Work Text:
When they first meet, Tighnari only thinks of Cyno as mysterious.
Tighnari is, of course, at the back of the lecture hall. Everyone back here slouches and slacks off, except for him, of course. He’s used to that. Usually those in the back don’t care very much. Tighnari is the exception, not the rule.
Until one day, in the back of a lecture on organic chemistry, he spots a white-haired student sitting with his spine rigid and eyes rapt.
Tighnari can’t find any clear reason in his mind for why he would be so engaged and yet so far away, but he forces himself to ignore it. After all, it’s organic chemistry, and although he probably has little to learn from stuck-up professors who think they’re experts on the rainforest without having been there for more than a moment, he should still be paying attention.
That mentality lasts about fifteen minutes. After which point the white-haired student still sits tall, but keeps shaking his head in quick bursts, as if to try to refocus.
Tighnari gives up on the lecture and just observes him. It’s bizarre, how he seems to be trying so hard to focus on the lecture, but he’s positioned himself so far away. It’s a disadvantage, surely, for someone whose hearing is not as stellar as Tighnari’s. He wouldn’t be focusing so hard if he were able to hear or see as easily as Tighnari can.
Truly, he’s fascinating. Tighnari’s seen a lot of scholars in his time, and all of them wear the uniform to a tee. But this student definitely has his shirt open way more than allowed, and he keeps pulling it away from himself like he’s overheated. Plus, Tighnari’s more than a little envious of his headpiece, which leaves the back of his hair entirely free. He wishes he could do the same thing with his ears, rather than having to squish them down with his hat all the time.
Just as he’s wondering if he could potentially cut his hat to alter it for his ears, he notices someone clearing their throat.
He glances in the direction of the noise, only to be met with the white-haired student staring directly at him. “What?” Tighnari says quietly, before he takes a quick glance around and realizes that he’s the only other one left in this part of the lecture hall.
Oh. He must have been a little distracted.
“I… noticed you were still here,” he says awkwardly, almost stilted. “And you seemed to know what was going on, so.”
“I wasn’t listening to the lecture at all,” Tighnari blurts, immediately cringing at himself for it. At least he manages to prevent himself from explaining the reason why, though.
“But you know what’s going on,” he repeats, tone flat.
Tighnari gets it this time. He nods.
“Could I…” He exhales a harsh breath. Tighnari raises an eyebrow. No one’s this nervous around him, usually, unless they’re asking to touch his ears or something. He braces himself.
“Could I ask for your assistance?”
Tighnari blinks at him. “With the lecture material?”
“Yes,” he repeats firmly. “I didn’t really understand… most of it.”
Now, Tighnari normally despises people who aren’t competent. But he knows that organic chemistry isn’t a measure of competence, no matter how much he wishes it could be. Even then, he doesn’t see someone trying to leech off of him. He looks at the student in front of him and he sees someone trying to learn, someone not content to sit there and memorize what other people have already done.
It’s dedication. He admires that.
“Tighnari,” he says softly, as he offers his hand.
The white-haired student smiles (well, stops frowning, but close enough) as he takes it. “Cyno.”
***
After that day, he begins to regard Cyno as cordial.
It’s easy enough to help Cyno with the one lecture. Tighnari thinks that’ll be it, that at the next lecture he’ll be in the front of the room and ask someone else for help if he still doesn’t get it. Then Tighnari can go back to his normal rhythm of sitting there and spacing out and never interacting with anyone.
But two days later, at the next one, Cyno slides into the seat next to his.
Tighnari’s head whips to the side as he glances at him.
“Hello,” Cyno says. “Is there a problem? Should I move? If it would make you more comfortable, I can go somewhere else.”
Tighnari just waits for him to leave. Usually, when people say things like that to him, they’re more making excuses to leave than actually asking him anything. But when Cyno doesn’t move to go anywhere, he has to reassess the situation a little.
“No, it’s fine,” Tighnari says hesitantly. “I’m just not used to people…” Coming up to me? Asking me of all people for help? Returning to me? He can’t quite choose an appropriate ending.
“You’re not used to people?” Cyno asks, as he pulls out his notebook, flipping open to a page covered in purple ink. Very few of the things written or drawn on the page look to be relevant to the actual lesson.
Tighnari purses his lips. As much as he’d love to object, Cyno isn’t exactly wrong.
