The stench of medicine permeates thickly in the dim room. The curtains are drawn tight over the windows, and the door has been sealed shut with an uncompromising lock. Four people exist in the candlelit space, but only one of them is actively moving around. Kaveh is not that person. He stands near the door, fingers twitching with the urge to unfasten the lock and flee like a spooked rabbit during hunting season. He would do so in a heartbeat if his feet were not heavier than an anchor thrown over the side of a merchant's vessel. His chest is beginning to burn without a breath to pump his heart, but he hates the vaguely herbal but mostly sanitized smell ghosting through the private chambers. He keeps his breath shallow and quiet, and he suffers for it, but there is nothing else he can do.

Across the room, an older woman sits in a large plush chair. Her fingers are interlocked in front of her lips, and she murmurs airy prayers to the goddess. Kaveh doubts she is in the moment with the rest of them. Her eyes are unseeing, and she is lost in a similar memory of her sister— the former duchess— lying in a bed in a dark room with this stench in the air. The former duchess died, unable to cope with the loss of her husband, and she left her dear sister behind to run the duchy and care for her son.

That same son is the one lying in the bed, hidden by opaque curtains from everyone but the physician. She is the only person in the room moving around. While her expression shows a margin of concern, she is mostly relaxed. When she stands in front of the older woman, ignoring Kaveh outright, she speaks in a quiet tone. The elder stares up at the physician with brightening eyes. She places a hand on her chest, sighing in relief. Kaveh bites the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his upper arm. When the physician is finished speaking, she steps to the side. Kaveh thought he would be ignored for even longer, but the elder glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "He will be alright. Everything looks fine, and he should wake up soon."

Kaveh nods, ignoring the small part of his heart that is relieved at those words. He shouldn't feel relieved. He shouldn't care about that man at all, so he finally listens to the instinct in his gut trying to force him away. The noblewoman lifts from her chair immediately, her motions only a touch uncoordinated as she reaches a hand out to Kaveh. "Where do you think you're going? Shouldn't you stay here to—"

"Seeing me would only worsen his health, trust me. I will stay out of your way like I have always done—" Kaveh interrupts hurriedly, turning around to put his hands up innocently. He takes a few steps closer to the woman only so she can see the honesty in his carmine eyes. He knows she won't believe him; she never does. He's a fool to try, but he tries anyway because whether he does or doesn't, it won't change anything.

Kaveh's words are interrupted but not by the woman. Her nephew— the man in the bed— throws open the curtain hiding him from the rest of the world. The entire room stares at him. His eyes snap to Kaveh immediately. Kaveh is seized with tension. His foolish, stupid heart jerks at those turquoise and orange eyes looking at him. His central heterochromia marks him as a member of the Haravatat household, and they also make him someone that all the young ladies and lords fawn over. Kaveh might have been like them once, but all he could feel was the cold claws of terror closing around his body as those eyes continued to stare wordlessly into his own eyes, his irises as red as freshly drawn blood or the petals of a forlorn mourning flower.

"I was leaving, Your Grace," Kaveh whispers, finding his voice in the dredges of his soul. It sounds pathetic to him, but he must look and act pathetic to everyone around him so it doesn't truly matter. All he needs to do is show his respect. They will still find fault with him if he does so, but at least they will find less fault if he does it properly.

"Who are you?" Duke Haravatat, Lord Al-Haitham, says. For someone who has been struck in the head during an expedition, his voice is surprisingly clear and pure. More alarmingly, his voice sounds... different, somehow. Kaveh knows emotions in the same way the sages know intellectual subjects, but he fears that his abilities have lessened without experience. He dared think for a second that Al-Haitham sounded fond of him.

Kaveh grits his teeth. He feels his temper rise to the surface like a beast ready to attack, but his voice dies when he meets Al-Haitham's eyes. The duke is not a person of irrationality, so it would make no sense for him to ask who Kaveh is for any reason other than a cruel trick. But his eyes tell a different tale. His eyebrows knit together slowly, and he glances from his aunt to Kaveh as if subtly asking both of them who Kaveh is. Kaveh's temper sputters out like a spark failing to start a fire, and he is left with something cold and bitter. A heavy breath leaves him. He knows now that his abilities to read people are broken because Al-Haitham looks concerned for Kaveh, in his infuriatingly indecipherable way. He, at the very least, doesn't look annoyed at Kaveh, and that feeds into the twisting inside Kaveh's stomach.

"This is your husband, Al-Haitham. Do you remember me?" The woman states. She steps between Kaveh and Al-Haitham to place her hands on Al-Haitham's face. He allows it for a moment, but he eventually leans away. His eyes glance at Kaveh again, lips parted slightly as if he cannot understand the situation. Kaveh doesn't understand it, either, but he is far less curious as he shuffles away from the Haravatat family and the physician who intervenes to assure Lady Haravatat that everything will turn out well.

