Somehow, Kaveh had imagined mornings would be different by now. A different view outside the window. Maybe even a different window entirely. Perhaps (and Alhaitham would sneer at him for this) a different sun. Not in the literal sense, but one that felt warmer. Brighter. Less indifferent. One that actually tried to carve through Sumeru's overgrowth and towering clouds.
Instead, each morning was the same. Just him, the kitchen, and the deafening whir of Alhaitham's ancient coffee grinder.
Living with an alpha was bad enough. Living with this alpha was worse. Every three months, Alhaitham went into rut, which was to be expected. Yet even in this state, he still found the energy to argue: about chores, about politics, about their shared past. Not to mention the petty debates from their Akademiya years, ones Kaveh had replayed in his head over and over, agonizing over what he should have said, what he shouldn't have said … only for Alhaitham to bring them up first, years later, whenever he saw an opening to humiliate Kaveh all over again.
The only bright side: Alhaitham seemed just as miserable. Their cohabitation was a mutual, if temporary, disaster.
Kaveh often dreamed of the moment when he'd pack his life into boxes and never look back. But that day still felt distant; so distant that Kaveh couldn't even conjure a satisfying vision of it. His mind kept snagging on logistics: even if he found a home within his budget, his mounting debts sapped the joy from those fantasies.
"Mr. Kaveh? Is something the matter?"
Ah. Right. The meeting. His client: an omega woman. They'd been discussing the dimensions of the new library … Until she casually name-dropped the downfall of the previous Sages, and just like that, Kaveh had been reminded of Alhaitham. Typical.
"My apologies," Kaveh replied, earnest. Then, with far less sincerity, he veiled the real reason for his distraction. "I was just wondering, and you don't have to answer if it's too personal, but the renovation plans have grown far more elaborate since we last spoke. Is there a reason for the change?"
The woman's smile widened. "Now that the budget allows for it, I thought why not?" She tapped the blueprint thoughtfully. "The Acting Grand Sage's new program has been incredibly helpful."
This was the first time Kaveh had heard Alhaitham receive sincere praise for something beyond his academic accomplishments or his (debatably) astute observations. Kaveh wasn't sure how to react. Her words rang a bell, if only in the back of his mind. Yes, Alhaitham had signed something about family planning recently. But Kaveh hadn't found the time to read the fine print. Was it truly that generous? Extending a house by two bedrooms and an entire playground was nothing to scoff at, budget-wise.
"Since the renovation will mostly benefit my kids, part of the costs are now covered by the Akademiya. I'm afraid you will have to sign paperwork to secure the funding, Mr. Kaveh," she said apologetically, though her attention shifted to the baby in her arms. The baby stirred, a fleeting sign of warning. Before Kaveh could blink, a high-pitched scream rang out, alerting both omegas.
"There, there… But you've just eaten my dear."
Somehow, Kaveh should have expected this. The café sat on a bustling corner of Sumeru City, famous for its mint beverages and pastries. Even at this early hour, it was already well-frequented. If Kaveh were a sleeping infant, he too, would have been bothered by the noise. He wracked his brain for a solution, hoping to spare both the baby and his client any distress. Maybe a pacifier would help, or a fresh diaper ... or just a distraction.
Yet the woman remained calm, absently stroking her child's hair. How did she do it? It almost seemed as if she was waiting for the baby to explain herself.
He leaned forward, offering a gentle smile and his own soothing—albeit muted—omega scent. Raised an only child, Kaveh had little experience with infants. His movements were clumsy, his smile unpracticed, yet to his surprise, the child stilled when she spotted him. Her button nose wrinkled, sniffing the air like a tiny rabbit, but she didn't cry.
"Oh, Mr. Kaveh! She's already taken a liking to you. You're a natural."
"R-really?" His voice cracked as her chubby fist latched onto his finger, her grip strong for something so small.
The woman nodded.
"I'm sure she'll love your work just as much."
Archons, he hoped so. Designing for children was new territory, and the responsibility felt heavier than ever. Infants were fragile; his designs needed to reflect that. But beneath his nerves, a spark of excitement flickered. If he succeeded, he might create something magical; something that would light up this child's young imagination and fulfill a family's dreams. This strive for excellence, this desire to change lives, played no small part in why he became an architect in the first place.
