On The Fatality of Flowers

When Alhaitham coughs up the first petal the week after his disastrous fallout with Kaveh, he knows right away his life will be cut short.
However, he isn't exactly the type to go down without a fight. There's still several things he wants to do with his last few years- whether that be taking down the government, or getting through his extensive reading list.
The question is, can Alhaitham figure out his place in this world before the flowers send him to an early grave?
-Hanahaki AU-

Notes:

Please read the tags thoroughly!! There are some pretty heavy depictions of illness and occasional mentions of violence in this fic, so click away if you are squeamish!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Unlike the majority of the disease’s victims, Alhaitham knew his fate was sealed the moment he coughed up the first petal.

It wasn't even a cough, really. These things were never so simple. He'd been forced to flee his philosophy lecture after a few failed attempts at clearing his throat earned him glares from his classmates. Then, on the way to the washroom, he'd hacked the thing up like a cat with a hairball, just barely managing to avoid gagging at the sensation of a foreign object stuck in the back of his throat.

Staring at the slimy, spittle-covered petal sitting in the palm of his hand, Alhaitham leaned back against one of the pillars leading out into the House of Daena and tried to accept the fact that he was going to die.

Alhaitham is, by nature, a bookworm and a nerd. He doesn't think of either of these terms as derogatory, but rather as an accurate way of describing himself. He has always enjoyed reading up on the most random and obscure subjects he can find- which is how, on a sunny afternoon during his freshman year at the Akadeymia, he finds his nose buried in a dusty tome detailing ancient mythological diseases as he sits on a bough of the Divine Tree.

Although he's already thoroughly desensitized to medical jargon by his habit of reading through old Bimarstan reports, Alhaitham does unconsciously wrinkle his nose in disgust at some of the symptoms described in the book. Some of them are truly disturbing, but he reads on out of morbid curiosity.

One chapter in particular captures his attention in a way most of the other ones had not.

Hanahaki, first discovered and named in Ancient Inazuma. A semi-infectious disease brought on by a strange incident with the Ley Lines, it could be triggered in Vision users who were struggling with their feelings for another person- whether those feelings be romantic, platonic, or familial.

Unless those feelings were resolved in some form or another, the victim would grow flowers in their lungs until their body simply could not contain the gravity of their unacknowledged love anymore. It sounds almost peaceful from that description alone, but as Alhaitham continues reading down the column of symptoms, he quickly decides it would be more accurate to describe it as a combination of cancer and fungal infection. It was a painful death, one that often left the victim's friends and family reeling.

According to legend, the most famous sufferer of Hanahaki was the Raiden Shogun herself. Although the Electro Archon was mostly immortal and could not be killed by disease, the loss of her sister still caused the illness to present itself in the form of sakura petals.

Alhaitham thinks the full-page illustration of the goddess sobbing over her twin's lifeless body is a little bit unnecessary. He isn't exactly a fan of the Shogun, considering her reputation across Teyvat as a ruthless dictator- but even so, the grief portrayed in those few brushstrokes is enough to put a pit in his stomach. He quickly flips the page, trying to ignore the way the image seems to have seared itself into his brain.

Although it was normally found in people exposed to Tatarigami, the plant-related nature of the disease meant that it had found a home in Sumeru, too.

It was exceedingly rare in other nations, and outside of Inazuma could only manifest in Dendro Vision users. Something about their proximity to growth and life created an environment within their bodies that was capable of hosting the disease, even outside of the islands it originated from.

Alhaitham feels strangely relieved when he reads a footnote stating that, in present day Sumeru, there are zero cases.

He returns the book weeks after the due date, talks the librarian into waiving the late fee, and never thinks of Hanahaki disease again.

…That is, until two years later, when he stands alone in an Akadeymia washroom. Bent over a sink with a tiny flower petal clenched between his fingers, another pathetic wheeze tearing itself out of his throat.

Alhaitham has a great memory, almost to a fault. Of course he remembers the book.

He looks up into the mirror with a shaky exhale. The black bull cabochon on his hat is slightly askew, and his collar isn't buttoned quite right. His hair was getting a little too long again, and sticking out in all directions. The brand-new vision pinned to his shoulder shines a leafy neon color, clashing horribly with the phthalo green of his uniform.

Ordinarily, this would drive Kaveh nuts. He would frequently beg Alhaitham to let him straighten his clothing, lest he go mad at the sight of his junior's messy appearance.

But there is no Kaveh. Not in Alhaitham's life, anyways. Their torn thesis was physical proof of their broken friendship. He'd made sure of that last week, when he pushed too hard and finally made the aspiring architect snap.

I wish I'd never met you.

Alhaitham lets out a wavering sigh, sliding down the wall of the washroom and onto the floor, burying his head in his hands.

He knows exactly how this disease works, and exactly how it will slowly kill him.

And worst of all, he knows there's no hope of being saved- because even if he dared to confess, Kaveh would never truly love him back.

Three weeks after the first petal and the initiation of his flowery death sentence, Alhaitham begins to dream.

He knows on a logical level that it shouldn't be possible, because the people of Sumeru do not dream.

But logic is forever defied in the land of darkness, and every day for the next fortnight, the Dendro Archon speaks to him in his sleep.

His subconscious has taken to creating forests every time she ‘appears’.

Today, he finds himself surrounded by pine trees. They're so close to perfect that he could almost mistake it for reality- but the distant singing of the Aranara gives it away.

“...Good evening, Lord Kusanali.”

A staticky, childlike voice echoes through his mind, almost like a little girl is speaking to him through a broken receiver. Her voice cuts in and out as she garbles her way through conversation.

“...Told you… Nahida…”

“Alright, Nahida.” Alhaitham acquiesces, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I take it you're still trapped in a cage, or whatever you said last time.”

“...My domain… The Sages…”

Alhaitham sits down on a nearby tree stump with an exhausted sigh. “Whatever. I must say, I feel as if I've gotten no sleep ever since you first started bringing me here.”

There's a short pause before the Dendro Archon's voice returns. “Not because of me… your illness… progressing… alarming rate.”

A sinking feeling materializes in Alhaitham's stomach before he can stop it. “Well, that's vague. Will it be over soon, at the very least?”

“...How long do you have left… A few years…?”

Cracks of despair must be beginning to show on his face, because the Dendro Archon swiftly adds on to her sentence. This time, her voice is clearer than Alhaitham has ever heard her.

“...I want to help you, but you have a choice to make. I am not powerful enough to cure this… But there are some things I can still do. I can lend you some of my own strength to keep fighting, or I could… help ease your passing. This is the only gift I can offer you as a caged god of life…”

Alhaitham swallows harshly, suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat coexisting with the flowers in his chest. “By ‘ease your passing’, do you mean…?”

“...It would be fast, and it wouldn't hurt. That much I can promise you.” The Archon's voice confirms, but Alhaitham can hear the tiny waver of sorrow in her tone. “I don't completely understand what the driving factor is when it comes to which afterlife a human soul is assigned to… Assuming you would go to the same one your family did…?”

Alhaitham looks up towards the sky in lieu of answering. It's framed by the pine trees, and way too picturesque to be real life.

There is a snow-white sparrow in one of the highest branches, and even from a distance, Alhaitham thinks its eyes look unfathomably old. Perhaps it's just a coincidence, but Alhaitham is fairly certain that this small avian creature is the true form of the host of this dream.

…His grandmother used to love feeding the birds outside their home.

There's wind in his hair, and the scent of spring carries through the air. He lets his eyes slip closed, relishing in the feeling of the warm sun on his face, and the bark crumbling beneath his hands.

He is 20 years old. He has yet to graduate, or get through the books at the bottom of his reading list, or finish the half-eaten snacks in his pantry, or live a peaceful life.

Alhaitham opens his eyes.

“Thank you, but I'm going to have to decline.” He addresses the little white sparrow directly this time. It blinks down at him, eyes glittering fathomless green.

“...You can… see me…?”

“You are too little to be carrying the weight of the world upon your shoulders.” He tells her. She swoops down from the pine boughs just as he extends his hand, and perches on Alhaitham's finger. “And it would bring you great sorrow to kill me. Even if that wasn't the case, I want to remain here for as long as nature allows.”

“Then… about my other offer…?”

“You do not have the strength to waste on trying to prolong my life.” Alhaitham states firmly. “Though your infinite kindness is appreciated, I accept neither.”

Something wet hits his hand, and it takes Alhaitham a moment to register that the tiny bird is crying. “...You would suffer… for my sake…?”

“Is that not what you offered to do for me?” Alhaitham asks softly, lifting his hand to make eye contact with the Archon. “Throughout these past few days of you pestering me in my dreams, I've come to learn that you are a benevolent god. I know people like you- for the sake of the small mercy that would be taking away my pain, you are willing to take on the burden of guilt that will last you centuries.”

The Dendro Archon tilts sideways, hopeful. “...Then… you will keep fighting…?”

Alhaitham shakes his head.

“Like I said, the other option you have given me is similarly unacceptable. If you are truly so weakened that you cannot escape wherever you're currently trapped, then you shouldn't be going around fighting other people's battles for them. There's a fine line between kindness and harming your own chances for the sake of others. Sumeru needs you, whether they know it or not.”

The white sparrow bows her head in sorrow. “Death approaches… you are far too young.”

“So be it.” Alhaitham tells her, squaring his shoulders. There's terror writhing in his chest like a bundle of snakes, but his voice remains mercifully steady. “If it makes you feel any better, I plan to live my remaining years on my own terms. Don't think of me as a tragedy.”

The little god regards him again, fluffy feathers contrasting with her ancient emerald eyes.

“...You are very brave, Alhaitham. May we meet again someday, underneath a new samsara...”

It's only after Alhaitham wakes up in a fit of suppressed coughing that he realizes he never told her his name.

The Dendro Archon never walks in his dreams again, and as the nights pass, the forests slowly fade back into oblivion.