The physician inspects Al-Haitham once more, gently probing him for answers. Al-Haitham answers each question immediately with only a hint of irritation. Kaveh watches this from afar, silently debating the chances he will be excused early. The reason he doesn't excuse himself is because Al-Haitham keeps looking at him. His stare is so much lighter than it normally is, and Kaveh can't do anything underneath the borderline kindness. When the physician is finished, she seems unconcerned about the matter. "It appears the duke has forgotten his memories pertaining to the lord. Luckily, this seems to be the extent of his amnesia. He remembers everything important."

Kaveh scoffs under his breath. Yes, that could be the only reason Al-Haitham would ever look at him favorably. Kaveh wrings his hands subtly, and he opens his mouth to excuse himself. The physician doesn't give him a moment. She gestures vaguely to the blonde-haired nobleman. "If they speak to each other, I am certain the duke's memories will return to him soon enough. We should give them a moment alone, Lady Haravatat. I will speak to you about the medicine the duke must take moving forward."

Kaveh's words are spoken to deaf ears as the physician and Lady Haravatat leave the room together. Before the door shuts behind them, Lady Haravatat gives Kaveh a pointed stare. If she were a less dignified woman, it would have been a glare, but Kaveh knows that there is no less contempt in her stare than anyone else's. She is warning him not to do anything. He should remain until her precious nephew returns to his natural state. Kaveh has no energy to wear any particular expression as he hears the door click shut. He waits a few seconds, and he takes a step toward the door to leave this chilly, dark room.

His motions are halted by a warm touch against his wrist. Kaveh whirls around to stare at Al-Haitham. The duke is surprised by the intensity of Kaveh's actions, but he has incredible control over his expressions. He doesn't release Kaveh's wrist, but he does loosen his grip as if that was the reason why Kaveh nearly snapped his neck to stare incredulously at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. "What is your name?"

This is too cruel, he thinks, trying to find his voice again. He cuts himself over and over again searching in the darkness for it, but the pain is negligible as he opens his mouth to answer the question presented to him for a second time in his life by this man. "Kaveh."

"Kaveh..." Al-Haitham's voice is quiet as he repeats the name. A certain look flashes in his eyes, and Kaveh tugs his wrist out of Al-Haitham's grip. Before the duke can get any ideas about memorizing that name, Kaveh continues. "Kaveh Rtawahist."

Al-Haitham stops moving. "Rtawahist?"

"It was my name before we..." Kaveh trails off, unable to complete his own lie. Every part of his words is a lie. Although he did get married to Al-Haitham, it can hardly be called that considering the nature of the union and every subsequent action. Additionally, Rtawahist isn't really Kaveh's maiden name. It was just a gift he was never grateful for, a shackle he grew into over the course of a few months. "I'll be leaving first, Your Grace. Get some rest."

The name is not as much of a deterrent as Kaveh thought it would be like it was the last time Al-Haitham learned what Kaveh's last name was. Al-Haitham reaches for him again, and this time, it is their fingers that slide together. Kaveh wants to vomit as he stares at their conjoined hands. Al-Haitham is much taller than him, and he's always made Kaveh feel so tiny when he looks down on him. This time, Kaveh feels nothing like that. He just feels hollow as Al-Haitham says, "The physician said we should continue speaking to get my memories back."

"What does it matter? She also said you hadn't forgotten anything important. That should tell you enough about our relationship," Kaveh pulls his hand away from Al-Haitham for a second time. He pulls his hand to his chest, cradling it like Al-Haitham broke his wrist instead of merely holding it. Kaveh takes several steps back to put some distance between him and Al-Haitham. "If Your Grace would like to know more about me, you can ask someone else."

"Wait," Al-Haitham commands, every bit the duke that everyone knows him as. Kaveh holds his breath, waiting for some sort of order. Al-Haitham is silent for a long moment. He coughs into his fist, and his voice is softer when he continues. "I would like to ask you. What were the circumstances of our marriage? How did we... treat each other?"

Kaveh takes a deep breath, and he wants to start crying as the medicinal flavoring rushes into his mouth. It reminds him of his mother, and he desperately misses her in moments like these. He shakes his head, ridding himself of such careless thought in front of this man. Kaveh glares at Al-Haitham, letting his resentment rise to the surface for the first time in their relationship. Kaveh's hands close into fists, but he keeps the trembling appendages close to his side. "Even I know how to feel shame. I would rather not talk to you about this. I would rather not talk to you at all, Your Grace."

