the man going to do now? Is he going to swing his claymore? Summon his briefcase? Or perhaps, like Alhaitham, he’s got multiple tricks up his sleeve, and he’ll use one and overwhelm the fatuus enough to achieve whatever goal he has for following him.

Instead, the vision wielder does the last thing Alhaitham expects him to do: he blushes. He actually blushes, cheeks flushed pink, as though the thought of following a dangerous Fatui Dendro agent who just murdered a man less than an hour ago is on the same level as stalking one’s schoolboy crush.

What the fuck.

Then the vision wielder does something weirder: he dismisses his claymore altogether.

Alhaitham blinks.

"I want to talk to you," the vision wielder declares. He squares his shoulders and regards the fatuus with a raw determination that sets the silver-haired man on edge. "I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 you, Alhaitham."

What in the actual fuck—

All this, just to talk to him? Alhaitham would’ve laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation if it weren’t for the fact he’s sure the vision wielder has a few screws loose. “Oh?”

“Yes,” the vision wielder responds. For a lunatic, he sounds concerningly sane. The Sumerian indicates Alhaitham’s entire frame. “I know you very well.”

Oh. 𝘖𝘩.

And the dots finally connect in Alhaitham’s head. This vision wielder isn’t some weird relentless pursuer.

He’s just an obsessive hook-up who wants another tryst.

Ah. Alhaitham exhales, realizing he’s been worried over nothing. Though it’s quite strange how he doesn’t remember sleeping with this guy (If Alhaitham bedded this vision wielder, he definitely won’t forget a face like 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵), and he doubts a mere night’s lover is capable of filling him with 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 or predicting how he thinks. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Alhaitham snorts as he regards his stalker in a new light. “Apologies, but I don't remember every person I've ever slept with,” he explains genuinely.

The vision wielder frowns. “Huh? What are you—” His face turns bright red as his brain processes the meaning of Alhaitham’s words. “I’m not one of your one-night stands! We’ve never slept together!”

Alhaitham thinks this man might have a promising career in acting; his befuddled expression can pass for genuine shock. How talented. Shame Alhaitham doesn’t remember their time together. “Oh?” He smirks, amused. “We should.”

He expects another playful outburst.

What he doesn’t expect is for the man’s palm to strike his cheek.

Alhaitham startles, more surprised than hurt as the vision wielder continues to pout like an angered kitten. “You…” Alhaitham clutches his face. “…You slapped me.”

“I did,” comes the hiss of a reply. The vision wielder’s face is flushed with fury, and the urge to soothe him, to make everything 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 again, hits Alhaitham with a force that rivals the blond’s slap. “And I’ll do it again if you keep talking to me like that.”

…

…Not a hook-up then. Got it.

So if he wasn’t a quick lay, and he’s not some guy bent on following Alhaitham for the kicks of it…why did he follow the fatuus?

Alhaitham sighs. “Go on then.” He dismisses his sword to cross his arms. “How exactly do you know me?” His eyes narrow. “And why do you know my name?”

This is it. The moment of truth. If there’s one thing Alhaitham has learned from the less than two hours he’s spent with this man, is that he’s full of surprises. Any answer can come from his mouth. Alhaitham braces himself and prepares to hear the most ridiculous answer to be spoken in the entirety of Sumeru.

“Alhaitham,” says the vision wielder. He holds the fatuus’s gaze with the intensity of a thousand suns. “I’m from another dimension.”

…

…

…

Alhaitham flickers to another rooftop.

"H-hey!" The vision wielder yells and scrambles after him. "I'm talking to you!"

Alhaitham likes to think he has a pretty high tolerance for bullshit. It's part of the Fatui's job description after all, and he has heard of all sorts of things in his two-decade-long career. "I'm a treasure hoarder you owe mora to," "I'm simply a guy who likes running after occupational murderers," and “I’m actually your long lost roommate” are just among the explanations Alhaitham has taken in stride. However, none of his previous experiences have prepared him to hear, “I’m from another dimension.” Apparently, there’s only so much crap that Alhaitham can tolerate.

This vision wielder is definitely a lunatic. An attractive one, but, well— Alhaitham would hate to be crude, but now he’s glad he hadn’t slept with this man; he wouldn’t want to accidentally take advantage of someone with such troubled mental faculties.

The lunatic continues to chase after him. “Haitham, listen to me!”

“You’re entertaining; I’ll give you that,” Alhaitham admits over his shoulder. "But you've wasted enough of my time." He spares a glance at the panting man behind him and feels pity for his poor, delusional state of mind. "Go home, Sumerian. We both have better things to do." Like getting professional mental help. Archons know the vision wielder needs it.

Alhaitham's words do not have the desired effect of soothing the delusional man. He yells and curses, face fuming with anger, and doubles his efforts as he leaps off a rooftop. Right as he tries to grab the fatuus's cape, the vision wielder suddenly gasps, and Alhaitham realizes the man's foot missed.

He turns around, hand reaching out on instinct, but before he can pull the man to safety, he sees the vision wielder hanging from the ledge below him.

“My name is Kaveh!” The man yells. Alhaitham pauses, listens. The man—Kaveh continues to scream. “We live together in my reality!”

The man is more delusional than Alhaitham had originally thought. Again, under normal circumstances, it would truly be best to simply haul Kaveh up and bring him to the Bimarstan so he can get the help he needs. But something about the unwavering sincerity in his voice and the trust in his eyes coaxes Alhaitham to peer closer, to sit on his haunches and watch the man struggle to lift himself with the help of one quivering hand.

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦, consider him curious about the vision wielder’s delusions. A tale of Alhaitham living with someone else, allowing another person into his space is impossible and too entertaining to pass up. Alhaitham decides he has a few minutes to spare; he will listen to Kaveh's ramblings about their supposed life together before delivering him to the Bimarstan.

“We live together, you say?” Alhaitham tilts his head in a show of curiosity. “Tell me more.”

Kaveh scowls at him. “Will you help me up if I do?”

Alhaitham chuckles. “It depends on whether I like your answer.”

Kaveh’s eyes narrow, and despite knowing his unwell state, Alhaitham feels the damnable 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 again. The things this man does to him…

“I-I’ve known you for decades,” Kaveh begins. He wets his lips, his eyes big and imploring as he tries to hold Alhaitham’s gaze. “Though we only started living together a few years ago.”

Alhaitham hums, and holds back a smile.

“You’ve got a messy room—“ says Kaveh, and Alhaitham is half-struck as to how the blond figured that about him “—and you like to drink my beer. You don’t put away your books, and you nag me about my life choices.”

…He’s very imaginative. True, he got some parts right about Alhaitham, but the fatuus can never imagine caring enough about someone else to nag them. That sounds far too…troublesome for his comfortable way of living. “I sound difficult to get along with,” he remarks.

“You’re perplexing,” Kaveh admits. He looks down, worrying his lip, and peers from beneath his eyelashes. “And you’ve hurt me a lot of times.”

Ah. Alhaitham holds back a bitter smile. Now that sounds like something he’d end up doing.

“But I’ve hurt you just as much, if not more,” says Kaveh. He sounds regretful.

Alhaitham remains silent.

“Regardless of the state of our relationship,” Kaveh continues softly, “you offered your home to me. I want to return the favor.”

Alhaitham wants to snort. How ridiculous. For all the decent things he has done for other people in his life, he knows most, if not all, don’t feel particularly obliged to return his goodwill. He’s a fatuus, after all, and one who doesn’t have friends or family at that; he’s not exactly charismatic. And he prefers it that way; he doesn’t like the idea of another person owing him kindness. So what exactly is Kaveh going on about?

Yet Kaveh’s face remains resolute as ever, achingly tender in its sincerity. And Alhaitham’s breath catches in his throat when the man speaks. “I cook for you,” Kaveh whispers. “I clean for you. I welcome you when you return from work, and I look after you when you’re sick.”

“You’re difficult to get along with,” Kaveh admits. “But I am too.” His face softens, so warm and so fond that it hurts to look at him, to see all of his unconditional adoration aimed at Alhaitham’s visage. “Maybe that’s why we were once friends.”

Friends. 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴. That warmth in his voice and that tenderness in his face, and he merely considers Alhaitham a friend?

Alhaitham’s mouth works before his brain can catch up. “We don’t sound like friends.”

Kaveh startles. “Huh?”

Alhaitham looks at him, at the tremble of his lips and the flush on his cheeks, and knows, deep within himself, that Kaveh’s Alhaitham, if he truly exists, is the luckiest man in their reality. “We sound like 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴.”

Before Kaveh can retort, Alhaitham takes his hand and hauls him into the roof.

Kaveh gasps, limbs screaming in protest from his uncomfortable position, and the 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 returns to Alhaitham’s chest tenfold. He hates it, this warmth. He hates how it renders him weak, and how even when he assumed Kaveh is a quick lay and a lunatic in his head, it had stayed dormant in his chest, waiting for the right time to emerge.

But Alhaitham hates Kaveh’s words more.

The thought of another person tolerating a version of him, enjoying his presence enough to look after him, sharing his heart and his home is too good to be true, and practically impossible to believe. Alhaitham hates the 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 that Kaveh coaxes with his words.

Alhaitham wants to believe him.

Alhaitham doesn’t 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 to believe him.

So he does the one thing he has sworn to never do in his life: he denies the truth.

“I don’t believe it,” Alhaitham declares.

He pretends his heart doesn’t shatter into a million pieces when Kaveh’s face falls, his anticipation wilting like a dying blossom in the face of Alhaitham’s denial. The Sumerian gets to his feet furiously. “What do I have to say to make you believe me?! I told you everything!”

“Words can only do so much.” Alhaitham turns away. “Unless you’ve got proof to support your claim, I’m afraid I must leave now.”

Alhaitham needs to go. Now. He has never felt so overwhelmed in years, not even back when he had to serve as a full-time Fatui combatant, and the need to put on the noise-canceling headphones his grandmother made for him has never felt so urgent.

Alhaitham wants to be alone.

Alhaitham 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 to be alone.

Yet before he can flicker from the rooftop and make a run for somewhere quiet and peaceful and bereft of lovers from other realities, Kaveh cries out the final nail to the metaphorical coffin. “Your grandmother gave you a book!”

Alhaitham’s stomach drops.

“It has a green cover,” Kaveh continues, his every word sending jolts of 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 straight to Alhaitham’s chest. “You showed it to me when we were students. You said I’m the only one you showed it to.”

Alhaitham can barely move.

Kaveh presses his advantage. “Your grandmother wrote a message on the title page.” He inches closer to Alhaitham, his Dendro energy overwhelming. “May my child lead—“

“𝘌𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.”

Alhaitham is trembling. His throat is tight, hands quivering as his eyes prickle the way they did when he cried at his grandmother’s funeral. But the tears don’t fall, and he’s still standing proud and firm with his back to Kaveh as the reality of the situation crashes down on his being.

Kaveh knows him.

Kaveh lives with him.

Kaveh 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴—

Think. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬. Regardless of their relationship, Alhaitham can't let his emotions get the better of him. Kaveh has just revealed crucial proof of a possibility Alhaitham refuses to face: Kaveh knows too much about Alhaitham’s life. That makes him a loose end, and a 𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 to Alhaitham’s way of living.

There is no way around it: Kaveh should be eliminated.

With a heavy heart, Alhaitham turns to face the man he must’ve loved in another reality. Kaveh is smiling at him, eyes bright with hope, and Alhaitham knows he doesn’t deserve whatever intrinsic affection the Sumerian bears for him; Kaveh 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 the Alhaitham in his reality.

He is not supposed to love the fatuus Alhaitham.

But lover or not, Kaveh is still a 𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. An anomaly as well, if one considers his status as a man from another reality. Killing him will be mercy; Alhaitham’s enemies and his own colleagues would do much worse if they learned what Kaveh is and knows.

But Alhaitham knows he cannot take Kaveh’s life. Warmth in his chest notwithstanding, Kaveh is an 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵. What little moral code managed to survive Alhaitham’s vicious career in service of the Fatui forbids him from killing innocents.

All these thoughts fill Alhaitham’s head as he stares blankly at Kaveh. Yet he does not give voice to them, and silently makes a decision as he schools his visage into one of surprise. “You weren’t lying,” he whispers, tone colored with just a touch of disbelief. “You do know me.”

The relief and happiness is completely palpable on Kaveh’s face now. Alhaitham’s heart breaks further.

“Yes!” Kaveh throws up his hands. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

Alhaitham gives him a melancholic smile. “I never should’ve doubted you, Kaveh.” He offers his hand.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have.” As expected, Kaveh accepts his proffered hand, pleased and relieved and far too trusting of anyone who bears his Alhaitham’s face.

It will be the death of him.

Alhaitham smiles and pulls the man closer. Kaveh allows him to do so with surprising ease, warm and trusting as he gasps sweetly against Alhaitham’s chest, and Alhaitham aches at what he’s about to do.

Kaveh flushes as the fatuus holds him. “Haitham—“

“Indulge me,” Alhaitham cuts in. He puts on his most charming smile, his free hand rising to soothe Kaveh’s neck. “There’s no one quite like you in my reality.”

Warmth. The damnable 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 rears its ugly head, and how Alhaitham wishes to rip it out of his chest.

Kaveh shivers at the fatuus’s touch, but he doesn’t pull away. He’s lovely, truly; sweet and gentle and pliant, all soft smiles and flushed cheeks, all for a man who looks like his lover.

Alhaitham truly regrets what he does next.

He jabs a needle into Kaveh’s neck.

Kaveh stiffens, wide-eyed and betrayed, and Alhaitham holds him tighter as he begins to weaken and tremble with rage in the fatuus’s arms.

Kaveh snarls. “Y-you—!”

Alhaitham tucks him beneath his chin as the sedative works its way through Kaveh’s system. He laughs softly, mockingly. The 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 threatens to choke him. “So fucking easy for it.” He pulls off the needle and Kaveh melts against him. For a moment, he wonders if the blond is this pliant toward his Alhaitham, drugged or not. “I give you a single scrap of affection, and you come running into my arms.”

Kaveh’s glare is pure loathing as his knees buckle. “You sick bastard—”

𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, Alhaitham thinks regretfully. “Darling,” he croons instead, grabbing Kaveh’s chin and turning him to face Alhaitham’s visage. “You should’ve realized that before taking my hand.”

The anger doesn’t wane from Kaveh’s eyes even as his vision dims, and he can’t even stand up by himself. Alhaitham gracefully holds him, a courtesy he never extends to any captive, and he hates how the 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 in his chest pulses at the thought of their proximity. “There we go. Don’t fight it,” Alhaitham advises, fully aware of the lethargy caused by the needle’s sedative.

Kaveh blinks sleepily up at him. Alhaitham inhales, his own chapped lips inches from Kaveh’s own, and for a strange, half-moment, an urge that should 𝘯𝘰𝘵 cross his mind occurs to him. Yet he does not follow through, because Alhaitham still has a bit of honor, despite the fact he had to drug a good, innocent man to keep his peace.

That doesn’t mean he does not regret this.

So when Kaveh spits on Alhaitham’s shoes right before he blacks out, Alhaitham does not scold him for it. He does not throw a fit, and calmly and quietly hauls the vision wielder into a bridal carry and starts to make his way toward the Northland Bank.

He pretends to ignore how despite his treachery, it still 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 feels to hold the unconscious blond in his arms.

..:|:..

Alhaitham does not kill Kaveh.

He tricked and knocked him out so he could take the Sumerian to his base, to give him ample time to consider his options. Kaveh’s options. Kaveh’s 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦. Again, Alhaitham doesn’t kill him.

"We're not going to take your life,” he had told Kaveh, with his fingers gliding on the back of the Sumerian’s neck. Alhaitham plans to honor his promise. Still, Alhaitham knows he cannot allow Kaveh to roam free.