Perhaps that was why, even two hours later, as Kaveh sketched at his desk, the conversation still echoed in his mind. He couldn't deny his curiosity—not just about the program's full scope, but also… Ah, this was embarrassing. Not that anyone could hear his thoughts. (Though if Alhaitham could, he'd never hear the end of it.)
The truth was, Kaveh had always wanted a family. In his younger days, the fantasy had been painfully conventional: a supportive alpha mate who treated him as an equal. Children ... maybe two, perhaps three, if finances allowed. Kaveh would pursue his career while still having a proper home to return to. All his struggles would finally amount to something real and precious.
But reality had since carved its corrections into that dream. He felt deluded for even entertaining the possibility. He'd never achieve this kind of stability... Not in his career, not in his finances, not even in his willingness to put himself out there and actually go on a date.
Besides, Kaveh had come to relish any semblance of independence he could get. No shared bed to negotiate, no pressure to maintain perfect appearances at home, no anxiety about fading appeal with age. Besides, would he even find someone to challenge him artistically and intellectually? His social circle and work already fulfilled him. Alhaitham's occasional presence included, he admitted with minor chagrin.
Kaveh could still picture himself with kids. The alpha standing by his side in these fantasies wasn't entirely faceless: the alpha was a man, when just a few years ago he had been picturing a female alpha. A man with sharp eyes and a sculpted torso—absurd, really. No one like that existed in Sumeru, unmated and interested in him beyond superficial attraction. Kaveh knew his own beauty, but that only went so far.
Easier, then, to imagine children without an alpha at all.
He crushed the paper in his fist … not in anger, but as an admission of defeat. It would be so easy to tear it to shreds and let the fragments carry away his ill-gotten hopes.
Disappointment? Frustration? How come these emotions were the only constant in his life? As a child, he'd imagined adulthood with all the glittering promise of a Fontainian play. But now? Now, all the good things felt out of reach.
Kaveh needed to rest. He knew this wasn't healthy. With a long exhale, he forced himself to stop. He couldn't erase his debts tonight, couldn't rewrite his past … He should try to be gentler with himself. It wasn't all hopeless…
Thanks to Alhaitham's support, his brain unhelpfully supplied.
Despite everything, Kaveh dreamed blissfully that night. In his dream, a toddler clung to his leg as he moved around the kitchen, tiny fists gripping his pants like a lifeline. Toys littered the floor—a wooden block, a toy castle coated in fresh paint and dabbed with tiny fingerprints, a plush fox with one ear chewed off—and a warm hand brushed his lower back as someone passed behind him, half-asleep, murmuring about the grocery list.
It certainly wasn't someone who read books like it was a competitive sport. Not someone who argued about rent while shirtless and sweating, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Someone … gentle. Kind. Someone who prioritized Kaveh's happiness above all. Not his morning coffee. Or his fitness routine. Or his—argh.
When Kaveh woke, the absence of that warmth should have ached. Should have left him feeling robbed. Instead, he sat up with a quiet gasp, fingers clutching the sheets. If anything, in that moment, he felt determined.
With heavy steps, he returned to the desk he had abandoned the night before. He unfolded the crumpled page, smoothing each crease with trembling fingers. If nothing else, if no one wanted to prioritize his happiness, he would have to attain it himself. There had to be a way.
That evening, by lamplight, he pored over the Financial Aid Program's documents. Line after line, the terms grew more outrageous. Free housing. Anonymous enrollment. State-funded daycare. A full year's leave? Applicability for single parents, no questions asked? Kaveh's thumbnail pierced the parchment.
"What the hell are you playing at, Alhaitham?"
This wasn't policy—it was a damn fantasy. Since when did the Akademiya concern itself with child rearing? Since when did the so-called Acting Grand Sage champion social welfare? This was something Kaveh himself would propose! There had to be strings attached. There were always strings with Alhaitham.
