"Haitham, I can't find the porcelain cups…"
"They need to be washed; we used them last night." A couple more cabinets closed and shut, as if Kaveh was hoping that if he looked inside one extra time that brand new cups would magically appear. He paused to pull down the mugs that they usually used, huffing. How could they possibly be good hosts if they didn't have at least halfway decent dishware? For a moment the only sounds in their kitchen consisted of Kaveh lighting another burner on their stove as he shuffled around Alhaitham, tapping coffee grounds into the cezve that he was pretty sure was older than either of them. There was a brand new one they'd received as a present from one of Alhaitham's colleagues that Haitham ardently refused to open, stating the one they had was perfectly fine, and it would take much too long to season a new one to their liking.
Soft tendrils of steam were soon followed by the deliciously nutty aroma of the coffee itself, it was a roast from Cyno, the beans themselves had been grown in the Avidya Forest, but were washed, dried, and processed in the desert. Kaveh had been fascinated by the process so much that he had tracked down the supplier, and thanks to a deal that hadn't included any Mora to Alhaitham's displeasure but had included a new house and processing facility built by Kaveh, they all had a lifetime supply of free coffee.
"I don't know why you insisted on this brunch- brunch isn't even really a word or proper concept."
Alhaitham quipped as Kaveh pressed his usual mug into his hands. He hummed, stifling a yawn. It wasn't his first cup of the day, he'd been up long before his partner, but Kaveh always insisted on a fresh couple of cups after he woke, to which Haitham never complained.
"I told you, it's popular with lots of the students these days. I thought we could try it, maybe attempt to enjoy ourselves."
He could feel Kaveh's eyes rolling beside him. Alhaitham's lips pursed into what was possibly a whisp of a smile. Mid-morning light streamed in through the colored glass of their home. It was odd to think that this was theirs. Kaveh, for Alhaitham's sake, had kept a lot of what the Scribe had enjoyed about their Akademyia provided home, but with his own flair. The kitchen was larger, the stove set into the far wall, with room for a wood fired oven. A true tandoor would be impractical, but this had worked just fine. The island was the true center of the room, however, with comfortable seats on one side, with the side closest to the stove and sink giving plenty of space for food preparation and service. They had a formal dining room, but they rarely sat there, preferring to be in closer proximity to each other. It hadn't taken long for them both to bathe the room in the scent of their usual spices. Kaveh made a good cup of coffee, but an even better masala chai, and the lingering scent of cardamom always sat pleasantly on Haitham's olfactory sense.
Scribe felt his shirt gently tugged on as Kaveh's arm wrapped around him, his posture softening a bit as Kaveh's lips met his cheek.
"Don't act so grumpy, Haitham. You love our friends, and love when they come over."
"There you go, putting words in my mouth again."
There was no real upset behind the familiar retort, an actual smile on his lips. Hm. His mind wandered back to those early days after his parents had passed, when it had just become easier to shut out the world and focus on his studies, unaware of the person he was forcing himself to become. For a brief moment, he wondered what his younger self might say upon seeing this utterly domestic scene. But he shook it away. The past was simply that, the past. He split another pomegranate, pausing suddenly as the juice ran across his palm and through his fingers, tongue pressing into the roof of his mouth.
He barely had a section cut off before Kaveh swiped it, being sure to make eye contact with his partner as his lips lowered onto the perfectly ripe fruit, and Alhaitham's heartbeat began to speed up a little, eyes laser focused on Kaveh's mouth as juice dribbled down out of the corner of those lips that often found themselves in places Alhaitham wouldn't dare to share in public, staining the white embroidery of Kaveh's kurta a light crimson. Al'ama, was Kaveh determined to give him a heart murmur? If the smirk wasn't enough, the second dribble of pomegranate juice was more than enough to do him in.
Kaveh barely had time to swallow before Alhaitham's lips were pressed firmly against his, a light sound of surprise escaping as Haitham's tongue swiped up the last dribbles of pomegranate juice during the kiss. "Not the only thing you want in your mouth apparently." The architect shot back finally, face flushed both from surprise and flustered adoration.
The rest of the morning preparations were done in silence. Kaveh has learned over the years that Alhaitham needing quiet wasn't just a request to be stubborn, but a need. He continues making enough coffee for everyone, his mind wandering along a mushroom trail of thoughts.
Having the ability to dream again had affected them both deeply. Kaveh knew Alhaitham would talk about his dreams when he was ready.
His own were often wrought with the same pain and anguish he'd felt when his father died, at the funeral with the empty casket. His mother's sobs when she thought her only son was sleeping. He remembered escaping to the very edge of the forest, slipping out past the guards at the city gates, and running off to a little pond not far away, where he would sit on and feel the city to his back, seeing nothing but rainforest for miles in front of him. He remembered sitting and listening to Arasudraka, one of the Aranara, talk. They never went on any adventures, but Kaveh had always promised they would when he was older. He'd never forgotten them but had never found them once he'd stopped dreaming. Maybe it would be worth a try another time.
Near him, Alhaitham sliced vegetables, piling together a platter of, harra fruit, zaytun peaches, granola, yoghurt, and a bowl of candied ajilenakh nuts (those were just for Kaveh), making sure it was in a central location before starting on the actual food. He always was roped into cooking somehow. Likely because Kaveh's cooking skills were fine if you liked burnt water. A pot of sabz meat stew simmered on the stove, and per Kaveh's request (since when had he become Kaveh's personal chef?), a chocolate pistachio baklava was finishing baking in the oven.
Their home was filled with the warm perfumes of turmeric, cinnamon, cloves, and spice. Kaveh had been experimenting lately and was trying a "breakfast samosa" that sounded alright, but… you just never knew. Alhaitham knew better than to protest it at this point. The sun warmed the back of his neck where the window was propped open, his mind wandering off with minimal precision – just like the breeze currently wafting through the house.
His own dreams had been mostly remembrance. Something he hated doing, so it made sense that his mind might try and trick him into being overtly emotional about things he had already done and experienced.
A'eeshu ala futat ahlam – I live on remnants of dreams. The proverb had sparked lively discussion in his philosophy courses, though Alhaitham had merely written it off as artistic bias and anger. Who else would want to dwell on the past but those doomed to repeat it? But was he too, not subject to the remnants of the dreams he'd once had in childhood? Both from the dreams he had actually dreamed and the ideals that he had formed in order to survive. The very same ideals that had protected him well over the years except for when it came to Kaveh.
Kaveh, somehow, had been the remnant of a dream that Alhaitham couldn't quite place, but one that he hoped remained in his life for the entirety of it.
He blinked and paused to watch Kaveh's usual morning dance about their kitchen, lost in the wondering of what it meant that the hope of safety and care and comfort in being seen without expectation- that had once been something only for his dreams by night- was now the very life that he lived in the daylight.
The sunlight surrounding Kaveh's messy morning bun could have been mistaken for a halo from Celestia itself. Sleep still filled the architect's visage, barely washed away by the coffee that was now meeting his lips with some consistency in between hums. Kaveh was always humming a tune under his breath these days, one Alhaitham recognized as a composition by one of their former Vahumama classmates. It was a good memory. Familiar.
"Do not live in unfulfilled dreams, Alhaitham", his grandmother had always scolded. He'd never given much stake to her words, but as he sat, watching the culmination of the love he had so desperately tried to keep to himself waltz about their kitchen, Alhaitham wondered if he had been wrong about dreams all along.