of course it's a festive day. how could it not be? it's a special day, today.
if possible, he'd make it a festivity- but Kaveh might just die of embarassment at being congratulated, so he puts the idea and the work behind it aside.
what he has done the previous days is, instead, keep an eye out for ingredients. a pack of flour. a dozen eggs, because they were running low, and he's going to employ four for his dirty deeds. vanilla extract.
all of it is disguised with a shrug and ain case you want to try something new, so you don't trip out of the door in a rush screaming about missing something that was ( hopefully ) regarded as a normal comment and indulgence towards him. Al Haitham isn't poor, in that regard.
a quick, planned early end of his shirt finds him squirreling home the darkest cocoa powder he could find, and a bag of almonds and macadamia nuts, unnoticed and promptly hidden behind some colorful glasses where out of sight means out of mind, for his boyfriend.
and now that he has, for once, risen even earlier than Kaveh... ah, the dances can begin.
how hard can it be, to bake a cake for Kaveh's birthday? he has his grandmother's recipe book opened in front of him, and there's plenty of cakes here. he can follow the base recipe, and then add his. baking is a science- if he follows everything perfectly, he's sure the events will come along.
after half an hour spent to try and make glaze out of scratch, he has to conclude that whoever said that baking was a science needs to return to the Akademia to have a supplementary course of studies.
the base of it has come along nicely- but the glaze is too liquid. and bitter- but bitter is not a problem. there's a frown creasing over his flour-stained eyebrows as he figures out that it needs to be thicker, but adding more powdered sugar will ruin the bitterness of it. with a sigh, he throws the slosh in the trashbin, and adds less water to his next try along with a bit of coffee grounds- the consistence comes out better, but there are sweet and bitter clumps in it.
this is defeating him. yet, he perseveres. a true scholar never gives up until the very last thesis has been handed over- in his case, a true boyfriend determined to bake a sweet treat for his significant other never gives up until everything has burned.
however, he startles and turns abruptly when he hears a noise- and wouldn't you know his luck? the birthday man is right behind him, staring at the mess he made of the counter.
this is a very deer-in-headlights moment. his shoulders sag after a brief second of shock, the dignity of someone absolutely powdered with flour almost from head to toe, and still in his pajama pants.
' don't touch anything, ' he warns, worn down by baking.' i can't smooth the glaze, so i have to remake it and figure out what went wrong. it was supposed to be your birthday cake, but with how i'm proceeding i do want to lead you to the nearest bakery and just have you pick one instead of getting poisoned. '
there's a bit of frustration- but he has rarely baked. failure was to be expected. still- he raises a spoonful of glaze over Kaveh's mouth.
' tell me if it's edible. perhaps not all hope is lost. '
Al Haitham thinks he's subtle, and perhaps that was true at some point in their lives when Kaveh's sights were clouded by multiple layers of doubt, hesitation and plain distrust of the man's every intention. Now, as time has passed and much changed between then, he rests easy, sure that he has an unmatched grasp on his partner's individuality, enough to know for certain that he is up to no good.
His prying goes unanswered, dismissed or thwarted, as it usually does. Haitham's resolve is unbreakable when he's so clearly unwilling to let anyone into his affairs — Kaveh has learned to let go, abandon the need to uncover and understand, and, just as important, trust to take the what the other says at face value. And so he does, his days passing by without any more investigation.
The answer comes in the morning, a day when he wakes up uncharacteristically alone. It's early and already so noisy with the clinking of cutlery echoing in the corridors, Kaveh groans, husky and with sleep weighing on the cadence of his voice, his complaint pointedly condemning the sound of metal scratching.
‘ By god, are you trying to implode the kitchen? ʼ Brows crease above crimson eyes, pinched at the middle and pulling all of Kaveh's features into a half-disgruntled, half-curious frown. He yawns right after, hands working on the buttons of his blouse until most of his frame is covered as he walks up to the mess left on the counters and table.
He tries to reach for one of the empty packages, but stops immediately when instructed to, stunned both by the request and the explanation that follows it: 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆. Al-Haitham is baking and failing comically. Kaveh laughs, spontaneously and freely. ‘ You're supposed to sift the powders before adding them to the mixture. ʼ His mouth opens to sample the sugar glaze and confirm the mistake he's already picked up from seeing the contents in bowl: it's clumpy, with tiny sugar clusters melting on his tongue while he tastes. The bitter aftertaste is a surprise, though. His eyes widen for a second in response.
‘ Too sweet, it's overwhelming. ʼ Whether his words address the glaze or the Scribe himself, Kaveh makes no effort to clarify. Rather, he reaches to wipe flour off the man's lashes and nose, pulling back then to roll his own sleeves up and reach for a strainer inside the cabinet. ‘ There's no way you'll leave this kitchen without learning how to bake a cake, if it's the last thing I do. Go get more sugar. ʼ
