Mistral Medium 3.1

Kaveh’s fingers tighten around Kris’s wrist for a fleeting second before he remembers himself and drops his hand, gesturing wildly at a stall selling cheap wooden carvings. "No, no, nothing so dramatic," he says, his voice already climbing. "Alhaitham insists we need to buy this for the house—"

Alhaitham doesn’t even glance at the stall. His headphones are draped around his neck, the music player in his pouch silent for once. "A functional replacement for the broken shelf in the study. You’ve been using it as an excuse to pile books on the floor for weeks."

Kaveh’s flush deepens. "It’s ugly. It’s a crime against spatial harmony! That grain is uneven, and the proportions are laughable!"

"It holds books," Alhaitham says flatly. "Unlike your aesthetic sensibilities, which hold nothing but debt."

Kaveh’s mouth opens and closes as a vein pulses in his temple. "You—! You monster."

Kris, sandwiched between them, blinks slowly. His tail flicks once, then twice. The air smells like fried dough and the sharp, green bite of Alhaitham's coiled dendro energy.

"Kris." Kaveh turns those desperate red eyes on him, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell him. Tell him a house should be a home with a soul, rather than a mere storage unit."

Alhaitham’s lips twitch once. "Ask him how many Mora he’s wasted on ‘atmosphere’ this month."

The merchant, sensing blood in the water, leans forward. "Ah! For the learned gentlemen, a special discount today! Only five thousand Mora for this masterpiece!"

Kaveh makes a sound like a teakettle about to explode.

The merchant’s grin falters while Kaveh’s mouth hangs open. Alhaitham’s fingers pause mid-adjustment of his headphones, his turquoise eyes locking onto the tiny, prancing construct before shifting to the real Kris, whose tail curls with smug satisfaction.

Kaveh recovers first, lunging forward to snatch up the miniature shelf and turning it over in his hands. "You—you made this? Just now? While we were bickering?" His thumb traces the grain of the wood and the delicate Dendro-infused whorls that mimic real oak. "The proportions are perfect."

Alhaitham exhales through his nose, a sound that might be a laugh if he weren’t Alhaitham. "Of course. He’s been listening to us argue about wood for three months." His gaze moves from Kris to the line of his ears and finally to his cheek. After a moment of silence, he adds, "The terms are acceptable."

Kaveh’s face goes pink. "What?"

The merchant, now thoroughly sidelined, mutters something about "cheating bastards" and stomps off to harass a pair of Rtawahist students.

Alhaitham steps closer, just enough that his heat presses into Kris’s side. His voice drops, dry but carrying. "Well? We’re waiting."

Kris’s ears twitch as the crowd of onlookers grows, punctuated by a wolf-whistle from the direction of the spice stalls.

Kaveh's grip tightens around the tiny shelf. "This is blackmail."

Alhaitham’s mouth curls. "This is economics."

The scent of jasmine tea from a nearby stall mixes with the sharp green tang of Dendro energy, lingering heavily in the air.

Kaveh’s hands come up first, cupping Kris’s cheek with an architect’s precision while his thumb brushes the birthmark on his forehead. His touch is warm and calloused, starting with a hesitation before becoming firm. "Fine. But I’m not doing it in public."

Alhaitham doesn’t move to touch him yet. Instead, his fingers find the base of Kris’s ear, tracing the curve with scholarly deliberation. "Agreed. The house. Now." His voice is rougher than usual.

As the construct-Kris on the shelf performs a little backflip, the real Kris’s tail puffs up.