He tells himself it's because god has better things to do with her time, but in the back of his mind, Alhaitham knows it is because she has simply become too weak.

Alhaitham waits a few days before making his next move. He watches the crowd of students streaming into the House of Daena like a hawk, seeking out one particular Amurta student with rather unique traits.

“Hello, Senior Tighnari.”

The Valuka Shuna’s ears noticeably flatten, but he turns to face Alhaitham with a polite (albeit forced) smile. “...May I help you?”

There's an uncomfortable tautness to Tighnari's expression, and a fierce look in his eyes. Alhaitham realizes belatedly that perhaps coming to talk to one of Kaveh's other best friends mere weeks after their explosive fallout wasn't such a good idea after all.

Too late for regrets. He steels his nerves and continues. “I sincerely apologize for bothering you, but I was wondering if you could assist me with identifying a certain flower. It's related to a legend I recently read about- I was wondering if there was any other correlation between the myth and this specific species.”

Despite his stony expression, Alhaitham notices Tighnari's ears perk up with interest. Much like many other Akadeymia scholars, the aspiring botanist wasn't immune to the draw of an intellectual challenge regarding his field. “Ah, that depends. Do you happen to have a sample on hand?”

Alhaitham wordlessly hands him a paper bag. He's been using it to store all of the mysterious petals he's received- at the very least, he'd kind of like to know exactly what kind of plant is going to send him to an early grave.

Tighnari looks at it for about two minutes before glancing back up at Alhaitham, eyes wide with disbelief.

“...These are no ordinary flower petals. Are you sick?”

Alhaitham bows his head. This wasn't exactly the direction he'd been hoping for the conversation to go in, but at least Tighnari seemed shrewd enough to understand the gravity of his situation. “I am.”

A flicker of hesitation crosses the Valuka Shuna’s face. “They’re for Kaveh, then.”

“Don't tell him.” Alhaitham says immediately. “I'm sure you've heard it already, but I was the one who broke our relationship beyond repair. Even if I was desperate enough to try and beg for his hand, that ship has long since sailed.”

Tighnari's ears pin back against his head again, and his tail begins to swish in agitation. Alhaitham can practically see the other scholar’s concern rising.

“This disease has a 100% fatality rate if left untreated. Do you understand that?”

Alhaitham coughs into his fist, trying to ignore the way the petals seem to be fluttering in his throat. “...I have no choice. He will never feel that way about me, and I'm self-aware enough to acknowledge that it is entirely my own fault. Whatever happens, I brought upon myself.”

Tighnari slams a hand down on Alhaitham's desk with such force that his hat falls askew. Startled, Alhaitham quickly turns up the sound canceling on his headphones- just high enough that he can still hear the Amurta scholar speak.

“Alhaitham, you may be a callous asshole who broke my best friend's heart, but I'm not exactly in the business of letting patients die without at least trying to help. Did you really think for a moment that I wouldn't realize these weren't normal flower petals?”

“No.” Alhaitham murmurs, twisting a pencil between his fingers absentmindedly. “I heard your senior thesis was related to botanical treatments for incurable ailments. Even if you don't end up using them, I figured that convincing someone in your Darshan to preserve these samples could pave the way for research to save future Hanahaki victims.”

Tighnari sighs, curling his clawed hands against the table in frustration. “...Fuck. We've barely ever spoken, and here I am feeling bad for you. Curse my soft heart… and why did you have to grow a conscience now, of all times?”

“I'm growing flowers, actually.” Alhaitham deadpans.

The other scholar growls. “That is not funny. Did you even think for a moment about how your death is going to affect the people around you?”

“It won’t.” Alhaitham explains calmly, trying to ignore the way the pencil in his hand is splintering beneath his vice grip. “Because I have no people around me. My family is gone, and Kaveh-”

“Kaveh still cares about you!” Tighnari seethes, eyes glittering with rage. “It is going to shatter him when he finds out, Alhaitham- and anyways, are you really willing to go down without a fight? I know we don't exactly know each other well, but I thought for sure you were much more stubborn than that. This is much more serious than a failed joint thesis- you can and will lose your life!”

Alhaitham lets out a truly atrocious wheeze at those words, doubling over the desk. Tighnari swiftly takes him by the arm and drags him out of the House of Daena, ignoring the way the other scholars murmur behind their hands.

It's only when they're outside, and Alhaitham is coughing up a handful of petals over the railing, that Tighnari finally speaks again.

“...They're mourning flowers, by the way. Quite ironic, considering that's likely what Kaveh will spend the rest of his life doing if you both fail to confront your mistakes and fix this mess.”

Alhaitham gasps for air, eyes burning with tears. “Don’t. Please.”

Tighnari graciously shuts up, although the irate swishing of his tail gives his true feelings away.

When he speaks again, his voice is ice cold. “If you truly want to give up, I can't stop you. But just know that there will be consequences for those you leave behind.”

A beat of silence. Alhaitham continues to try to catch his breath, wheezing all the while. Tighnari closes his eyes with an aggrieved sigh, expression softening.

“...I'll do what I can with the petals. They're in good condition, and could certainly be used as a point of reference for treating future Hanahaki cases. You, on the other hand, need to go to the Bimarstan and pick up some medication for your lungs if you want to survive more than a year. Your coughs already sound like you have severe pneumonia, but any kind of asthma medication will likely alleviate your symptoms at least a little bit.”

Alhaitham places a hand over his chest, trying to ignore the urge to claw at his own throat in an effort to reopen his swollen airways. “...Thank you, Senior Tighnari.”

The Amurta scholar shudders, tail puffing up. “ Eugh. Don't call me that, it feels fake. Just Tighnari is fine! And not to make you feel like my lab rat or anything, but please do check in with me next week? Just for my peace of mind as a medical student, at the very least.”

Alhaitham exhales, cringing internally at the pathetic wheezing that followed his every breath. “...Sure.”

Tighnari frowns again, brows furrowed in concern. “...You know what? On second thought, I'm walking you to the Bimarstan. Now. ”

Alhaitham clears his throat. “I'm perfectly capable of making it there on my own.”

Tighnari simply ignores him in favor of picking up Alhaitham's bookbag. He hadn't even noticed he dropped it- hopefully his Omnidirector wasn't broken.

“I'm not sure if you've noticed, but this city has a lot of stairs, and that's not exactly great for someone with low oxygenation levels. If you do end up passing out, I’d prefer someone be there to catch you. Now hurry up, or you're going to make me late for my next class.”

Now armed with a set of brand new inhalers, soothing cough drops, and a bottle of prescription anti-inflammatory throat spray, Alhaitham is almost able to forget about his Hanahaki as the end of his junior year approaches.

Almost.

On the warm summer night of Kaveh's graduation ceremony, he coughs up multiple handfuls of rotten petals, collapsing into a pathetic heap in the corner of his dorm room as his surroundings turn into grey TV static. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his bright green Dendro Vision flickering in and out like a dying candle.

He lives alone. His chest hurts, and a dull ache joins the searing pain of the flowers as he realizes it could take weeks for anyone to notice he was missing, much less find his body.

Fortunately, he forgot to take into account that, whether by accident or purpose, he'd managed to gain more than one friend from strange encounters in the House of Daena.

Alhaitham wakes up in the Bimarstan. The sheets are too scratchy, and everything smells like bleach in the way all hospitals do, but he is alive and therefore immensely grateful.

His savior also happens to be his one and only visitor. Upon seeing him awake, Tighnari immediately gives Alhaitham an earful about how he'd almost had a heart attack when he came by to deliver some homemade cough drops. Apparently, he figured Alhaitham's lack of response was because of his noise-cancelling headphones, and decided to open the door to pester him further- and then found Alhaitham on the floor, unresponsive.

Tighnari is a good friend. He's Alhaitham’s only friend, actually. He almost wishes they'd met sooner- perhaps the Valuka Shuna’s no-nonsense style of advice could've helped him see eye to eye with Kaveh.

“You're lucky I told him you went on vacation and not that you were hospitalized.” Tighnari says, scratching away at his clipboard. Ever the diligent student, he'd brought some homework with him. “I know you're under the impression that he hates you, but he still probably would've sent you Teyvat's most elaborate get-well-soon fruit basket.”

Alhaitham's voice is still painfully raspy, but he speaks up anyways. “He… knows we talk?”

Tighnari rolls his eyes. “He's not blind, Alhaitham. Of course he knows.”

“Ah.”

Tighnari's pencil hovers over the last line of his page. “...He misses you, you know. I saw him looking for you in the crowd during graduation.”

Alhaitham shakes his head. “I appreciate your efforts, but you weren't there that night. He doesn't miss me.”

“What'd he even say during your fight to make you think that?”

It's an offhanded comment, not intended to hurt, but that doesn't stop flowers from overreacting.

Alhaitham's throat seems to close in on itself again, and he coughs miserably into his hand, producing a single brilliant orange petal. Tighnari winces.

“Ah- never mind that. I forgot to ask you before, but does talking about Kaveh trigger these ‘attacks’, so to speak?”

“Just thinking about him almost killed me last night.” Alhaitham admits hoarsely. “It's been like that ever since I got sick, but for some reason it was worse that day.”

Tighnari nods sympathetically. “I'll be more careful.”

“I'll try to do the same.”

It's only once the Valuka Shuna turns to leave that Alhaitham has a change of heart.

“Hey.”

The Amurta scholar levels him with a judgemental stare. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For the cough drops, and for bringing me here. I… don’t think anyone else would've done that.”

Tighnari's eyes glitter with some emotion Alhaitham can't quite identify. “That's sweet and all, but you don't have to thank me for wanting you to live.”

The door slams shut with a resounding bang.

After several hours of bickering amongst themselves, the Bimarstan team misdiagnoses Alhaitham with mid-stage Eleazar.