The fatuus carries Kaveh into his personal quarters through the window.

Alhaitham sighs with relief when he finally sets the unconscious man on his bed. Kaveh had been heavier than he appeared (apparently, lifting a claymore still required a particularly sturdy build, pretty face notwithstanding) and Alhaitham was glad to finally put him down. But he won't deny that carrying Kaveh had not been a bad experience; if he were completely honest with himself, perhaps he'd even call it 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.

The things this man does to him…

Alhaitham shakes his head as he removes Kaveh’s footwear, and covers him with a quilt. The dosage contained within the needle had been rather high, so he estimated that the unconscious man would wake tomorrow.

Well, later. It’s already sunrise, after all.

That should give Alhaitham a few more hours to contemplate a decision regarding Kaveh’s fate; the process of doing so should come more easily considering how most of the fatuus’s questions have been answered by Kaveh’s inter-reality nature.

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, Alhaitham repeats to himself grimly. Fatui protocol dictates that an anomaly, defined as anything or anyone that deviates from the standard order of the known reality, should be sent to Snezhnaya for experimentation purposes. Members of the Fatui, especially those sleazy researchers and that harbinger, Dottore, would 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 for the chance to study a man from another reality such as Kaveh, and admittedly, the idea of handing him over to them is an enticing solution.

It will be a humane way of getting rid of him without having to kill him. No more 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 in Alhaitham’s chest, no more strange mind reading. No more trusting, wide-eyed looks aimed at his most untrustworthy self. If Alhaitham ships Kaveh off to Snezhnaya, he can return to the peace he once knew, and be comforted by the knowledge that Kaveh will be treated decently (though the definition of ‘decently’ by Fatui standards varies greatly).

To reiterate, sending Kaveh away will be an 𝘰𝘶𝘵. As much as it may pain Alhaitham to decide being shipped off is Kaveh's fate, it's better than the grim, permanent alternative. After Alhaitham is sure that the Sumerian will not fall off the bed, he sits before the nearby writing desk to begin penning letters to Fatui researchers.

Alhaitham is drafting his fifth letter for the night when a hand curls around his wrist. For a second, his eyes widen, convinced that Kaveh is awake and managed to fight off a sedative strong enough to put down a dog, but the man’s eyes remain closed, his body buried beneath the quilt. A troubled expression crumples his visage, eyebrows drawn together in discomfort, and Alhaitham freezes when he sees wetness pooling in Kaveh's eyes.

Kaveh is crying in his sleep.

“Don’t go, Haitham,” he murmurs in Sumerian in his sleep. The hand on the fatuus’s wrist tightens. “Don’t leave me. I n-need you.”

He's calling out for 𝘩𝘪𝘴 Alhaitham. But that man isn’t here, and the only person in this room, in this reality, is a fatuus who had the gall to trick him. Shame fills Alhaitham’s chest, for betraying Kaveh’s trust and for hurting the beloved of an Alhaitham from another reality, and he swears those are the only reasons why he kneels next to the bed and takes Kaveh's hand in his.

“I’m here,” Alhaitham responds in stilted Sumerian, his lips brushing the flushed skin of the blond’s knuckles. “I’m here, Kaveh.”

The words are heavy on his tongue, cold and foreign and unfamiliar, but they’re enough for the weeping man. Kaveh hums, his grip loosening, and only when Alhaitham brushes a thumb against his pulse does he finally relax. Kaveh slumps into the bed, unconscious once again, and oh, Kaveh deserves so much better than the fatuus.

And Alhaitham knows he can never send Kaveh to Snezhnaya. Kaveh doesn’t deserve to be shipped away, to be scrutinized and sliced open like a lab rat for the simple reason that he doesn’t belong in this reality. At that moment, Alhaitham realizes what he should do.

He should return Kaveh to 𝘩𝘪𝘴 Alhaitham.

He should return Kaveh to 𝘩𝘪𝘴 reality.

Alhaitham sighs as he berates himself for not coming up with the idea sooner. Sure, sending Kaveh home is more difficult than killing him or shipping him away, but Alhaitham is no stranger to doing the impossible. He knows he can send Kaveh home. He simply has to contact his trusted contacts in Snezhnaya, ask them to develop a device based on the discontinued Portable Waypoint Project of two years ago, and contact him if they need any materials—

—Yes, this might just work. It will be difficult, but if there’s one resource that has always been on Alhaitham’s side, it’s time. A careful, methodical man like himself has no shortage of days and patience; any problem is bound to crumble, bound to be solved, given enough time.

Furthermore, now that he considers it, the fact that Kaveh lives with a version of Alhaitham, and knows even the most mundane, hidden detail about him (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬) proves he knows a lot. Not too much, since he wasn’t able to predict the fatuus’s Alhaitham’s needle, but just enough to put him in danger.

He’s a loose end, a potential backdoor to Alhaitham’s well-guarded secrets. People would 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 to have him in their custody, and who knows what he might reveal in the Fatui researchers’ dissection table. For his and Alhaitham’s own safety, Kaveh needs to be detained under Alhaitham’s protection as he awaits his way back to his reality.

Mind made up, Alhaitham rises and returns to his writing desk to burn the letters. As he leaves, he takes one last glance at the sleeping man on his bed.

Alhaitham’s heart fills with determination. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, he swears in his head.

..:|:..

Alhaitham keeps himself busy as he waits for Kaveh to wake.

After penning letters to trusted subordinates instead of sleazy Fatui researchers, he makes the necessary arrangements for a potential long-term 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵. He requests for a set of standard-issue Fatui uniforms that Kaveh can wear and makes arrangements with some of his staff to retrieve any non-dangerous items Kaveh might request. He also spends time in the kitchen, preparing a few plates of Snehznayan fare for Kaveh’s first lunch as a captive, and does his best to adjust the recipes slightly to cater to a Sumerian’s palate.

…Alright, so he’s treating Kaveh a bit better than most fatui would treat their captives. Alhaitham thinks on this as he readies the filling for the pelmeni, contemplating the ridiculous nature of his preparations, but he reasons with himself that the other-reality Alhaitham would want his Fatuus self to treat Kaveh well; Alhaitham is merely respecting his other self’s wishes.

…Fine, he does want to treat Kaveh well of his own volition. The man is difficult to hate after all (and 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 in the fatuus’s chest notwithstanding, Kaveh has admittedly earned Alhaitham’s grudging respect).

Regardless, Kaveh is still a captive, no matter how well Alhaitham wants to treat him. And there are only so many requests the fatuus can ask of his staff until they start gossiping as to why their superior is keeping an unconscious Sumerian in his room. So the following morning, Alhaitham takes the blond's vision and ties Kaveh’s wrists to the bedposts. The rope he used should be soft enough not to chafe Kaveh’s wrists but firm enough to keep him from escaping (and to keep the staff from questioning Kaveh’s status as Alhaitham’s captive). Furthermore, he summons the supervisor of the bank operations, Vsevolod, to his office (Alhaitham is 𝘵𝘩𝘦 manager, but admittedly the position is just for show. Most clients won't dare make a fuss when they see the bank’s head is a Fatui agent, after all).

“Now I’m sure our people have questions about our little guest,” Alhaitham begins. He sits behind his desk, Vsevolod in front of him. In their masks and identical uniforms, Alhaitham muses that he and Vsevolod look like brothers, with their silver hair and severe expressions, and Alhaitham hopes, with no small amount of caution, that Vsevolod will treat his words with familial confidentiality. “Vsevolod, our guest isn’t just an ordinary captive. I’m afraid we have an inter-reality anomaly in our custody.”

He pauses, eyeing the other fatuus’s expression. Vsevolod barely blinks. “You want me to keep his nature a secret.”

Smart man. It seems Alhaitham’s decision to make Vsevolod his second-in-command isn't a mistake. Alhaitham nods, pleased. “Indeed. I entrusted this information to you because I need your help in doing so. Naturally, our staff will talk about our guest; I need you to assuage their curiosity. I would do so myself, but as you can see—” he sheepishly indicates the door leading to his quarters “--my responsibilities have increased.”

 Vsevolod nods, smart as a whip. “What do you need me to do, sir?”

“Deliver an announcement for me as soon as you leave the office,” says Alhaitham. He begins to relay his message. “‘Ladies and gentlemen, our respectable establishment has taken on a new responsibility. We shall house our first ever 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵.’”

“‘No one has to fret,’” he continues. “‘I, Alhaitham, as the overseer of this bank, has taken on the responsibility of being the guest’s primary custodian. However, I would greatly appreciate everyone’s cooperation in keeping our dear guest 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.’”

Alhaitham smiles thinly, and an edge of steel hints at his voice. “‘‘The guest is under 𝘮𝘺 protection. Anyone who dares to lay a hand on him, by their own volition or otherwise, will be 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 an unwanted fate.” He leans back. “‘Resume operations as normal. Have a good day, ladies and gentlemen.’”

Vsevolod nods. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes,” says Alhaitham. “Furthermore, if anyone within and outside the bank’s employ starts asking too many questions about our guest’s presence, feel free to reiterate the last part of the message.”

“Understood, sir.”

At that moment, they hear the sound of someone hitting a limb against a bedpost and cursing loudly.

Ah, Kaveh must be trying to escape. He’s awake then.

Alhaitham takes the opportunity to smile at his subordinate. "It seems our guest is finally awake," he says. "If you'll excuse me, Vsevolod, I believe it's time to brief him on his circumstances."

Once his fellow fatuus leaves, Alhaitham grabs his grandmother's book and Kaveh's vision and heads into his quarters.

As expected, Kaveh isn’t particularly glad to see the fatuus. His eyes narrow, panting slightly from whatever escape attempt he hatched up, but Ahaitham notes he looks well for a man who had not eaten or stayed conscious for more than a day.

Kaveh’s gaze is pure arsenic as his eyes zone in on his vision in Alhaitham’s hand. “You—!”

Alhaitham smiles thinly. “It’s nothing personal, Sumerian.” He makes a show of putting his bloodstained book in a drawer but keeps his eyes on Kaveh’s unblemished wrists. His skin is void of marks; good, the ropes didn’t hurt him. “Don’t bother with those ropes,” says Alhaitham. “They’re Fatui-grade. Your feeble arms won’t be able to tear through them.”

Kaveh’s mouth curls to snarl. “My arms may be feeble, but my hands are more than capable of tearing your throat out.”

Alhaitham laughs. “I’d like to see you try.”

Kaveh’s scowl deepens, even as Alhaitham steps closer to subtly inspect his health. “Is this how all of your conversations go?” The Sumerian snaps. “You, standing there like some all-important bastard, while the other guy is either kneeling or tied to your bed?”

𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘺’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, Alhaitham thinks ruefully, but instead, he replies, “Only the most enjoyable ones, I’m afraid.”

He chuckles inwardly at Kaveh’s scandalized visage. Honestly, it’s so easy to rile him up; if Alhaitham is his roommate, the fatuus would make sure to dedicate most of his waking hours to messing with Kaveh.

Regardless, there’s a time and place for teasing captives, and Alhaitham knows it’s time to move on to today’s briefing. He clears his throat. “I’ve come to a decision.”

“Oh?” Kaveh says distractedly. His gaze isn’t even on Alhaitham’s face; they’re focused on his vision. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s trying to do.

Kaveh’s eyes flit up. Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. Kaveh stares back for a few moments before he looks away, filing away his escape attempt for later. Alhaitham rolls his eyes. “While you were unconscious, I was making arrangements to have you brought to Snezhnaya.”

“Oh my,” Kaveh responds dryly. “Whatever for, Mister Fatuus?” Then he flashes said fatuus with what he probably thinks is an annoying smile. Alhaitham detests that he’s endeared by it instead.

“You are an anomaly,” says the fatuus. He pads closer, but not close enough to trigger Kaveh’s vision. “You are living proof that inter-reality travel is possible. The Fatui will gain much knowledge from studying you.”

Kaveh’s face falls. “So you’ll hand me over for your organization’s benefit,” he mutters bitterly.

Alhaitham tilts his head. “You’re here in my quarters, aren’t you?”

Kaveh frowns. “What?”

He still hasn’t figured it out, huh? Alhaitham sighs patiently. “I didn’t hand you over.” Kaveh’s face doesn’t change. Alhaitham continues. “It's true that turning you into a test subject would be beneficial to my organization. Yet it would be detrimental to 𝘮𝘦."

Alhaitham speaks before Kaveh can interrupt. "It's obvious that you know too much about my life. If I send you to my co-workers in Snezhnaya, you might end up spilling information about me." Alhaitham leaves Kaveh's vision on a table. "I've taken great care to ensure that the Fatui only have access to the bare minimum details of my life."

"If you tell them what you know," says the fatuus, "all my work will be for naught. My days of comfort and privacy will be over. So no." Alhaitham stalks closer to the bed. "I did 𝘯𝘰𝘵 hand you over."

He expects Kaveh to yell. Or frown in disbelief. Or at the very least, narrow his eyes and start spouting questions. But Kaveh merely sighs, as though Alhaitham’s reasoning is to be expected from him, and his shoulders slacken with what Alhaitham hopes is relief.

“So what now?” Kaveh asks. “You’ll keep me as a hostage here forever?”

He’s taking everything surprisingly well. Alhaitham shakes his head. “No. I’ll send you back to your reality.”

Kaveh’s eyes widen, and he quivers like he can’t believe his ears. “What? Y-you’ll help me…?”

Help him…Oh. 𝘖𝘩. So he was trying to get back to his reality all this time. Huh. Is that the reason he sought out Alhaitham, a familiar face in an unfamiliar reality? Alhaitham almost commends his effort. Instead, he says, “Don’t flatter yourself.” He pulls on one of Kaveh’s ropes for emphasis and tries to ignore the blond’s cry of pain.

"I would've taken your life for what you know," Alhaitham hisses, "but we're not allowed to put down the locals. So I'm sending you back instead."

Kaveh gapes at him. "You're helping me."

"I'm disposing of you," Alhaitham snaps with as much indignation as he can muster. "I have contacted my subordinates in Snezhnaya. They will send a device that should take you back to your reality. Until it arrives, I will provide for you, and you will stay here in my quarters."

“Don’t forget you’re still my captive,” Alhaitham reminds him. “So don’t go around looking too happy.”

"Wouldn't dream of it," Kaveh retorts.

Alhaitham breathes out a laugh before he can think it through, and stops short when he sees how Kaveh softens at him. The fatuus clears his throat, ears red. “You're only allowed to stay in my quarters, my office, or downstairs in the bank."

"You live above a bank?" Kaveh asks.

The Fatuus nods. "Living above the Northland Bank is convenient. With those areas in mind," Alhaitham continues. "You can't leave the bank. You're not allowed to go into the rest of the city."

Of all the things that Alhaitham has said this afternoon, those are the words that finally get through to the Sumerian. Kaveh sputters indignantly, yanking on his ropes. "What do you mean I can't leave?! This is inhumane!"

"This is mercy," Alhaitham replies. "𝘔𝘺 mercy." He pads closer, willing Kaveh to meet his gaze. “A dozen Fatui researchers are dying to get ahold of you," Alhaitham snarls. "The only reason you're safe in my bed, instead of being dissected on an operating table, is because I declared that you're under my protection."

He yanks on Kaveh's hair for emphasis. "Don't make me regret it."

Kaveh scowls. For a moment, Alhaitham wonders if the blond will finally refute him, but before the Sumerian can even say anything, his stomach growls loudly.

The architect flushes. Alhaitham blinks. Right, Kaveh hasn’t eaten in hours. Flushed with subtle guilt, the fatuus smoothes Kaveh's hair back and heads to the table to toss Kaveh's vision to him.