He scanned for loopholes in the fine print. Anonymous housing, yes—but located where? Kshahrewar-approved contractors only. Of course. The program might fund the walls, but the Akademiya would still control the blueprints. But no, in the next paragraph, the details were laid out exhaustively. It was astonishing to admit, but the program seemed to address all of Kaveh's concerns.
A bitter laugh escaped Kaveh. No wonder his client's renovation plans had ballooned overnight. With benefits like these, she wasn't just decorating a nursery; she was future-proofing well beyond that. He calculated the numbers in the margins. At these subsidy rates, his client could afford triple-layered soundproofing and imported cribs from Liyue. No wonder she'd upgraded from basic renovations to adding a few architectural indulgences.
Kaveh was happy for her. He would do the same if he could.
If he could.
Oh. The realization clawed at him, insistent like a small animal tearing into him with blunt claws and teeth. His thoughts began to traverse on a tangled web of should I and shouldn't I. His debt would be accounted for; his housing secured (and sure to be located far from Alhaitham's place); his independence guaranteed.
Nothing was stopping Kaveh from doing the same as his client. Theoretically speaking. According to his doctor, the equipment in his body was fully functional. He'd only need some… external contributions.
Archons. The thought alone made him reach for the wine cellar. Only to find it empty. Because of course.
If only his mother could see him now. He really was considering this, huh? Pregnant with a stranger's child … what a ludicrous footnote to his already disastrous life. Then again, when had anything gone according to plan? He was drowning in debt. His childhood home had slipped right through his fingers. He'd moved in with the most insufferable alpha in Sumeru. Now, he was dependent on someone who had wronged him in the past.
Was this really the most absurd twist yet?
… Apparently, the more he thought about it, yes. The answer was yes. This was crazy, even for him.
Modern medicine was a blessing. No mating required. In vitro meant he'd never have to know the donor's face, let alone their name. Though something prickled at the back of his mind—Would the child ask? Of course they would. Would he lie?—he failed to crush the thought before it could take root.
What would he even be called? Mom? Dad? While mom was more traditional and expected, male omegas in Sumeru chose whatever they pleased these days … not that Kaveh cared about convention in the first place.
But titles were the least of his worries.
What gnawed at him was the inevitable moment when his child would ask, wide-eyed and trusting: "Where's my dadda?"
Would he spin some gentle lie? Or—worse—would he crumble under that gaze and confess the truth? That "Mommy" (or "Daddy," or whatever wretched term he landed on) was a failure of an omega who couldn't even secure a mate? That he'd been so desperate for a family, he'd bought one in a vial like overpriced wine?
No. No, he'd lie. He'd lie gloriously.
A Knight of Favonius, perhaps. Some dashing crusader who'd swept him off his feet during a drunken revel, courtesy of a particularly reckless Windblume Festival. The story practically wrote itself: a moonlit confession outside a tavern, empty promises whispered between kisses, followed by a far from disagreeable night. Only for duty and sobriety to call his "lover" away in the morning. Alhaitham would barely blink at the tale (Mondstadters were always drowning in alcohol and poor decisions anyway). He'd chide Kaveh, waste his time trying to locate the birth father if only to sate his curiosity (or collect child support, since Kaveh would no longer pay rent), and soon forget about the story entirely. And the child? They'd swallow the fantasy whole, wide-eyed at the prospect of having a knight's blood in their veins.
Anything but the ugly truth.
Ah.
Even knowing what this meant, Kaveh still wanted to go through with it. For once, he wanted to be selfish—just this once. The thought curled uncomfortably in his chest, guilt gnawing at the edges, causing him physical ache. As if some part of him was still protesting, body and mind.
And still. He glanced at the empty shelf where a bottle of wine might have offered some solace. No such luck. If he wanted to drown his conscience, he'd have to visit Lambad's.
He sighed, shoulders sagging. How ... unfortunate.
Two hours later, he slumped across the center table in Lambad's, cards scattered on the floor. "Your move," Tighnari said, flicking his ears as the tavern's lanterns cast honeyed light over their game. Kaveh counted himself lucky that Tighnari happened to be in Sumeru City on forest ranger business. And of course, as if drawn by some unerring Tighnari-detecting sixth sense, Cyno had materialized at their table within the hour.
