Work Text:
“Stupid fucking client,” Kaveh spits as he slams the front door shut, making the trinkets on the nearby bookshelves rattle. He kicks off his shoes, not even bothering to neatly set them on the rack. Whether it be him or Alhaitham, whoever opened the door next would have to deal with them lying haphazardly on the floor. The sound of his aggravated steps echo throughout the empty home, and the lack of noise only worsens Kaveh’s terrible mood, but at least no one is around to witness his agitation.
“Can’t do anything right, apparently,” he says sarcastically as he reaches into his bag for his sketchbooks. They land on his desk with an unceremonious and dull thump. Despite his anger, he still remains gentle with his precious writing utensils, and he carefully places his pencil case in the corner. “‘Too much overhang, too low of an angle, not enough height,’ my ass.”
It wasn’t uncommon for architects to face rejection and criticism by their clients; it’s not like Kaveh hasn’t had his fair share of difficult projects over his career, but almost nothing lives up to the stress and borderline agony that this design has been raining upon him for weeks on end.
The client, a wealthy middle-aged man, had reached out to him because his newlywed daughter and son-in-law were looking for an architect to design their new house. He had heard of Kaveh and his previous projects - specifically the Palace of Alcazarzaray - and insisted that he wanted nothing less than the most extravagant, structurally impressive design that Kaveh could conjure. The four of them met up to discuss their visions on what the final product would look like. In his very lengthy notes, Kaveh described every fine detail that was spoken, but nothing has been enough for his client, even after changing the design significantly several times.
He’s almost considering rejecting the client, since the stress and anxiety this project is bringing him doesn’t feel worth it anymore. However his pride - and his debt - would never let him quit over something as trivial as this. He’s had picky clients before, and he’ll have picky clients again. There’s no sense in giving up now if he’s going to experience this all over again with someone else.
Just earlier this week, Alhaitham had told him that rejecting the client wasn’t such a bad idea. Kaveh had been ranting to him about how the project was stressing him out, how it was eating up too much of his time, and so on. Halfway through the rant, Alhaitham said something that made Kaveh stop in his tracks.
“If you can’t handle it, drop it.”
Kaveh blinked, “What?”
“If you can’t handle it, then drop it,” He repeated.
Alhaitham’s words felt like daggers to Kaveh’s pride. “You don’t think I can do it!?”
His tone and raised voice made the scribe wince a little, “I never said that.”
“Then what did you mean!?”
He took a deep breath in and out, choosing his next words carefully. “All I’m saying is that maybe you shouldn’t take on projects that are not only going to burn you out, but force you to neglect your own needs, too. You already do that enough when you procrastinate on other projects. Besides, you could finish three commissions in the same amount of time that this one will take you. You don’t need to continue with it just because you’ve already started.”
It was a logical statement, but logic isn’t what Kaveh needed.
Countless thoughts passed through Kaveh’s head in a matter of seconds. “I’m not bad at taking care of myself! I take care of myself just fine! And I don’t burn myself out either, I just lose focus when I forget my meds, which I RARELY do.”
Deep down, he knew that what Alhaitham was saying was correct, but in the moment, his anger wouldn’t let him admit that.
“I can make this design. I will prove to you and everyone else that I can make this design,” He said firmly.
Without a moment to spare, he turned on his heel to gather all his supplies from his desk, then brought it over to their room to work by himself.
A twinge of guilt had settled in Alhaitham’s chest; he didn’t mean to hurt Kaveh’s feelings. All he wanted to do was point out a reasonable solution to his problems. The burnout, the stress, the anxiety, none of these problems would have arisen if not for the sunk cost fallacy that had Kaveh convinced that he needed to continue with the project. However, it was evident that Kaveh has already made up his mind, and there’s nothing that Alhaitham could do about it.
Pulling himself back into the present, Kaveh pushes his reluctance aside, and lets his frustration fuel him. He sits down at his work desk, and takes out his drawing supplies. He feels a little bit of his anger melt away as he picks up a pencil, and opens up his sketchbook. The notes he took from the meeting today lie atop his last design. After reviewing them, he tears the old design from the notebook to view it while creating the new design.
