Kimi K3 · Don’t Write for User

"Wallpaper is a matter of aesthetic integrity, Kris, not a triviality," Kaveh says, defensive and missing the point. Then the rest of the sentence catches up with him, and he stops mid-stride, nearly causing a man carrying a crate of Sunsettias to walk into his back. "Wait—cute. You want us to argue about how cute you are?"

A flush spreads from his ears down his neck like spilled wine. He starts to speak, but instead gestures at Alhaitham as if Alhaitham is somehow responsible for this.

"See, this—this is exactly the kind of deflection that—" He flounders. "You can't just say things like that in the middle of the Grand Bazaar!"

"He says them everywhere," Alhaitham observes, sidestepping the Sunsettia man with the lazy precision of someone who has memorized the market's chaos. "The location has never been the limiting factor. You're simply flustered because he included himself in the category of things we argue about, suggesting we argue about him—and, by extension, talk about him." Alhaitham pauses, his turquoise eyes cutting sideways, flat and merciless. "Frequently."

"We do not—" Kaveh starts, and then stops; lying to Kris is pointless, and doing so in front of Alhaitham is a death wish. He drags a hand through his hair, displacing one of the feather ornaments, and makes a strangled noise instead. "The point, Kris, is that we were arguing about the east sitting room. I want to replace that hideous partition with an open archway. It would transform the light. This man"—he jabs a finger at Alhaitham's chest—"thinks a load-bearing wall is 'fine as it is.'"

"It is fine as it is; it bears load, which is the entirety of its purpose."

"You see?" Kaveh turns back to Kris, seizing the opening with opportunistic fervor. "You live in that house too. You sit in that room. Three months and I've watched you read in there with the afternoon sun blocked behind a slab of badly-planned timber—it's criminal. So, settle it." He plants himself in front of Kris, crimson eyes bright, his voice dropping into something earnest. "Archway or partition. And be honest—I'll know if you're just siding with him to watch me suffer."

"For the record," Alhaitham says, adjusting the headphones around his neck, unhurried, "whichever answer he gives, Kaveh has already budgeted the renovation in his head and cannot afford it. Your opinion will simply determine the nature of the argument at dinner."

Alhaitham's gaze slides to Kaveh. He doesn't speak for a moment, his fingers tapping the spine of the book in his hand.

"Your primary contribution to architectural discourse after three months in this household is laughing at structural terminology. Noted." He steps slightly to the side, blocking Kaveh's path back to the stalls. "The proposal itself, however, is structurally sound. A punched opening below the header line avoids filing fees and the loss of the grant."

Kaveh clears his throat, his hand tightening on Mehrak's handle. The Sunsettia merchant scowls; Kaveh steps left, his shoulder brushing the merchant's sleeve.

"A window-thing?" he asks, his volume climbing. "You're describing a clerestory cut with a—Kris, that isn't a 'little arch,' it's an oculus at best. If we do it properly, we'd want an elliptical spring line so the light actually—" He lets out a short huff of air, running a hand through his hair and knocking the feather ornament askew.

"...Fine. It's a sensible compromise, which is exactly the problem. Now I have to draw it properly to make it beautiful, and I can't even be angry about it." He looks at Kris, then jerks a thumb toward the plans. "But the 'dramatic light moment' comment was uncalled for. The light in that room at four in the afternoon is genuinely—"

"He won, Kaveh. Accept the terms before he invokes the spite clause."

Kaveh looks down at his boots. Behind them, a merchant mutters about scholars blocking commerce as the crowd flows around the trio.

"Very well," Kaveh says, crossing his arms and tilting his head to study Kris. "But since you're so confident about settling things today... one more question. And I want an honest answer." He tilts his chin up. "The cute thing. You said it'd be a short argument. So which one of us were you expecting to disagree with you?"

Kaveh's mouth opens and shuts. The flush, which had finally retreated to his ears, returns with interest, marching down his throat in blotchy red. "Nyaxpert? He's actually using that word now. Three months under our roof and he's developed a whole—vocabulary—"

"A taxonomy," Alhaitham corrects. He has not looked up from his book once during the exchange, which is its own kind of insult. "Mrr, nya, prrh. He categorizes us by sound the way one might label specimens. I've been keeping track."

"You have not been keeping—" Kaveh pauses, squinting. "Wait, are you actually recording this?"

"Page forty-one of my personal journal contains the charts."

He is likely lying about the charts. The terrible thing about Alhaitham is that no one has ever successfully determined where the jokes end, least of all the people who live with him.

Kaveh turns back to Kris with the doomed resolve of a man walking into a trap he can see plainly. "Fine! You're catastrophically, expensively cute. It has never once been in dispute, which is exactly why your answer is suspicious." He plants one hand on his hip, feather ornament still listing sideways, and he looks for all the world like an indignant bird. "You dodged. 'Neither of you would disagree' is a wall with a window punched in it rather than an answer. I've seen this trick today."

Behind them, the Sunsettia merchant reaches the end of his patience. A bazaar warden has begun drifting toward the obstruction with the unhurried menace of a man who keeps a fine ledger in his breast pocket and dreams of using it.

Alhaitham notices first. He closes his book and tucks it under one arm, then hooks two fingers into the back of Kaveh's collar to shift him sideways out of the walkway like a piece of furniture. "We can continue this in the spice lane or we can continue it in the warden's log. The log charges a fee." His eyes settle on Kris, flat and orange-ringed, remaining far too steady. "As for the verdict, he's correct, of course. Arguing against his cuteness would be arguing against observable fact. I don't waste effort on lost causes. That's Kaveh's department."

"Excuse me—"

"The east sitting room," Alhaitham continues over him, as he produces a stub of pencil from his belt pouch and presses it into Kris's hand with the ceremony of a treaty signing. "Since you proposed the opening, you'll sketch the proportions. Kaveh will only 'fix' a drawing he didn't start; if he starts it himself, we'll be renovating until winter."

Kaveh sputters at the accuracy of this, which is to say he offers no rebuttal at all. The warden passes them by, disappointed that his ledger remains unopened.