Kaveh turns away from the man. He hurries out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. He nearly collapses on the other side of the door, but he knows that if he shows weakness in such an open place, someone will find him. They will see what he doesn't want anyone to know about, so he hides his tears as he walks back to his room, shame and resentment and longing and loneliness shadowing every heavy step.

—

Kaveh stares into the dark red-brown liquid. Ripples appear across the tea as Kaveh's hand shakes. He masks the shaking as best he can, knowing that Al-Haitham— regardless of the status of his memories— is a keen observer. Kaveh doesn't know if he's doing a good enough job because Al-Haitham isn't saying anything about it. That would make Kaveh think he's fine, but Al-Haitham hasn't been criticizing anything about Kaveh: not his appearance, manners, or conversational choices. It unnerves Kaveh, but he can't exactly ask Al-Haitham to nitpick everything he does. He's not masochistic, no matter how much staying in this household would lead people to believe.

"Where is your guard?" Al-Haitham asks after the silence stretches on for too long. Kaveh glances up at the duke with a displeased frown on his face. Al-Haitham should prefer silence. He is always upset with Kaveh when the man tries to start a conversation. Kaveh has learned to live with the silence, and he was hoping that Al-Haitham would be the same as the him from before the accident.

"I do not have one, Your Grace," Kaveh answers plainly, glancing toward the door as if there was someone on the other side of it. There is not, and there has never been. As a nobleman, there should be at least one suitably trained individual out there. Even the most minor houses have a few knights to watch out for their members, so obviously, the husband of the duke should have more than a few people watching out for him.

Al-Haitham wears a small frown as those sorts of thoughts flow into his mind. Kaveh takes a sip of the tea, ignoring how it doesn't taste like anything to him. Nothing does, anymore. "I am content without one, Your Grace. There is no reason for me to have one."

"Why would there be no reason for you to have a guard?" Al-Haitham questions, and Kaveh wants to throw the teacup at him. He hates Al-Haitham's curiosity. He hates how the man has never shown an interest in him before. He hates being interrogated, and he hates how Al-Haitham doesn't even have the decency to treat it like the interrogation it is. These aren't the right emotions, neither the ones Al-Haitham or Kaveh are feeling.

Kaveh doesn't answer. He leans his head to the side. He's... tired. Exhausted, even. Something has settled into his bones, and he doesn't have the energy to do anything. He wants Al-Haitham to leave, but the duke says nothing about the matter any further as he sips his tea. Kaveh almost wants to goad Al-Haitham. He wants the duke to be angry. Not because Kaveh likes being hurt, but because he knows how to deal with this man's cold and cruel anger. Kaveh knows how to spit venom right back at him like a cornered animal searching for an out. If not outright kind, Al-Haitham is unusually understanding right now, and Kaveh doesn't know what to do with that.

Should he match Al-Haitham's attempts? But what would the point of that be? Al-Haitham will regain his memories any moment now. Even if he does remember this time without them, there is no guarantee he will continue to care about Kaveh. In fact, Kaveh would willingly bet Al-Haitham would hate him more, especially if he treated Al-Haitham the way he is treating Kaveh right now. Al-Haitham will belittle him for his emotions, for tricking Al-Haitham, for anything that upsets him, and he won't listen to Kaveh at all.

Kaveh thought he was living in hell on the Haravatat's estate, but this must be true damnation. Someone is being nice to him— the person he was so certain he loved at some point, the person he wanted kindness from for months and months before he realized what this household was going to do to him— and Kaveh can't even accept that kindness. He can't even enjoy this fleeting moment, too torn apart by his fears and burned from his failed attempts to get Al-Haitham to look at him as a person and not a spy sent by Azar.

Kaveh opens his mouth to ask Al-Haitham to leave. He was going to use his tiredness as an excuse, but he realizes that Al-Haitham is no longer sitting across from him. Unfortunately, Al-Haitham has not left the room. He has gone in the opposite direction of the doorway to a little corner of the room that Kaveh set up himself the first night in this hostile environment. Kaveh has never thought about hiding it because no one comes inside his room. But Al-Haitham is standing in the space now, a neutral expression descending across his features as he looks at the objects littered around in the tight space. Kaveh slams his teacup down on the saucer, ignoring the way it shatters. The pain in his hand is distant as he rushes over to Al-Haitham, sliding between the duke and the unfinished landscape painting sitting on the easel. Kaveh feels his emotions bubble onto his face— anger, worry, regret, shame, pleading— as he stares breathlessly into Al-Haitham's widening eyes. Kaveh's entire body is shaking from fear. He is absolutely terrified that Al-Haitham will destroy this place, this tiny, quiet corner where Kaveh actually feels like a person, like living is an acceptable choice, like everything might be alright in the world. This is Kaveh's comfort space, a safety zone, and he can't bear the thought of anyone— Al-Haitham especially— destroying it.