The tip of his pencil gently scratches against the paper as he draws, smooth lines stretch from edge to edge, and smaller, finer details slowly work their way onto the page over time. He works tirelessly, hours passing by as he gets closer and closer to the final product, but he can’t seem to get it right. It’s almost as if when he corrects one mistake, he finds three others. Flaws jump out from the page, creating a whirlwind of thoughts inside Kaveh’s mind that his hand is unable to keep up with. He fixes mistake after mistake as time ticks by, only getting more frustrated as he works. Pretty soon, the sun is dipping towards the horizon, and the room is illuminated in a blinding golden glow.
Fed up with the project, Kaveh drops his pencil and shoves his notebook aside. With his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, he lets out a long groan of frustration. It’s moments like these that make him question his career choices. He loves his job, he really does. It allows for his creativity to flow, to make connections, and give people the opportunity for their dreams to come to fruition. But trying to appease fussy clients simply doesn't seem to make the long nights he spends hunched over his desk, under the same dim lamp he used during his Akademiya days, worth the struggle and frustration.
A million thoughts race through his head, with a variety of feelings coming with them, ranging from anger, to regret, to irritation. They paralyze him, keeping him glued to his desk chair, unmoving from his position from before. His surroundings do not do much to ease his discontent, either. The gentle hum of his lamp and the sound of his breathing create what seem to be subtle disturbances, but are more akin to an electric grid and high-power fan. His chest, rhythmically rising and falling with every breath is grating to his senses. The feeling of his diaphragm expanding and contracting becoming more and more effortful. With nothing else to focus on, the understimulation eats away at him, yet he cannot bring himself to leave his desk.
Almost like an invisible force were keeping him immobile, he is powerless to peel himself off his chair. Slowly, his head begins to pound, not just from nagging thoughts that seem to come back as quickly as he swats them away, but from dehydration and plummeting blood glucose. He can’t even recall the last time he’d taken a sip of water or bite to eat. Have I eaten anything today? The question remains unanswered as the sun dips below the horizon, darkening the living room.
Kaveh’s hands sink deeper into his hair as he melts into his chair, still unable to find a shred of motivation to stand up. He knows that he needs to eat, he knows that he needs to clean up around the house. Each task he thinks of not only increases the pressure weighing on his mind, it also makes it exponentially more difficult to get started. It’s anguish - being paralyzed by necessity, but being powerless to start.
It’s days like these where he can’t stop himself from feeling guilty, feeling like a failure. Kaveh is more than familiar with executive dysfunction and how it affects him particularly. He has spent years developing his own personal strategies to combat procrastination, understimulation, and indecisiveness. They got him through primary, secondary, and post-secondary education without fail. Sure, he still faced challenges here and there, but a bit of time and determination was usually enough to get him off his ass. For some reason, it just isn’t enough today.
It’s not that hard, he tells himself, just get up and boil a pot of water.
But he doesn’t.
I can’t.
***
It’s dark outside by the time Alhaitham arrives at his front door. Since becoming the Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya, his days have been getting longer, with his breaks becoming fewer and further between. Since day one in the position, he has been waiting for a replacement so that he can go back to his normal life. Over a month in, not one suitable applicant has been found, leaving only Alhaitham to fill the role for an indeterminate amount of time. He can only hope that it won’t be much longer.
While reaching into his pocket for his house key, he notices a faint light through the window. Aside from that, the whole house was dark. Has Kaveh gone to sleep early and forgot to turn off the light? No, Alhaitham knows that Kaveh is neck-deep in his work, there is no way he won’t be going to sleep for at least another few hours. Even then, he wouldn’t normally be working at this hour. Besides, one little desk light isn’t enough to illuminate his workspace sufficiently right now. Once he fishes out his key, Alhaitham slides it into the lock, but there’s no clicking sound as it turns.