Though perhaps "lucky" wasn't the right word, given how Cyno was currently commandeering both the wine jug and the game with equal intensity. Usually Kaveh was the drunkard of the group, but today, Cyno seemed to seek his crown with a vengeance.
"That's your fourth glass," Tighnari observed, tail twitching. "You only drink like this when the Matra archives flood or—"
"Or when I've spent three hours listening to scholars debate whether Sumpter Beasts could be trained to solve algebraic equations," Cyno deadpanned, shuffling the deck with excessive force. "No wonder Alhaitham is running short on patience lately. He's surrounded by idiots."
What? Kaveh seized the distraction, deeming the opening as good as any. "Hypothetically," he blurted, swirling his drink. The word felt so loaded, it might as well have exploded in his mouth. "If someone wanted to ensure their sperm donor wasn't a complete idiot, what would you recommend? Genetic screening? Psychological evaluation? A political alignment quiz?"
Tighnari's ears flattened. It was as if lightning had struck within the tavern, each question reverberating like a subsequent strike. "Hypothetically?" he asked.
"Very."
Cyno dealt himself a fresh hand without looking up. "Challenge them to a Genius Invokation TCG duel. If they can't strategize a seven-turn victory, their genes aren't worth inheriting."
Neither paid this answer any mind. Tighnari probably hadn't even registered the response, let alone the corresponding question. Not fully, at least. "Kaveh," Tighnari said slowly, "you're not planning anything… rash, are you?"
Should Kaveh even try to hide it at this point? Drunk or not, these two could keep secrets better than the Akademiya's vaults. But he felt vulnerable sharing his plans; what if come morning, he would regret everything and realize he had been an idiot? It wouldn't be the first time.
He was still wrestling with the confession when movement caught his eye. Two tables over, a figure was frantically mopping up a spilled drink.
It took Kaveh an embarrassingly long amount of seconds to realize that the person seemed familiar.
Sethos? Here? At this hour? He had never stricken Kaveh as the clumsy sort. But here he was, trying to convince himself that his expensive robes were suitable table wipes.
Kaveh forced his attention back. "Yeah? So what if I am?" The bravado lasted exactly six syllables and twenty seconds of silence before crumbling into a whisper: "My biological clock's ticking, okay?"
No response. Not even laughter or a sneer.
"I'm not getting any younger…" he explained himself further, as if repeating it would help. "Or less single". The last part was almost inaudible.
From Sethos's table came a poorly muffled coughing fit. Had he—? No, surely not. The acoustics in Lambad's were terrible.
Tighnari blinked. Predictable reaction. Far more surprising was Cyno nodding along like Kaveh had proposed the most reasonable plan in the history of Teyvat—the same solemn nod he gave when delivering his most catastrophic jokes.
The gesture hit Kaveh like a warm gust of Port Ormos' evening breeze. Cyno was supportive? He might not be alone in this?
And then Cyno just had to ruin it. "Good one." He tapped his temple. "Must remember that. Shame Tighnari's already heard it."
Of course. Kaveh sighed, allowing his head to rest even heavier on the table.
"I'm being sincere. When have I ever lied to you while drunk?"
Cyno nodded along, uncomprehendingly. Perhaps only Tighnari's withering glare kept him from turning the whole exchange into his new favorite punchline… one he could savor for the rest of the night.
"Does Alhaitham know about your plans?" Tighnari asked.
Kaveh's answer was immediate. "Of course not."
Cyno leaned in, voice lowered. "How do you plan to keep it from him? Since you both… you know." To his credit, he never mentioned Kaveh and Alhaitham's living situation in public—not even while drunk.
Kaveh traced the rim of his glass, buying himself a moment. "I'll cross that bridge when it's too late for him to stop me. By the time he finds out, I'll already be packing my things. He won't be able to berate me. Or worse, waste his precious time trying to persuade me into giving up on the child."
Tighnari's tail stilled, his expression turning serious. "Kaveh, if you want my honest feedback, I think this is… unwise. At least find a co-parent. Ideally, someone you trust." He paused, letting the words settle. "But we'll support you, regardless of your choice."