But to his surprise, the corner of Cyno’s mouth lifts. “Me neither.” Then he slides a little closer in his seat, probably to reach his notebook since there’s only one table per pair of seats in the lecture hall. “I figure I could use your help. If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” Tighnari glances over at him. “I’ve never had someone seek me out for help, though. Or for any other purpose, really, aside from the ears.”
“I assume that gets tiring,” Cyno says.
Tighnari waits for him to add something. He knows it’s coming. He knows eventually Cyno is going to ask about them. Or worse, he’s going to touch them without asking. Something is going to happen in the next few seconds. Why else would he come back?
“People asking about the ears, I mean,” he elaborates. “I bet you get tired of that.”
Tighnari stares at him in bewilderment. “You’re not going to ask?”
Cyno shrugs. “No. Maybe later.”
“Then…” Tighnari struggles to find the words or the tone to express the sheer frustration at not understanding his motives. “Then why are you back? You could ask anyone to be your tutor, it doesn’t have to be me, you know.”
“I know.” Cyno uncaps his pen as the lecturer steps up to the center of the room. “Maybe I just like you. Either way, the lecture’s going to start soon, and I’m not moving now that everyone’s settled.”
Tighnari blinks, hard. Maybe I just like you. It’s a bizarre concept.
But after the lecture, they go through Cyno’s notes together, and Tighnari makes marks in the margins with his own pen. It’s interesting, watching as his black ink blooms across the page to join Cyno’s purple. And when they’re done, Cyno waves at him and says they’ll see each other again soon, and Tighnari finds himself smiling as he says it back.
His ears feel oddly warm. Perhaps this is what they call having friends.
***
Eventually, he realizes that he’s correct, that Cyno is his friend, that they are friendly to each other. But it takes about three years longer than he initially expected.
Most students at the Akademiya take four years to graduate, and if they’re doing a thesis, it can take anywhere from an additional year to an additional dozen years, depending on the topic. Tighnari, on the other hand, is out of the Akademiya with his degree in three years, thesis to boot. People tend to assume it’s due to his glowing intellect. In truth, it’s mainly due to how much he dislikes it there. He was in a hurry to get out, and accidentally became a prodigy along the way.
Either way, he’s bid the Akademiya a disgraceful farewell and settled back in the forest, where no one can come find him unless they really want to, when the letter arrives.
Tighnari’s caught off guard by its arrival. When one of the senior forest watchers sets the letter in front of him on his evening break, he looks at them with no small amount of confusion.
“It’s for you,” they say, running a finger along the recipient line.
Sure enough, it reads Tighnari , with a script below specifying (Tighnari squints to make out the words) The one who lives in the Avidya Forest. Green and black hair. Likes lotuses.
“I suppose it is,” he says carefully, which seems to satisfy his senior enough that they turn back around and leave him to his favorite company - his own.
The address, as per the standard custom, is written in plain black ink. But the instant he opens the envelope and is bombarded with tangles of purple, he knows exactly who it’s from.
Tighnari can’t help it. His chest feels a little lighter, like he can finally fill his lungs now.
Tighnari, the letter begins, why didn’t you tell me where you were going? I spent so long trying to ask everyone at the Akademiya where you’d gone. I figured with your talents, you’d want to stay within the Amurta Darshan after graduation. We both know you knew more than any of those lecturers, anyway. But what do I know, you’re probably happier in the forest.
Tighnari takes a glance around him. He’s sitting alone in the vague darkness, the kind that blankets the world without mercy, blurring everything but not completely blocking it out. It’s been a long and relentless day, dealing with withering zones and tourists and exploring every nook and cranny of his patrol portion to find where every poisonous mushroom grows. He can feel dirt underneath his fingernails and water in his hair and a few cuts still stinging on his arm. The exhaustion he feels is complete, and he knows it’s not going to go away anytime soon. But he’s doing something. Plus, his ears don’t have to be squished by that stupid hat anymore.
So yes, he’s definitely happier than he was in the Akademiya.
In any case, I’m staying with the Matra. They’ve always appealed to me. You’ve seen how it can get, with scholars fighting to get their hands on some sort of new knowledge. It feels important to me, keeping them in check. More important than becoming another researcher, even one who follows all the moral guidelines. Perhaps I’m glad you’re not here anymore. Perhaps it’s best that you don’t become one of them. Then I can enjoy your company without reservations.