He steps inside and just as he expected, the house is dark save for Kaveh’s desk lamp when he opens the door and steps inside. He removes his headphones and sets them down on the entryway table. The house is quiet. Too quiet.
“Kaveh?” he calls out.
He doesn’t hear anything so much as a hum of acknowledgement, or the scribble of a pen. Did Kaveh not hear him? The silence is so profound that Alhaitham could hear a pin drop. Maybe he has gone to sleep.
The floorboards make a small creaking sound as he takes off his shoes. He notices that Kaveh’s are strewn across the floor, instead of being placed neatly on the rack. Alhaitham cringes at the thought of the dirt staining the carpet, but it’s a problem he’ll deal with later. Turning the corner, he notices that nothing is set out on the table, not so much as a glass of water. Kaveh’s morning dishes still remain in the sink, too. He turns again, and he finds his answer.
Kaveh is sitting in his work chair, elbows propped up on the table, his hands in his hair. An unfinished design is drawn in his notebook that seems to have been carelessly pushed aside, judging by the pencil and eraser shavings that Alhaitham spots on the floor. It is clear that Kaveh has had a rough day, likely due to the picky client that simply cannot be appeased they had discussed a few days ago. For the time being, Alhaitham sets his own concerns aside to focus on what Kaveh is stressed about.
Quietly, he strides over to the side of Kaveh’s desk, crouching down as to create a less imposing presence over his overwhelmed partner.
“Rough day?” he asks.
Kaveh groans in response, shifting slightly.
Not many ways to answer that.
Alhaitham thinks for a moment, trying to come up with a suitable follow-up question. Comforting Kaveh was never his strong suit, as Alhaitham often relied on logic and reason to solve his own problems.
“What’s been going on?”
“A difficult client,” his voice comes out muffled. “He isn’t happy with anything I do.”
“Was it the father of one of the newlyweds?”
“That’s the one.” Kaveh slowly peels himself off his desk, opting to slump against the back of his chair instead. “I’ve been working on this design for hours, but I just can’t seem to get it right. I always go back to using elements that he has already disapproved of. I’m out of ideas.”
He huffs loudly, “Maybe I should just give up.”
Alhaitham’s brow furrows, “You don’t need to go that far.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Kaveh raises his voice, turning towards Alhaitham. “He’s been on my ass about this for weeks! Demanding that I perfect this design for his daughter and her husband. He’s a wealthy man, Alhaitham. This could help solve my debt. And if I fail, he could drag my name through the mud.”
The scholar looks away, the intensity of Kaveh’s stare being too much to handle right now. This problem has been eating away at him for a while, there’s been a lot of time for emotional pressure to build up. Alhaitham considers his words carefully, trying to calm him down. He’s aware of how sensitive this issue is, and he’s already made Kaveh feel worse about it, despite his good intentions.
“I don’t think many people could ‘drag your name through the mud,’ not with all the experience you have, and the designs you’ve made.”
“Yes he could.”
“How.”
The question stops Kaveh in his tracks. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly in irritation, but not a sound comes out. After a few seconds, he makes a noise of frustration. “I’m- I’m sure he’d find some way to do it! He could complain to the Akademiya, slander me in front of the sages. My reputation would be ruined if they turned against me. Oh Archons, what do I do?”
Alhaitham scoffs at the ridiculous speculation. Whenever Kaveh gets himself worked up like this, there’s only two options to choose from. He can either wait it out, and let Kaveh exhaust himself thinking of every possible conclusion that could arise from the situation, or he could interrupt his stream of thought with reason.
“Well…” he starts, “I am the acting grand sage.”
He can almost hear the gears in Kaveh’s brain screech to a halt. The architect stutters, tripping over his words in order to justify his anxiety.
“They could still do it! They are the top minds in Sumeru.”
It takes all of Alhaitham’s strength not to shake his head at the response, but he remains collected. After all, displaying any hint of annoyance will surely upset Kaveh further, sending him into a steeper spiral.