He can hear Dr. Zakariya (the mustached doctor who had prescribed his inhalers back when he first met Tighnari), grumbling discontentedly about it in the hallway. Something about how he is far too young and otherwise physically healthy to be suffering from such a condition. How the signature black scales should have appeared already, and how it just doesn't make any sense .

He doesn't bother correcting him, and accepts his discharge order and new prescriptions with a gracious nod. Maybe by some miracle they will help with the Hanahaki.

Time continues passing by. Tighnari’s masters degree in medicinal botany is complete, and he moves to Ghandarva Ville. Neither of them are too worried- Alhaitham's symptoms become much more manageable as his preventative treatments start to build up. His illness still follows him, but living alone is no longer a health concern.

He gets winded more easily than other young people who train so frequently, but otherwise lives a relatively normal life.

Months meld into years, and Alhaitham graduates. Valedictorian, with full honors.

He skips the ceremony, much to the chagrin of the dean and his professors. Kaveh would likely be there to support his friends, and Alhaitham didn't particularly like the idea of collapsing in front of a crowd of thousands during his acceptance speech.

He moves into their old research center, which has sat abandoned in the midst of the city for the last two years. It was strange to have a research center in such prime real estate location, and offers to buy the place kept piling up in his mailbox- but he didn't feel like selling it to any of the Ksharewar contractors who were surely eager to tear it down.

They'd get their hands on it after his passing, anyways. Surely they could spare him a few years of comfort.

Tighnari catches wind of the fact that he is moving, and comes up from Ghandarva Ville to ‘help’. In reality, Alhaitham knows he will receive a lecture- but when it's Tighnari, he doesn't tend to mind so much.

“Are you sure about this?” The Valuka Shuna asks him for the millionth time, setting down the last crate in Alhaitham’s doorway. “You could find another place, you know. Somewhere new.”

Somewhere with no strings attached, goes unsaid. Alhaitham sighs.

“I just completed onboarding for my position as the Akadeymia's scribe. This building is as close to work as I can possibly get.”

When other people ask in the future, he will tell them that he chose a building so near to the Akadeymia out of sheer laziness. Avoiding the commute to work is just like him, other scholars would say, turning their noses up at the scribe. Of course he would take the most convenient plot of land away from people who truly need it .

Tighnari is the only one who knows the real reason why- a mix of sentimentality, and the fact that he is easily winded these days. It's close to both the Bimarstan and his office, the perfect location for a sick man who isn't going to get any better.

The fox hums discontentedly, tail lashing against the doorframe. “Don’t you think it could make your Hanahaki worse, being here? The memories, the proximity… I have concerns.”

Alhaitham knows. He had a coughing fit the second he stepped through the doorway, and he thinks it might be dangerous for his health to even open the door leading into what used to be Kaveh's room.

But there is something deeply comforting about familiarity for people like Alhaitham. He couldn't stay in his dormitory lodgings, and his childhood home is cold and lonely. The place is already haunted by the memory of his family, and, well. He doesn't need to add another ghost there. Thus, this was his best option.

“It doesn't matter. I can't stop time, and I'd rather live the way I want instead of trying to reverse the inevitable.”

Tighnari exhales slowly, ears drooping. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

Alhaitham hesitates. “...I'm sorry.”

He means it this time.

Silence hangs in the air like a shroud.

A blob of black and teal fur launches itself at Alhaitham, and it takes him a moment to register that Tighnari has pulled him into an absolutely bone-crushing hug.

The Valuka Shuna's tail swishes back and forth in distress as he mumbles into Alhaitham's shirt. “Archons, you stubborn oaf…”

“I'd tell him,” Alhaitham murmurs, “If it would do any good. But the rejection would kill me, and the guilt would destroy him.”

“I know.” Tighnari says weakly, still refusing to look at Alhaitham's face. “I know you would.”

Really, Alhaitham thinks, it's strange. Tighnari shouldn't care- because he's Kaveh's best friend, and it had been Alhaitham’s words that hurt the aspiring architect so badly back then. Kaveh is also far kinder and patient with most people than Alhaitham is, and therefore much better companion material.

Alhaitham is merely Tighnari's antisocial junior, who had rudely approached him as though he was a plant identification guide and not a fellow student.

What had he done during these last few years, that made him so deserving of Tighnari's kindness? Was it mere pity that motivated him, or did he genuinely enjoy Alhaitham's company?

He knows the answer. Somehow, despite his flawed personality, he has managed to trick the poor botanist into worrying about him- not because he's a patient, or an interesting case, but because Alhaitham is his friend.

And as hard as it is to deny it, he knows that Tighnari will mourn when Alhaitham inevitably dies. Despite fully intending to leave this world with no loose ends, he'd let his guard down.

Death was one thing.

This, he could not accept.

“Tighnari,” Alhaitham begins tentatively, “I don't think this is a good idea.”

The fox’s ears pin back in alarm. “What do you mean?”

I am not a good friend, and as my illness progresses, I never will be .

“...Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d prefer to limit our contact. I am not a people person, so to speak.”

Please understand.

Tighnari blinks at him warily, a frosty expression spreading across his face. “Is that… truly what you want?”

Of course not.

Alhaitham's voice remains stoic, bordering on dismissive. “Yes. I've never enjoyed socializing the way other people do.”

The Valuka Shuna releases him, taking a step back. Alhaitham suddenly feels colder than he ever has in his life.

“If you're certain, then I will respect your wishes.” Tighnari's tone is heavy with sorrow, and it makes Alhaitham's heart ache just as much as his lungs.

He turns back just before leaving.

“...I will send your cough drops monthly. Don't you dare try to stop me.”

Alhaitham bows his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Tighnari closes the door behind him gently, and the research center is deathly quiet.

He almost wishes the fox had slammed it. Perhaps the echo would have drowned out his endless coughing that night.

It is on his twenty-third birthday that Alhaitham realizes he is close to having outlived his initial prognosis of a few years.

The flowers are still growing within his lungs, and he certainly isn't healthy, but the constant onslaught of medication and preventative measures have noticeably slowed the disease’s progression.

He makes note of this in one of his many journals. Hanahaki was incredibly rare, and his detailed accounts of the entire timeline from the onslaught of his illness would likely be valuable to both Amurta and the Bimarstan in the future.

Alhaitham stretches, wincing at the sheer volume of his back cracking. He's taken to not wearing his noise-cancelling headphones at home, since his house is often completely silent, but he still startles at the sound of his own existence sometimes.

…Perhaps it was time for a drink. He had a crate of wine to pick up at Lambad’s, but he may as well treat himself to dessert at the tavern. A small reward, for holding out this long.

Kaveh is there.

Kaveh is there, and something is so, so wrong.

He has half a mind to flee, to spare himself the hurt- but Alhaitham still finds himself sitting down in the booth across from his senior as if drawn by some supernatural force.

The flowers are delighted, being so close to the source of the pain they've been feeding off of. The sensation of vines crawling up Alhaitham's throat makes him want to scream, but he doesn't want to scare off the shadow of a man slumped across the table.

He rubs at his throat involuntarily every few minutes, and barks his order to Lambad with a voice so hoarse that it is barely coherent. Thankfully, Kaveh is too far gone to notice, hair in his eyes and with alcohol running through his veins like water.

Alhaitham barely manages to choke out his question.

“How has realizing your ideals gone for you?”

His senior's eyes are dull and lifeless as he raises his greasy blonde head up from the table for the first time that night, and he wears an expression so terrible that a shiver runs down Alhaitham's spine.

…Alhaitham does not like the story that follows.

He takes Kaveh with him, paying his entire tab and dragging him out of the bar like a wet sandbag. It's incredibly foolish, given Alhaitham's current situation- but he does it anyways, because he's never found it in his heart to care about himself the way he cares about Kaveh.

The flowers love it. By the time he makes it to the door of the research center, it's a miracle that he can still support his own weight, much less Kaveh's.

About five seconds after tucking his senior into his old bed, Alhaitham goes into the bathroom and kneels on the tile, coughing so hard he throws up.

The next morning, he hacks up an entire, fully-formed mourning flower. The petals are a stunning shade of sunset orange, more brilliant than any he has seen before.

For the first time, it is accompanied by speckles of blood.

He's running out of time.

Kaveh settles back into his life so easily that Alhaitham almost can't believe he was ever missing.

It's not easy, certainly. Alhaitham has to take great pains to hide his medication at the back of his desk drawers, and take out the trash constantly so that Kaveh doesn't see the flowers.

The Light of Ksharewar himself is almost like a feral cat. Distrustful, starving, and always ready to strike. If Alhaitham comes too close, shows the treat in his hand, offers a little bit too much kindness? His new roommate will hiss and run away.

Probably for the best. If Kaveh wants him to be mean, then Alhaitham is perfectly capable of fulfilling that role- even if the aftermath of their arguments is often coughing fits that makes him sees stars.

It's been four months since Kaveh moved in, and four months since Alhaitham's silent life was suddenly filled with constant arguments, drunken sobbing, hammering on projects at ungodly hours of the morning, new decorations, and the sheer weight of coexisting with a shell of the man he once knew.

It's selfish, but he loves Kaveh's presence. He loves watching the shadow in his house begin to take on a new form, growing stronger with each passing day. The flowers cry out in longing.

“How is Tighnari these days?” Alhaitham asks tentatively at dinner one night.

Kaveh looks up at him in surprise, spoon frozen halfway between a bowl of sabz meat stew and his mouth. “Huh?”

“Tighnari. Your friend. How is he?”

Kaveh quickly scarfs down his last bite of stew, eyes glimmering with suspicion. “He's… fine, I guess? Too busy to talk much these days, considering he just adopted a little girl.”

Ah. So much for being in the loop. “That’s nice. He seems like he'd be a great father.”

Kaveh picks at his meal again. “I didn't know you knew him that well, but yeah. He's a good dad.”

A beat of uncomfortable silence.

“...The poor kid has Eleazar, though. He's pretty torn up about the whole thing.”