Cyno nodded. "Couldn't have said it better. Besides, Collei would adore a little sibling to spoil." A rare smile flickered across his face. "Joke or not, I don't think it's such a terrible plan."
Kaveh's heart swelled, the scents of the rainforest vivid in his nose, the image of the desert sun burning warmly in his chest. For a moment, his thoughts blossomed with the most cherished memories of his life. This was it. A proof of true friendship. Kaveh had won in at least one regard.
"Nari! Cyno! I—" Emotion clogged his throat. He would've hugged them if not for the laws of physics and his current inability to locate his own elbows.
"One more thing," Tighnari said. "Alhaitham deserves to know. Promise you'll tell him. Not today, not tomorrow, but… soon."
All warmth drained from Kaveh's body. The one concession he couldn't make.
"I get it," he said, staring into his drink. He knew he sounded far from sincere. "And I'm grateful—really—for everything he's done for me in recent years. In theory. Sort of. Maybe a little. But we both know the lecture he would give. He'd pick apart my parenting skills before I'd even chosen a crib." His fingers tightened around the glass. "That's the one criticism I intend to live without."
Because Alhaitham would be right. He had the power to make Kaveh reconsider. As much as it hurt to admit, no one knew Kaveh's flaws better than him. Even back in their Akademiya days…
Argh. If only their time together had changed them—made Alhaitham care more, made Kaveh care less. If only they had met somewhere in the middle … Maybe Kaveh would have risked that conversation. But the truth was, after all these years, neither of them had changed. That should have been a bad thing. Kaveh just wasn't entirely sure it was.
On the one hand, it meant another relationship-shattering argument was just around the corner. But it also meant Kaveh could always storm back into Alhaitham's life, just like that. That night years ago, when a drunk and desperate Kaveh had poured his heart out at this very tavern, Alhaitham had taken him back without questions.
As if he were a toddler, incapable of grasping that someone else—that Kaveh—might know more than he did. Know more about why they ultimately drifted apart. As if their falling out had been some inexplicable weather pattern rather than the direct consequence of Alhaitham being… well, Alhaitham.
A blessing, really. Kaveh could slip back into old habits without guilt or second-guessing; all while keeping his resentment for Alhaitham intact.
And in a weird way, Alhaitham acted as if he cared that Kaveh couldn't stand him. Kaveh's resentment mattered to him, clearly, treating it like some precious thing worth preserving. He treated it better than he had ever treated Kaveh's affection for him—back when that still existed in his teenage naivety.
"Kaveh," Tighnari sighed, flicking his ears for emphasis. "I know you won't believe me, but this will devastate Alhaitham. He at least deserves to know."
Kaveh's jaw fell open. Had Tighnari suddenly started speaking a foreign language? Or worse, had Cyno's humor finally rotted his brain?
Alhaitham? Devastated? The man wouldn't blink even if someone burned his precious House of Daena to ashes. He'd probably just calculate the reconstruction costs mid-inferno. Something absurd like that.
Nothing could make that man falter or make him stop dead in his tracks, not the previous Sages, not alcohol, certainly not Kaveh, not the Archons…. not even the matters Alhaitham claimed to care deeply about.
Maybe loud noises. Yeah, Alhaitham's only weakness.
"You're hoping this is your way out, aren't you?" Tighnari pressed. "That with a child, you'll finally afford to leave?"
Kaveh nodded stiffly. There were layers to it, of course—but Tighnari knew him well enough to read between the lines.
"I don't want to interfere in your relationship ," Tighnari continued, "but do you honestly think he wants you gone?"
Kaveh's lip curled. What was this about? Alhaitham's precious rent money? His free, Kaveh-shaped, live-in maid service?
Cyno exhaled sharply. "Nari, I think we should tell him."
"Tell me what?" Kaveh's voice came out strangely hollow. The alcohol haze had lifted, leaving a terrible crystal clarity.