“Are you forgetting that half of the sages were discredited due to unethical experimentation on the unaware and unconsenting people of Sumeru?”
Again, Kaveh is speechless. He almost wants to be offended at how quickly Alhaitham shut down his irrational thoughts. At the same time, he can’t get too angry, given that he’s just pulled him out of an anxiety spiral. No matter how many times this happens, it continuously baffles Kaveh, how Alhaitham can remain so deadpan, yet so helpful in these situations.
“Damn you and your logic!”
Alhaitham can’t help but smile just a bit at Kaveh’s remark. He may not be fantastic at comforting Kaveh, but he is adept at breaking through his irrationality.
“Yeah, because my brilliant mind isn’t an asset whatsoever,” he says teasingly.
“Oh shut up,” Kaveh replies, “you know that I love your brilliant mind.”
“Thank the Archons for that, otherwise you’d have no reason to like me.”
“I never said that!”
“I know.”
A small chuckle escapes Kaveh’s lips, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He leans forward, elbows propped against the table. His back aches from sitting in his chair for hours on end. Sitting with proper posture wasn’t exactly his specialty. Looking down at his desk, he carefully closes his sketchbook. It’s not like he’s going to contribute anything meaningful to the design for the rest of the night. No words are spoken between Kaveh and Alhaitham, until the architect's stomach growls rather loudly.
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow, “Have you not eaten dinner yet?”
A sheepish expression falls upon Kaveh’s features, “...no,” he says hesitantly.
“Well I suppose that explains why this morning’s dishes are still in the sink.”
Kaveh knows that the remark is meant to be neutral, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty about it. There’s nothing for him to say, so he nods silently in agreement.
The floorboards creak slightly as Alhaitham stands up next to the desk. He gently places his hand on the back of Kaveh’s chair, which inclines him to look up at him.
“Why don’t we take care of that?” he asks, careful to frame the question as a suggestion in order not to trigger Kaveh’s pathological demand avoidance.
He sighs loudly, turning around to face the dirty dishes in the kitchen. “Yeah, I should get on that.”
“We,” Alhaitham corrects.
“But they’re my dishes,” Kaveh says with a confused expression.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t help you with them.”
Alhaitham turns from Kaveh’s desk to wander over to the kitchen. The sound of the tap running, followed by a drawer opening and closing, makes Kaveh’s head turn. In their house, chores follow a strict routine: do your own dishes in the morning, do dishes together in the evening. It’s what made the most sense for them, as they don’t leave the house at the same time. Watching Alhaitham bend his own routine without batting an eye has him a little stunned, but Kaveh supposes that he’s only hiding his unease for his partner’s sake.
Kaveh hides a small smile as he gets up from his chair to join Alhaitham. To an even bigger surprise, Alhaitham is the one washing the dishes. Usually he is on dryer duty, as the dishwater frequently triggers his sensory issues. His actions only affirm that he’s amending his routine to accommodate Kaveh.
Alhaitham may be blunt, cold, and maybe even a bit mean at times, but deep down, Kaveh knows that he means well. He may be somewhat unempathetic and objective with the way he works through issues, but he does it with Kaveh’s best interest at heart. His communication skills are definitely lacking at times as well, but he does his best through his actions. All he does for Kaveh is his way of showing his love and appreciation for him.
With no words exchanged between them, Kaveh picks up each freshly washed dish from the drying rack. Gradually, his stress fades away as he works on the task at hand. It may be small, but the small accomplishment makes him feel better, more motivated. Sometimes all he needs is a little push to be able to get started on what he needs to do. However, another thought creeps into his head.
Why couldn’t I focus? Why did I get stuck when I needed to switch tasks?
He ponders while continuing the same mundane action of drying the dishes, trying to rack his brain for answers. Had he not slept well the night before? He seemed well rested when he woke up. Perhaps his coffee wasn’t strong enough? No, Alhaitham always made it the same way every morning.
Until it dawns on him.
“I forgot my medication this morning.”