Yours, Cyno.
“Cyno,” he whispers, out loud, just to make it real. Perhaps no one else hears it, but he does, and that’s good enough.
He cares . He cares enough to find Tighnari, even after their need for each other has expired. He cares enough to document his life on a piece of paper and send it away like a leaf in the wind, even though he’s probably unsure where Tighnari actually is. He cares enough to try seeing things from Tighnari’s perspective, to try to understand him in a way that no one else ever has.
That night, instead of going straight to bed like he usually does, Tighnari stays up a little bit later. First he cleans the dirt from under his fingernails. Then, he picks up a black pen, unfolds a sheet of paper, and begins his response.
***
Beyond just writing his letters, Cyno proves himself to be caring in other ways, too, and not just for Tighnari.
It’s in the packages of dates he sends from the desert. It’s in the pressed leaves of Padisarahs that grow in the city that arrive stuffed in the envelopes of his letters. It’s in the clear blind eye he turns to Tighnari’s minor (very minor, really, it’s not a big deal, he swears) dissemination of information. And, of course-
“Cyno!”
Collei sounds delighted to see him. Tighnari can’t help but grin as he watches her abandon the half-rolled manti dumpling on the counter and run in Cyno’s direction. It’s difficult to catch a moment where she’s truly at ease, but she’s grown to love Cyno much more quickly than anyone expected. Almost like they knew each other already, or something.
“Collei,” he says softly, too softly for someone of his current stature. Tighnari has yet to congratulate him for his rise to the position of General Mahamatra, but he gets the feeling it’s not necessary. “It’s so good to see you.”
She grins widely. “I missed you,” she declares, and despite how her back is turned, Tighnari knows she’s making a slight pout just from her tone. Collei holds out her arms, and Cyno hesitates for a second before offering his own and wrapping her tightly in a hug.
Tighnari watches them as he finishes folding the goat cheese into the manti. There’s a strange sense of softness and warmth and ease, moving down from his chest to settle in his stomach. He’s not sure if he likes it or not.
He always makes neat little creases in his dumplings, just like his senior rangers taught him. But Cyno catches his eye and the corner of his mouth tilts up in a genuine smile, and he’s got his chin buried in Collei’s hair, and they look so much like family, like Tighnari’s family, and suddenly he registers why he’s having difficulty breathing.
The manti ends up looking anything but pristine. Tighnari doesn’t bother to fix it, though. He barely even notices.
“Cyno,” he greets. “Welcome back.” Welcome home, he doesn’t say.
There’s something foreign and yet utterly familiar in Cyno’s eyes when he glances back. “Don’t say that,” he says, in lieu of something normal, like a hello , or other such socially acceptable conventions. “You know I can’t stand the weather here.”
Tighnari recognizes the grin in his voice. “And yet you keep coming back,” he teases, definitely more gently than usual, but maybe with Cyno, it’s fine. “It’s almost like you miss the rainforest whenever you’re gone.”
“I don’t miss the rainforest,” Cyno says. “I miss you .”
Tighnari blinks at him. His nails sink into the manti dough, leaving little crescent indents of where his hands used to be.
Cyno looks at the dumpling with nothing short of pity. “Let me help.”
“I was doing fine until you got here,” Tighnari protests, but moves over slightly to allow Cyno a space beside him anyways. “You distracted me.”
This time Tighnari gets to see it properly when Cyno smiles. “Oh, so I’m distracting?”
“Yeah.”
Cyno hums. He reaches across the cutting board for the filling. Tighnari silently scoops some of the goat cheese mix into a spoon and places it in the middle of the dough Cyno’s been rolling out with his hands. He watches intently as Cyno’s fingers move deftly, blunt nails not making any indents because Tighnari, unlike some people, has the decency to avoid distracting him.
“You’re not the type to be easily distracted,” Cyno says, rather suddenly, as he places the manti in the pan to fry with the others.
“I’m not,” Tighnari agrees. “It’s just you who distracts me.”
Cyno makes a small, unintelligible sound. “I know.”
Perhaps in another universe, Tighnari would ponder the meaning of that statement. But as it happens, Collei comes back into the room to check on their progress and remove some of the manti that are already sufficiently fried to pop into her mouth, so the thought is swept from his mind. All he really registers is that he feels comfortable with it. Comfortable with the idea of being known, if it’s Cyno who knows him.