"Your hand," Al-Haitham observes. He reaches out for it. Kaveh flinches away, but Al-Haitham still takes his hand. He brings it to his chest. He is gentle as he examines the cuts across the skin made from the shards of the teacup. He reaches into his coat pocket, bringing out a handkerchief. Kaveh tries pulling his hand away ( "His Grace said you could keep his jacket since he considers it tainted. Burn it, shred it, do what you will with it" ), but Al-Haitham is far, far stronger than Kaveh for a myriad of reasons. He carefully wraps the handkerchief around Kaveh's hand, staining the material red. "I will call for your physician. Please wait here."

"Just... stop," Kaveh breathes out. Al-Haitham, surprisingly, does as Kaveh instructs. He does not move, staring solemnly at Kaveh with a growing frown on his face. Kaveh refuses to meet those eyes as he stares at the handkerchief. Some morbid part of him enjoys the way the red overtakes the creamy color, but Kaveh can't find it in his heart to smile. "I have no physician. I have no guard. I have no servant. I have no one, so stop already. I just have this, so you can't take it from me. I don't care what you think about art."

"I was not going to take it from you, Kaveh. You are exceptionally good at painting. I only wanted to see more. I did not intend to make you think I was going to stop you," Al-Haitham's attempt to reassure Kaveh only weakens his ability to maintain appearances. Kaveh sighs so heavily that his entire body sinks with it. He feels miserable, and Al-Haitham presses onward like he doesn't know he's the reason Kaveh feels this way. "I will call for my physician until we get you one."

"You don't have to, Your Grace. I am fine."

"That is not true. A handkerchief is not an appropriate substitute for a bandage, and there might be shards in your skin that will heal incorrectly if we do not take them out," Al-Haitham cuts in, his voice as firm as his expression.

"Let it," Kaveh shrugs, staring down at his hand. It has been a long time since he's felt pain in the intensity he's meant to. All of his senses are dull. Some, like his taste, are completely gone. He is going to lose motor skills in his hands at some point or another, so it doesn't faze him to realize that he could be losing them sooner than expected.

"How could you say that? If it heals incorrectly, how will you be able to paint?" Al-Haitham gestures to the little area Kaveh stands in like a wandering spirit on a battlefield. For every horrible quality Al-Haitham possesses, he is not an idiot. He is one of the smartest men in the kingdom, and he must realize on some level that painting is what Kaveh cares more about compared to pain, which is why he mentions that rather than telling Kaveh it will hurt to keep the shards in his hand. Kaveh smiles wryly, a pathetic expression for a pathetic man like him, and Al-Haitham's jaw tightens as he stares at Kaveh.

"I'm going to lose this when your memory returns, anyway. I might as well let go of it now," Kaveh murmurs, reaching a hand up to touch the sky painted on the canvas. The land stretches out underneath, hills and valleys devoid of shadows or vegetation. Kaveh was excited to finish this one, but he pushes down that emotion like he does with all his other positive emotions. Excitement is ushered inside the box Kaveh buries his emotions in by hope and affection, and knowledge learned from experience locks the box once excitement settles inside.

"Was I that cruel?" Al-Haitham asks. To the people of the kingdom, Duke Haravatat is an intelligent and aloof man. To the people of the castle and dukedom, he is a strong and unshakeable leader. While he is not overflowing with generosity, there is no one who would attack his moral character. He does what is best for his people and land, and this has won him the respect of many. Kaveh, too, once held Al-Haitham in high esteem, like a trapped princess imagining the noble knight that would come to save her. Despite his strength and courage, Al-Haitham is not a knight, and despite his beauty and helplessness, Kaveh is not a princess.

"You hate me," Kaveh murmurs with a shrug. His present tense does not go unnoticed by Al-Haitham, but Kaveh isn't going to correct himself. Al-Haitham might not remember his hatred, but it's there, underneath the surface. Memories do not define emotions, only justify them, and Al-Haitham must have felt an instinctual disgust toward Kaveh the moment they locked eyes after the accident. Kaveh will continue to treat Al-Haitham the same way until the duke's memories return to protect himself, to save time, not to waste away waiting for someone to love him when they simply don't.

"Do you hate me?"

There was a time, a long time ago now, a few months after Kaveh first came to this place, when Al-Haitham asked Kaveh if the blonde loved him. His voice then was cruel, mocking, and utterly disgusted. Kaveh had not yet learned that he would never earn Al-Haitham's affections, so it was that moment when he decided that it was better to not feel anything at all than to let this stupid crush slowly kill him.