It lands above Kaveh’s belly, flopping gently above the white fabric of the Sumerian’s shirt. Kaveh blinks down at it. "You're not worried that I'll try to get rid of you?"

𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦, Alhaitham thinks ruefully. 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. Instead, he replies haughtily, “I’m your only way home.” He turns to the table, pretending to be intrigued by the pelmeni. “You had plenty of opportunities to take my life when that vision was still in your possession, yet you failed to do so."

Kaveh’s voice quivers with embarrassment. "I did not fail to take your life. I chose not to."

"Oh?" says Alhaitham, his fingers fussing with the cutlery. "And why is that I wonder?" He shouldn’t have asked; he already knows the answer. But the question leaves his lips unbidden, a human curiosity prompting his voice, and Alhaitham speaks again before Kaveh can answer his slip-up. “Free yourself from those ropes. Then come here; I prepared a meal for us to share."

Alhaitham doesn’t look at Kaveh as the ropes disintegrate with the help of Dendro and does his best to keep his mind empty as they both sit at the table. Kaveh’s eyes widen at the array of Snezhnayan dishes before him, and Alhaitham can’t help but preen at his look of wonder. "Have you tried Snezhnayan food before?"

Kaveh shakes his head, eyes the size of saucers as he licks his lips.

Alhaitham smiles proudly, genuinely. "Allow me to get you acquainted with my region's cuisine."

He names the dishes, pushing them to Kaveh's side of the table so the Sumerian can try them. As they eat, Alhaitham watches his new guest, eyeing how the wonder never leaves Kaveh’s face, and how he pauses to compliment every dish presented to him.

The 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 returns to Alhaitham’s chest unbidden, but this time, he isn’t particularly bothered by it.

After lunch, Alhaitham takes Kaveh on a tour of the bank. Now don’t be mistaken; Fatui captives aren’t typically given tours of their detainment facilities, but Alhaitham reasons with himself that if Kaveh was delighted by the food, then he’s sure to love the bank. Alhaitham is simply trying to be a good host to an appreciative man, that’s all. It’s nothing personal.

…It's 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 nothing personal.

As expected, Kaveh enjoyed the tour of the bank. He takes in the grand Sumerian interior with wide eyes, and he goes on tangents about how despite the appearance of the bank making use of traditional Sumerian motifs and furniture, the overall structure is undeniably Snezhnayan, with its heavy use of tall, narrow windows and arched ceilings. Alhaitham listens with rapt attention, impressed with Kaveh’s architectural proficiency, and amazed at how the man gives voice to details that Alhaitham notices but doesn’t have the knowledge to verbalize.

When he comments as such, Kaveh smiles brightly. “Recognizing such characteristics is part of my job. I am an architect by profession, after all.”

A talented vision wielder and an architect to boot. Alhaitham is convinced he is in the presence of a prodigy. “Impressive. No wonder you were able to parse the Snezhnayan aspects of the bank; most people are only capable of noticing its Sumerian aesthetic.”

Kaveh laughs. “I’m sure a man such as yourself was able to draw the same conclusions I had.” He turns away to peruse a painting of a tsar cradling his dying son, and Alhaitham assumes their discussion has come to an end until Kaveh speaks again. "You're not so different from your bank, you know." He smiles wryly. "Both of you are Sumerian and Snezhnayan in equal measure.”

Alhaitham blinks at him.

Kaveh must've realized what he just said because he quickly glances at Alhaitham. “I do not mean any offense by it. I just—” his face softens “--I think it’s a strength, to be shaped by two cultures and defined by a unique, dual heritage.”

His words feel like an attempt at a compliment, and Alhaitham chuckles. “A dual heritage isn’t always sunshine and rainbows, you know.”

“Even so,” says Kaveh, stalwart in his resolution. He regards Alhaitham fully now. “It’s a good thing. You should be proud of who you are.”

Alhaitham manages a small, genuine smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kaveh nods and turns back to the painting, observing it with exaggerated attention, and Alhaitham pretends he doesn’t keep smiling as he gently moves to Kaveh’s side so he can listen to the architect’s remarks regarding the artwork.

The 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 doesn’t feel like such a burden now.

At the end of the tour, Alhaitham and Kaveh return to the agent's quarters. Alhaitham gives Kaveh the privacy to bathe and change into his new Fatui uniform, then he enters the room to grab his mask and duffel bag. "Don't cause any trouble."

Kaveh seemed to have been admiring his reflection in a mirror and stopped as soon as Alhaitham entered the room. The blond frowns. “You’re leaving?”

"I have work," Alhaitham answers, voice distorted by the mask. Dimly, he realizes he has been awake for more than 24 hours now and the round trips to and from Mondstadt aren’t helping his constitution. Furthermore, he’s about to head out in the name of duty once again. Whatever. He’ll catch up on his rest when he returns from his business.

Still, Alhaitham’s circumstances aren’t all that bad. In his mask’s muted vision, he observes how the standard-issue coat renders Kaveh in the Fatui’s signature severe lines and sharp angles, and feels a strange thrum of satisfaction at seeing the Sumerian in 𝘩𝘪𝘴 organization’s attire. "As much as I'd like to stay here and be your warden, I have fieldwork to attend to."

"I'll return in a couple of days. Until then, don't think of sneaking out." He puts on his hood. "Step out of line, and it's straight to the dissecting table for you."

Kaveh scowls. "Don't treat me like a child. I'm older than you."

"Then act like it," says Alhaitham. He slings his bag over his shoulder and opens the door. "If you need something, call one of my subordinates. They will tend to your needs."

He leaves without a second glance and tries not to dwell on the raw 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 on Kaveh’s face as he turns away.

If Alhaitham doesn’t know any better, he’d think Kaveh will miss him.

..:|:..

A rabbit punch is a dangerous blow to the back of the head, capable of damaging the spinal cord, which can lead to irreparable injury. Furthermore, it can also sever a person’s brain from the brain stem, resulting in immediate death.

For those reasons, said blow is illegal in many combat sports, and pugilists in Teyvat are discouraged from doing rabbit punches.

Alhaitham isn’t a pugilist.

Alhaitham slams his elbow into the back of a mercenary’s neck and does it again when the man refuses to yield. The mercenary groans, almost doubling over, and Alhaitham shoves his knee between the man’s eyes.

Overall, it was a busy day at work.

The plan to get Kaveh home may have sounded smooth and easy to the Sumerian’s ears, but the truth of the matter is it’s a bit more complicated; the response letters from Alhaitham’s subordinates in Snezhnaya arrived in the middle of the work, and they had instructed the agent to procure a machine core from some desert ruins. Thankfully, the area of tonight’s assignment coincides with the location of the ruins.

Now if only this group of rouge Eremite mercenaries didn’t find the ruins first…

“Vsevolod,” Alhaitham calls, voice distorted by his mask, and he peers over the clashing Fatui and mercenaries to see his second-in-command shoot another vagabond. “Any progress?”

"None, sir," Vsevolod answers, and he ducks in time for Alhaitham to throw a dagger at the man he's having trouble with. "None of the mercenaries I've encountered are in possession of any machine cores."

“It’s bound to turn up somewhere,” Alhaitham hums, before he kicks and snaps another mercenary’s leg, which folded beneath her and sent her falling to the sand. She howls with pain. “If we can’t find it tonight, return to the city without me. I’d hate to keep you and the others on such a…taxing assignment.” The last part is spoken quietly, a bit of regret tinting his voice at involving his employees in extended wetwork. The rouge Eremite mercenaries are skilled and numerous, and the fatui ranks have taken significant damage. Alhaitham needs to conclude tonight’s business quickly so the injured can get medical attention as soon as possible.

Yet Vsevolod shakes his head and offers a small smile. “It’s no problem, sir. We can all return together.” Alhaitham nods. Good man, Vsevolod. Alhaitham should treat him to a few rounds of Fire Water when they return to the bank.

The fatuus is snapped out of his thoughts when another rouge mercenary joins the fray; an Eremite Daythunder, slimmer than his brethren but just as fit and alert, and the way he swings his blade and attempts to overwhelm a bunch of junior recruits speaks of trouble.

Tied to his belt is a glowing orb in a metal frame. The machine core.

“I’ll handle him,” says Alhaitham, stepping in front of his subordinate. “Rally the others; we leave once he’s dead.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Daythunder scowls as Alhaitham summons his book. “You Fatui are shameless, aren’t you?” He spits on the sand. “Coming to our desert to take and pilfer 𝘰𝘶𝘳 artifacts.”

Alhaitham smiles from beneath his mask. "Haven't you come to do the same thing?"

The Daythunder’s scowl deepens, and the setting sun illuminates his features, turning his crimson blindfold bright red. “This is my land; I bleed Sumerian blood. For that, I have every right to take what I come across.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤, 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘐, Alhaitham thinks to himself. A mental image of Kaveh appears at the forefront of his mind, standing in the bank as he compliments the fatuus's dual heritage with genuine sincerity, and Alhaitham's eyes flit to the machine core. He summons his sword.

The Daythunder attacks first. He yells, swinging his blade haphazardly, but Alhaitham already knows the outcome of the battle. He dodges and feints one way, then the other, and when the Daythunder has stepped closer, far too close for his weapon to be effective, Alhaitham leaps, using a rock as a springboard, and slams the back of his blade into the Daythunder’s head.

As the Daythunder goes down, Alhaitham is on him immediately, sword raised and ready to draw blood. Yet before he can take the man’s life, the Daythunder thrashes wildly and slashes Alhaitham’s chest with a knife.

Alhaitham hisses, white-hot pain blooming from his middle, and the second it takes for him to find his bearings is all it takes for the Daythunder to press his advantage. He rises and lifts Alhaitham by the neck before slamming him into a wall, prompting the fatuus to drop his sword and groan as his head spins.

“I’ve heard all sorts of things about you, fatuus,” the Daythunder hisses through the ringing in Alhaitham’s ears. “Tall Dendro agent; prowls Sumerian soil under the cover of darkness. People say you get off to killing good folks by choking them with a book. Is that true?”

Alhaitham’s lips pull back into a snarl. “I don’t get off to it.”

“S’true then,” says the Daythunder. His hand tightens around Alhaitham’s throat. The fatuus gasps. “No wonder people around these parts call you ‘the scribe.’ You and your ilk, sick bastards, the lot of you.”

Alhaitham rears back. Before the Daythunder can speak again, Alhaitham's forehead smashes into his nose. The Daythunder groans, hands loosening for a second, and Alhaitham slams into the man's nose again, then again. In the scuffle, Alhaitham's mask shatters and falls off his face.

The Daythunder’s eyes widen at Alhaitham’s visage. “Y-you…you’re 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯.”

“Snezhnayan,” Alhaitham corrects. He’s 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩, now that he considers Kaveh’s insight, but he doesn’t bother gracing the mercenary with a proper answer. The Daythunder’s blood drips down his cheek, the same dark color as the crimson staining Alhaitham’s chest, and Alhaitham pulls back. “We do not bleed the same.”

The Daythunder opens his mouth. Maybe he was about to refute Alhaitham’s words. Or perhaps he was going to call Alhaitham a traitor to his people, and by the Tsaritsa has Alhaitham grown tired of that one. Or more likely it was to simply scoff and snap Alhaitham’s neck.

Alhaitham never finds out, because he buries a Dendro dagger in the man’s chest.

The Daythunder’s eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets. Alhaitham grunts, digging the blade deeper, and the mercenary finally lets go of his throat as he sinks to his knees.

The Daythunder makes a wet choking noise. His death won’t be painless; a dagger buried in that area means the blade has punctured his lungs, and he will drown in his own blood. Alhaitham stands before the man, wondering if he should leave him to his fate or perhaps snap his neck as an act of mercy when the decision is made for him.

With a loud bang, like the crack of thunder, the Daythunder’s head disintegrates before the fatuus.

Vsevolod stands to the side of the Daythunder’s body, a smoking pistol in his hand. Good man, Vsevolod. Between him and Alhaitham, the former had always been the better person.

Alhaitham barely manages to wipe the bits of bone and brain from his face before his expression crumples, the pain of the gash on his chest making itself known. Vsevolod hurries to support him.

“Vsevolod—” Alhaitham begins.

The other fatuus shakes his head as he grabs the machine core from the mercenary’s corpse and takes his superior’s sword. “I gathered the men. We must return to the bank.”

Alhaitham doesn't bother with replying. He simply nods and puts on a replacement mask, then collapses against Vsevolod's side.

As he and Vsevolod leave the ruins, they pass by some of their own subordinates attempting to console a group of quivering children amongst the mercenaries’ caravan. The children are a far cry from the healthy, bright-eyed young scholars enrolled in the Sumeru Akademiya; these youth have not known comfort nor education, and their ragged clothing and hollowed-out, hungry expressions barely temper their blatant distrust of these Snezhnayan strangers attempting to reach out to them.

"They were considered goods," Vsevolod whispers when Alhaitham wouldn’t move. “The mercenaries must’ve taken them from their families. I reckon they plan to sell these children to the nobles in Fontaine.”

One of the little girls turns her head. Her big, terrified eyes meet Alhaitham’s.

Alhaitham doesn't have to think. He moves, pulling away from Vsevolod's side, and kneels in front of the girl as he clutches his wound. The children, traumatized from the bloodshed they had undoubtedly witnessed, huddle closer together. Alhaitham's heart breaks.

“Come with us,” he whispers in Sumerian, instead of the Teyvatian his subordinates had been using. He holds out a hand. “Come with me.” With slow, careful movements to not startle the children, he removes his mask, revealing his face to them. “You can trust me.”

The children do not move. But Alhaitham can see how their shoulders lose tension at the sight of a person who might be one of their own, even if said person’s attire is of another nation entirely.

The little girl from before speaks. “Where will you take us?”

“To Caravan Ribat,” Alhaitham responds. “We will inform the authorities regarding your situation. Then the Corps of Thirty will return you to your families.”

He waits for the children to make their decision. At last, the little girl steps forward, her tiny hand fitting in Alhaitham’s larger one, and the fatuus smiles at her courage. The other children follow suit, and the youth allow themselves to be led and carried to the Fatui’s Sumpter Beasts.

As the group sets off for a minor excursion to Caravan Ribat before proceeding to Sumeru City, Alhaitham leans back as Vsevolod does first aid on his superior’s chest wound. The agent thinks of Kaveh in his quarters, possibly awaiting his return and trusting that Alhaitham will get him 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, and the fatuus’s spirit aches deeply, sweetly.

He blacks out.

..:|:..

The bank descends into chaos.

As soon as Alhaitham and the rest of the injured Fatui enter the Northland Bank's promises, the well-oiled bank operations come to a halt, and the establishment temporarily shifts from a financial institution to a medical one.

Only a fellow fatuus is trusted to tend to his brethren, after all.

Alhaitham’s vision dims and spins as strong arms heave him up the staircase. Everything is loud. Everything is too much. Fatui soldiers lie on the pristine bank floor, bloodied and broken and awaiting medical attention, and the limited in-house medics and legionnaires dart between the injured combatants, mending bone and muscle with their visions or delusions. The rest of the fatui run up and down the bank, procuring supplies and carrying their brethren, and the clamor of seemingly a hundred voices speaking and yelling and barking instructions prompts Alhaitham to close his eyes.

“Almost there, sir.” Alhaitham recognizes Vsevolod’s voice on his side. Blinking warily, he realizes the man’s arms support his weight, and is dragging him heavily as they ascend the steps to Alhaitham’s office. “Just a bit longer, and we’ll get Doctor Mikhailova to check on you.”

Alhaitham grunts weakly. “N-no.” It’s difficult to think, with the bloodied gash throbbing across his torso, almost cutting him in half, but he knows he’ll survive it, with or without the doctor’s medical attention. As usual, a few hours of sleep and solitude should set him straight. “Our brothers and sisters have suffered worse injuries. Tell the doctor to tend to them first.”