Alhaitham's dismay must show on his face, because Kaveh frowns. “It's not terminal or anything like that, don't worry. Early stage Eleazar symptoms are pretty manageable, especially now that she's under Tighnari's care. He doesn't talk about it much, but I know he has a lot of hands-on experience with diseases like this.”

Ouch.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Alhaitham hears himself saying distantly. The flowers are choking him in full force now, and black spots are crawling into the corners of his vision. He abruptly pushes his chair out from his spot at the table, trying to ignore the way the entire world seems to be spinning. “I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Kaveh.”

Ignoring Kaveh's shocked spluttering, he marches straight into the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

There is blood again, but not so much that he can't pass it off as a simple nosebleed.

He burns several sticks of incense, but the bathroom still smells like rotting flowers.

Tomorrow will come.

Tighnari, in all his infinite patience, seems to have forgiven him.

At least, that's the impression he gets when Kaveh pulls him into Lambad's Tavern one day (insisting that since they both seemed to know Tighnari, they should make some effort to socialize.)

Tighnari's ears perk up in surprise when he sees Alhaitham, who can't help but greet him warmly.

“It's been a while.” Tighnari says, stone-faced as he politely shakes Alhaitham's hand. But the Valuka Shuna's furiously wagging tail gives him away.

“Indeed it has.” Alhaitham agrees quietly. “I'm glad to hear you've been doing well.”

The fox’s tail thumps loudly against the cushions of the booth as his lips curl into a wide smile. Kaveh raises an eyebrow, but does not question it.

It's nice, having this- well, he couldn't really call them his social circle. Since there were only two of them, it was more like a social triangle. But it felt good nonetheless.

Maybe he could allow himself this much, Alhaitham cedes quietly as he sips his drink and listens to Tighnari lecture Kaveh on his poor financial habits.

Collei, he learns, is a little bit like Alhaitham.

Scratch that- a lot like Alhaitham.

She struggles with some of the same daily tasks he does, cries in frustration the way he sometimes wishes he could, and tries not to let her illness take over her life.

Their biggest difference is in education. Alhaitham finds sanctuary in complex metaphors and lengthy tomes, and Collei considers them a nightmare.

She learns to read anyways.

Alhaitham isn't a very loud person, but he cheers her on internally all the same.

For the first few months, Kaveh does not find out about the Hanahaki. But he does know that Alhaitham isn't exactly the picture of perfect health.

Everyone does, to a certain degree. Alhaitham's voice gets raspy on bad days, and most scholars know to give the grumpy scribe a wide berth.

On some mornings, he opens his eyes and finds he cannot speak at all.

Kaveh doesn’t pester Alhaitham as much on these days. Instead, he carries a note to the Akadeymia in order to excuse him from work, and makes sure the house is as quiet and unassuming as possible. Dinner is cooked with minimal spices, and if he's feeling extra nice, Alhaitham will awaken from his fitful sleep to find a cold cup of tea waiting for him on the counter.

Even so, Kaveh does not know the full extent of his illness. This, Alhaitham makes certain of. He diligently takes out their household trash every few hours so as to avoid Kaveh discovering any flower petals, makes sure to wash the scent of blood in the bathroom away with incense and bleach, and has perfected the art of muffling coughs with his fist.

When asked about the scribe's increasingly frequent absences from work and social events, Kaveh will say Alhaitham just has a “weak constitution”. Whatever the hell that means.

Alhaitham wishes reality were so simple. To the Light of Ksharewar, his roommate just had the bad luck of frequently catching colds.

Kaveh finally confronts him one year after moving into their shared research center.

“Alhaitham, I know we agreed I would do my fair share of household tasks when I moved in, but I'm really not sure how much more of this I can take!”

Alhaitham wearily lifts his head from where he has been napping on the divan. “Hm?”

Kaveh drags a hand over his face with a deep sigh. “Okay, look- I appreciate everything you've done for me, but that doesn't mean you can just treat me however you like. We both have full time jobs, and it's not exactly fair that you get to relax the second you get home while I do every single chore!”

The architect pauses for air, face flushed with frustration. “I’m fine with handling dinner and most of the cleaning, but why am I the one picking up your books and washing your clothes? I get home from a long day of work and immediately have to start taking care of the house- but you seem to just lie down for naps whenever you feel like it, regardless of what responsibilities are being ignored!”

Honestly, these are valid concerns. Under ordinary circumstances, Alhaitham would've made some sort of snarky comment, but then slowly picked up the slack on his behavior while Kaveh wasn't paying attention. He'd been falling behind on chores due to his illness, but it wasn't exactly fair to put all that on Kaveh with no explanation.

But Alhaitham's voice has been absolutely destroyed today, and he is exhausted.

He allows his head to fall back onto the divan with a heavy sigh, eyes sliding shut.

Distantly he hears Kaveh stomping towards him, stopping dead in front of the couch. “Oh. My. Archons. You're going to drive me mad. I know you will never hold any sort of respect for me, and that is fine- but could you at least acknowledge me when I'm speaking to you?!”

Alhaitham cracks one eye open.

Kaveh is staring at him expectantly, hands on his hips and eyes narrowed.

The scribe swallows dryly, and it feels like his windpipe is actively being shredded. Archons, everything hurts today.

“...Kaveh, I think we need to talk.”

Kaveh visibly flinches at the painful rasp of his roommate's voice, but his accusatory tone remains. “Is this about the rent? I knew I shouldn't have brought this up with you, I swear-”

“No.” Alhaitham manages to wheeze out. “It's not that. But you were right earlier.”

Kaveh looks downright alarmed at that. “Pardon?!”

“I haven't been doing my fair share of chores.” Alhaitham continues, ignoring the way his lungs seem to be intent on tearing themselves apart. “But it's not because I don't respect you.”

Kaveh's eyebrows rise up so high that they disappear behind his bangs. “...Well fine, I'll bite. Why haven't you been doing your part around the house, then?”

Alhaitham hesitates for a moment before slowly sitting up on the divan. His lungs scream at him in protest, and it takes a moment to catch his breath before he can continue talking.

He stares at his own knees for a moment, unwilling to look his new housemate in the eyes.

“I'm sick, Kaveh.”

Much to his disappointment, the architect merely scoffs, throwing up his hands. “Yeah, you and your colds. But you aren't unwell all the time!”

The grim silence that follows seems to answer that rhetorical question.

Kaveh's face falls into something resembling fear.

“...Wait. You're not unwell all the time, right?” He repeats uncertainly, voice wavering.

Instead of replying, Alhaitham simply sighs.

Kaveh quickly sits down on the divan next to him, and the scribe can see the architect's hands beginning to shake where they are entwined in his lap.

“I didn't intend to inconvenience you,” He begins tentatively. “Unfortunately, my ability to perform basic tasks has degenerated much faster than I anticipated.”

“Haitham, I don't think I like where this is going.” Kaveh's rising nerves are clear as day, and a pit of guilt forms in Alhaitham's stomach.

(The flowers seem to adore the use of his old pet name from school, and Alhaitham has to suppress a cough as a vine travels up his windpipe.)

Kaveh is staring at him, eyes wide and anxious.

“I was diagnosed with mid-stage Eleazar when I was twenty.” Alhaitham says softly.

It's not a lie, per se, but it's not the entire truth either.

The silence in their living room is deafening.

Kaveh slowly leans forward and puts his head in his hands, gripping his hair far too tight.

Alhaitham gently bats his roommate's nails away from his scalp. “Hey, stop that. You'll make yourself bald, and then that whole 10-step hair care routine will have been for nothing.”

Kaveh does not rise to the bait. A choked-off whimper rips itself out of the architect's throat, and it takes Alhaitham a moment to realize that Kaveh is crying.

Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Kaveh's shoulders shake, and it takes every ounce of self control in Alhaitham's body not to wrap his arms around his roommate. “Haitham. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.” Alhaitham reassures. “You couldn't have known.”

“Still- I should've- I could have-”

“It's illogical to beat yourself up for not noticing a condition I chose to hide.”

Kaveh’s face is pale and laced with tear tracks as he leans back against the divan, staring up at the ceiling with a trembling exhale.

“...I wish I'd known sooner.”

“I never intended for you to find out.” Alhaitham replies tiredly.

In the weeks following Kaveh's discovery of his illness, several things change.

For one, Alhaitham no longer has to be so careful about hiding his means of alleviating the disease's symptoms. His soothing teas find their way into their shared cupboard, he leaves his prescriptions on the bathroom counter next to Kaveh's makeup, and his special upright pillows remain on his bed instead of hidden away in the closet. On days when walking the short distance to work becomes difficult, he can even use his grandfather's old adhigama-wood cane without being questioned.

(He does offer to hire a maid to handle his half of the chores, but Kaveh staunchly refuses.)

Aside from that, the architect does unfortunately react just as poorly as Alhaitham expected. Although he would surely deny it if confronted, Kaveh had begun to walk on eggshells around his ailing roommate, as if a single misstep could break him.

( Well, technically it could. According to the book, an outright rejection could cause the flowers to strangle Alhaitham on the spot- but Kaveh didn't know that yet, and he certainly didn't plan on telling him.)

For the sake of Kaveh's mental wellness, Alhaitham still hides his Hanahaki episodes whenever he can. The first and only time he'd had a particularly bad one in front of the architect, Kaveh had spent the rest of the day fussing over him. When Alhaitham finally snapped and asked him to back off, his roommate simply stared at him like a kicked dog before retreating to his room.

By the time Alhaitham discovers the Sages’ god creation plan, he is greatly weakened from constant blood loss and fairly certain he will not survive to see next winter.

Kaveh, who insisted on cleaning every single surface in their home regularly so that the dust would not irritate Alhaitham's lungs further, was once again struggling to reach a particularly stubborn cobweb when Alhaitham walks into the living room.

(Or drags himself, rather. It's gotten difficult to hold his head high and move steadily at the same time.)

Against his better judgement, Alhaitham coughs loudly to get Kaveh's attention. His roommate whirls around in a panic, dropping the feather duster.

