#witb!

Oh, not again, Kaveh thinks, seeing an order ping on his app.

He bites down the annoyance that rushes through him as he reads the details.

Alhaitham Bahati is the bane of Kaveh's part-time Doridashing career. He gives excellent tips. But any time he finds fault in Kaveh's delivery methods — and he always does, somehow — he also leaves a 3-star review.

Can Kaveh, financially, live on 3 stars? Absolutely. Can he, morally, conceptually, philosophically, accept anything like mediocrity when he has high-achiever inclinations? No. Hell, no.

This month has become a test of Kaveh's patience. Just last week, Alhaitham ordered skewers from a food stall in the bazaar — five minutes before said food stall was set to close. And he had extremely specific, bizarre instructions, to boot.

("News flash," Kaveh said after Alhaitham chastised him for failing to confirm that five grams of spices, precisely, were used for each skewer, "you're lucky you even got your ridiculous order. The stall owner yelled at me over it!"

"And how is that my concern?" Alhaitham had answered. He even frowned, as if Kaveh's words were a great bother to him. "You accepted the order. It's your job to fulfill it.")

Kaveh is certain that today's order will be at least as absurd as the last. It's been true thus far. And seeing the instructions now, he's proven right.

Kaveh walks into Puspa Café five minutes later, feet shuffling, and knows he's about to look and feel like an absolute fool.

"Pickup for Bahati," he says when he reaches the counter. The short man working the register scowls.

"Oh. That guy." He shakes his head. "Who the hell orders dessert if they don't even like sweet foods? It's a waste of money." He waves a hand before Kaveh can even attempt to answer. "And that lazy grease pupa doesn't even bother picking it up himself. It'd be so satisfying to see his reaction when he realizes he's banned, but no. He keeps getting dashers to do his dirty work."

"Wait, what?" Now Kaveh's invested, curiosity peaked. "He's banned from the premises?"

"Ah. No," the employee answers. Kaveh sees a name badge on him, but it's entirely unhelpful, with 'HAT GUY' written on it in all caps and a purple cat pin blocking the bottom half entirely. "But he's not allowed to order anything."

"Why?" Wait, can he even be ordering with Doridash, then? Has Kaveh unwittingly gotten himself involved in something illicit?

"Because we all hate his guts. Except the boss. She thinks his orders are the funniest thing she's ever seen, so she goes out of her way to make them herself." Hat Guy grabs a container from the fridge behind him. "Here. Get it out of my sight."

Kaveh does. He follows the winding paths of Sumeru City uphill — up-tree, technically, since the streets follow the Great Tree's trunk, more or less — and admires the way the late afternoon sunshine dapples the pavement in gold-flecked splendor through the tree's leaves.

Kaveh makes the trip to his customer's doorstep with a pep in his step. And the moment Alhaitham answers his knock, Kaveh bursts into a grin. He can't help it — at least he's not the only victim to Alhaitham's special breed of torment in town.

"Low-sugar padisarah pudding with no padisarah syrup." Kaveh practically shoves the plastic container and its jiggly contents into Alhaitham's hands. "Did you know that Puspa Café's staff hates you? Because they made certain I did."

"I'm not surprised, if that's what you're getting at," Alhaitham replies. "After all, they have yet to succeed at even my simpler requests."

Alhaitham hums. "It's pretty late," he remarks, blessedly changing the subject. "Are you still working?"

"No, I'm volunteering out of goodwill and a desire to serve belligerent, picky eaters. Yes, obviously, I'm working."

"Don't be obtuse. I mean, are you going to keep working after you finish my orders, even though you clearly need to rest?"

Kaveh narrows his eyes. "Orders, plural?"

"You didn't think I'd end my night without coffee, did you?"

Kaveh sighs heavily. "Do not make me run to Puspa or Lambad's again. I don't know how much more of the inclines my legs can handle."

Alhaitham, very seriously, leans over, inspecting Kaveh's lower half. "You can take it," he replies. "Truthfully, you look like you could use the workout."

"I'm sorry, did I ask?" Kaveh puts his hands on his hips firmly. "Listen. This whole back-and-forth is infuriating on its own, but on four hours of sleep, I…"

He trails off. Alhaitham's eyes are on him, giving him his full attention. They're a light green, one of Kaveh's favorite shades to use in traditional Sumeru-style glass windows. Around his irises are reddish rings. Together, the colors are stunning.

"Oh. Your eyes are…" Fuck, what is he saying? He tries to save it: "… big."

Aaaand flop. Oh, God. He doesn't blame Alhaitham one bit for arching a brow at him. Kaveh's ears prickle, and he feels himself flush.

"Right." Alhaitham tilts his head, considering something. Whatever it is, it makes his gaze intense; Kaveh can't breathe for a moment. Can't look away.

Then Alhaitham says: "You, too."

Registering his own words, he freezes. They both stare at each other, wide-eyed and thunderstruck by mutual idiocy.

Kaveh watches Alhaitham's chest heave with a big breath. What a sight. He mirrors the action. It feels grounding.