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Alhaitham returns home from work to find Kaveh sprawled out on the divan, part of one leg slipping over the edge toward the floor, arm over his eyes, all melodrama.
"Alhaitham," Kaveh whines. He sniffles pathetically. "I have a cold."
"Okay," Alhaitham replies, walking right past the display for his bedroom.
"Okay?" Kaveh yells after him. "Okay? Is that all you have to say upon finding out your roommate is ill?"
Alhaitham lets his lips flick up into a smile for a second because no one is there to look at him. "Yes." He sets down his things on the desk in his room, and takes an extra moment to rifle through some papers to cause a delay and give himself time to properly school his face.
Kaveh is predictable. He stomps into Alhaitham's bedroom, sniffling. "You're so mean. Make me some tea."
Alhaitham takes the opportunity to get a closer look at him. Kaveh's eyes are a little watery and his nose looks a little irritated, but there's no hint of anything more serious. "If you're well enough to trail after me complaining, you're well enough to make your own tea."
"You really are so rude," Kaveh grumbles. "See if I lift a finger for you when you're not well." He turns and wanders into the kitchen.
Alhaitham sits at his desk and considers. It's been quite some time since either of them caught cold, but sometimes these things hit Kaveh hard. He'll need to make sure that their medicinal herbs are still good. He's sure they're out of tulsi, and if they have any, it's at least a year old. He'll need to make a trip to the market. And he'll buy fresh lemons and see if there's any of that saffron honey Kaveh likes, too. So-called flower honey of the sort made by bees pollinating one particular type of flower has never tasted any different from the ordinary type to Alhaitham, but Kaveh insists there's a difference.
After waiting a few minutes, Alhaitham rises to his feet and heads into the kitchen. Kaveh is there, leaning against the counter, eyes on the kettle.
"Staring at it won't make it boil any faster," Alhaitham says.
Kaveh jolts. "Don't scare me like that."
"Don't be so easy to scare." Alhaitham begins to rifle through the cabinets. Their ginger root looks a little older. Fine for cooking, but he wouldn't trust it to be potent enough for medicinal use. There's only a dusting of turmeric at the bottom of the jar. He lifts it and shows the nearly-empty container to Kaveh. "Did you really use all but this much turmeric and then put it right back like this?"
"There's still enough to do something with that," Kaveh says.
"There really isn't," Alhaitham says. "I'll be getting ingredients for dinner. Don't touch anything."
"Oh, so now you care that I'm sick."
"I certainly don't want to catch it," Alhaitham says.
The kettle starts to whistle, and Kaveh heads over to it. "Pick up some oranges, would you?"
"We'll see," Alhaitham says. He closes up the cabinets and heads out again.
The markets are as obnoxiously busy as they always are in the evenings. Alhaitham keeps tweaking his earpieces, pushing the soundproofing setting as high as it goes in an effort to block the worst of the noise. Unfortunately, that setting won't do for bartering with merchants, and the herb seller always quotes ridiculously high prices to anyone trying to buy anything medicinal because they know sick people are more likely to just go along with it so they can go home.
Alhaitham is feeling particularly petty this evening. He ends the transaction paying half what the herb seller initially asked for, with a small jar of licorice powder thrown in for free.
The entire rest of the shopping takes less time than that one singular stall. He arrives home with the herbs he wanted, a jar of saffron honey, a variety of in-season fruits, and some chicken thighs that were a good bargain for their quality. He'll make curry tonight and use the bones and vegetable scraps for stock.
At the house, Kaveh is once again laying on the divan. Now that he's not trying to put on a show, he's curled on his side, reading a thick volume about the seelie that belongs to Alhaitham. He doesn't know it about himself, but he only ever reads laying on his side when he's tired. He looks up long enough to nod in greeting and then goes back to his book.
Alhaitham turns off the noise canceling on his earpieces before he makes dinner. He makes the curry a little spicier than usual and leaves the stock to simmer while they eat.
"As I've told you," Kaveh says. "You're not a bad cook if you can actually be bothered to put effort into it."