“I’m fine.” Alhaitham clarifies, before the architect can open his mouth. “I just wanted to let you know that the Akadeymia approved that cross-darshan humanitarian proposal from Vahumana and Ksharewar. Remember, the one to build homes out in the desert?”

Kaveh eyes him warily. “And why are you telling me this, exactly?”

“That would be because you've been requested as lead architect.”

Under normal circumstances, Alhaitham knows Kaveh would have jumped for joy at the opportunity. He hesitates instead, brows furrowed in thought. “...Ah. Yes, that's great, but… Are you sure you'll be okay being here by yourself for an entire month?”

“You’d do well to remember that I spent years living alone, Kaveh. I can survive a couple weeks.”

Kaveh looks slightly hurt at that, but for once, Alhaitham doesn't care.

He spent an awful lot of time and effort forging the Sages' signatures on that approval paperwork, and Kaveh being out of the city was absolutely necessary for when he made his next move.

Although he didn't technically owe her any favors, he figured it was high time he repaid the Dendro Archon’s kindness by freeing her from that silver birdcage.

First things first, though. He drafts some necessary paperwork, and hands it in to one of the Akadeymia's notaries along with his official resignation forms.

The notary is an austere woman with a pinched face and a painfully tight hair bun. She asks him a lot of irritating questions, and Alhaitham does his best to answer without too much bite as his temper rises.

It's just normal protocol, he keeps assuring himself, to prevent fraud. It's unusual to request this sort of morbid thing when one has yet to reach the age of thirty.

“Spouse?”

“None.”

“Children?”

Alhaitham rolls his eyes before he can stop himself. “None.”

“Family?”

A moment's hesitation. “...None.”

She glances up at him over the frame of her glasses for the first time during the entire meeting, eyebrows raised.

Alhaitham glares back at her, stone-faced.

Her harsh eyes soften ever so slightly as she gathers the paperwork into a neat stack.

“Well, that's all I have for you. I’ll send it to the records office tonight, but you may take this copy. We do recommend discussing these plans with whomever it may concern, but it's up to your personal discretion.”

Alhaitham hums noncommittally.

Well, that wasn't happening. Kaveh would likely lose his mind if Alhaitham informed him that he was currently listed as the main beneficiary on his roommate's last will and testament.

Some things did go to other places, though- namely, Collei’s education fund. Tighnari wasn't exactly struggling for mora, and the Akadeymia would waive most of the fees, but it required a series of introduction courses in order to pass their rigorous entrance exams. Those could get expensive.

She would also receive some of the illustrated fairy tales he'd kept from childhood. The language was archaic and a little confusing, but if she didn't feel like reading them, there were still plenty of pictures to look at. Aranara, forest birds and twining leaves adorn every page.

The remainder of his extensive book collection would go to one of the community libraries Ksharewar was currently building in the desert (under a certain architect’s direction, of course.)

The rest would be transferred under Kaveh's name. Alhaitham took quite a bit of solace in the fact that his roommate would never be hungry or homeless ever again.

“Take care of yourself, young man.” The notary announces stiffly, steepling her fingers.

Alhaitham bows his head respectfully and closes the door behind him.

The night before Alhaitham leaves, he addresses a letter to Kaveh, apologizing for lying about the extent of his illness. He leaves it in the top drawer of his desk alongside the will.

It's the least he could do.

On that same evening, he coughs up another fully-formed mourning flower. Brilliant orange, perfect petals. This time, he cannot stop it from ruining his favorite towel with a garish crimson stain.

He opens all the windows in an attempt to air out the house, but the scent of iron still hangs heavy in the air.

Getting to Port Ormos is not fun for him. In fact, it takes several days. He appreciates the design of the port’s rather convenient elevators even more now.

Despite still being agile enough to knock out the forbidden knowledge-afflicted Eremite on the docks with a few light strikes, the effort takes a lot out of Alhaitham. After returning to his lodgings to lick his wounds, he realizes that he may have to hitch a ride with a caravan if he wants to go to Aaru Village next week without collapsing.

He is also forced to bring his cane the next time he meets up with the Traveler and Paimon. When the little white pixie’s eyes stay fixated on it for a little too long, he mumbles something about Eleazar and how it's rude to stare.

Paimon seems convinced by his excuse and quickly stammers out an apology, but the Traveler's golden eyes linger as they brush a hand over the white-and-blue flowers braided into their own hair.

Cyno must be feeling strangely merciful, because he isn't using his full strength when he attacks Alhaitham just outside the gates of Aaru Village. If he hadn't reined in his blows, Alhaitham likely would have been killed instantly.

Back in his healthier days, Alhaitham might have been able to hold his own against the General Mahamatra (for a few minutes, at least.) The shorter man is quick on his feet and much more experienced, but Alhaitham does have the benefits of both size and teleportation on his side.

Unfortunately, the strain of traveling from Port Ormos to Caravan Ribat has already sapped much of his energy. Black dots are crowding in at the edges of his vision, and his combat reflexes are sluggish at best, dulled by a lack of oxygen.

When Cyno makes his first strike, Alhaitham sways dangerously on his feet, before remembering belatedly that he should fall into a defensive stance.

Their weapons clash with a deafening scrape of metal, sparks flying. Alhaitham sees his opponent's eyes widen imperceptibly as he realizes there's little to no strength behind the blade desperately trying to block his polearm.

Cyno's weapon still moves lightning fast, but it's clear he's making a real effort to hold back now. With how weak Alhaitham is, a single flick of the general's wrist could probably send him straight to the afterlife.

It would be even easier to simply subdue him and be done with the fight.

Instead of forcing his way through Alhaitham's shaky defenses, however, Cyno simply banks on the impact of their weapons clashing in order to fling both combatants as far away from each other as possible.

The ensuing collision sends Alhaitham tumbling into the sand with a pathetic gasp. His opponent skids to a halt a short distance away, alarm spreading over the general's face as he dismisses his staff and turns towards the scribe.

Alhaitham staggers to his feet, panting, and Cyno's agitated expression quickly fades back into indifference.

From the Traveler and Paimon's perspective, it must look like they are about evenly matched in terms of combat prowess. In reality, Alhaitham has suffered a crushing defeat. Not at the hands of the jackal-headed matra, but by the flowers writhing within his lungs.

Alhaitham appreciates the effort. He's lost a lot of his pride over the years, but he'd rather keep that to himself. He wheezes quietly for the next two hours, lungs burning from overexertion.

Cyno keeps sneaking these worried, guilty glances at him. As the Village Guardian escorts them to the chief's house, he can't help but wonder just how much Tighnari has shared with the General Mahamatra about Alhaitham's condition.

He must look as bad as he feels, because when they arrive at their destination, Candace immediately offers him the most comfortable chair. He accepts it with a grateful nod, props open a book on his knee, and waits until his breathing returns to normal before joining in the discussion on how best to overthrow their government.

…He really is a feeble scholar.

That night, he suffers through the worst Hanahaki episode he's ever had.

After their plans had been completed, the ‘Sumeru Super Awesome God Rescue Squad’ (dubbed by Paimon) quietly divided themselves into the various spare rooms within the village to bed down for the night.

Alhaitham was assigned to a hut with Cyno. They were incredibly distant acquaintances at best, but still knew each other better than either the Traveler, Candace, or Dehya. They politely turn away whilst the other is changing, then lie down facing opposite directions, bedrolls placed as far away from each other as possible.

Cyno winces when Alhaitham lets out a particularly wet cough before pulling another rug over his thick pile of blankets, but says nothing.

There's a sandstorm raging outside, and Alhaitham can't help but wonder where Kaveh is sleeping tonight.

Sick with worry, he falls into a fitful and dreamless sleep.

Alhaitham jolts awake at exactly four in the morning, a horrifying combination of blood and rotten plants spilling from his jaws as he instinctively tries to drag air back into his lungs.

He hears faint stirring from the other side of the room, but isn't sure if the General Mahamatra is awake enough yet to understand what is going on. He gags again, hands desperately searching in the dark for the bag containing his rescue inhaler.

Cyno blinks at him sleepily for about three seconds before sitting bolt upright, eyes flying wide in alarm.

Someone grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him. It takes Alhaitham a moment to realize that Cyno had crossed the room in an instant. Though Alhaitham could see that the other man was shouting something , he could not hear a single word over the ringing in his ears.

Alhaitham takes one more rattling, desperate gasp, the taste of iron flooding his mouth, and then-

Nothing.

No more coughs. Not even a wheeze.

He can't force even the tiniest bit of air to travel through his windpipe, which is how he knows it has finally been completely overgrown by the disease.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was on a hard, sandy floor in the middle of the desert instead of curling up on his favorite divan. Instead of being held and comforted by the embrace of a friend or a lover, he was currently dying in the arms of a panicking stranger he hardly knew.

The pain vanishes, in the immediate seconds after his breathing stops.

Sadly for him, the reprieve is only temporary. Searing agony returns in full force moments later, and this time there is no dull ache or scratchy trachea. It just burns.

Alhaitham claws at his throat, unbridled terror overtaking his senses as darkness begins to encroach on his eyesight. The Dendro Vision clipped to his cloak is flickering in and out like a lost radio signal, gray seeping in at the edges of the green.

The Traveler slams the door open, skidding on their heel as they turn the corner with near-inhuman speed. Cyno turns towards them, yelling something incomprehensible. Their expression hardens as their eyes land on the scene, and they immediately drop to their knees, taking hold of one of Alhaitham's hands.

The relief is instantaneous.

A blinding white glow shines throughout the room as the Traveler's otherworldly armor lights up, illuminating the sandstone walls. Alhaitham gasps harshly, finally drawing oxygen back into his lungs as the vines retreat.

It still hurts more than anything he's ever experienced in his life. His vision is blurry with tears of overstimulation, but he can just barely make out Cyno's horrified face looking down at him.

