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“Don’t you ever get angry?” One of the kids he had been forced to play with asked, one day.
It was an unbearably hot day in Sumeru; sat by the river, where the humidity was the highest, Alhaitham still remembered worrying that his sweat would stick to the pages of his book and smudge the words beyond repair. The thought was more preoccupying than whatever his “playmate” was going on about. It was only his concern for his book that prompted Alhaitham to press the pages shut and look up to the younger boy peering at him with a mix of confusion and… frustration? At what?
Alhaitham, for not reacting the way he wanted?
At this point, he had gotten used to the prodding questions. Younger kids were usually curious and insensitive; it almost made Alhaitham like them. And with how often he was made to hang out with all sorts of different kids (something about fixing his lack of social behavior), it all became background noise.
“What are you staring at me for?” The kid asked, nose scrunched up.
That was another thing he apparently needed to “fix”: his tendency to ruminate by himself without engaging with the very subject of his musings. Alhaitham sighed deeply and shook his head.
“Nothing, just wondering what you mean.”
“Like, the other kids don’t like you,” he stated bluntly. He gestured somewhat vaguely to the rest of their playmates, which were currently rolling in the dirt after a game of tag had turned into a competition of who could shove each other the hardest. None of them glanced in this direction. “They don’t even try playing with you.”
“I don’t want to be included,” Alhaitham replied just as sincerely. He had found out after some rough playing that he bruised easily, and they would linger for a long while after. The pain wasn’t so bad, but the way adults would fuss over it was annoying even on the best of days. “I don’t care either way.”
The kid frowned. “Why do you still come then?”
“It gives me some time to read in peace.” He raised his book pointedly.
A terse silence followed. The little kid was staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to decide if he should speak or not. Alhaitham traced the edges of his book, read the summary written on the back. His focus slipped through his fingers like smoke.
“You, the other kids say you’re empty,” the little kid whispered in one breath. “Like— Like you’re missing something. You’re still not angry?”
Alahitham blinked in rapid succession to unblur his vision. He was bored. Had he already spent enough time outside to come back home without repercussions?
“Empty? That’s a new one,” he muttered back, no longer paying attention. “But, no, why would I be? It doesn’t really matter what they think about me.”
“Do you even care about anything?”
What a strange thing to ask. Alhaitham cared about a lot of things, like the wellbeing of his book at the moment. Or the rush of satisfaction whenever he got the highest grades in his class. He cared whether or not he could find a quiet room to escape to whenever he was made to go to some sort of noisy event. There were plenty of things to worry about.
“Sure, I do,” Alhaitham said flatly.
The kid didn’t seem to understand what he had said, because his face crumpled even further, unpleasant and judgmental. He stared at Alhaitham for a moment longer before huffing.
“I think I get it now,” he said darkly before joining the other kids in the dirt.
Alhaitham watched him go for a second, confused by the sudden change of heart. It seemed there were still many things he didn’t understand in this world. With that in mind, Alhaitham returned to his book with renewed vigor—though he did make sure to wipe his hands on his shorts every other minute.
*
It wouldn’t be until much later, once he had become older, that Alhaitham truly understood what the fuss was all about, why everyone his age and even some adults tiptoed around him. They thought there was something wrong with him, some fundamental part every human being was equipped with but he wasn’t, like a defective toy. He didn’t feel hollow, and yet he was made to look at his peers and hold himself as an anomaly.
He didn’t cry when he scraped his knees, he didn’t feel like yelling even if someone said nasty things to his face, and if he was made to wait for his parents for a little longer than expected, he didn’t run to them for a hug afterwards. All of those things, they were annoyances at most. Alhaitham would get to his feet, clean his wounds and wince a bit at the sting; just like that, he was okay.
Part of him wished he was never made aware of the difference, the non-matter that was the emptiness he supposedly carried. Alhaitham watched his peers, wondered how much stuffing it would take to fill his own body, and decided he didn’t care enough to even try.
*
“Aren’t you upset about the reputation you’ve been getting?” His study partner asked quietly.