"There's rarely a reason to bother," Alhaitham says.
Kaveh is quiet, head tilted slightly to the side, taking his time to react. Eventually he raises an eyebrow. "Why did you put effort into it tonight, then?"
"A whim," Alhaitham replies.
Kaveh ruminates again, then takes a pointed bite of curry.
Alhaitham very nearly laughs.
---
By the time that Alhaitham wakes in the morning, Kaveh is already gone. He's left the traces of his morning behind, though: the new honey jar and a used mug sit out on the counter. There's not any evidence that he ate anything.
Kaveh is probably going to have a bad day. He is probably already having a bad day. But while he's almost certainly making bad choices about his health, he's unlikely to make actively dangerous ones, so Alhaitham is not going to interfere.
The day stretches on. There's always someone else who absolutely could solve their problem on their own, but wants Alhaitham to help them anyway. He enables as few of them as he can, but sometimes the things people want him to do actually are within his job description. One of those people turns only an hour before the end of the day. He leaves five minutes late and more irritated about it than is quite proportional.
At home, Kaveh is, once again, on the divan. This time, he is on his stomach, completely asleep. He's still wearing his shoes, but his feet hang off the end of the divan. It gives the impression of him just collapsing right there and not bothering to move a muscle afterward. He doesn't so much as twitch when Alhaitham brushes the hair out of his face and checks his temperature--feverish, without question. No surprise. Then he takes the shoes as gently as he can and sets them by the door.
Alhaitham starts a soup with the stock from yesterday, then makes lemon-ginger tea. He carries the tea out to the living room. The real medicine can wait until he has a better idea of what he's working with.
"Kaveh," Alhaitham says. "Kaveh."
Kaveh grunts at him.
"Kaveh, wake up."
"No," Kaveh mumbles.
"Kaveh," Alhaitham prods. "You don't talk in your sleep. You're awake."
"How would you know?" Kaveh slowly opens his eyes. "I'm awake. Are you happy?"
"No," Alhaitham says. "Not with you shedding disease all over my furniture." He sets the mug on the table. "Drink. What are your symptoms?"
Kaveh blinks, sitting up. "I'm fine, mostly," he says. "It's just a cold." He lifts the mug and cradles it between his hands. "Thank you." No whining tone; thanking Alhaitham: he's feeling truly awful, then.
"Symptoms, Kaveh."
"It's a cold," Kaveh repeats, vaguely frustrated. "Congested. Sore throat. Tired."
"Drink your tea," Alhaitham says. "Just a moment." He leaves to prepare the medicine: brewing a cup of tulsi tea, then mixing turmeric powder into honey. He carries both out to Kaveh, too.
Kaveh scans the second mug and the paste in a spoon. "You're worried, aren't you?"
"Do I have a reason to be?" Alhaitham asks. "Take this."
Kaveh rolls his eyes and pushes the spoon into his mouth, cringing at the taste. He swallows it down with a visible wince. "You bought this stuff fresh."
"You used all the turmeric," Alhaitham reminds him. "We wouldn't have any if I didn't. Take your medicine. Then you can go back to sleep if you like."
Kaveh coughs into his arm. "Not going to bustle me off to bed first?"
"The damage is already done," Alhaitham says, gesturing to a spot of drool on the couch.
Kaveh cringes, but doesn't splutter. "Ah," he mumbles. "I see." He takes a sip of the tulsi tea, shakes his head, and downs the rest of it in one go. "Terrible," he pronounces, and then lays back down, closing his eyes.
Alhaitham heads back to the kitchen. The soup is done less than half an hour later, but Kaveh is sleeping deeply by then. If he's that exhausted, it's probably better just to let him sleep a little longer. Alhaitham half-heartedly cleans.
When Kaveh does wake up on his own, it's clear the medicine hasn't done him much good. His eyes are just as red as if he hadn't slept at all, and he's shivering.
Alhaitham brings him a bowl of soup. "Come on, sit up," he says. "You'll feel better if you eat something."