Al-Haitham does not sound like that right now. It's difficult to tell when Al-Haitham is feeling emotions, but Kaveh hears it plainly. The question paired with the tone hurts Kaveh more than when Al-Haitham asked if Kaveh held affection for him.

"Yes." No. No, I don't. I don't, and I hate myself for it.

—

Change should come slowly, but it doesn't. It comes quickly, leaving Kaveh no time to react but plenty of exhaustion to carry him off to sleep without his pills. Kaveh knows he should be careful with his words, but he's gotten so used to Al-Haitham not listening to him that he just doesn't watch himself. He remains respectful, but that's all he does. He shouldn't have told Al-Haitham that he didn't have anyone to serve him, but as he said, he didn't think Al-Haitham would pay attention to that throwaway comment. It would be even less likely that Al-Haitham would do something about it, but he still considers the Al-Haitham who spends teatime with him to be the one from before the accident.

Tighnari is a Foxian with dark hair and bright eyes. He studied biology, botany, and medicine at the Akademiya. As far as Kaveh knows, he doesn't have anything to do with the Haravatat duchy. The most Kaveh has been able to gather is that Al-Haitham and Tighnari were old friends. Kaveh had a mental image of Tighnari because of this fact, but he was very quickly proven wrong. Tighnari does not hate Kaveh right off the bat. He doesn't seem to care about Kaveh's former last name. What he does care about is Kaveh's health, as any doctor should, but Tighnari's care is a little excessive as he realizes just how unhealthy Kaveh is. The blonde frequently skips meals, and the meals that he does eat are small and unbalanced. He drinks more than he should for someone with nothing in their stomach. He has several scars on his body that wouldn't be there if he simply cleaned the wound or bandaged it properly. The worst offense, of course, is the sleeping pills that Kaveh takes. They have several side effects including shortening his lifespan, and Tighnari lectures Kaveh for at least an hour when he realizes Kaveh knew about the side effects and took the pills anyway.

Kaveh didn't like being lectured, but there was something nice about someone caring enough about him to do it. Kaveh could blame Tighnari's insistence on his status as a physician who didn't want his patient to die, but sometimes, Kaveh felt like Tighnari cared about him more than strictly necessary. Of course, Kaveh has never had a decent physician looking after him, so maybe Kaveh is misreading the entire situation. It wouldn't be his first time.

Tighnari also brought other people with him. Cyno was another old friend of Al-Haitham. At first, Kaveh thought they were similar since they were both apathetic by nature. As Cyno settled into his role as Kaveh's guard, however, Kaveh realized that Cyno only looked serious on the outside. He was a big fan of jokes. He used Kaveh as a test to gauge how funny the jokes were since Kaveh rarely smiles, let alone laughs. Kaveh can't forget the victorious expression on Cyno's face when he made Kaveh snort at a silly joke about talking with Al-Haitham being like a circle ( "There's no point" ). He's also a good guard, a fact Kaveh saw proven true when Cyno threatened the servants that had been causing Kaveh problems since he moved here.

The last person Tighnari brought was his apprentice, Collei. She was a teenage girl with a positive attitude. She was technically the first one Kaveh meant since she came to wake him up one day as his new personal attendant. She brought him warm water to wash his face, and it was because of her that Kaveh ate breakfast in the early morning instead of skipping both breakfast and lunch because it was already so late in the day when he finally gained the energy to get out of bed. Collei continues to do that, probably at the behest of her master. Kaveh hates making someone else look out for him, but Collei is too energetic and high-spirited for him to deny her what she wants— even if what she wants is for Kaveh to finish his plate or eat Tighnari-approved snacks with her.

They are sweet, all three of them, and way too much for Kaveh. He tried speaking to Al-Haitham about it during one of their tea times, but the duke was adamant that this was the least he was supposed to do. In the end, Al-Haitham agreed to an ultimatum. He would send them away if Kaveh could convince them to go. Kaveh thought it would be easy, but it was impossible to talk to them about the matter. Cyno changed the topic. Collei looked two seconds away from crying (which Kaveh realized was a trick when her face snapped back to happiness immediately. He tried again, and her trick kept working on his soft heart). Tighnari blatantly told him that he wasn't leaving until Kaveh was healthy, and that was going to take a few years minimum, so they were stuck together for a while.

Al-Haitham was smug about his victory, but it didn't feel like he was rubbing Kaveh's failure into his face when the blonde admitted defeat.