She was at least conscious of the fact that they were in the library, so Alhaitham decided to indulge her, just this once. He had quickly understood that she had asked for his help under false pretenses, intending to question him on a more personal level instead. Alhaitham, who never begrudged the use of underhanded methods for the sake of curiosity, had gone along with her plot without a word.
“You’re referring to how the other students seem convinced I’ve been bribing the professors and other faculty members in exchange for benefits, including my high grades?” He summarized.
The woman nodded hesitantly. “It’s all everyone in our year has been talking about. I think it’s starting to spread, too. I mean, it’ll be bad for you if that becomes common knowledge, right?”
“So you believe the rumors are true?”
The other student floundered with her words, hand over her mouth so her protests wouldn’t be heard by anyone but him. She shook her head, too, as if she was afraid of his reaction, his supposed wrath or desire to exact revenge. Alhaitham almost laughed.
“You can tell me your sincere opinion,” Alhaitham said. “Being able to come up with possible hypotheses based on the information currently available to you is the basic skill of any scholar, so you might as well exercise it as much as possible.”
The woman gave him a strange look and pressed her lips together.
“I’m not sure what to think of it yet,” she admitted. “I mean, it can’t all be true, some of the stories are getting pretty crazy to be honest. Also, someone in one of my classes apparently knows you from middle school and she told us you’ve always had the highest grades in your school. I’m assuming the part about getting professors to give you good grades is just wishful thinking—you know, jealous people who don’t want others to win over them.”
“But…?
“But it has to have all come from somewhere, right? Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, that sort of thing. Either way, you’ve got to be upset, anyone would be,” she barrelled on, with enough emphasis to almost sound perfectly concerned for his wellbeing. “Either you’re being falsely accused and having your reputation destroyed, or the entire Akademiya has caught on to your schemes and you’re about to be in deep trouble with the Matra. Which one is it?”
The woman was bold, he had to give her that. It was good to know that at least there were still people in the Akademiya with a spine, and they wouldn’t all just bend with a little pressure.
“To answer both of your questions: no, I’m not upset, and that’s because I’m completely innocent,” he replied calmly.
Her answer was almost immediate: “Do you have proof of that?”
“Do any of you have proof of the contrary?” Alhaitham tipped his head to the side. “You can’t really build a case based on—how did you put it? Ah, yes, jealous students bad mouthing someone with better rankings than them.”
“Yes, but your reputation—”
“Will survive. I have no intention of stopping them from concocting their own rumors and theories. Do you want to know why?”
Alhaitham reached for his belongings and neatly organized them before standing up. He paused beside the woman, and smiled slightly at her.
“At least it’s amusing to watch them struggle to find even a single thread of reality in their claims.”
By the end of that semester, Alhaitham would graduate with honors and gain a brand new, unofficial title to go along with it. The Akademiya’s Lunatic did have a strong ring to it, he thought.
*
Here was another piece of the puzzle that Alhaitham wouldn’t acquire until much older: he experienced emotions as any other human being—a pile of hormones and chemicals—was bound to feel. As muted as they were, they still undoubtedly existed. However, while everyone else was handed a full cup from birth, Alhaitham had nothing more than a few drops in a big container. Rainwater falling upon the vast, open sea.
There was so little of him, he realized. If he were to give them his irritation, his frustration, his satisfaction, his greed and his pride… There would be nothing left.
So he didn’t give anything at all.
*
“Don’t you feel any shred of sympathy?!” Kaveh shrieked, overdramatic and shrill. It reverberated inside his head, worsening the constant ring in his ears. Alhaitham didn’t bother to hide his wince, and just that miniscule change in expression made Kaveh flinch back in hurt.
Back then—and even to this day—Alhaitham never understood why Kaveh thought they were friends, why he thought Alhaitham would be listening to his love troubles, work problems, things that had no influence on Alhaitham’s life. He looked back at Kaveh and shrugged.
“No, I don’t.”
Kaveh had stared at him, eyes watering, and stormed out of the house. Their relationship was never the same after, and that suited Alhaitham just fine.