“You aren't leaving us tonight.” The Traveler tells him grimly, golden eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. To Alhaitham’s delirious ears, their voice sounds almost as if it's coming from underwater. “Rest, scholar.”

I don't want to, Alhaitham tries to retort, but a pathetic whine slips out instead as his head falls back onto the pillow.

The next morning, Alhaitham asks Candace to borrow some stationery, and sits down to write a second letter to Kaveh. The one he had left in the desk drawer at home suddenly didn't seem adequate enough to contain the sheer gravity of his feelings about their relationship or his illness.

Kaveh would have so many questions after his death, and if answering some of them would help the architect move on, then that is precisely what Alhaitham intends to do.

Once the ink has dried, Alhaitham tucks the letter into his shirt collar. It now sits alongside another significantly shorter note, requesting for whomever retrieves his body to send it to the Sumeru City coroner posthaste. If Kaveh or Tighnari did not come forward to identify him, at least he would have his former coworkers as a backup.

The Traveler corners him a few hours later, but not for the reason Alhaitham is expecting.

“How long have you been ill?”

Alhaitham glances up at them, unimpressed. “I appreciate your assistance last night, but I don't want a lecture. My poor health is none of your concern.”

“I'm aware.” The outlander replies breezily, leaning back against the wall. Despite the casual stance, their golden eyes seem to pierce straight through his soul. “I’m just a little curious- surely you can't blame me for that. After all, your Hanahaki seems to be impacting your life far more severely than my own.”

Alhaitham's train of thought grinds to a halt.

What?

The scribe swallows harshly, scrambling internally for his next sentence. “Excuse me?”

“Ah. Yeah.” The Traveler casually reaches into their hair, plucking out the pair of white flowers. Their elaborate braid falls apart in an instant, blonde tresses cascading over their shoulders.

(It reminds him of Kaveh and his stupid, stupid hair clips. Alhaitham hastily suppresses a cough.)

The Traveler closes their fist around the delicate white petals in their palm with a grim smile. “ Inteyvat, the national flower of the lost civilization of Khaenri’ah. …It also happens to be my sibling's favorite. I began coughing these up the day I entered Inazuma two years ago. I do have certain abilities I can use to keep my flowers at bay, and I believe that is why the disease has not progressed past the first stage.”

“I am truly sorry.” Alhaitham murmurs, because how can he not? He knows firsthand the gravity of grief and hurt a Hanahaki victim must feel.

The Traveler bows their head politely in thanks, but Alhaitham isn't done yet.

“... Unfortunately, I don't think I can help you. Forgive me if my assumptions are incorrect, but I'm fairly certain you are not from this world. There's so many variables in our lifespans and constitution, and that's not even taking into account that my Hanahaki is romantic, and yours familial. The timeline of our illnesses will likely not be the same, and it won't do you any good to bank on a mere mortal’s experience when deciding how to move forward from here.”

The Traveler regards him silently.

“I appreciate your honesty. And you are indeed correct- I am not human.”

Now that he's in close proximity to them, Alhaitham thinks the famed hero just looks tired.

“...I hope you find your sibling soon.”

“Thank you.”

They let him go after that, and return with Alhaitham to the rest of the group. Paimon screeches complaints about their disappearance, and Alhaitham turns the noise-canceling dial on his headphones up to maximum at least 5 times.

They decide to make their next move in the afternoon. So that the desert would be easier to traverse, Dehya insists- but Alhaitham knows it's because they want to give him a chance to recuperate.

He almost wants to gnash his teeth at them, to stamp his feet in protest and insist that nobody coddle him. He is a grown man perfectly capable of making his own decisions, and it is incredibly frustrating to be treated like a piece of prized glassware.

But they mean well, and the image of Cyno's terrified face from earlier in the morning is still seared into his brain. And so he sinks into the plush chair offered to him, drinks his tea in silence, and tries not to sour his mood further by thinking about death.

Alhaitham promptly offers himself up for the hostage exchange.

Dehya is the first to shoot him down. “Hell no! That's too dangerous, especially for someone in your condition.”

Alhaitham waves her off irritably. “I'm going to die anyways. If it has to be now, so be it.”

…He hadn't meant that to come out as harshly as it did. Cyno quickly averts his gaze, Candace lets out a tiny gasp, and Dehya just looks outright appalled .

“No, you're not!”

“ I am.” Alhaitham snaps, glaring balefully at the Flame-Mane. “You saw what happened last night. Not even a miracle can save me if that occurs again.”

Dehya falters for a moment. “Then- why are you here? You should be in a medical facility, or at home!”

Alhaitham's lips curl into a wretched smile.

“Believe it or not, I care for Sumeru and the people residing within it. It's my homeland as much as it is yours. Aside from that, even I am not callous enough to turn a blind eye to a child in danger- almighty Archon or not.”

Candace examines him with newfound interest, two-toned eyes sharp and analytical. “...How curious. You wear their colors, and represent their administration… yet you're nothing like the average Akadeymia scholar, are you?”

Alhaitham nods. “I disagree with the Sages' plans, and their handling of the institution at large. Were it not for my illness, I would've tried to do something about it long ago.”

“You're mad.” Dehya declares with an incredulous laugh, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “And I'm glad to hear it. Let's be friends!”

And what reason does Alhaitham really have to refuse this time? He won't be around long enough for the Flame-Mane to form a significant attachment.

“Fine, if you insist.”

Their batshit insane plan goes off quite well, all things considered.

There are still some rather unfortunate bumps in the road. Although he'd managed to complete the knowledge capsule swap successfully, Alhaitham severely underestimated the amount of force Azar's lackeys were willing to use to subdue a ‘mad scholar.’

His vision swims as they drag him out of the Akadeymia, hands bound tightly behind his back and head swollen from where a guard’s halberd struck him directly. There's a thin line of blood trickling down from the scratches on his face, and he thinks the one over his eyebrow may leave a permanent scar.

The guards pull him roughly past a marble staircase, where Alhaitham catches a glimpse of blurry red hair. There she is.

He tries to smile at Nilou, as was their agreed upon signal, but it comes out more like a grimace instead. Hopefully the dancer still got the message, because she turns away and starts moving swiftly in the opposite direction.

Despite it being a sunny day, blinding lightning occasionally spreads across the sky like cracks in a broken window.

Alhaitham's headphones are broken now, so he closes his eyes and listens to the ominous thunder rumbling overhead in place of his usual music.

If reincarnation is real, then Alhaitham wants to spend his next life minding his own damn business , he thinks to himself as he lies motionless on the floor of his cell. He didn't exactly believe in karmic debt or anything like that, but surely he deserved a slightly easier existence next time around.

The Akadeymia guards did not take him to Aaru Village like he'd been expecting. Instead, they dumped him into an ancient, mildewed prison, carved into the walls of a natural cave system winding deep below the Divine Tree.

He supposes this is kinder than simply killing him and leaving his corpse in a ditch somewhere, but not by much.

Alhaitham hadn't even known this place existed , despite living in Sumeru City and working for the Akadeymia for most of his adult life. Although if he had to guess, this was probably where Azar's political opponents tended to mysteriously disappear to in the midst of election season.

This, for a multitude of reasons, is a major problem. If even someone like Alhaitham was unaware of the prison’s location, it was easy to assume that his comrades didn't know about it either. His Akasha Terminal was destroyed during his earlier scuffle with the guards, so he no longer had any means of contacting them. And even if they did by some miracle manage to succeed in freeing the Lesser Lord, notice he was missing, and launch a search, there was still no guarantee that they would be able to find him.

Azar's personal guards have also not returned since throwing him into the cell, and judging by the slow changes in the tiny sliver of light coming from the air vent, he's been trapped down here for around three days.

Fortunately, it rains often in Sumeru. Alhaitham is able to collect enough fresh water to survive on from where it seeps in through the air duct, but the piercing ache of hunger is beginning to take a toll on him. He spends most of his time laying on the frigid stone floor, too weak to move.

His injuries go untreated. Fears of infection lurk at the back of his mind, especially when it comes to the bumpy laceration at the back of his scalp- but there's not much Alhaitham can do about it until he is rescued. He does try tearing strips of fabric from his cape and tying them around his head like a bandage, but the pressure against his swollen bruises is unbearable. He quickly gives up on the idea, tossing the fabric aside.

His external wounds aren't the only ones suffering from the conditions of the prison. The cave smells strongly of stagnant water, and Alhaitham's fragile lungs struggle even more under the onslaught of mold spores that float through the still air like ashes after a fire.

There's a much more urgent issue at hand, though. Confined to a cage with nothing but his own thoughts for company, and without the Traveler there to slow its progression, the Hanahaki attacks his body with renewed viciousness.

Medicine lying forgotten in a bag back in Aaru Village, Alhaitham proceeds to hack up multiple fully-formed mourning flowers during his time in the underground prison. The taste of warm iron fills his mouth, accompanying each fiery blossom as they flutter to the floor.

(Disgusting as it is, Alhaitham does debate consuming them. They are plants, after all, and he is starving.

After the first tentative bite of rotten and bloodied petals, he quickly decides it isn't worth it, and resumes his new routine of staring at the wall.)

By the third day, Alhaitham isn't all there anymore.

He swims in and out of consciousness, back aching where it is pressed against unforgiving stone. Sumeru City gets chilly at night, and Alhaitham's outfit is not enough to protect him from the cold temperatures produced by the damp cave environment. He curls into a corner with the tattered remains of his cloak, shivering.

Sometimes, throughout the haze of delirium, he thinks he sees Kaveh walking through the dark corridors outside of his cell. They're just small flashes between the rusted bars- of golden hair, red capes and vermilion eyes.

Somewhere, in the back of his fraying mind, he knows it's not real.

He still calls Kaveh's name regardless. Blood and bile spill from his lips with every hoarse yell, but Alhaitham can no longer be bothered to wipe it away.

Someone is shaking his shoulder.