“Sir—”

“The doctor can tend to me later,” Alhaitham says firmly. “Tell her to focus on the other combatants.” At Vsevolod’s frown, Alhaitham’s visage morphs into a scowl. "That's an order, Vsevolod."

“...Sir—”

“Vsevolod!”

The two men pause in the middle of the staircase, and through his unsteady vision, Alhaitham sees a slim figure with blond hair running towards them. For a second, his heart leaps, thinking Kaveh has come to see him, but then his vision clears, and he sees it’s actually Viktor.

Vsevolod’s face softens in a way it never does. “Vitenka.”

Alhaitham blinks.

“Seva!” Viktor’s commonly sullen expression is alive with worry, and he dashes in front of Alhaitham, seemingly unseeing of his superior, to cradle Vsevolod’s face in his hands. “I’ve heard of what happened. Are you alright?”

“Never been better,” Vsevolod murmurs, voice warm as he leans into Viktor’s touch, and if he wasn’t injured and leaning on his second-in-command for support, Alhaitham would’ve grinned at the revelation of his coworkers’ true relationship. But then Viktor’s eyes flit to his superior, and the two fatui pull apart with flushed cheeks.

“S-sir Alhaitham!” Viktor exclaims, voice unusually high. He hurries to support Alhaitham’s other arm as he and Vsevolod resume dragging Alhaitham up the stairs. “My apologies, I didn’t notice—”

“It’s fine,” Alhaitham cuts in. Despite his ache, he manages a teasing smirk. “I understand you and Vsevolod were quite 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥.”

Viktor’s cheeks tint darker. Vsevolod coughs. Alhaitham’s grin widens, but before he can make another remark, the damn chest wound flares again, and he slumps even more uselessly into his subordinates’ support.

“Hang in there,” says Vsevolod, seemingly glad of the distraction as he opens the door to Alhaitham’s office. “Vit–Viktor, stay with him while I grab some supplies—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Alhaitham. He collapses on his office chair, panting heavily. “I can dress my own wound; the two of you should tend to the others.”

“But—”

Alhaitham sighs. “Vsevolod, if you argue with me one more time tonight, I swear, I’ll make sure your and Viktor’s lunch breaks will never coincide.”

Vsevolod scowls. He still seems ready to argue, but something about Viktor's expression prompts him to surrender. Vsevolod sighs as he and the blond fatuus head toward the door. "We'll be back as soon as the rest of the combatants have been tended to."

Alhaitham waves them off. “Go. I’ll be right here.”

The men leave. Alhaitham’s smile fades as he slumps against his seat, finally alone.

The first thing he does is assess the injury. Alhaitham steadies his breathing as he peels off his uniform coat, the front stained dark with his own blood, and begins to unclasp the armored waistcoat he wears underneath. Damn Daythunder; whatever knife he had used had managed to tear through Alhaitham’s armor. The waistcoat had taken the brunt of the hit, but the blood staining his clothes is a clear indication the strike had still been effective.

Fucking hell.

Alhaitham, impatient and in pain, decides to tear through his inner tunic with a Dendro dagger to get to the skin beneath. He stands as he takes off his waistcoat, preparing to drag his blade through the tunic’s fabric as he contemplates how he’s going to reach the first aid kit in the bathroom later when the office door suddenly opens.

For a second, Alhaitham thinks Vsevolod and Viktor have returned. But there’s only a single person in the doorway, dark and sleep-rumpled against the hallway lights, and warmth throbs in time with Alhaitham’s pain.

Kaveh.

Kaveh’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. “H-Haitham, you’re—“

The worry on his face prompts Alhaitham to turn away. “I know.” He grabs his desk for support. Damn it, he really should've stayed in his seat. He spares a glance at Kaveh, heart seizing at the blatant worry on the man’s face (worry Alhaitham doesn’t deserve), and Alhaitham has half a mind to send Kaveh back to his quarters.

Or at least, send him back after asking for a bit of help. “Mind grabbing the first aid kit for me?” says Alhaitham. He grits his teeth, willing his expression to remain neutral to not increase Kaveh's worry. "It's right next to the mouthwash."

Kaveh gapes at him. "You're going to tend to your own injury? Don't you have a doctor?!"

"I told her to tend to my men," says Alhaitham. The fatuus winces as his fingers clutch the desk more tightly. "Get the first aid kit."

Kaveh refuses to move, the stubborn man. "I'm calling the doctor,” says the Sumerian. “You can't possibly--"

A dagger narrowly misses his ear. Kaveh falls silent. Alhaitham pants as he realizes he threw it.

He decides not to dwell too deeply on his guilt. “Kit,” Alhaitham growls in a voice that isn’t his own. “𝘕𝘰𝘸.”

Kaveh finally, thankfully, hurries to the bathroom. Alhaitham collapses into his chair. For a moment he lies there, watching the flickering lamplight and listening to the chaos in the bank below, when Kaveh emerges with the first aid and a scowl on his face.

Before Alhaitham can speak, Kaveh stands in front of the fatuus and pulls up his tunic. The sight of the large, bloodied gash with yellow-white at the edges almost prompts Alhaitham to puke, but his reaction pales in comparison to Kaveh’s expression. The poor man seems ready to faint.

"Archons, you've been walking around with this?!" Kaveh exclaims.

"It's just a gash," Alhaitham grits out.

"It's infected!" Kaveh yells. He stands on his tiptoes and touches Alhaitham's forehead. "You're burning up! Archons, Haitham--"

The architect pushes Alhaitham to sit on the chair and begins gathering supplies from the agent's quarters. The sight of the wound must’ve motivated Kaveh to kick into gear, if the way he darts around the office and mutters to himself is any indication. Alhaitham hates how the poor man is so frazzled by something that is 𝘯𝘰𝘵 even his problem. “This is none of your concern, Sumerian--"

"Shut the fuck up," Kaveh barks. He grabs a lighter and a pair of tweezers and holds the needle into the flame. "You come back with an infected gash, and you expect me to stand by and do nothing?!"

𝘠𝘦𝘴, Alhaitham wants to say, but he isn’t given a chance to talk when Kaveh drops to his knees in front of him. By the holy Tsaritsa and all her harbingers, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨—?!

Thankfully, Kaveh is too occupied digging through the desk drawers to notice Alhaitham’s expression. “Do you have alcohol in here?"

Oh. 𝘖𝘩. The fever and the pain are making Alhaitham delirious, he’s sure of it. The fatuus nods and grabs a bottle of Fire Water from beneath his desk as Kaveh stands. “Drink. You'll need it for the pain."

What. He wants Alhaitham to drink right now? Please, Alhaitham has suffered worse injuries; he doesn’t need an anesthetic. Alhaitham huffs, insulted. "This is unnecessary--"

Kaveh glares at him, daring the fatuus to continue. And Alhaitham, a formidable vision wielder and a dutiful agent of her Highness the Tsaritsa, who takes more lives in a week than most people can ever take in a lifetime, feels a tendril of 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 crawl up his spine.

Alhaitham takes a swig of liquor obediently.

As the Fire Water makes its way through his system, Alhaitham eyes Kaveh through his blurry vision and doesn't resist when the architect grabs a chair to sit next to him. Kaveh moves closer, and with bated breath, lifts Alhaitham’s tunic properly. His fingertips linger on the fatuus’s bare skin before he gently runs warm water over the gash.

Alhaitham winces but breathes through the pain. He had his gashes sewn a hundred times and in worse conditions. He can do it again in the comfort of his office, with the help of a kind Sumerian by his side.

Kaveh prepares his needle and thread. “Are you ready?"

Yet even if Alhaitham can do this again, he doesn't want to. Still, he takes a swig of Fire Water and resigns himself to his fate. "Let's get this over with."

Kaveh huffs out a laugh despite himself. He reaches forward and squeezes Alhaitham's hand. "Tell me when it hurts, okay?"

Alhaitham doesn’t remember the last time anyone has tended to him with such kindness. He flushes despite himself, and it takes a moment for him to nod.

Thus, the work begins.

The process of stitching the fatuus's gash is a long and agonizing ordeal. Alhaitham grits his teeth, trying not to look down as Kaveh stitches his skin close, and focuses on taking swigs from the bottle of liquor. The pain he experiences is a cocktail of aches; the throbbing of the gash, the sting of the infection, the burn of the Fire Water. There’s also the scent of his flesh and blood in the air, along with the sensation of the needle and thread pricking and entering and leaving his skin in almost consistent intervals, and the press of Kaveh’s hand on his knee, white-hot and bright through the endless haze of pain.

In his failing vision and intoxicated state of mind, Alhaitham chooses to focus on Kaveh’s warmth. “Hey.”

"What is it?" Kaveh asks, not taking his eyes off his task. Alhaitham winces when Kaveh's needle presses deeper. Kaveh rubs the fatuus’s knuckles as an apology.

"Are you always like this?" Alhaitham murmurs. His voice is meek and quiet, bereft of its usual firmness. It sounds like a stranger’s.

"Like what?" Kaveh chuckles wryly. He looks up to smile sun-bright at Alhaitham. "Pushy?"

Lamplight catches on the swoop of Kaveh’s eyelashes. Alhaitham’s throat dries.

"Pretty," says Alhaitham. He reaches over to cup Kaveh's cheek, thumb underlining one crimson, arresting eye. "You're so 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺."

It feels good to say it, to admit that he thinks Kaveh is physically attractive. Alhaitham smiles softly, the pad of his thumb tracing the starburst of freckles on the Sumerian’s skin, and wonders how a single person can possess so many good qualities.

Kaveh’s face flushes. Still beautiful. “You're drunk, Haitham. Don't say things you don't mean."

"I'm telling the truth," Alhaitham insists petulantly. He pouts as he caresses Kaveh's face. "You're so pretty,” he professes again. Kaveh deserves to hear it a thousand times. “I can't take my eyes off you."

Kaveh flushes more. The needle trembles, digging painfully into Alhaitham’s skin, but he finds he doesn't care. It's hard to care about other things when Kaveh is sitting beside him, tending to him with such a kind disposition. But the Sumerian isn't looking at him, seemingly unable to accept Alhaitham’s compliments, and the fatuus frowns.

"You're beautiful," says Alhaitham, attempting to convince the man of his own loveliness. "Smart and kind, too. Your Alhaitham is lucky to have you in his life."

Kaveh finally meets Alhaitham’s gaze, yet he still doesn’t look pleased. "C-can we talk about something else?"

Oh. Had Alhaitham offended him in some way? The fatuus yearns to apologize, but he remembers that Kaveh 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. Alright then. Alhaitham will make it up to him some other time. "Of course," Alhaitham replies softly. He squeezes Kaveh's hand. "What would you like to talk about?"

The answer comes quickly. "Tell me about your home." Kaveh wills his attention back to the needle. "Tell me about Snezhnaya."

Alhaitham's gaze softens, and he takes another swig of Fire Water. Then he speaks.

Talking about home isn’t easy. Talking about home means revisiting the things he had to leave behind, remembering the people who have long since left him, but Alhaitham tries because Kaveh asked, and because Kaveh is kind and loves him in another reality. Alhaitham describes snow-capped mountains and crystal-clear lakes and the smell of pine needles and wood smoke. He speaks of dappled sunlight on cold skin and the burn of Fire Water as it travels down one's throat.

He speaks of his childhood, of cuddling next to his grandmother as she reads him a collection of poems she brought from her homeland.

And at that moment, a memory comes to the forefront of his mind: of sitting with his grandmother yet again, of her describing 𝘩𝘦𝘳 home.

“Beyond the Zapolyarny Palace,” his grandmother whispers, “beyond the frozen north and the churning seas, is my home. A beautiful land, verdant and full of life, rich with fauna and flora and blessed by the Dendro Archon.” Her eyes glint in the candlelight. "A land where it 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 snows."

Alhaitham gasps, a three-year-old’s shock lighting his face. “A land where it never snows?” He had been born in Snezhnaya, and her chill and mountains were all he had ever known. "That's impossible!"

“It 𝘪𝘴 possible.” His grandmother grins cheekily, her pride and love for her home warming her smile and prompting Alhaitham to 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 her. “My home and your parents’ home is a land called 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘶. The trees grow endlessly as they yearn to reach the sky, and the deserts are vast and red and beautiful. And best of all, the people of Sumeru are like you and me.” She takes Alhaitham’s hands. “Learners. 𝘚𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘴. The Sumerians are motivated by knowledge, and the land they built is shaped by the very wisdom that runs through their veins.”

Grandmother and grandson hold each other’s hands as the snow falls outside their house. “When you grow older,” says Alhaitham’s grandmother, "and when I finally stop getting sick from the cold, we will return to Sumeru. I will take you 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦, my son. I swear upon the Dendro Archon that you will grow among our people and in the land of our ancestors. This is my promise to you."

She was never able to fulfill her promise.

Alhaitham’s grandmother died when he was seven years old. The meager inheritance she passed on to her grandson, which includes a small library and a book with an emerald green cover, is not enough to ensure him a comfortable life, so Alhaitham enlisted in the Fatui after his only family’s passing. He had worked for them ever since, carving his place in a world built by Snezhnayans, and thriving in it despite initially being an outsider.

It wasn’t easy, of course. But the Fatui have always prized skill over heritage, and thankfully, Alhaitham has plenty of skill.

Alhaitham doesn’t tell all of this to Kaveh. But he does speak of his grandmother’s fondness for her home.

"Sumeru is her home," Alhaitham whispers, "the same way Snezhnaya is mine. I requested to be assigned here to get to know her better."

Kaveh’s eyes have returned to stitching the fatuus closed, but Alhaitham knows the man is listening. "So, did you?” Kaveh asks. “Did you get to know her better here?"

Alhaitham turns to the window, a distant warmth in his eyes. "I've been in Sumeru for five years." He meets Kaveh's gaze, and a thought he has never bothered to verbalize makes its way from his lips. "She is 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 here."

And his mouth is moving, words flowing like springwater in his rough, pain-sapped voice, but Alhaitham speaks, because if Kaveh can trust him, then he knows he can trust Kaveh too. "I see her in the streets," Alhaitham admits. "In the structures. I see her in the people. Her spirit feels alive in Sumeru."

"I see my parents too," Alhaitham whispers, slumping against Kaveh's frame as the blond begins to drag him toward the bedroom. "I look at Sumeru, and she shows me my family." He chuckles as a raw and familiar ache weakens him. His eyes prickle at the edges. "These must be strange words from a son of Snezhnaya."

"No," Kaveh replies softly, gently. "Not at all."

Alhaitham smiles at him.

Kaveh helps Alhaitham take off his boots and settle into the bed. Alhaitham sighs, bone-deep and weary as the Sumerian covers him with his quilt. "I wonder what I might've become if my family hadn't moved to Snezhnaya before my birth." He turns toward the ceiling, his grandmother’s promise lingering in his head. “If I was born as a Sumerian.”

He turns to Kaveh, wondering what the real, born and bred Sumerian thinks of his thoughts. But Kaveh’s expression remains warm and serene, if not a touch melancholic, and he takes the fatuus Alhaitham’s hand in his own. "You would've been wonderful,” Kaveh whispers.

Something occurs at the back of Alhaitham’s mind, a half-formed thought about how Kaveh must be thinking of 𝘩𝘪𝘴 Alhaitham in 𝘩𝘪𝘴 reality, but the fatuus is too exhausted to consider it. Alhaitham merely smiles, warm and sincere, and brings Kaveh's hand to his lips. "Thank you for tending to me."

Kaveh flushes, warm and sugar-soft. He doesn't pull away when Alhaitham kisses his knuckles again.

"Get some rest, Haitham," Kaveh murmurs.

