Crates of distinct red start creeping across the fruit stalls as the colder months approach. They, as always, grab Kaveh’s attention and bring his feet to a stop in front of a stall.
Kaveh loves this color, and the way light catches on the leathery skin of pomegranates. Once, he loved the bright ruby of its seeds, too, and the tangy taste of them in his mouth mixed with the perfect amount of honey father always added to his bowl. A staple at their home for celebratory nights and a favorite he and his mother indulged in together back when quicksand had yet to snuff the light in his childhood home. His father was always willing to go through the hassle of deseeding pomegranates for them.
“Your mother gets easily frustrated when she deals with pomegranates, though they’re not so hard to peel. Would you like me to teach you how? When you’re a little older, then.”
“Do you want to buy some?”
Kaveh’s head almost turns to look at Alhaitham yet he resists, shielding his face from Alhaitham’s perceptive gaze. He shrugs.
“No.” The not-truth slips easily through his lips. “They're annoying to deseed. I'd rather not bother with it. Anyway, let's keep going. We're almost done shopping and we need to hurry up before all the fresh cabbages are sold!”
Kaveh scurries away from the stall before the vendor notices them and tries to sell them some, but the memory of the first time he tried to deseed some for his mother, a while after his father's death, breathes distant images in his head.
The bruised fruit bled juice on his hands when he cut through it wrong, only for him to cause further mess trying to separate the seeds from the pulp. He can still remember the weight of frustration on his head and the desperation clogging his throat when over half the fruit was ruined by his attempts. The time he spent picking apart the intact seeds from squeezed ones so that his mother could have a perfect bowl, just like his father always did.
Three fruits and a whole night later, the bowl stayed untouched in his mother’s room until Kaveh found it the following morning. His mother weakly told him she didn't want any at all, and that he could have whatever he brought in.
Good thing she didn't eat it. He remembers thinking back then as he blinked away the wetness in his eyes, forcing a spoonful of unsweetened seeds after another into his mouth so it wouldn't go to waste. It tastes bad and salty.
What a foolish endeavor this was, just like every other one. How could he plant a smile when he was the reason it was gone in the first place? What could he do? What should he do?
Never did his mother eat pomegranates again until she left for Fontaine. Naturally, it wasn't right for Kaveh to have them, too.
Plus, even now they are indeed annoying to peel. That much rings true to Kaveh.
The protests of his aching back eat away at his focus until he can no longer keep up with it and he has to break away from his desk in order to stretch his body. A glance at the clock tells him it’s past midnight, its ticking finally registering in his ears with the realization that he should go to bed.
Kaveh considers his options between that and working a bit more when a covered bowl that shouldn’t be at his desk catches his attention–just far away from his arm reach so that he wouldn’t accidentally knock it off. Ah, right, Alhaitham brought it with him earlier when he tried–and failed–to get Kaveh to bed early.
The sight of ruby seeds crowding the bowl to the brim when he lifts the cover takes him by a momentary surprise. Another moment passes and it branches into a plethora of emotions: rejection, familiarity, warmth, grief. Exasperation at his inability to hide from the one person who's too perceptive for Kaveh's own good, and adoration for said person all the same.
He’s sure there were none in the kitchen earlier. When did Alhaitham buy them? All that trouble of peeling them for Kaveh to have as a midnight snack… Why didn’t he notice it sooner? No, maybe it was for the best that he only noticed now, when he is alone and doesn’t feel the need to say or do something
Kaveh brings a spoonful of seeds to his mouth and munches. They burst open with sweet, tart juice on his tongue and no trace of honey whatsoever. Unsweetened, it doesn’t taste as sour as Kaveh remembers it to, but his feet carry him to the kitchen to add some honey anyway. Just a bit, and they taste much better.
Within minutes, the bowl is sitting empty in the sink. Kaveh would have washed it, but he’s too tired to do anything now. He wants nothing more than to lay down in bed, burrow under the warmth of their blanket, wrap his arms around Alhaitham and never let go.
If he whispers his gratitude into the kiss he plants on Alhaitham’s cheek, Alhaitham will be none the wiser, deep in his slumber as he is.