Unlike the people who had thrown him down here, their hands are small and gentle. Despite not recognizing the person's touch, their presence seems strangely familiar.

Alhaitham opens his eyes with a miserable groan.

A little girl with white hair and green eyes kneels at his side, eyebrows knit with concern and mouth set into a deep frown. Surely she is staining her dress, considering the state of the floor- but she doesn't seem to care.

Cyno is standing over them both, a downright dangerous expression upon his face. A small team of matra are talking amongst themselves outside the cell, voices low and grim as they steal occasional glances towards the man that was once their very own scribe.

They must talk as they load him onto the stretcher, but Alhaitham cannot quite make out what they are saying.

He wants to go home more than anything, but the search and rescue team takes him to the Bimarstan instead.

Dr. Zakariya thoughtfully places Alhaitham's bed in a room with Tighnari's, separated by a single white curtain. The botanist had suffered a lightning strike for his part in the coup, but was expected to make a full recovery.

Alhaitham was not.

The jig is up. Eleazar is gone, completely eradicated from Sumeru- yet Alhaitham's illness remains, worsening with every day despite the fact that his medications have long since returned from Aaru.

The Bimarstan employees are finally forced to confront the fact that they have misdiagnosed a patient for almost four consecutive years, and they are not happy about it.

Alhaitham does not tell them any specifics on his disease, knowing full well that it was too late to do any good. Only that yes, he is certain he has it, and yes, he is certain it is terminal.

Understandably, the doctors nearly go mad with frustration whilst trying to figure out what his increasingly confusing and erratic symptoms mean. The flowers in particular leave even some of Amurta's brightest minds stymied- because to most, Hanahaki is an entirely fictional disease, and there is no logical reason as to why live plants should be not only growing, but thriving in Alhaitham's lungs.

Tighnari clicks his tongue in disapproval at the constant arguments echoing through the thin white walls.

Alhaitham, on the other hand, resists the bizarre urge to laugh.

Tighnari is discharged the day after Alhaitham is admitted. There's a gnarly new scar tracing its way down his spine, but otherwise he is in perfect health. The fox heads back to Ghandarva Ville, but not before threatening to kill the former scribe if he doesn't take care better care of himself until they see each other again.

After thoughtfully waiting for Alhaitham to regain some of his strength, the little girl comes to visit him.

He isn't all that surprised when she tells him she’s god. She just had that sort of aura around her.

“I'm sorry we couldn't meet again under better circumstances.” Nahida says sorrowfully, kicking her feet as she sits in the visitor's chair at Alhaitham's bedside. “What those people did to you was very cruel.”

Alhaitham bows his head respectfully. “It's quite alright. Have some faith in your General Mahamatra- he will ensure they face justice for their crimes.”

Lesser Lord Kusanali offers him a sad smile, misty-eyed. “...You have suffered greatly because of me.”

Alhaitham scoffs before he can stop himself. “Don’t be ridiculous. You did not force the Sages and their supporters to act the way they did. The blame lies solely with Azar’s administration and the Fatui, not with you.”

Nahida hesitates, biting her lip anxiously. “...Still, I know you have gone through many trials since our last meeting. My powers are not strong enough to cure your ailment, but is there anything else you desire? Say the word, and I will do my best to carry out your wish.”

Alhaitham considers for a moment.

“...If you insist, then please find me a book I haven't read before. A good one, if you don't mind. All the fairytales added to the House of Daena as of late have been deathly boring, and I'm getting rather tired of the same predictable isekai slop Yae Publishing has been churning out. Some of those light novels are an insult to fiction itself.”

Nahida giggles, innocent and clear as a bell.

There are birds chirping outside Alhaitham's sunny window, a soft breeze lifting the curtains into the summery air, and god is laughing freely for the first time in centuries.

It was a worthy endeavor, he decides, leaning back into his pillows with a miniscule smile.

Two days after Alhaitham goes home from the Bimarstan, they declare him the Sumeru Akadeymia's first ever Acting Grand Sage.

He can't help but feel rather betrayed by this, and immediately cautions them that he is way too far gone on the path of illness to return to work. Nahida, bless her, quickly assures him that it is more of a figurehead role than an actual leadership position, and he will be compensated handsomely for his efforts.

His expression becomes marginally less sour after that, but it's still nothing to celebrate. He is so, so tired, and this is not going to be easy.

Apparently, the situation regarding his capture and eventual release has been sensationalized by the local media. In the wake of losing their evil dictator and corrupt government in one fell swoop, Sumeru's citizens needed a hero- and with the Traveler swiftly leaving the country for Fontaine, Alhaitham was next in line.

Greatly weakened by both the Hanahaki and his impromptu stay in prison, Alhaitham only makes occasional and very limited public appearances. Fortunately by this point, the rose-tinted glasses worn by the general populace are working in his favor. Most Sumerians seem to think of their new Grand Sage as hard-working and mysterious, and do not notice that he is almost entirely incapacitated by disease.

The second they become disenchanted with him, Alhaitham will quietly step down and retire to make way for the actual Grand Sage, a young woman who is currently training in preparation to take over the position.

Her name is Yasmin, a recent Vahumana graduate who is both competent and charismatic. She holds a Master's degree in foreign diplomacy, and Alhaitham firmly believes that she has what it takes to lead a long and successful career as a Sage.

He approves of Nahida's choice, and resumes patiently waiting for the day the Dendro Archon's endorsee takes the reins.

When Kaveh finally returns from his long trip to the desert, he is beyond confused.

For one, the news that the government watching over Sumeru for the past 500 years has been overthrown would be a shock to anyone. Kaveh accepts that particular tidbit of information rather quickly, though. He's never liked Azar.

The crowd of people gathered in the Grand Bazaar catch him up to date on other events- The Lesser Lord is free, the Fatui have been chased out, his friends have taken over the political scene, and Eleazar has been eradicated from this land.

He sprints into the house, excitement coursing through his veins as he prepares to congratulate his roommate on his miraculous recovery.

Instead, the man he finds curled up on the couch is visibly sicker.

Alhaitham half expects Kaveh to be furious, to shout and scream at him for lying and giving him false hope. Maybe even slap him, if tempers rose high enough.

Instead, the architect just looks sad.

Kaveh gives Alhaitham a week-long grace period before confronting him.

They are sitting on one of the divans together. Kaveh has taken to rubbing small circles into the scribe's back in some feeble attempt at soothing him after each Hanahaki attack. Alhaitham doesn't have the heart to tell him it only makes the flowers worse, and instead desperately presses into the warm touch.

“Why didn't you tell me about any of this?” Kaveh's voice is artificially calm, and it makes Alhaitham's hair stand on end.

He heaves a shuddering sigh. Speaking is raw and painful these days, but Kaveh deserves some sort of explanation. “There is a letter sewn into the collar of the cape I was wearing during the coup. That should… clarify things.”

“I know. I’m the one who does your laundry, remember?”

“Ah.”

“But I didn't open it. Whatever you have to say, I want to hear it directly from you.”

Alhaitham immediately doubles over, choking. Kaveh grabs his biceps, steadying him as yet another Mourning Flower slips from his jaws and into the designated bowl sitting beside the divans.

Kaveh stares at the orange petals in silence as Alhaitham attempts to recover his composure, chest heaving.

“...That must hurt.”

Alhaitham doesn't hesitate this time. “It does.”

A beat of silence. Alhaitham shifts his legs into a more comfortable position, no longer strong enough to remain upright.

Perhaps another nap was in order.

“These used to be my favorite flower, back when we were in the Akadeymia.” Kaveh remarks ruefully, trying and failing to wipe a speck of blood off of his white sleeves. “Weird coincidence, I suppose.”

“Feel free to take that one, if you wish.” Alhaitham teases lightly. “I'm sure it would look great in that vase I bought when you first moved in.”

Kaveh snorts despite himself. “Haitham, nothing could salvage these little biohazards, not even the Dendro Archon herself. And especially not an equally horrid vase!”

Alhaitham cracks a weak smile, settling back into the pillows. “Fair enough.”

Kaveh's eyes crinkle fondly as he reaches out to run a hand through Alhaitham's gray hair. Although such an intimate action would usually result in coughing up an ungodly amount of petals, he simply closes his eyes and leans into it like a cat.

The weather today is perfect, and there's warm light streaming in through the stained glass windows of their home. Alhaitham relaxes his shoulders, trying to bask in the last vestiges of sunlight as it begins to dip below the horizon to make way for the moon.

A gentle sigh pulls him out of his reverie.

“...Haitham?”

“Mh?”

“...Are you dying?”

He does not open his eyes. “Yes.”

Silence. The hand stroking his hair stops momentarily, but resumes shortly thereafter.

“ I'm going to miss you.” Kaveh admits softly, and if that doesn't break his heart, then nothing else will.

Alhaitham barely registers the sensation of Kaveh pulling his bangs back, chapped lips brushing against his forehead. It's hesitant, and new, and everything he has ever wanted and feared all at once.

The taste of iron fills his mouth, but he is too tired to move this time. It leaks onto the upholstery, thin lines of red tracing their way down from the corners of his lips as he lets out another rattling cough.

(Kaveh will have to buy himself a new divan once this is all over. This one is surely stained beyond repair.)

His roommate frantically pulls him to his feet, mumbling some desperate prayer to Lord Kusanali as he drags the scribe into their shared bathroom. Alhaitham feels gentle hands wiping his face clean with a damp cloth as he leans heavily against Kaveh's chest for support.

He must black out momentarily, because when he comes to, he has been tucked into his bed.

It's comfortable, warm and dry in ways he could barely have imagined back during his time in the cell. His grandmother's old quilt covers his body, and for the first time since beginning to suffer from chronic blood loss at the start of the year, he doesn't feel cold anymore.

Maybe things aren't so bad.

A tall figure sits on the edge of his bed, blonde hair reflecting gold from the watery light of sunset.