Alhaitham’s vision starts to darken at the edges. He blinks sleepily, willing his eyes to focus on Kaveh’s fading figure. He speaks without thinking. "Will you stay here until I fall asleep?"

Kaveh tenderly brushes the hair from the Fatuus's forehead. "Of course."

At that moment, as Kaveh comes to grab a chair and sit next to the fatuus’s bedside, Alhaitham begins to see him in a new light. For the first time, perhaps due to tonight’s experiences and the nostalgia of remembering his grandmother, Alhaitham becomes aware of how 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 Kaveh is. Kaveh isn’t just a captive, a Sumerian, or a fount of weakness; he is a 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯, much like Alhaitham is, with his strengths and weaknesses and flaws and kindnesses, and the 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 in Alhaitham’s being increases tenfold.

He realizes he 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 Kaveh.

Perhaps not romantically, not yet, but he can see why an Alhaitham from another reality would love him. The thought thrills and terrifies the fatuus in equal measure. In the same breath, he remembers a quote he had read to his grandmother.

“A man who never loves gives no hostage to fortune,” five-year-old Alhaitham had warbled. “Bibi, is this true?”

“It is,” his grandmother confirms. “But a man who never loves is no man at all.” Her eyes soften as she brings her grandson to her knee. “A true man, a true person, isn’t afraid to love, Haitham. Now, how do 𝘺𝘰𝘶 love?”

How do you love?

Alhaitham thinks on this, turning the words over in his aching, intoxicated mind, and his eyes flit to Kaveh, still sitting vigil by his bedside. The man’s face is turned toward the window, watching the night sky with that beautiful endless wonder of his, and Alhaitham aches yet again.

As he succumbs to sleep, he wonders just how the other Alhaitham loves, if he can bring himself to risk Kaveh as a hostage to fortune.

..:|:..

Alhaitham spends the following week recuperating in his quarters.

Usually, he would be delighted by such an outcome, because nothing pleases Alhaitham more than afternoon naps, idle reading, and extended downtime, but attempting to relax with a giant gash on his chest is harder than it seems.

On the afternoon of the second day, Alhaitham gives up on attempting to rest and begins to tend to paperwork to pass the time.

Kaveh stays with him while he works. Unlike other people who end up coming off as annoying when sharing Alhaitham’s space, the Sumerian architect is pleasant company, and his intrinsic knowledge regarding Alhaitham seems to help him determine whether the fatuus wants to be alone or is craving a light-hearted debate to pass the time.

Aside from debates, they also talk about all sorts of things. Their most common topics pertain to their specific regions.

"Winter feels endless in Snezhnaya," says Alhaitham. He and Kaveh sit on the bed together, watching a rainstorm drench the city. “I miss the snow greatly.”

“I've never seen real snow,” Kaveh admits. “What's it like?”

Alhaitham smiles fondly, remembering his grandmother’s words about Sumeru, and wonders if most people who live in Cryo-less lands share Kaveh’s curiosity regarding snow. “Cold and wet. Like fluffy rain.”

"Fluffy rain," Kaveh repeats, eyebrows scrunched in contemplation. He leans on Alhaitham’s arm, something he seems to enjoy doing ever since the fatuus allowed him into his personal space. “I’d like to see it someday.”

How Alhaitham wants to show him. If only he can return to Snezhnaya, he'll try to pack snow into a bag and bring some back for Kaveh's scrutiny. But alas, his duties are in Sumeru, and the thought of leaving Kaveh with his subordinates again while he goes off to retrieve snow feels wrong. Yet at that moment, a wonderful idea occurs in Alhaitham’s mind, and he realizes he can show Kaveh the beauty of snow without either of them leaving Sumeru.

However, The fatuus does not give voice to his thoughts. He merely hums pulls the architect closer, and begins planning a surprise for Kaveh in his head.

When Alhaitham starts to feel better, he and Kaveh take turns cooking for each other.

Kaveh prepares all sorts of delicious popular Sumerian fare, including Fatteh, Biryani, Curry Shrimp, and Padisarah Pudding. He also cooks food he describes as recipes he learned from his own parents. Dizi is a hearty lamb and chickpea stew, with prominent lamb, chickpea, and turmeric flavors. Baghali polo is a fragrant rice dish, with flavors of fava beans and dill, that he serves with chicken. Finally, he has Alhaitham help him with making Ghormeh Sabzi, a wonderful herb stew that Alhaitham secretly thinks is his favorite out of everything he tried.

The fatuus cooks for Kaveh in return.

He makes cabbage rolls stuffed with meat, rice, and vegetables and cooked in tomato sauce, and prepares borscht, a sour red soup made of meat stock and vegetables with a dollop of smetana on top. He makes bliny with jam or caviar for Kaveh to snack on, and on especially hot days, he prepares okroshka, a cold soup consisting of potatoes, eggs, doctor's sausage, cucumbers, and dill mixed with pure water and diluted sour cream. On one particular weekend, Alhaitham and Kaveh even make pelmeni together, and Alhaitham laughs fondly when Kaveh complains that his dumplings won’t close because he used too much filling.

Alhaitham and Kaveh also make a habit of drinking tea together, as the beverage is popular in both Sumeru and Snezhnaya.

As he spends more and more time with the architect, Alhaitham comes to learn that being with Kaveh is easy. Sharing meals and talking about even the mundane things with him is exciting and comfortable, and Alhaitham wonders how he managed to get through life without this wonderful, kind, and intelligent person by his side. It feels like he's been reunited with his other half, his mirror, his equal in mind, body, and spirit.

Being with Kaveh feels 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

“𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?” Alhaitham’s grandmother had asked.

Alhaitham doesn’t know. But whatever it is he has with Kaveh, whatever 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮, fond feeling prompts him to be kind to the blond is enough to sate his conscience and soothe his spirit, and he refuses to scrutinize it. He likes Kaveh and wants to be good to him. That’s it. No strings attached.

But alas, all good things have to come to an end. Alhaitham is reading today’s missives on his desk when a marked envelope appears among the stack. He recognizes it as a letter from his subordinates back in Snezhnaya, and when he opens it, his heart drops to his stomach.

The device that will send Kaveh home is considered stable and ready for use and is currently being shipped to Sumeru. Kaveh can finally go home.

The news doesn’t please Alhaitham as much as it should’ve.

Based on Kaveh’s pout when the fatuus shares the news over supper, the architect isn’t particularly pleased either.

“Already?!” Kaveh exclaims. “What—how did the Fatui researchers even manage to develop it?!”

Alhaitham has no idea how his subordinates managed to scrape together an inter-reality device from a discontinued study, a century-old machine core, and whatever scraps they have lying around in the Fatui laboratories. But the important thing is the device has been created, and the loyal people under Alhaitham’s command haven't snitched to their superiors. Alhaitham should recommend them all for promotions. "Does it matter?" Alhaitham cocks an eyebrow. "It's due to arrive here about a week from now." He takes a delicate sip from his teacup. "You're finally going home."

Kaveh falls silent. He purses his lips, the way he does when he’s thinking, and somehow, Alhaitham knows as excited and relieved as the architect is at the news, the thought of leaving so abruptly distresses him.

Perhaps, a small part of him had come to enjoy Alhaitham’s company as well. Alhaitham smiles at the thought, flattered at the idea of Kaveh missing him, then decides it’s time to distract Kaveh from any sad, unwanted thoughts. He doesn’t want Kaveh to focus on his unhappy feelings, after all. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Kaveh finally snaps out of his trance, and he directs an apologetic gaze at the fatuus.

“Tell me about Sumerian desserts,” Alhaitham prompts with a gentle, encouraging smile. “Baklava sounds fascinating.”

For a second, he thinks his distraction won’t work. But then Kaveh returns his smile, toothy and bright and sun-warm with every goodness in the world, and begins to speak.

Alhaitham and Kaveh talk about food for the rest of the evening.

One night, Alhaitham decides it’s time to unveil the surprise he’s been planning for days now. The special device he will use for said surprise had been bestowed upon him by the Tsaritsa herself but hadn't been used at all ever since Alhaitham received it.

The device will be used tonight, and Alhaitham grins to himself as he secures it in his belt and goes to wake Kaveh up.

Kaveh startles from his cot in Alhaitham’s office, still unused to the fatuus’s silent steps, and clutches his quilt to his chest as he pants.

“Archons!” He gasps, voice still rough with sleep. “Haitham, you—”

“Grab a robe,” says Alhaitham. He heads to a nearby window and opens it, allowing the cool evening air to fill the room. “I’m taking you somewhere.”

Kaveh blinks at him, still unmoving as he half-sits on his moonlight-streaked cot. “Huh? To the bank?”

Alhaitham softens and chuckles fondly. “No, silly.” He indicates the sky. “I’m taking you outside.” He waits for Kaveh’s excitement, for the sunshine smile that Alhaitham can get used to seeing for the rest of his days. But the architect remains seated, tilting his head in confusion.

“But I can't leave the bank,” Kaveh murmurs plaintively. “I'm your captive.”

Oh, dear. Can’t he see just what he means to Alhaitham now? The fatuus gives the architect a wry smile. “Do you still feel like a captive, Kaveh?”

Kaveh. 𝘒𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘩. Alhaitham realizes it’s the first time he has said Kaveh’s name out loud, and he quite likes the sound of it in his voice. Based on Kaveh’s flushed but pleased expression, he likes it too.

Kaveh blinks, staring at the Fatuus, then grabs a robe. They leave through the window.

It feels good to run outside again after weeks of being cooped up in the bank. Alhaitham darts through the rooftops, the cool rush of the wind and the thrill of running again filling him with life, and he can’t help but smile tenderly as Kaveh runs with him, the breeze blowing his hair back and making his clothes flutter.

At first, Alhaitham leads the way through the rooftops while Kaveh follows him. But after a few minutes, Alhaitham realizes their current pace isn’t enough; the last thing he needs is for a restless subordinate to go for an evening walk in the city’s streets, and to see their boss and captive frolicking together on the rooftops. Alhaitham shudders at the thought as he turns to Kaveh. “Can’t you go any faster?!”

"I'm going as fast as I can," Kaveh calls back. He carefully leaps to the next roof and waves an airy hand. "Leave me behind then. Just tell me where to meet you."

Well, that just won’t do. Alhaitham huffs and crosses his arms. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Fine," says Kaveh. He stumbles as he tries to find his footing. "Either you wait for me, or you can carry me to the location."

…That’s not a bad idea.

Kaveh’s eyes widen as he realizes what he just said, and he moves back when Alhaitham tries to corner him. “Archons, 𝘯𝘰,” he says firmly, trying to avoid Alhaitham’s arms and hands that try to pick him up. “Haitham, you are not carrying me—!” He yells when the fatuus manages to grab him and pull him into a bridal carry. “Haitham, you—!”

The agent grins as he presses the architect close to his chest. The 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 sings in his being, but it had long stopped being a bother a while ago. “Oh, but how can I ignore such a wonderful suggestion?” Alhaitham croons. He grins sharply, enjoying the feeling of having Kaveh in his arms far too much, and activates his vision. “Hold on tight.”

Kaveh barely manages to wrap his arms around the fatuus’s neck before they flicker to the next roof.

Alhaitham has never flickered with anyone before. For a long time, he has always assumed that flickering is a solo act, but then again, Kaveh’s presence has made him reevaluate all sorts of things about his life and himself. Alhaitham feels the familiar sensation of his own Dendro covering him, taking him, but also feels it washing over Kaveh, wrapping around both of them like a sheer, airy quilt. Then they’re moving, falling somewhere, the wind rushing into their faces as Alhaitham cradles Kaveh as tightly as he can, terrified of dropping him—

—Then it’s over. They’re standing on a different rooftop, windswept but alive, and Alhaitham’s heart hammers in his chest as he realizes he succeeded in flickering with another person, and not just any person— he flickered with 𝘒𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘩.

Alhaitham grins, happiness and relief brightening his features and adding a healthy flush to his skin, and turns to regard the man in his arms. “Are you alright?”

Kaveh blinks up at him. Then he wiggles his feet, an unexpected but endearing gesture that prompts another smile to appear on Alhaitham’s face, and the architect reaches up to wrap his arms around Alhaitham’s neck. “Can we do that again?”

Alhaitham laughs and gives in to the urge to kiss Kaveh’s hair. He has never felt so happy and 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦 in his life.

They flicker again.

Soon, Alhaitham and Kaveh arrive at a rainforest close to Sumeru City. After a few paces, the fatuus sets down the architect in the middle of a sizeable clearing, a spot he has discovered two years into his stay in Sumeru and where he secretly escapes to when the need for solitude becomes overwhelming. Alhaitham allows himself a moment to breathe, eyeing how Kaveh glances around curiously before the fatuus decides it's time for the surprise.

He clutches the special device secured on his belt before padding to his companion.

"Alright," says Alhaitham, palpable excitement in his voice, "close your eyes."

Kaveh glances at him over his shoulder, his mouth quirked in amusement. “Did you prepare fireworks or something?”

“No,” Alhaitham laughs softly as he stands behind Kaveh. He removes his gloves and uses his bare palms to cover the architect’s eyes, and satisfaction warms his chest at the easy way Kaveh relaxes back into his frame. “Trust me,” Alhaitham whispers, his voice low and teasing in Kaveh’s ear. “This is better than fireworks.”

Kaveh’s breath hitches.

This close, with the architect’s warmth in front of him and the thrill of making Kaveh happy making his heart race, Alhaitham gains the courage to go through with his surprise. He focuses on drawing out his elemental energy, but instead of triggering his Dendro vision as he usually would, he turns on the Tsaritsa-bestowed device in his belt.

The Cryo delusion activates without a hitch.

The temperature suddenly drops. Alhaitham feels an innate chill emanating from deep within himself as the delusion feeds on his energy, and for a moment, he wonders if his insides will freeze over. But they don’t, and the sting of the delusion is just a touch harsher than the faint tingling sensation of using a vision, so the fatuus goes through with his plan.

Alhaitham turns toward the sky and wishes for snow.

The temperature drops even further. Then tiny, minuscule white flakes begin to fall from above, little pinpricks of wetness landing on Alhaitham’s bare hands, and he knows that despite the fact this is his first time using his delusion, he succeeded.

Alhaitham steps back, and his hands no longer cover Kaveh’s eyes. Kaveh blinks for a moment, squinting in the moonlight, then he gasps in delight.

The snow looks both beautiful and strange in the Sumerian rainforest. Beautiful, because snow will always be beautiful no matter where it is, and strange, because the sight of white powder settling upon the tropical greenery looks out of place but incredibly pretty, like powdered sugar.

Kaveh blinks in disbelief, snow landing on his eyelashes, and turns to Alhaitham. "H-How--?"

Alhaitham grins and reveals the Cryo delusion on his belt. “You said you’ve never seen real snow,” he explains sheepishly. “So I thought that I might show it to you.”

Kaveh laughs. Then he laughs again, eyes crinkling happily, and runs toward the fatuus. Alhaitham catches him on instinct, arms settling around Kaveh's waist in an increasingly familiar gesture that he's come to enjoy, and before he can say anything, before he can warn Kaveh of the dangers of running on surfaces covered in half-melted snow because he might slip and by the Tsaritsa, the last Alhaitham would want is for his dear companion to get hurt, Kaveh is wrapping his arms around the fatuus’s neck and kissing him on the lips.

Oh. 𝘖𝘩.

Alhaitham’s thoughts screen to a halt, and all he can feel is the gentle press of Kaveh’s lips against his. Then Kaveh is pulling away, far too warm and far too precious and Alhaitham is so, 𝘴𝘰 cold and hot and frozen and he can feel 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨—

—And Alhaitham moves and chases Kaveh's lips with his own.