Tighnari's ear twitched as he shot Cyno a look; the kind usually reserved for idiots who poked fungi to see if they were poisonous. "He'd only get furious," he said carefully, each word measured like doses of medicine.
"Why?" Cyno blinked, either too drunk or too stubborn to take the hint. "Wouldn't it make him happy?"
Tighnari's tail lashed once. "Not now. Even if he believed us, he'd confront Alhaitham immediately. They'd get into a nasty argument, and then…" A pointed pause. "We'd face the fallout."
Kaveh's nails bit into his palms. How dare they discuss him like some unstable chemical compound?
"You have dirt on Alhaitham?" he demanded. "Something that would enrage me?"
"It's nothing bad," Tighnari said quickly. "Cyno thinks it'd please you. While I think you're not ready to hear it." His ears twitched. "But it's not our secret to tell. Ask him yourself."
Like hell, Kaveh would seek a conversation with Alhaitham for the foreseeable future. Not when he knew he was terrible at keeping secrets, even his own. He'd likely have a slip of his tongue and sooner than later Alhaitham would know about his plans. No way the story about the Windblume Festival would hold any credibility after this.
"Maybe not," Tighnari conceded after reading his face. "You're both hopeless, and Archons, it's painful to watch."
"Why are you so quiet today?"
Scaramouche didn't look up from the book he was pretending to read as he asked a rare question. He'd noticed it the moment Sethos had slunk into the room: the absence of noise, the lack of relentless questions. Usually, Sethos would be interrogating him about his latest research, or pestering him for Akademiya gossip, or just talking at him until Scaramouche's patience wore thin. Today, though, the silence was almost ... suspicious.
Sethos was sprawled across the opposite divan, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. He looked, for once, genuinely troubled.
"It's nothing," Sethos muttered. Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Actually, no. It's something. I overheard something in the tavern yesterday. I think that architect dude—Kaveh, right?—is coaxing Cyno into getting him pregnant."
Scaramouche's book slipped a fraction lower, revealing a single, incredulous eye.
Sethos pressed on, oblivious to the growing horror on Scaramouche's face. "I mean, I always thought he had chemistry with that scribe. You know, the one who looks like he could lift a whole library? But apparently not! My entire worldview is in shambles."
There was a long, heavy pause. Scaramouche stared at Sethos, searching for any sign that this was a joke, a test, some elaborate new way to get under his skin. But Sethos looked genuinely distraught, as if he'd just witnessed the collapse of a cherished childhood belief.
"What?" Scaramouche finally managed, his voice flat.
Sethos sat up, gesticulating wildly. "No, really! I heard them. The architect was talking about his biological clock and genetic screening and co-parenting. Cyno was right there, nodding along like it was all perfectly normal. I mean, I know Sumeru's progressive, but this is next-level, right?"
Scaramouche closed his book with a snap. "You are, without a doubt, the worst eavesdropper I've ever met. Which is impressive, given how good you are at spreading rumors."
The pseudocompliment slipped out before Scaramouche could stop himself. But it was true. Sethos usually was a rather rational man, his senses keen enough not to fall prey to baseless rumors, but rather make them circulate himself.
Scaramouche's artificial nose wasn't the best at distinguishing nuances in pheromones, but that was far from necessary when around Alhaitham and Kaveh. He had never encountered either scent in its pure, distilled form; each was always tinged with traces of the other, disgustingly intertwined, even if they had been apart for weeks.
Gross.
"Wait—don't tell me you're inexperienced when it comes to relationships. Or is your olfactory system damaged? Is that why you can't pick up on alpha/omega business?" He sneered. "Not that I'd be surprised about either being the case."
Sethos looked wounded. "I'm just saying, it's a lot to process! Call me crazy, call it far-fetched, but I was so sure the architect was into the scribe, but now-"
"Stop." Scaramouche pinched the bridge of his nose, as if physically restraining the oncoming headache. "Just… for the love of the Archons, stop. Next you'll tell me Tighnari's the surrogate."
Sethos's eyes widened. "Wait, is he? He abstained from drinking that night... oh my ..."
Scaramouche groaned, sinking back into the divan. "Just take my book already. Your brain cells need the exercise more than mine do."