—

Kaveh tugs on the pendant attached to his necklace. The material is warm beneath his fingertips, and he listens to the soft sound as he moves the pendant across the thin chain. He glances over his shoulder. Cyno continues to follow behind him diligently. Kaveh glances away, biting the inside of his cheek. Cyno notices Kaveh's eyes immediately. He raises an eyebrow, remaining silent until Kaveh chooses to explain himself. "You don't need to escort me."

"I'm your guardian knight," Cyno reminds Kaveh. The blonde's cheeks burn with embarrassment. It's such a waste for someone as powerful as Cyno to be reduced to an escort for an abandoned lord. Even if Kaveh is slowly getting healthier, even if he doesn't flinch around Al-Haitham nearly as much, there is no reason for Cyno to put up with this. If he wants to be a knight, there are so many more deserving people for him to look after. Kaveh shouldn't be wasting his time with this, but he doesn't know what to say to convince Cyno of that fact. It's even more difficult when all his observations and prodding only reveal that Cyno enjoys his duty.

Kaveh sighs, a recent pastime. Kaveh rolls his shoulders as he activates the pendant's ability. He feels the magic like a ticklish wave throughout his body. Kaveh reaches down to pull down a strand of his hair. He feels satisfied when the strands in his fingertips are a plain shade of brown. He moves the strand away from his vision, shoving it behind his ear.

"What are you doing?" Cyno asks incredulously, watching Kaveh use the magic device. If the necklace worked, Kaveh should look completely different from his usual appearance. If Cyno had not watched him transform, he probably wouldn't have recognized his master.

Kaveh doesn't answer as he pulls his hair into a ponytail. He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves as he steps into the village. As he moves across the dirt road, he hears people calling out to him. Well, they are calling out to his pseudonym, but Kaveh has grown used to that name referring to his person. He waves at them with a forced smile on his face that looks real enough that no one questions him.

"Pari!" A specific voice calls out from the crowd. Kaveh stops as a red-haired woman rushes toward him. Kaveh opens his arm, preparing for her hug. Nilou pulls back after squeezing his shoulders comfortingly. She leans back to look at his face. She places a hand on his cheek to assess the situation, and her smile grows even brighter. "You look so much healthier than the last time you met! Have you finally been taking care of yourself like I told you to?"

"Something like that," Kaveh admits. Nilou is one of the few reasons he hasn't killed himself already. They met during one of his escapades as 'Pari,' and she has a habit of befriending people she thinks look depressed. She wasn't wrong in her assessment of Kaveh. When she realized that, it became her number one mission to keep tabs on him. Kaveh should have resisted growing attached to her, but he is a weak man and her kindness was genuine and unyielding. She wouldn't be like this if she knew who 'Pari' really was, but Kaveh is willing to take his name to the grave if it means she will continue to feed his touch-starvation.

"Who is this?" Nilou asks good-naturedly, pointing at Cyno. Unfortunately, the pendant's magic does not extend to other people. Cyno's white hair and sharp eyes cannot be masked, and the villagers are whispering about his desert-tan skin. Fortunately, they are in a better place than most. The villagers are curious, but they aren't trying to be rude. They don't hate the desert-folk like the nobility do.

"This is Cyno... my friend," Kaveh says, avoiding Cyno's stare. Kaveh doesn't know if he's lying or not. He considers Nilou to be his friend. If he holds the others to the standard she set... they're his friends. He doesn't know if they consider themselves to be friends. He wouldn't want to force that title on them, and he doesn't want to get hurt by assumptions anymore.

"Look at you, Pari! You're getting healthier and making new friends! I'm so proud of you!" Nilou excitedly states, clapping her hands together. She grabs onto Cyno's hand, holding it near her chest. "Thank you for being friends with Pari."

"Nilou," Kaveh groans, embarrassment turning his face as red as his eyes are beneath the magic, the eyes Nilou will never see.

Nilou looks over her shoulder. She moves one hand away from Cyno but not the other. With her free hand, she intertwines her fingers with Kaveh. She squeezes gently with a smile so wide it makes her oasis-blue eyes close. "There's no need to be ashamed, Pari. Anyone would be proud to be friends with someone as kind and smart as you. Oh! We need to go tell Dehya. She's in town for a little while. She'll be so happy to hear you have a new friend... or sad. I can't remember which bet she took."

"Bet?" Kaveh's voice is airy as Nilou drags him forward, heading to the tavern where Kaveh frequently drowns his sorrows at. He almost died from alcohol poisoning several times in the alleyway right beside the building, but his fear of death is so distant that he continues to return to this place even with the bad memories. He wonders if he should tell Tighnari about this. The Foxian has already limited Kaveh's wine consumption. If he learned about this, he would never let Kaveh touch alcohol again. He probably wouldn't let Kaveh leave the estate, either, and Kaveh really needs an escape from that place for many reasons.