Kaveh looks from the bowl to Alhaitham, brow furrowed in concentration, but doesn't come up with whatever remark he's searching for. He sits up partway, propping himself up on his arm. "Dinner?" he asks, hoarse.
"Yes," Alhaitham replies. He decides to rush the process along a little, sitting next to Kaveh and pushing him the rest of the way up. "Here."
Kaveh, radiating heat like a star, slouches into Alhaitham. "You'll get sick," he mumbles.
"Worry about yourself," Alhaitham replies. "Eat."
Kaveh sighs and accepts the bowl. He takes a lethargic spoonful of soup and swallows it down. "You're really not so bad, you know."
"I'm not?" Alhaitham asks, amused.
"You just... you have to want to be... not bad..." Kaveh stirs his soup absently. "No. You just." He frowns. "You're always who you want to be." He nods. "So when you want to be nice. You're nice."
"I am not nice," Alhaitham says. "You have a fever, Kaveh. Eat."
"Fine," Kaveh sighs. He clears his throat, then eats a little more. He's still shivering. "Tell me something."
"Something in particular?"
"No," Kaveh says. "Anything." He just wants a distraction, then.
Alhaitham considers. Something that Kaveh would find interesting, but easy enough to follow when he's this fever-addled...
"There is an initiative to expand the Circulations department at the House of Daena, now that the Akasha is no longer accessible," Alhaitham says. "They want at least two more people to staff the front desk at any time, and more during peak hours. Eat, Kaveh. And the new Haravatat Sage thought it would be a good idea to ask me to oversee student interviews."
Kaveh laughs, though it's an ugly congested thing and it makes him cough. "You refused, of course."
"Of course," Alhaitham says. "But I couldn't avoid sorting through their applications. Eat, Kaveh. And now I may be forced to concede that your argument about the new crop of Akademiya students has merit. At least our generation knew how to punctuate a sentence." He goes on to describe the uninspiring series of applications he had been faced with that morning: poor grammar and worse handwriting, crucial fields such as name or contact information left empty--and even one where the references section contained not words, but an illustration of a horse.
"Was it a good horse?" Kaveh asks. "Anatomically speaking."
"Passable," Alhaitham replies.
By this point, the bowl is half-empty and Kaveh's eyes are half-closed. When his head tips forward and jerks back, it's clear that dinnertime is over.
"To bed with you," Alhaitham says, setting the bowl aside. "Come on. Up."
"No," Kaveh mumbles.
"Kaveh."
"You're warm."
Alhaitham sighs. "You're feverish," he says. "Come on. You'll sleep better in your bed."
"I can sleep anywhere," Kaveh mumbles.
There is no point in having this argument. Alhaitham gets to his feet and lifts Kaveh into his arms.
Kaveh blinks. He frowns, expression going distant, as Alhaitham carries him toward the bedroom. Finally, though, he smiles. "S'this why you made me dinner? So you could take me to bed?"
"You are unbearable when you're ill," Alhaitham declares, pushing the door to Kaveh's room open with his foot.
"You think I'm unbearable all the time," Kaveh mumbles.
"There are times when you are almost tolerable," Alhaitham says. He drops Kaveh onto the bed. "Now is not one of them. Rest."
"Thank you," Kaveh mumbles, shifting to drag the blankets over himself.
Alhaitham sits down on the bed and begins removing the pins from Kaveh's hair. "If you want to thank me, get well quickly."
Kaveh closes his eyes. There's a soft smile tugging at his lips, one that Alhaitham struggles not to echo. "See? You're nice."
"You have a fever," Alhaitham says. He sets the clips on Kaveh's nightstand and brushes his hair out of his face. "When it fades, you'll be embarrassed about all the nonsense you're talking."
Kaveh hums. "Probably."
"Go to sleep," Alhaitham says, letting his voice go gentle. "I'll be around."
"Mm." Kaveh goes fully limp. He's asleep.
"Take better care of yourself," Alhaitham says, barely a whisper, and creeps from the room.