Kissing Kaveh feels like holding him for the first time. This close, with the warmth of him against the fatuus’s chest, Alhaitham feels something, something hot and electric and 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵, like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

Kissing Kaveh feels 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

Alhaitham and Kaveh pull away after a moment, but for the fatuus, it felt like ages (and it still wasn’t enough). Kaveh grins, bright with happiness as his cheeks turn pink, and Alhaitham realizes his face is also sporting a similar flush. He suddenly feels very, very embarrassed for some reason, and he hurriedly clears his throat.

"I-I know this isn't real snow," the fatuus stammers by way of distraction, indicating the white flecks around them. "And this is nothing compared to a Snezhnayan winter--"

"Haitham," Kaveh interrupts, cupping the man's cheek, "I 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 it."

Alhaitham blinks, his ears red, and Kaveh laughs before kissing him again.

The next hour is spent with Kaveh sating his curiosity regarding snow. He gathers handfuls between his palms and startles at the sudden shock of chill on his skin. “Archons, it’s freezing!”

“Of course it is,” Alhaitham grins. “It’s Cryo.”

Kaveh pouts with all the fury of a miffed kitten. “You said it’s fluffy rain!”

Frankly, Alhaitham has no idea how to explain the concept of snow to people who have never seen it before; he just went for the most understandable description he could think of. "Close enough," he grins cheekily. Seeing that Kaveh's displeasure still hasn't left his face, Alhaitham grins and makes a suggestion. “Why don’t you try tasting it?”

“Tasting it?!” Kaveh yells, mortified. He looks positively scandalized; one would think Alhaitham proposed the architect lick a random mushroom off the ground instead of a relatively clean, harmless snowflake. Alhaitham laughs again.

“Well not the ones on the ground,” he says between guffaws. “Try the ones that are falling from the sky.”

Kaveh frowns, perhaps considering if Alhaitham is messing with him or not, before he hesitantly opens his mouth to catch a few flakes on his tongue.

A second passes. Two.

Kaveh makes a face. “It tastes like nothing!”

Alhaitham barks out a laugh. By the Tsaritsa’s grace, this is too good. “Well, yes, it’s basically water.”

“Why’d you want me to taste it then?!” Kaveh whines.

Alhaitham can barely answer, still laughing as he clutches his sides, and when he looks up, he sees Kaveh frowning at him, on the way to genuinely being upset. Oh, dear. He doesn't want Kaveh to think he's being made fun of; Alhaitham is merely laughing at his reactions, not at him specifically. Realizing his amusement came off the wrong way, Alhaitham clears his throat and makes his way toward the architect.

“You look cute when trying new things,” Alhaitham explains genuinely. “It's one of the reasons I like to cook for you.”

Kaveh’s frown deepens. Alhaitham smiles at him, eyes crinkling sweetly, and the architect finally gives in and smiles back. Alhaitham chuckles, gently this time so the blond won’t think he’s being mocked, and brings Kaveh’s hand to his lips.

Kaveh’s flush deepens.

Alhaitham winks at him.

Kaveh resumes his perusal of the snow. Near the end of the hour, he and Alhaitham are in the middle of building a family of snow foxes the chill within the fatuus abruptly 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴. Alhaitham startles, clutching his heart which seemed to have stopped for a second in response to the sudden cold, but then the chill ebbs again, returning to being a low thrumming sensation beneath Alhaitham’s skin. When the fatuus looks up, he sees Kaveh frowning at him worriedly.

“Kaveh—” Alhaitham begins.

The architect does an exaggerated yawn and begins to take off the leather gloves Alhaitham had lent him. “Thanks, Haitham, this has been really fun. But I think I’m—” another giant yawn “--really, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 sleepy.”

Sleepy? Alhaitham blinks. But wasn’t he just raring to finish the little snow fox-son while Alhaitham sculpts the snow fox-daughter? “But you haven’t finished your snow fox,” says the fatuus.

“I’m too tired to continue,” Kaveh declares, stretching his arms above his head. “Perhaps we should go back now.”

Alhaitham doesn’t think they should go back yet. He’s not stupid; Kaveh is definitely 𝘯𝘰𝘵 sleepy, and the fatuus has seen how the architect had looked so worried when Alhaitham had clutched his chest. But then Kaveh yawns again, pointedly this time, and Alhaitham knows his companion really wants him to stop using the delusion.

Alright, then. He and Kaveh can have another snow day some other time.

Alhaitham turns off the Cryo delusion, and all at once, he feels weak and 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥, and he realizes the device had probably consumed more of his elemental energy than he originally thought. No matter; it has been turned off now, and he’ll regain his strength soon enough.

But Alhaitham doesn’t regain his strength.

As they flicker through the city with the help of Alhaitham’s usual Dendro vision, he notices his movements are slower, rougher. He hasn’t struggled to move around in his heavy Fatui agent uniform in years, but now, the armored waistcoat and the metal embellishments of the attire are actively weighing him down, making him miscalculate his jumps and reducing his speed.

It’s like the strength provided by Alhaitham’s vision has been reduced significantly.

Alhaitham also notices his flickers seem slower, as though the time it takes for him to flicker from one place to another has been delayed by a few seconds, and his breathing is rough and inconsistent, his lungs constricted by the heavy armor and his suddenly weak constitution.

Kaveh watches him worriedly from the fatuus’s arms.

“Haitham?” The architect whispers. He cups the fatuus’s cheek. “You look tired. Maybe I can run—”

Alhaitham shakes his head and tries to smile reassuringly at the blond. “N-no, it’s fine.” He can do this. He knows he can. By his estimation, the bank should be less than 500 meters now; furthermore, the fatuus can feel his strength slowly returning. His arms are slowly ceasing in their shaking, and his armor is becoming more bearable to run in. His flickers are only two seconds delayed now. He’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. His knowledge of delusions reassures him that any side effects will fade over time; Alhaitham will survive this. He has survived worse anyway.

They pass by a street lamp. For a moment, Alhaitham and Kaveh are out of the darkness; Alhaitham watches how the lamplight brings out the glow of Kaveh’s skin and illuminates the crimson of his gaze, but Kaveh’s eyes are bereft of their usual trust; in its place is cold, startled horror.

“Haitham,” Kaveh breathes. “Your hair—”

They dart past a set of glass windows. Alhaitham blinks, seeking their reflection, and he startles when he catches sight of his hair: there, among the tousled silver strands, is a dull white streak.

At that moment, the Cryo delusion pulses within his coat.

Kaveh is panicking now. He squirms in the fatuus's arms, worry completely palpable on his face, but he stops when Alhaitham leans down and kisses his forehead.

“It’s nothing,” Alhaitham whispers soothingly. “Don’t worry about it, my dear.” Alhaitham isn’t a liar. He’s 𝘯𝘰𝘵. But at that moment, he feels like one, murmuring gentle nothings like his grandmother did when her sickness worsened (and never got better), but what is he supposed to do, allow panic to consume Kaveh’s thoughts? Again, Alhaitham is 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦. He feels strong again, and his flickers are back to their usual speed. Alhaitham is alright.

They finally see the Northland Bank. Alhaitham releases a breath of relief at the sight of the imposing, Sumerian-Snezhnayan structure, and he and Kaveh slip into his office through the window.

As Kaveh removes his outer robe, Alhaitham feels for the pulse of his own elemental energy. It’s steady, not too fast and not too slow, and he feels himself relax. The delusion’s effects are just a little unsettling, that's all. They're nothing to get worked up about. With that in mind, he turns to his companion.

Kaveh is looking at the fatuus, small and rumpled in his sleep clothes. His hair is windswept from the night air and continuous flickering, but he certainly looks calmer now, softer, and there’s a strange flush to his cheeks as he eyes the fatuus’s figure.

Alhaitham blinks. Is there something on his face? But then he really 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴, and he sees a foreign but flattering hunger in the blond’s gaze, and 𝘰𝘩, he realizes what’s going on.

Kaveh turns away as soon as the fatuus catches his eye. Alhaitham chuckles, amused, and clears his throat as he sidles closer.

“Yeah?” says Kaveh, suddenly finding his cot very interesting.

He’s adorable, really. Alhaitham stands behind the architect, feeling the rapid pulse of Kaveh’s Dendro energy, and leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of the blond’s ear. “Maybe you’d like to stay in my room tonight.”

Kaveh squeaks. His Dendro energy abruptly spikes, and Alhaitham wonders if he misread the situation. He backs off immediately.

"Only if you want to," he says when a red-faced Kaveh turns around to regard him. Alhaitham’s face softens. “You can say n—” Kaveh crashes his lips against his.

It feels nice to kiss Kaveh again. But something about this one feels rougher than the first, and the fatuus feels Kaveh moving hungrily against him, almost desperately, as he stands on his tip toes to reach more of the fatuus. When they pull away, Kaveh’s face is bright red, but he wears a sharp, self-satisfied grin as he licks his lips. “You were saying?”

𝘉𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘢.

Alhaitham smirks, sharp and wicked, and hauls Kaveh into his bedroom.

Alhaitham isn’t intrigued by physical congress. He knows it has the potential to be an integral part of the human experience, and he has done his fair share of indulging in it, but admittedly, he finds the act isn’t as life-changing or memorable as others had claimed. It’s just sex. At the end of the day, slashing open a person’s throat keeps him awake more than whatever nameless stranger he managed to bed the previous night.

But now, as he drives Kaveh against the wall and his hands roam under the other man’s tunic, Alhaitham feels something he has never felt with anyone else: want. Pure, irrevocable 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵, foreign in its intensity but satisfying in its heat, and the fatuus allows it to drive him as he marks Kaveh’s neck with his teeth.

“H-Haitham—” Kaveh gasps, but he arches his neck to ask for more. The fatuus chuckles and drags his mouth down the column of Kaveh's throat.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Alhaitham whispers, leaving light kisses on the point of Kaveh’s jaw. Kaveh groans, low and needy, and his hands scrabble at the fatuus’s back as Alhaitham laves his attention close to his ear. “You look at me,” he breathes, “all sweet and doe-eyed, and all I can think about is how pretty you'd look when you scream my name.”

The honesty of Alhaitham’s words startle him. He’s hot and ravenous beyond belief, every instinct beneath his skin primal with 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵, but somehow, Kaveh still manages to draw the truth from the fatuus’s lips yet again, and Alhaitham is amazed what this beautiful man is capable of making him do.

Kaveh gasps when he's lifted into the fatuus's arms, his hands scrabbling for purchase at Alhaitham's shoulders, and the fatuus surges up to kiss him as they move. Then Alhaitham’s legs meet the bedframe, and he lowers Kaveh onto his bed.

Kaveh stares up at him, his crimson eyes dark with need. He looks even more rumpled than before, his hair a mess and his sleep clothes creased from Alhaitham’s greedy, roaming hands, but the curve of his cheek and the arch of his neck are elegant as ever, and his lips are pink and flushed from Alhaitham’s ministrations.

Gods, Alhaitham wants him.

The fatuus gets on the bed and settles between the architect’s legs. He makes to undo the buttons on his lapel, but Kaveh stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“D-don’t,” Kaveh whispers. He peers up from beneath his eyelashes as he holds Alhaitham’s gaze. “Keep it on.”

Alhaitham blinks, surprised. Then his gaze darkens, and his mouth twists to a knowing smirk. Before Kaveh can retract his request, the fatuus surges forward, divesting him of his trousers and settling more comfortably between his thighs. Kaveh is warm all over, his legs lithe and strong, and he groans and buries his hands in Alhaitham’s hair to draw him closer. “H-Haitham—”

“So my uniform does it for you?” Alhaitham says conversationally. He chuckles at Kaveh's scandalized but flushed visage, taking it as affirmation, and lowers his head to suck bruises into the blond's neck. Kaveh whines, angling his head to ask for more, and his hands move from the fatuus's hair to his back.

"You do it for me," Kaveh whispers breathlessly, with so much honesty that it startles both of them.

Alhaitham looks up, flushed and wide-eyed beneath his messy silver hair, and Kaveh softens at him. Before Alhaitham can do anything, Kaveh grabs his cheeks and pulls him closer, kissing the fatuus sweetly, imperfectly.

"I want you," says Kaveh, and he wraps his legs around Alhaitham's waist.

Alhaitham's face softens, and he draws Kaveh into a kiss of his own. “I want you too,” he answers, voice raw. “So much.”

It’s too much, this honesty, this closeness. It’s more than Alhaitham deserves. But Kaveh smiles kindly at the fatuus, always so, 𝘴𝘰 good, even to the undeserving, and takes Alhaitham’s hand to guide it between his legs. “Then take me.”

He doesn’t need to say it twice. Alhaitham surges forward and heeds his beloved’s words.

..:|:..

Later, they lie in bed, warm and satisfied.

The faint light of sunrise peers between the curtained windows, and Alhaitham watches how a dappled ray caresses a beauty mark on Kaveh’s hip. He pulls the blond closer, the line of his front pressed against the curve of Kaveh’s back, and curls his arm protectively around the architect’s waist. Archons, he can wake up like this for the rest of his life. “I told you we should sleep together,” he murmurs teasingly.

He feels Kaveh laugh in his arms, and the fatuus opens his eyes to look at him. Kaveh is soft and gorgeous in the early morning, pliant and enticingly rumpled, and Alhaitham can’t resist a smirk at seeing the satisfaction in the blond’s gaze.

Kazeh nuzzles closer and takes in the scent of Alhaitham’s skin. “Mhm, I can't believe you were right all along.”

The fatuus grins and pulls him closer. A poem comes to his mind, and the easy morning air and the warmth of Kaveh in his arms prompt Alhaitham to recite it. “‘Let us divide the plunder of the world,’” he intones. “‘You, my share—’” He presses a kiss on the back of Kaveh's neck “‘'--and the rest is yours.’”

When he pulls away, he sees the flush has returned to Kaveh’s cheeks. “I didn’t take you for a romantic,” Kaveh whispers.

“I’m not,” Alhaitham admits with a chuckle, before pressing a kiss on the blond’s shoulder because he can. “But I will be for you.”

Kaveh’s flush deepens. He laughs softly. “You and your words…”

“Just for you,” says Alhaitham, and again, the raw honesty of his words startles him. But Kaveh is looking at him with sheer, unadulterated hope, and oh, what else is Alhaitham supposed to profess? “𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

Kaveh smiles, eyes crinkling with happiness, and cups Alhaitham's cheek lovingly. Alhaitham leans into his touch, and the architect giggles when the fatuus kisses his palm. Alhaitham is about to recite another poem when Kaveh’s eyes widen, and the smile fades from his visage.

Alhaitham frowns, worried. “Kaveh, beloved?” The fatuus places a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, Kaveh doesn’t reply, his eyes intent on a spot behind Alhaitham’s shoulder. But then he blinks, seemingly snapping back to attention, and he softens and pecks the fatuus on the cheek. “I am,” says Kaveh. “Just…doing some thinking.”

Alhaitham turns around and follows Kaveh’s line of sight. Resting above the messy pile of their clothing is the Cryo delusion.

Alhaitham falls silent.

“I’m worried about you,” Kaveh admits. His hand on Alhaitham’s cheek tightens minutely. “I don't know much about delusions, but I saw how winded you were and-–”

The worry is palpable on his face again. Alhaitham’s shoulders droop, and despite his unease with the delusion, he yearns to assuage Kaveh’s worries regarding it.

“Kaveh,” says Alhaitham. “Delusions are indeed dangerous. Prolonged use of them ensures an early end to one's life. But trust me—” he tries for a wry laugh “--my career will finish me off before that delusion can.”

The joke doesn’t have the intended effect of making Kaveh smile. Kaveh’s frown deepens. “That’s not funny, Haitham.” He sighs. “Can you promise me that you'll see the doctor tomorrow?”

Alhaitham nods, his guilt prompting him to agree immediately. “Of course.” He offers his arms, and for a breath, Alhaitham wonders if Kaveh will even come to him.