The other people of the estate still hate Kaveh for his connections with Duke Rtwahist. Lady Haravatat especially disapproves of him, and her influence is near absolute. Only Al-Haitham's orders supersede hers. This isn't normally an issue because they should be in agreement about Kaveh. They should be, but they aren't because of this accident. It has been months, and Al-Haitham has not gained a single memory. He has, in truth, only grown more affectionate, in his own way, and Kaveh wishes Nilou and Dehya (and Candace, but she might not be here this time) hadn't found him like a wet cat in the streets. He blames their kindness for his weakness, but he supposes he could never fully harden his heart against Al-Haitham.

Nilou pulls Kaveh into Lambard's tavern. The bartender and owner, Lambard, glances up from where he's pouring drinks to see who's entering his tavern. Kaveh smiles slightly, wiggling his fingers in a slight wave. Lambard sighs, a mix of concern and fondness. He likes Kaveh in the same way he likes frequent customers, but there might be something more than that since he's the one who frequently cuts Kaveh off and gives him free food to lessen the impact of his excessive drinking.

Kaveh doesn't want to think more about it as he hears people chanting 'chug.' He knows who is drinking their weight in alcohol even before he gazes upon Dehya's form. She slams her mug on the wooden table with just enough force to make a thunder-like noise but not enough to shatter the table like she did once in the past. She throws her arms into the air with a victorious smile on her face. Several people reach over to give her high-fives, and her opponent falls into the closest chair with a dazed expression on his face. A handful of people rush over to him to check on his condition, but Dehya is not one of them as she notices Nilou, 'Pari,' and a stranger who seems to be from the desert like her.

"Dehya! Come meet Pari's new friend, Cyno," Nilou calls out, releasing Kaveh's hand. She turns on her heel, twirling like the dancer she is. When she lands beside Dehya, she opens her arm like she's presenting Kaveh and Cyno as a new show.

Dehya slaps her hand against Kaveh's shoulder. It hurts, but only because Dehya both underestimates her own strength and underestimates Kaveh's healthiness. Despite this, Kaveh's pain tolerance is worryingly high, so he doesn't even flinch as his arm falls to his side. Dehya doesn't notice either as she looks Cyno up and down. "You have just won me so much money, Mister Cyno."

"Ah, so you did bet on Pari making new friends," Nilou laughs merrily.

Dehya snorts. She grabs Kaveh's face with both of her hands, squishing his cheeks like an old grandmother. The action is far too familiar to what Kaveh's father (his real father, not Azar) would do when Kaveh was a little boy. Dehya wouldn't know that, however, as she babies him. "Why would I bet against this adorable little face? I knew someone else would notice all of his good qualities despite his insistence that he has none. Now, if only we could get him a husband, then I would really win big."

"Dehya," A voice calls out behind the mercenary. Dehya releases Kaveh's face as Candace appears on Dehya's other side. She reaches out to tap Kaveh's cheeks, checking for damage. When she is content, she smiles at him. "You have done well."

Kaveh is going to cry. He stops himself because while he acknowledges that he cries a lot, he never does it in front of other people. He did so once in front of Al-Haitham, and he found that the duke was much crueler to a crying man than an apathetic one. Kaveh wonders what Al-Haitham would do these days if he saw Kaveh crying. Would it be enough to snap him out of his partial amnesia?

"We should drink to celebrate!" Dehya cheers, though she would take any opportunity to drink. Kaveh, at least, agrees with her most of the time about drinking. Cyno looks like he's going to disagree, but Kaveh gives him a reassuring smile. Since Cyno rarely sees Kaveh smile, it has the effect Kaveh intended. As long as Cyno starts playing Genius Invocation TCG with someone, Kaveh will have every opportunity to drink without the man's knowledge. He just hopes he can control himself enough that Cyno doesn't get word back to Tighnari.

—

Kaveh hates this alleyway. It never fails to smell like manure, garbage, and alcohol. There is even a subtle undertone of sex, but at least Kaveh isn't back here while two people are rutting against each other. It's just him, which isn't exactly a pleasing thought. The alleyway is far colder than his chambers during the long nights when he cannot sleep, but it isn't nearly as dark as his drunken thoughts.

Kaveh turns his head to vomit. It rips right out of him, burning like fire as it lands in a disgusting puddle of muddy water. Kaveh puts his hand on the ground, feeling the dirt stain his skin as he allows all of his entrails to fall out of him like water over a cliff. It feels that way, anyway, and Kaveh would be willing to tear his organs out one by one with his bare hands if it meant he would stop dry heaving. He hates the way his body keeps forcing out watery saliva and air like that is what is tearing him up inside, not the alcohol he continues to drink despite the threat to his life.