*
It was question after question. Alhaitham was, to the usual person, nothing more than a test subject to be prodded, to find what would make him tick.
Aren’t you sad—
that they left, that we didn’t talk more, that it didn’t work out.
Aren’t you happy—
that you won, that you’ve gotten so far, that we’ll see each other again.
Aren’t you disappointed—
with yourself, with yourself, with yourself.
And Alhaitham, with all the multitude of negative space inside him, would smile at them and reply, “No, I’m not.”
*
The General Mahamatra didn’t ask anything at all. He took one look at Alhaitham and found him to be lacking. Alhaitham had studied and understood the mechanics of a person’s mind enough by now to know he should be upset, and yet he relaxed, open like he was never meant to be with anyone. He allowed himself to be surprised, to be angry, to be petty but also awed. Titillating dangerously on the edge of the precipice, of giving and giving and giving until the void that was Alhaitham grew too large even for himself to live in.
But therein lied the catch, what made Cyno so fascinating: he had no intention of taking any of it. He wanted nothing, he desired for nothing but to keep true to his own duties. He was a mesmerizing paradox of steadfast compassion and cold commitment. In contrast, Alhaitham, in all his selfishness, ached to take him into his hands, to take parts of Cyno to himself.
Even then, even then—as if he didn’t notice the way Alhaitham tried to crawl under his skin to make a home for himself—Cyno would look at him with guarded but honest eyes in the aftermath of their “reconciliation.” And when Alhaitham meant to leave for a private investigation, Cyno pulled at him, dragged him away from everyone’s eyes.
“Do you want something from me, General Mahamatra?” He asked, skin buzzing all over.
Cyno shook his head. “Your safety is more than enough for me,” he said it like a vow, gaze steady and steel firm. “Come back alive, Alhaitham.”
He didn’t even know, that he already possessed more of Alhaitham than anyone else ever did.
*
There were too many variables; if even a single part of their plan fell apart, the entire operation would collapse along with it. It was a precarious roll of dominoes. Of course, the most dangerous endeavors were all his idea, therefore Alhaitham would take responsibility for whatever failure came their way in that department. After all, it was better for one piece to topple over by itself, than take everyone behind it with it. They would still have the chance to regroup, if it came to that—
“Where’s your mind?”
One moment, he had been on the battlefield, at the Akademiya, inside the Sanctuary of Surasthana—then, it was just the two of them: him and Cyno, inside the little hut they were provided in Aaru Village. In the matter of a millisecond, his vision came back into focus, the images in his head dissolved, and only Cyno’s concerned frown remained. He had been staring out the window for far too long, then.
“Worried about me, General Cyno?”
Cyno scoffed, but didn’t deny his words. There was warmth in his chest, soft and fragile—affection, he realized. It grew a bit, when Cyno moved to sit closer to him instead, where his body heat could anchor Alhaitham’s mind to this place, instead of the far off future.
My mind is wherever your heart is, Alhaitham would not say yet. His sincerity, at least, he would keep to himself for now.
*
There were moments when it looked as if Cyno meant to say something—the set of his shoulders slightly hunched, his head tilting to the side. Tonight, against the backdrop of stars in the desert sky, Alhaitham understood beauty—it was Cyno’s hair dancing in the wind, it was Cyno’s eyes as dark as the sky above.
The world was too loud today, not even the noise-canceling earpieces he wore diminishing the roar of the wind. It all descended into a blur of sounds and in the middle of it all Cyno stood like the eye of the storm. His mouth moved around his words; shrouded in darkness, Alhaitham couldn’t read the shape of his lips. They watched each other for far too long.
He didn’t know what Cyno told him that night, and yet Alhaitham was sure salvation hanged upon the cupid’s bow of Cyno’s mouth.
When Cyno walked past to turn in for the night, Alhaitham tugged him back and kissed it from his lips.
*
“I don’t have anything to give you,” Alhaitham whispered against the shell of his ear.
Cyno pressed his fingers to his back, tracing every muscle and bone, keeping count of him, keeping Alhaitham in the circle of his arms.
“You’re here, aren’t you?”