Yet to his relief, Kaveh still falls into his embrace, and he nuzzles Alhaitham’s skin with desperate, loving fervor. “I’m just worried,” the architect whispers plaintively. He looks up, terrified crimson eyes meeting uneasy teal. “I...I don't want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Alhaitham answers. He tucks the architect's head into the crook of his neck, willing his voice to be even. “It'll take more than a delusion to keep me from you.” Unsure and guilt-ridden as he is, he’s certain of one thing: now that he has Kaveh in his arms, it’ll take more than an energy-hungry device to tear Alhaitham away from him. Alhaitham has always been a fighter; he’ll fight his own delusion if it means staying with his beloved.

Kaveh simply kisses the Fatuus's collarbone in response.

As he tucks the quilt around their shoulders and prepares to head to sleep, Alhaitham takes one last glance at the delusion. He remembers the chill it causes and thinks of the warmth that Kaveh draws out of him.

Alhaitham furrows his brow.

Regardless of chill or warmth, both Kaveh and the delusion draw out his weakness.

..:|:..

Alhaitham calls for Doctor Mikhailova the next day.

After examining the fatuus, the doctor confirms that the delusion did cause Alhaitham's sudden bout of exhaustion and the streak in his hair, but assures him his situation is not unsalvageable.

“Do not worry,” she says. “Your body will slowly recover. However, avoid using the delusion for six months. Your body needs time to heal.” Her eyes narrow. “If you use the delusion again, it will drain you of your elemental energy, aging your body rapidly until it ends your life. Am I understood, Sir Alhaitham?”

The agent sighs but nods.

Not using the delusion is certainly disappointing, as Alhaitham had planned for another snow day before Kaveh leaves, but it can’t be helped. Oh, well. He hasn’t used a delusion in years; surely, he won’t have to use it within a few months.

Still, Alhaitham secures the delusion onto his belt for safekeeping. He knows it won’t take long for news of his Cryo delusion to travel through the Fatui ranks; the last thing he needs is for some idiot to be tempted to grab it from his quarters and use it for whatever scheme they have in mind. So truly, it’s only best that Alhaitham keeps the delusion on his person.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when Kaveh suddenly opens the door and sees the delusion hanging on his belt.

“H-Haitham—” Kaveh begins.

“I’m not going to use it,” Alhaitham explains quickly. His face softens, understanding the unease in Kazeh’s gaze. “Her Highness the Tsaritsa gave it to me. I'll simply hold on to it for safekeeping purposes.”

“If you say so.” Kaveh bites his lip. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe Alhaitham’s words but probably doesn't want to nag him for it.

Alhaitham sighs. Still, he puts on a reassuring smile for Kaveh's sake and pulls the architect into a hug.

..:|:..

True to his word, Alhaitham doesn't use the delusion again. He remains in the bank, managing his subordinates and tending to paperwork with Kaveh by his side. After weeks of simply existing together, the anxiety caused by the delusion begins to fade, and Alhaitham and Kaveh find themselves returning to their usual, easy routine.

One day, Alhaitham is checking the morning’s shipments from Snezhnaya when a marked package is presented to him. Upon opening the box and seeing the device inside, his heart stills, and he knows this is it.

This is the device that is meant to take Kaveh home.

With a quick farewell to Vsevolod, promising to be back soon, Alhaitham heads to the bank lobby, and softens at the sight of Kaveh seated at one of the benches, drawing idly with a sketchbook on his lap.

He is a far cry from the wary Sumerian who had once been contained in Alhaitham’s quarters. Kaveh moves and smiles with relaxed grace now, dressed in his brand-new Fatui operative attire that Alhaitham gifted to him a few days ago, and he greets the passing Fatui members with an easy familiarity. For a moment, Alhaitham entertains the idea of Kaveh staying with him forever, becoming a full-fledged Fatui recruit and leaving his life in the other reality behind, but the fatuus shakes his head.

Kaveh would want to go home. Kaveh 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 to go home. And as much as Alhaitham wants him to stay, he’s not going to keep the architect from returning to where he truly belongs.

With that final thought ringing through the forefront of his mind, Alhaitham approaches the architect.

“Oh, hey,” Kaveh greets upon sensing the fatuus’s approach. He lowers his pencil as he tilts his head curiously. “Isn’t it too early for your lunch break?” Ever since his respite from fieldwork, Alhaitham tends to be quite busy during the day, but he always makes a point to have lunch with Kaveh; no wonder the architect assumes it’s time for Alhaitham’s break now.

The fatuus shakes his head. "This is more important than lunch." He reveals the package and watches the curiosity grow on the architect's visage. "Kaveh, the device is here. You can go home."

The fatuus sits beside the architect on the bench and sets the box on Kaveh’s lap. “Open it.”

The architect lifts the lid. Inside the box is an intricate device made of metal, about the length of Kaveh's pencil. It shimmers when the blond places it on his palm.

“The researchers call this a ‘Portable Waypoint,’” says Alhaitham, reciting the information relayed to him from a recent missive. “Once charged with enough elemental energy, this Waypoint will return to your reality, taking anyone holding on to it.”

Wonder crosses Kaveh’s face, and he stares at the Waypoint for a moment longer before he pockets it. Alhaitham continues. “However, my subordinates modified it, so it can only accept 𝘮𝘺 elemental energy.” Alhaitham gives Kaveh a teasing smirk. “Only I can send you home, beloved.”

Kaveh smiles back crookedly. “Did you ask them to do that?”

Alhaitham did not. But he’s glad his subordinates thought of adding it; the fact it can only accept Alhaitham’s elemental energy is a useful security modification. Furthermore…

Alhaitham leans toward him. “Mhm, take a guess.”

Kaveh laughs and elbows the fatuus's arm. Alhaitham pulls him closer, resting his arm around Kaveh's shoulders as more people enter the bank. The fatuus’s smile turns genuine as he regards the architect. “Are you excited to go home?”

Kaveh sighs, leaning back on the fatuus’s arm. “I…I’m not sure yet.” He regards Alhaitham with a melancholic gaze, almost helpless in its yearning, and the fatuus softens, understanding without words. Kaveh leans toward him, resting his forehead against Alhaitham’s, and the fatuus moves into him as well.

“I'll miss a certain someone if I leave now,” Kaveh breathes.

Alhaitham knows. He will as well.

But Kaveh is sad and hesitant enough as he is, and the last thing Alhaitham would want is to make him more uncertain. So he does not give voice to his thoughts and regards Kaveh with a teasing smile. “Oh?” He raises a brow. “Who will you miss exactly?”

Kaveh blinks. Then he laughs, a bit of brightness returning to his gaze, and he peers up at the fatuus through his eyelashes. “Maybe you can make me say his name tonight.”

Alhaitham breathes out a chuckle, his mouth brushing Kaveh's ear. "Darling, I'll make you 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 it."

Kaveh shivers, his hand tightening minutely on his lover’s coat, and it took everything within Alhaitham not to take his hand and haul him into their quarters. Instead, he merely leans back, hoping he managed to make his beloved smile, and softens when the happiness is palpable in Kaveh’s eyes again.

“Fine,” Kaveh huffs with exaggerated flair. “I’ll just leave tomorrow, then.” His hand finds Alhaitham's on the bench, and their fingers intertwine.

"I don't want to go yet," Kaveh admits. He holds the fatuus's gaze, his thumb soothing Alhaitham’s knuckles. "Maybe we can head out tonight? As a farewell date."

A farewell date sounds wonderful. Alhaitham smiles tenderly. “Of course.”

Kaveh opens his mouth, perhaps to start suggesting potential date spots when a yell at the counter grabs everyone's attention.

A group of people armed with blades hold the tellers at knifepoint. Based on their attire, Alhaitham is sure they are Mondstadters, and he would've been content to let the staff deal with them when he sees their leader, a fuming red-faced woman, who looks kind of familiar.

𝘈𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦.

The servant girl.

“Where’s the head of this bank?” The woman roars. “Where is he?!”

Based on her attire now, Alhaitham realizes she’s a 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵, a member of that pretentious Mondstadt toff guild. Damn it. He really should’ve killed everyone that night; now a woman he initially thought was a servant is out to cause trouble in the bank.

Alhaitham groans as he rises from the bench. “Sometimes, I hate being the manager.”

The woman grabs Viktor by the collar. “Where is he?!”

Good thing Vsevolod isn’t here; if he sees how some jumped-up Mondstadt merchant is treating his dear Viktor, the poor woman would find a bullet in her skull before she can let go of Viktor’s uniform.

Alhaitham pats Kaveh's hand in apology. “Give me a second,” says the fatuus. “Let me just kick her out, and we can continue.” He languidly approaches the woman, schooling his expression to one of calm as he stands before her. “Good morning, ma’am. What can I do for you today?”

The woman turns around. At first, she looks confused, wondering why some random man is talking to her, but then her face sours with recognition. “You!” she yells. “You took my brother’s life!”

Everyone’s attention is on the woman and the fatuus now. Alhaitham stays silent, considering the woman's words as he combs through his memory for a target that might bear a familial resemblance to her face or mannerisms, but he comes up empty. He cocks an eyebrow instead of admitting that, though. "I might've. Frankly, I don't keep track of my assignments."

That is the wrong thing to say (not that Alhaitham really cares). The woman’s face turns redder and she seems ready to explode with rage. “Surely you remember my brother, Rye!”

Rye. Oh. The toff from a few weeks ago.

Alhaitham watches the woman, Rye’s sister apparently, and finally sees a bit of resemblance. He’s not particularly sure, but he thinks the woman and Rye have the same mole on the left side of their nose. How quaint. Oh, and now that he thinks about it, he might’ve read a footnote about a sister in Rye’s dossier.

“Oh, you must be his sister, Maize,” says Alhaitham. He chuckles. “Cute names, by the way. Are your parents named Wheat and Barley, by any chance?”

Maize slaps him. Shame. Alhaitham thinks his joke is hilarious.

“You took Rye’s life!” She yells. “Now I will take yours!”

If Alhaitham had a penny for every time someone says a similar statement to him, he probably would have retired from the Fatui five years ago. He rolls his eyes. “Sure, go for it. Make it quick though. I have an appointment after lunch.”

Alhaitham expects another petty outburst. What he doesn’t expect is for Maize to lunge at him with her knife.

The bank descends into chaos. At the sight of one of their own attacking a fatuus, the other Mondstadters begin to brandish their blades, and the fatui reveal their own weapons to defend themselves. The clients run and scream and make a dash for the exit, and from the corner of his eye, Alhaitham sees Kaveh summoning Mehrak, his toolbox (“She isn’t a briefcase, Haitham!”), as he helps clients evacuate.

Maize slashes wildly at Alhaitham, talentless but persistent. “You didn't have to take his life!”

“I had to,” the fatuus replies calmly as he dodges the Mondstadter's knife. He didn't bother summoning his sword, silently deciding that he'd let Maize work out her anger on him and simply knock her out before she could do any real harm. "Your brother killed one of my men."

He holds out his leg, and Maize trips unceremoniously. Alhaitham smirks down on her. “Blood for blood.”

He expects for the merchant to get back on her feet, and to resume slashing at him with fresh anger. Yet Maize merely snarls from the floor, and she tosses away her knife in frustration. “You Fatui are all the same!”

“You think we’re idiots!” She yells. “Screaming and crying over a life that's already lost, a life that's simply one of the thousands you've taken!” She turns to regard him as she quivers with anger. “I am nothing to you. The same way, Rye was nothing to you. He was an assignment in your eyes, just another man whose blood stains your hands.” Her eyes water. “But he’s everything to me.”

“He's my brother,” says Maize. “He's my family. And you took him from me.”

She rises to her feet, heaving with fury.

“I can never defeat you, fatuus,” Maize snarls. “But if I’m going down—” she raises her arm, and light bursts from her fist “--you’re going down with me!”

The glow fades, revealing a Geo vision in her palm.

Alhaitham’s eyes widen.

All at once, Maize is no longer some inconsolable bereaved family member who has come to hound Alhaitham for doing his job; she’s a 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 now, a legitimate threat by Fatui standards, and Alhaitham grits his teeth and summons his sword.

Yet before he can slit her throat and be done with it, Maize screams, loud and primal, and Geo bursts from her like a shockwave.

Everyone in the bank is thrown against the walls. Alhaitham’s back collides harshly against the counter, and his sword clatters out of his reach. Damn it.

He barely recovers when Maize raises her arms, activating her newly acquired vision. As expected of a new vision wielder, she can barely control it, but she’s damn well going to try, and the ground rumbles and the bank pillars shake from her newfound power. The chandelier begins to sway, and Alhaitham hears Kaveh yelling from somewhere.

“Everyone, run!” the architect shouts. “She’s going to bring down the bank!”

People start rushing out of the doors. Alhaitham snarls and leaps from the floor, daggers at the ready, but Maize merely swats him away with a burst of Geo. The fatuus collides against a desk, every part of him aching all over, and dimly, he hears a metallic groan above him. The fatuus looks up, and he sees the chandelier swaying dangerously before its tubing snaps.

There isn’t enough time to flicker.

Alhaitham braces himself, waiting for the impact of a hundred metal pieces making a pincushion of his body, but someone grabs him and hauls him to safety. The fatuus opens his eyes to see Kaveh holding him, bits of glass and metal embedding themselves in Kaveh’s skin as the chandelier crashes behind them, and the architect’s pain might as well have been Alhaitham’s own.

“K-Kaveh-–” Alhaitham stammers, a cut bleeding above his brow “--you–”

“Now you know what it feels like.”

Maize stops behind them, her Geo vision secured on her cravat. Kaveh’s eyes narrow, moving his frame to press protectively over Alhaitham’s prone form, and the merchant merely scoffs.

“This is what it feels like to be powerless,” says Maize. Around her, the bank continues to shake, and visible cracks are starting to show in the walls and the pillars. Fatui and Mondstadters alike run and clamber to leave through the doorway.

“Is this what you want?” Kaveh yells. “To harm innocents in pursuit of the one who ended your brother's life?!”

"Blood for blood," Maize intones. Her vision pulses and Alhaitham knows she will do everything she can to take their lives. He wills his vision to work, to flicker himself and Kaveh to safety, but the damn thing won’t respond, barely able to piece together the rogue elemental energy from Alhaitham’s battered body.

Fucking hell.

Alhaitham turns to Kaveh, wondering if the man can get them out of trouble if the fatuus summons a handful of daggers for him, but Kaveh’s silence indicates he has a plan of his own.

Maize throws her hands back. “You don’t know anything about loss!”

“I do,” Kaveh replies softly, not taking his eyes off Maize’s face. “I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

For a second, Alhaitham is sure Maize will attack the blond for daring to answer back. But she stays still, wary of the architect's eerie calm, but she doesn't move to stop him.

Kaveh takes the opportunity to rise to his feet. "And believe me," he continues, his voice low and non-threatening, "I know what you're going through."

“You feel sad,” Kaveh whispers, his voice and visage an emphatic reflection of the merchant’s own grief. “Vulnerable. 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺.” He sounds kind. He sounds so kind, that any person with pain and grief in their heart would believe that the architect understands their ache perfectly. Maize trembles, realizing she has found someone who understands her inner turmoil and allows Kaveh to walk closer.

“Your grief feels endless.” Kaveh is practically a meter away from her now. “But that’s the beauty of it.”

Maize sniffles, tears shining in her eyes, and at that moment, Alhaitham spots something hovering close to the merchant’s figure.

𝘔𝘦𝘩𝘳𝘢𝘬. 

“Unlike everything you've ever loved,” says Kaveh. “Grief will never leave you.”

Mehrak floats behind the merchant, and positions Kaveh’s flower-studded claymore to lop the merchant’s head off.