***
At some point, Tighnari stops making judgments about Cyno using a single word. There’s nothing that can encapsulate his entire presence, something so important to him, whether it’s words on a page or sharing space next to each other. Cyno is just that: Cyno. Tighnari can’t think of another single word to describe him.
He thinks he knows one. Every once in a while, the word comes to the forefront of his mind. He’ll be somewhere alongside Cyno, and he’ll get a little bit greedy, and he’ll look over at him and wonder what would happen if he just took a little more.
But he never says it.
He knows Cyno’s happy with whatever they have. He knows he’s happy with whatever they have. Therefore, there’s no need to change it. Despite his dendro vision, Tighnari’s always been bad at laying down roots, at staying in one place. Sure, he stays in the Avidya Forest most of the time, but he comes and goes on his whims. Some nights he wonders if Cyno is a whim just like the rest of them. Some nights, on ones where they’re sitting a little too close, wondering a little too much, he thinks maybe Cyno is the only exception.
Tonight is one of the latter nights.
They’re sitting in the Gandharva tree, up past where the four-leaf sigil takes the ordinary climbers, up where the stars peek through the canopy. There’s a great view above them, yes, but neither of them is bothering with that.
And Tighnari pauses, right before the distance between them becomes too small to take back. He watches a foreign emotion swirl in Cyno’s eyes with a growing sense of something , a feeling manifesting in his stomach that he can’t identify. “I don’t want to break your heart.”
“Then don’t,” Cyno whispers. His breath is hot against Tighnari’s mouth. “Don’t break it.”
Tighnari doesn’t respond. Cyno kisses him anyway, soft and hungry, like he’s just said yes, like it’s that simple, like he’s just promised Cyno his everything and hung all the stars in his night sky and lit up the lines between all his constellations. Cyno kisses him like there’s no reason not to, like he’s done it a thousand times before and he’ll do it a thousand times more, like Tighnari’s answer won’t matter because nothing could sway him.
When he breaks away, Tighnari takes a solid moment to reorient himself. Belatedly, he realizes that Cyno’s waiting for him to initiate or to respond, one way or the other.
“I don’t want to hurt either of us,” Tighnari says. He brushes his thumb over Cyno’s cheek softly. “I care a bit too much.”
Cyno places his hand atop Tighnari’s. He removes it from his face, placing it down by his waist. “You’re an idiot,” he says. It’s the only warning Tighnari has before he’s kissing him again, less patient this time but just as sweet. It doesn’t feel different from anything else with Cyno by his side. It’s not groundbreaking. He already loved Cyno. He already knew Cyno loved him too.
And for once, Tighnari understands that it’s not about laying down roots, it never was. It’s about the moment. It’s about climbing the greatest tree he can find, because the view from up there is surely spectacular.
Slowly, Tighnari lets his other hand drift to Cyno’s waist too. He guides Cyno’s hands to his shoulders. He breaks off to lean their foreheads together, swaying gently without moving in any particular direction. The night air is on the pleasant side of cool, and Tighnari finds himself smiling.
“Be mine,” pleads Cyno, barely audible to most people, but Tighnari picks up on it, like he always has, like he always will. “Say you’ll really be mine. Even just for a moment.”
“Alright,” Tighnari breathes. “I’d like that. But do you have any more time than that? Just one moment is awfully short.”
Cyno looks at him, startled, for a brief moment. Then the faintest hint of a grin tugs at his lips. “Maybe two,” he says, punctuating it with a brief kiss to his hand. “Three.” Another one, this time on his cheek. “Four.” His nose.
“However many I want?” Tighnari asks.
Cyno’s smile blooms like the finest Nilotpala Lotus under the moonlight. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Good.” Tighnari is the one to kiss him this time, a short one planted squarely on his lips. “I think I’ll take a few more.”
“As you wish,” Cyno says. Then he obliges him, and obliges him, and obliges him, and Tighnari thinks he’s finally content with where he’s landed.
Because Cyno can’t be described in a single word anymore, not like Tighnari usually classifies people. He’s a little more complicated. Still, there are some sentiments that come pretty close.
Like mine , Tighnari thinks. Cyno is his, and he is Cyno’s, and maybe it’s always been that way. And maybe he doesn’t mind if it stays that way for a little longer.