When Kaveh's body finally settles, he curls up on the ground. The stench of puke is horrendous, but Kaveh minimizes the effects by only breathing when he absolutely has to. Dizziness spreads through him, and instead of feeling heavy with sickness, he feels light with delirium. This groundlessness increases his imbalance, and that certainly isn't helping his dizziness. Kaveh doesn't care, though. All pain is the same to him at this point. He's too drunk to struggle against it, and he's too awake to ignore it. He will just lie here until the morning dawns upon the tavern.

He must have lost consciousness for a moment or two because he is suddenly far warmer than he should be. His vision blurs as he blinks his eyes open. His mind is running slower than it should, but he eventually realizes that he's lying in someone's arms. He frowns, wondering who would care enough about him to pick him up. Even if a stranger was taking pity on him, why would they carry him like— one arm beneath his knees and the other wrapped around his shoulders— a bridal carry, in other words? As Kaveh thinks about that, he forces a hand onto the person's chest. The material of their clothes is too soft and velvety for it to be a peasant. It must be a nobleman, but who—

The chest is rumbling. He can feel a heartbeat, but he also feels words. Kaveh shakes his head to pop his ears, letting noise trickle into his exhausted, aching mind. He can't make out the words, but the voice is familiar. There is another voice, too, that responds to the first, and that one is familiar. Kaveh forces himself into complete awareness. It hurts worse than a stab wound, but the realization of who is talking hurts way more than both combined. Al-Haitham and Nilou.

In Kaveh's pursuit to wake himself up enough to understand their words, he notices that his hair isn't brown anymore. It's back to its usual blonde. Kaveh doubts Al-Haitham is hiding Kaveh from Nilou, so she must see his hair. She must see his eyes, too. She must know. Kaveh's eyes burn with tears. He can't keep them from falling as he croaks. His voice fails him as he tries to drag the sandpaper up his throat. His tongue is heavy, the taste of vomit lingers, and Kaveh can't explain himself to Nilou— explain that he didn't mean to, that he was looking for an escape, it was never his intention to trick her, if he could go back, if he knew how to be honest, if... if... if...

Someone— Al-Haitham— shushes him patiently. There is a hand over his eyes. The darkness is strangely comforting when it's warm, and Kaveh has no strength. He just slips away into unconsciousness, his excuses dispersing like sandcastles beneath harsh waves.

—

They are silent. Kaveh stares up at the ceiling, hands crossed over his stomach as he processes his most recent near-death experience. Al-Haitham, on the other hand, sits on a chair pulled close to the bed with a contemplative look accompanying his serious expression. Kaveh isn't sure if they started holding hands when he was asleep or if he just didn't notice once he was awake, but Al-Haitham refuses to let go no matter how many times Kaveh's fingers twitch with an aborted urge to pull away.

"I was told how I treated you," Al-Haitham starts, once again breaking the silence Kaveh learned to keep to protect himself from Al-Haitham's wrath. But things have changed. It will change back soon, Kaveh thinks, but he lets Al-Haitham continue expressing himself verbally. "I have not been given a proper answer as to why. Even the people who work closest to me only say that I treated you that way because you came from the Rtwahist family, but I know that I never judge people based on their background. I should have treated you based on my own observations."

Kaveh grits his teeth. He opens his mouth to argue that he never treated Al-Haitham— or anyone— horribly enough for Al-Haitham's actions to be warranted. Al-Haitham interrupts him by clasping Kaveh's hand with both of his hands. Kaveh closes his mouth, watching an odd sort of mournfulness appear on Al-Haitham's face. "I don't understand why I treated you that way, then, because when I first saw you all I felt was affection."

Kaveh snorts tiredly at the word. Al-Haitham... affectionate? What a preposterous assumption to make. If anyone else was saying that the duke could ever hold affection for his husband, they would have been severely punished.

Al-Haitham removes a hand to cradle Kaveh's cheek. He swipes his thumb underneath the blonde's eyes, and Kaveh didn't notice he was crying. What a fool he is, he thinks, and Al-Haitham continues to hold him gently. "I want to make things right if you will let me. I want to do what I was too cowardly to do before."

Kaveh turns his body. He lies on Al-Haitham's hand as if it were a pillow. Al-Haitham, worryingly, allows him to do this with only a small smile on his face that Kaveh wouldn't notice if they weren't so close together. He should be stronger. He should be, and yet, he really just isn't. He closes his eyes, letting himself fall back asleep. Before he is completely gone, he whispers, "Fine."