The architect smiles sadly. “Not even in death.”

Mehrak swings.

Maize reacts before the blade can decapitate her. She summons a Geo construct to save her neck, and the second it takes for her to do so is all the time Kaveh needs.

Faster than Alhaitham can see, the architect dives forward to grab the fatuus's sword and whirls around to slash Maize's throat.

The merchant’s eyes widen, blood seeping from her neck. She regards Kaveh with pain and anger and betrayal, and Kaveh’s face remains blank as she clutches her throat and sinks to her knees.

“Blood for blood,” Kaveh whispers. He turns away as her body falls to the floor.

Kaveh killed someone.

Kaveh 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 someone.

Alhaitham can hardly believe it, eyes flitting between Maize’s corpse and the architect who helps the fatuus to his feet. Kaveh’s hands are so, 𝘴𝘰 cold, his shoulders are shaking, and tears leak from the corners of his eyes—

—Alhaitham realizes the architect has never taken a life before. He looks at his beloved, a man who took a life to save Alhaitham and himself, and the fatuus’s face softens. “You dealt with her.”

“I didn’t want to,” Kaveh whispers.

He doesn’t deserve this.

Kaveh doesn’t deserve the burden of taking a life. He doesn’t deserve to be subject to the all-consuming guilt of knowing you ended everything a person ever was and everything they’ll ever be, and to be part of an endless, vicious cycle of grief and death. Kaveh doesn’t deserve to have blood on his hands.

But he does now, his hands stained the same way Alhaitham’s own hands have been stained for decades, but Kaveh doesn't have the excuse or the apathy of a man who has been conditioned to think that he kills for an Archon.

Kaveh had killed to protect. The moral burden of his action isn't something he can pass on to a higher being. The blood is on his hands alone.

Kaveh quivers, eyes wide as he realizes all this, and Alhaitham yearns to pull him into his arms. Yet before he can do so, the walls tremble violently, reminding them of their circumstances. Maize may have fallen, but she managed to do enough damage to the bank foundations with her vision.

Alhaitham decides it’s his turn to help Kaveh now.

Without waiting for the architect’s input, Alhaitham gets down on one knee and activates his Dendro vision. Giant Dendro constructs rise from the ground to support the crumbling pillars, forming a dome to keep the ceiling from collapsing on the bank, and Alhaitham grits his teeth as wills his breathing to steady.

“I'll keep them up for as long as I can,” the fatuus calls out to Kaveh. “You and Mehrak evacuate the rest of the people.”

Kaveh doesn’t respond, still quivering from his actions. But then he meets Alhaitham’s gaze, crimson eyeing teal, and Kaveh nods, resolute once again, and dashes off to heed the fatuus’s words.

The architect and Mehrak split up as Alhaitham keeps the bank from collapsing on itself. As they scour the rooms, Alhaitham grits his teeth, sinking to both knees as he uses his vision to its limit. He has only ever used it to flicker and summon daggers; he has never used his vision to construct a dome and pillars, a task more appropriate for Geo vision wielders. Now the fatuus’s own vision is consuming his elemental energy at a ravenous pace, taking more out of him than it usually does, and Alhaitham grunts and bears it because Kaveh and Mehrak aren’t back yet.

At that moment, the architect returns to the lobby, a group of fatui and clients in tow; the lack of a floating toolbox by his side indicates that Mehrak stayed behind to find more people. Kaveh is about to herd everyone to the doors when a huge decorative stone arch crashes in front of the entrance, trapping everyone inside.

Fucking hell.

“Kaveh!” Alhaitham yells. He has sunk to his knees as he directly channels Dendro to the ground. “I can't hold on much longer!”

Kaveh dashes toward the stone arch. His vision glows on his hip, and he grabs the edge of the arch and tries to lift it. It doesn’t work. The stupid thing barely moves, intent on blocking the exit, and Kaveh yells out a string of Sumerian curses and tries again.

Some of the people notice what Kaveh is trying to do, and they grab onto the arch in an attempt to help him. Viktor and Vsevolod stand on either side of the Sumerian, and with a simultaneous grunt, everyone tries to lift the arch.

The walls groan.

Alhaitham screams, and the Dendro constructs flicker from his pain.

The arch still doesn’t move. Kaveh moves back, breathing heavily as sweat drips down his face, and Alhaitham is about to suggest that they find another exit when Kaveh's eyes widen.

“Everyone, move!” The architect snarls at the crowd. He grabs Alhaitham’s sword, the elegant beauty of it not unlike his own, and infuses it with Dendro. When the green elemental energy is at its peak, Kaveh swings the blade.

He makes a sizable cut on the arch. Kaveh yells and slashes again, then again, over and over as the building shakes and quivers and Alhaitham screams because the very energy keeping him alive is being ripped out of him—

—Then the sword cuts through the arch, splitting it in two. Sunlight spills into the bank as Alhaitham’s sword shatters in Kaveh’s grip, and the people yell and clamber and push over each other in their dash for the exit. Kaveh turns to Alhaitham, out of breath and a hero and a good, brilliant man through and through, and despite his pain and exhaustion, Alhaitham’s heart swells with pride as Kaveh helps him to his feet.

The Dendro constructs disintegrate immediately.

𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, Alhaitham thinks, as Kaveh drags him to the exit. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳. They managed to save a lot of people, and now, he and Kaveh are going to save themselves, to finally get out of this crumbling nightmare of a bank and join the others outside. The relief and exhaustion almost make Alhaitham faint.

“Let's go,” Kaveh breathes, wrapping an arm around the man's shoulders. “C'mon, Haitham, we need to leave–”

A soft beep makes them stop.

Mehrak floats on top of the counter, as a little girl, the daughter of one of the clients, holds onto her.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, Alhaitham realizes with dawning horror. Kaveh’s equally horrified expression confirms his realization. At the rate the pillars are trembling, the bank will collapse before Alhaitham or Kaveh can reach them.

Kaveh’s eyes water with tears. “Haitham, we’re not going to get to them,” he gasps. “Haitham—”

Alhaitham doesn’t have to think. He moves, pulling away from Kaveh’s side, and sinks to his knees to press his palms to the floor. All at once, the Dendro constructs appear to support the pillars again, but they disintegrate as soon as they emerge.

Alhaitham’s vision barely glows now.

The fatuus yells and curses in Snezhnayan, and through his darkening vision, he sees the little girl clutching Mehrak, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her big, terrified eyes meet Alhaitham’s.

Alhaitham turns, and he sees Kaveh before him, desperate and scared and just as teary-eyed. And at that moment, Alhaitham knows, from the marrow of his bones to the core of his being, that no part of him will ever be capable of allowing this man to die.

He will not allow either Kaveh or the girl to die.

With a stalwart finality, Alhaitham’s gaze flickers to the delusion on his belt.

Kaveh’s eyes widen.

"No," Kaveh breathes. He reaches forward, grabbing the fatuus's shoulders. "Haitham, no, don't–"

Another arch falls and barely misses Mehrak and the girl. The girl screams.

Alhaitham regards the architect, watching the tremble of his lip and the stray hairs that have escaped his braid, and he is consumed by a longing so powerful that he 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴. But he has made his choice. “Save them for me.”

“Haitham!” Kaveh yells, but the fatuus ignores him.

Alhaitham closes his eyes and activates his Cryo delusion.

The temperature suddenly drops. Alhaitham feels an innate chill emanating from deep within himself as the delusion feeds on his energy, and for a moment, he wonders if his insides will freeze over. But they don’t, and the sting of the delusion is just a touch harsher than the faint tingling sensation of using a vision, so the fatuus goes through with his plan.

Alhaitham turns toward the ceiling and wishes for ice.

The temperature drops even further. Frost appears and creeps up the walls, freezing the pillars and the arches into place. The building still quivers, but it has lessened considerably, but Alhaitham knows the respite won’t last long.

He turns to Kaveh and almost screams at the sudden stiffness of his bones and the brittleness of his joints. He can barely move, the delusion eating away his strength, and it takes everything for him to speak. "Save them."

With tear-filled eyes, Kaveh nods. He runs across the lobby, making his way toward the girl and Mehrak, as Alhaitham sinks to the floor, now drained of elemental energy so the delusion starts to feed on his body instead. He can feel himself aging rapidly; his once strong limbs are now weak and thin, and he begins to shrink, growing smaller and frailer as his flesh and blood are consumed by a wicked device that never should've fallen into his hands.

It hurts. By Celestia, it 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴, to be eaten alive as you breathe, and Alhaitham screams as he feels every pain he has ever inflicted in his life: a slashed carotid artery, a lacerated throat. A crushed larynx, and bones piercing his brain. He feels the slam of an elbow at the back of his neck and a knee shoved between his eyes, and the twist of a blade in his lungs as he drowns in his own blood. Most of all he feels the 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬, the damn fucking book that was never meant to take so many lives, and he tastes it on his tongue and feels it on his throat as his head is slammed repeatedly against a wall.

Through the endless waves of agony and grief he has caused in his more than two decades of living, Alhaitham feels something soft and warm, cradling his face and turning him toward the sun. Kaveh kneels before him, cupping Alhaitham’s cheek, and the fatuus chokes out a sob as he leans into the gentle touch.

“I’ve got them, Haitham, I’ve got them,” says Kaveh, and from the corner of his vision, Alhaitham sees the girl and Mehrak on either side of the architect. “You can let go now—”

But he can’t. As much as Alhaitham would like the pain to end, as much as he wants to grab the delusion and throw it away from his person, he knows he can’t. To leave his agony is to risk Kaveh and the girl to death, and Alhaitham has already given enough hostages to fortune.

“If I let go…” Alhaitham breathes, “…we'll all get crushed.”

Kaveh trembles as he realizes what the man is going to do. “Haitham, no, Haitham–” But Alhaitham shakes his head, stalwart in his resolution.

The frost cracks again, loud and clear and dangerous. The girl cries in Kaveh's arms. Mehrak beeps rapidly.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘸, Alhaitham thinks. 𝘒𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘸. He takes a deep breath, willing air to fill his lungs and fortitude to strengthen his limbs, and presses his lips to Kaveh’s palm. “Go home, beloved.”

“N-no–” Kaveh's eyes water “--Haitham, no, you can't–”

Alhaitham lifts one hand from the floor and grabs his dying Dendro vision. In the bank’s waning light, it barely glows now, but there should still be enough power in it to send Kaveh home. The fatuus presses his vision to Kaveh's hand. “Go home.”

Kaveh sobs, quivering weakly. Alhaitham softens, hating the architect’s grief and hating how he’s the one causing it, and he leans forward and presses his forehead against Kaveh’s. “Thank you for coming into my life.”

Kaveh cries out, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he wraps his arms around Alhaitham's trembling shoulders. The fatuus hugs him back, his arms thin and frail as the delusion drains him of his vitality.

From the back of his mind, Alhaitham hears his grandmother.

“𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?” she asks.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴, Alhaitham thinks, holding Kaveh in his arms as the Fatui’s bank, Alhaitham’s life and the purpose of his existence, crumbles around them. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

“I love you,” Alhaitham whispers. “In every lifetime. In every reality.”

Before his beloved can respond, Alhaitham summons a burst of Cryo and pushes Kaveh, Mehrak, and the girl out of the doorway. Warm sunlight shines on Kaveh's face, finally safe and beckoning him to leave, but he won’t turn away from Alhaitham's rapidly aging figure.

Alhaitham wishes he would. He wouldn’t want his fate to haunt Kaveh for eternity.

So Alhaitham smiles, more for Kaveh’s sake than his own, even as Cryo climbs his arms and freezes his limbs to the floor. Amid the bitter cold and the ache of life leaving his body, Alhaitham sees his beloved’s lips move.

"I love you too," Kaveh whispers. "𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩."

Alhaitham’s eyes crinkle with genuine happiness. He regards Kaveh, who will remain young and kind and beautiful in his mind’s eye for eternity, and thanks whatever higher being allowed them to meet. At that moment, his delusion flickers, and its glow finally fades.

The frost melts completely. The ceiling comes crashing down.

Just before Alhaitham dies, he thinks of everything he has done. He thinks of the Fatui, of Vsevolod and Viktor and all his subordinates, and wishes them well. He thinks of the people he has killed, and his grandmother and his parents, and knows he’ll be joining them soon. He thinks of Kaveh, who will come home to his reality, to 𝘩𝘪𝘴 Alhaitham, and hopes he will be loved and cherished for the rest of his days.

And as the debris crashes over his form, and with the last bit of consciousness he has left before his body is consumed by the delusion, the fatuus Alhaitham thinks of the other Alhaitham.

“𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘒𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦,” he thinks.

..:|:..

𝘌𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦

Kaveh kneels in the half-melted snow, wrapped in a coat, as he regards the horizon. Alhaitham, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 Alhaitham, the scribe and his husband of ten years, stand a few paces away, granting him privacy without subjecting him to solitude.

Kaveh is grateful for him. It took nine years for Kaveh to tell his Alhaitham about his experiences in the other reality, and it took even longer for him to agree to visit Snezhnaya.

It hurts.

It still hurts, to think of those scant few months, to think of the fatuus.

On some nights, Kaveh's grief feels endless.

But then he'll feel arms wrap around his waist and kisses pressed on the back of his neck, and he knows he is loved by Alhaitham, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 true Alhaitham.

On some nights, Kaveh loves the scribe more than he grieves for the fatuus.

But Kaveh's yearning doesn't fade. He knows it will never go away.

Now, Kaveh kneels in a Snezhnayan meadow, the fatuus Alhaitham's home village in another reality. It is the cusp of spring; the frost is beginning to melt, and grass and flowers are emerging from the ground.

It is a strange sight, to see life blooming from a place coveted by the cold.

Kaveh wills himself to snap out of his thoughts and proceeds with the purpose of his visit. He slips a hand into his coat and takes an object from his pocket.

The fatuus Alhaitham's Dendro vision. It is gray and lifeless as always.

Kaveh raises it to his lips reverently, a ritual he has done every night for the past two decades, and sets the vision on the ground. He doesn't know how or why, but the architect feels the vision 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦, relieved at finally being home.

Kaveh releases a breath he didn't realize he's been holding. He looks at the vision, placed against the melting snow and the ground, and something in him softens.

He begins to speak.

"It's been decades since you left me," says Kaveh. "You passed away today, nineteen years ago."

"You haunt me, do you know that?" The architect chuckles. "By the Archons, you do. But it's time for you to return home, and I've festered in my grief long enough."

"Though I suppose I can be forgiven," Kaveh muses. "For what is grief, if not all the love we can no longer give?"

"And I have loved," says Kaveh. He nods, uncertain of so many things but stalwart in this declaration. "I love you. And I love my Haitham, and perhaps I've always loved him. Though I didn't realize I did until I met you."

Kaveh's eyes prickle, and he sniffles softly.

"Maybe I'm simply fated to love every Alhaitham in every lifetime, in every reality," says Kaveh. "And perhaps you are fated to love me as well." He glances at his Alhaitham, his husband, and 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 fills Kaveh's chest.

"I will never forget you." Kaveh strokes the vision. "I will never forget the things we've done, the things you've taught, and the way you made me feel." Tears are running down Kaveh's cheeks now. "For as long as I live, you will not be forgotten, Haitham."

The architect picks up the vision and kisses it for the last time.

"Now find your peace," says Kaveh. "And I will find mine."

He places his lover's vision on the ground.

The wind blows. The branches rattle. The vision stays where it is, gray and lifeless, and will be surrounded by chamomiles once the frost thaws completely.

"Farewell, dearest," says Kaveh. "Thank you for everything." He rises and joins his husband, and their fingers intertwine.

As they leave the field, Alhaitham takes one last glance at the vision.

The vision doesn't flare to life.

It has already found its peace.

FIN