“Kaveh.” Alhaitham says hoarsely, “There's something I need to tell you.”

A flicker of fear passes over the architect's face, but he quickly smooths his expression into a sea of calm. “Can’t it wait until you're feeling a little better, Haitham? Don't- don't strain yourself.”

“I’m afraid not, senior. Please listen to me.”

(It is precisely because Alhaitham suddenly feels so much better that alarm bells are going off inside his head.

‘Terminal lucidity’, he recalls hazily, is the term his grandmother's caretaker used to describe it all those years ago. There was a night in which her mind was intact enough to hold a lengthy conversation for the first time in months, and her grandson’s heart soared with hope- but she was gone when he arrived to check on her in the morning.)

Alhaitham has a sinking feeling that if he falls asleep tonight, he may never wake up again.

Kaveh is staring at him, crimson eyes wide and terrified.

Alhaitham lifts a hand to cup the architect's cheek, arms shaking with the strain of keeping it aloft. His roommate catches his wrist and holds it there, bottom lip trembling.

He can feel the vines beginning to creep up his throat at the sight, and quickly stumbles through his sentence.

“...You may not realize it now, but your companionship has always been an invaluable comfort to me. Thank you for staying by my side.”

Kaveh’s expression crumples , and it takes everything in Alhaitham's power not to fall apart as his roommate begins to weep in earnest.

“I love you.” Alhaitham chokes out, the flowers writhing in protest. “And I'm sorry for everything.”

“I love you too.” Kaveh whispers back, raw and devastated. “And you have nothing to be sorry for.”

The flowers do not simply turn into sparkles, or disintegrate, or anything magical like that. That would be far too easy, considering the hellish nature of the disease.

But the strange pulling sensation within Alhaitham's chest as the mourning flower roots finally release their grip on his lungs is enough to convince him that maybe- just maybe- he's been given a second chance.

The vines retreat down his windpipe like a wounded animal, crawling back into their den to die. He can feel the parasitic flowers curling in on themselves, petals withering as the source of Alhaitham's long heartbreak disappears.

For the first time in months, he takes a deep breath.

It is fresh and clean, the crisp night air from his window mixing with Kaveh's vanilla-scented perfume. The taste of decay is gone from the back of his tongue.

He’s still in pretty rough shape, and things are touch-and-go for the rest of the night. Alhaitham is exhausted, voice raspy and destroyed- and he does cough up a couple withered buds right before falling asleep in his roommate's lap.

But when Alhaitham wakes up the next morning, wrapped tightly in Kaveh's arms with his chest feeling lighter than he has in years, he thinks there’s a small chance he'll be alright after all.

Alhaitham's condition is entirely operable now, Dr. Zakariya tells him during his emergency room visit the following day. The barely-restrained smile on the doctor’s face causes his moustache to twitch as he hands Alhaitham some patient forms to sign.

Now that the flowers are no longer directly embedded in his flesh, the procedure to remove the withered plant material from his lungs should be quite simple. Zakariya maintains an air of professionalism throughout the entire appointment, which Alhaitham appreciates- but it's easy to tell the doctor is buzzing with excitement.

There's still a few tests he must take before being cleared for surgery, but he's familiar with all of them from past Bimarstan visits. They're just standard checks, like blowing into a tube as hard as he can, or walking on a treadmill whilst hooked to an oxygenation monitor. It takes a while, but Alhaitham appreciates that they're being thorough.

Kaveh holds his hand throughout the entire appointment, all the way up until the anesthesiologist knocks him out. He sort of gets in their way sometimes, but the nurses don't bother trying to stop him. Perhaps in Alhaitham's case, patient morale is more important than efficiency.

It's so strange. He seems to remember Kaveh being the one with cold hands back when they were students, but the Light of Ksharewar’s palm is a comforting warmth against his own as he drifts off into oblivion.

When he wakes up, dizzy and incredibly disoriented, the first person he asks for is Tighnari.

(“I couldn't believe my ears!” Kaveh exclaims later, a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I waited an age for this insufferable man to wake up so I could take him home and kiss him silly, and this is the thanks I get?!”)

After a few more confusing minutes in which a delirious Alhaitham tries to remember why the hell he is there, the events of the previous night come crashing back into his mind.

Kaveh is in the waiting room.

Kaveh is his, and he is Kaveh's.

He can breathe again.

The Forest Ranger, in all his infinite mercy, does not berate Alhaitham too much for failing to inform his friends that he was on the brink of death.

“I'll spare you for now, since I don't take pride in bullying my patients.” The Valuka Shuna snips at him, tail swishing haughtily as he dumps yet another bowl of herbal concoction onto Alhaitham's hospital tray. “But if you ever leave this world without at least having the decency to say goodbye to me, I will raise you from the dead for the express purpose of throttling you a second time. Understood?”

Alhaitham cracks a smile. “Understood.”

Kaveh watches them bicker, eyes shining with curiosity. “I still can't believe you two are on such good terms now.”

“Me neither.” Tighnari replies breezily, clapping a hand on Alhaitham's shoulder as he walks by on his way to the visitation chair. “This guy is quite possibly the smartest imbecile I've ever had the displeasure of treating.”

Alhaitham grunts in protest, but does not refute him.

Tighnari's expression mellows. “...In all seriousness, I'm glad you're still here.”

“As am I.” Alhaitham agrees quietly. “We've been very fortunate.”

Kaveh leans into his shoulder with a contented sigh.

In a surprise to no one, Alhaitham's life will probably never be quite the same.

His body is in fairly stable condition, all things considered. But the Hanahaki had not been kind to its host as it attempted to slowly devour him. Some of the damage sustained over the course of his illness is irreparable.

The Bimarstan has been monitoring him regularly ever since the surgery, but they are fairly confident in their diagnosis of chronic lung damage and permanent scarring inside his throat. Alhaitham will remain on medication for the rest of his life, and should no longer partake in strenuous activities like running marathons, frequently lifting heavy objects, or traveling long distances without regular breaks.

It's not a huge loss, considering he didn't really intend on doing any of those things. His muscles have all but wasted away during the progression of his illness, and he's too focused on learning how to walk without leaning on Kaveh or his cane to worry about something as trivial as working out.

Speaking of work, he is the scribe again. As much as he might like to spend the rest of his days sitting around the house with his newly-acquired partner by his side, he does have to make a living at the very least. Kaveh, kindhearted as he is, would almost certainly be happy to let Alhaitham coast on his income for the rest of their lives- but Alhaitham knows he is still in debt, and struggling financially. It isn't fair to place that burden on his shoulders.

And although Alhaitham enjoys lazy days with everything he has, returning to work means giving himself renewed purpose in life. After an eternity of staring death in the eyes, it was nice to have a retirement to plan for.

He reunites with his friends from the coup.

They're all pretty relieved to see him up and walking. Dehya is the most blunt about it, throwing her arms around Alhaitham the moment he walks through the door to the tavern.

“Thank the gods you're alive!” The Flame-Mane chuckles good-naturedly. “I half expected to see you next at your funeral!”

Cyno clears his throat. “...Hey. Why did the ghost quit his day job?”

Alhaitham stares at the General Mahamatra blankly.

“...Because he was working the graveyard shift.”

Dehya and Tighnari groan loudly, and Candace lets out a deeply offended huff- but Alhaitham still laughs despite his better judgement.

A wicked grin spreads across Cyno's face, and it's not exactly hard to tell that he's got an even worse joke up his sleeve for next time.

Perhaps being sentenced to a lifetime of terrible puns isn't so bad, Alhaitham thinks as he slides into the seat next to Kaveh.

Returning to the Akadeymia is a strange experience.

To Alhaitham’s shock, people are very happy to see him again. The day he gets back, his old coworkers throw a big party to celebrate his return (he promptly skips work and goes home, but it was sweet of them to try nonetheless.) When the next Grand Sage takes over Azar's old office, Lesser Lord Kusanali moves him to a much nicer one on the first floor, complete with a private balcony and break room.

He receives full employee benefits the moment he returns to working as the scribe, and is allowed to keep his higher salary and pension from his short stint as Acting Grand Sage. Extra vacation days mysteriously appear on his employee register, Panah frequently comes down from the new Grand Sage’s office to tell him to go home early, and he occasionally catches the Dendro Archon leaving piles of candy on the corner of his desk.

It's a nice change, being doted on by his colleagues.

Maybe he's spoiled. Maybe he's earned it.

A lot of things happen in the next few months.

His insane ex-classmate creates a hivemind, and suffers a crushing defeat at the hands of Kaveh and the Traveler. The Light of Ksharewar once again proves his title is deserved by inventing a living toolbox , using a salvaged machine core from the desert. The Dragon Sovereign of Dendro awakens and causes utter mayhem in the land of dreams, but Nahida soothes their rage. The Interdarshan Championship returns to Sumeru, and Kaveh somehow actually manages to win. They throw a massive birthday celebration for Lesser Lord Kusanali, find Cyno's long lost brother Sethos, and send Collei off to the Akadeymia to study under the Spantamad Darshan.

It's all incredibly exciting, and for the first time since he was twenty years old, Alhaitham finds himself able to actively participate in it all. It's an odd feeling, especially after so many years spent watching from the sidelines- but he enjoys it.

Kaveh is at his side throughout it all. He doesn't drink so much anymore, and the bags under his eyes are slowly fading as he gets into a healthier working schedule.

There's going to be just one rule at their wedding- no orange flowers of any kind.

Red is totally fine, though. It reminds him of his fiancé’s eyes.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I know this fic was kind of sad and compared to my usual style, so I'll add some extra fluff to my ongoing adoption au as compensation <3
I'm not really sure how to explain why I wrote this, but there's no harm in trying. As someone who once suffered a serious lung injury and has chronic issues as a result, I guess I just got kind of tired of seeing a subject close to my heart trivialized so frequently in Hanahaki fanfiction. I decided to sit down and write a story of my own instead of stewing about it, so here it is!

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