[ and so the argument goes again. the rhythm is set by the weight of kaveh's scrubs. alhaitham, half-way through kaveh's diatribe on the inherent problematic nature of merely eliminating outliers from social science datasets, steps in to dry. it goes like this, kaveh thinks, kaveh and alhaitham, shoulder-to-shoulder as they always were. alhaitham's house had been much like this. they had done this hundreds of times between them on days where their schedules aligned, when kaveh isn't off running to port ormos and back for a client revision, and alhaitham isn't caught up in the personal experimentations that is the hallmark of his true interests - they were like this, weren't they. even in an unfamiliar environment caged in stark lines of gray and solid, unassuming white, it's all too easy to fall back into a rhythm like this, as if nothing has shifted, or, indeed, changed.

it hadn't always been this way. it had always been this way. both can be true.

at the tailend of the argument, alhaitham notes the hour. kaveh looks. the clock itself, kaveh thinks, is a marvel. a little boring to look at, but the mere lightweight function of its hands mean that it's less likely to drift in time than other clocks. he ought to take it apart sometime soon, just to see if clockwork has evolved in a society like this. and then, kaveh's brain catches up to him. ]

Oh. [ he says. ] ... I suppose we ought to.

[ a leaden beat. and then: ] I will be staying in your guest room, then. There wouldn't be time to clean out another apartment at this hour.