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Cyno wasn’t well-known for his diffidence nor his amiability. He liked to think he fell somewhere in the middle: easy to engage with, yet apathetic and composed during conversations. He fell towards the tactic that best aligned with his work, believing that if the Sumeru citizens needed to approach him, they would, and if they didn’t absolutely need to , they wouldn’t.
Cats were below his radar. Alhaitham was on his radar.
Cyno wasn’t known for his paperwork skill, either. As the General Mahamatra, he spent more time tracking down leads and sorting through cases; priceless time spent on paperwork would have rendered his work quality horrific and his mood downright horrible.
Most of his subordinates considered Cyno intimidating. Imagine what they would think when he started on his third stack of paperwork before his noon cup of coffee.
He had long since refined the art of being self-aware, knowing what he wanted and determining the route of best fit to acquire it. It more or less found itself paralleling his work, and he sought to perfect this job, adeptly fighting his foes and combating the perils that threatened the Akademiya from within.
Today was not an exception. From his pile of paperwork—and letters by default—he managed to scrounge a letter addressed to him, in intricate penmanship that was scribbled quickly, yet with every curve and dot, it told him all that it needed to.
It was from Alhaitham.
The Acting Grand Sage, busy as he was and avoidant as ever, seemed to always weasel his way into Cyno’s plans. And he wasn’t quite sure if this was Celestia’s will, or Alhaitham’s usual defiance of the gods’ wills to sardonically play with Cyno.
The letter was nothing special. Some inquiries, nothing important. He almost threw the letter aside, believing it to be a dupe of Alhaitham’s penmanship—ignoring his beating heart—before he took a closer glance to the symbols.
He had leapt out of his seat then, calling for whichever matra was assigned the case—Aarav? Aarah? Aaron?—and combing meticulously through the symbols Alhaitham had laid out to him.
He managed to locate the destination in record timing, entering the aforementioned Hive without further ado. He followed the path, knowing it would lead him to Alhaitham— Alhaitham , his heart told him—fiddling absentmindedly with his outfit’s attachments.
The matra that accompanied him were thankfully silent, a sheer contrast to the last case he had handled where the matra, indubitably a newbie, had gushed about Cyno’s accomplishments and how his fighting style was just formidable.
The rest of the events passed by in a blur, Cyno barely sparing Alhaitham a second glance as he accompanied the arrested to the rest of the matra. He felt the Acting Grand Sage’s knowing gaze follow him as he walked, burning a hole into the nape of his neck, suddenly feeling oddly exposed.
Alhaitham cornered him in the darker hours of the evening, seeming oddly pleased with himself (but what would Cyno know? That bastard didn’t express his feelings in a very outward manner.)
“I was planning on handing in my resignation,” he informed Cyno, not even giving him a salutation. Why should they? They were under informal circumstances.
Cyno was genuinely surprised. “Why?”
“It’s a busy life with exceedingly tedious responsibilities,” Alhaitham said, in that boring manner of his, as if he found nothing interesting with the conversation whatsoever. “I have no interest in such matters.”
Cyno huffed. “I’m sure. All you do is hide from the people in your office and read.”
“I’ll have you know,” Alhaitham warned, his tone light. “My readings are prosperous and often give me more enlightenment than a person ever could.”
“Don’t let them hear that. They’ll hate you more.”
“How could they?” Alhaitham made a hmm ph noise, turning down the path.
The Acting Grand Sage (for now) and the General Mahamatra. Sometimes Cyno entertained what an odd view it must be for regular citizens.
The rumours would certainly take their roots, but that wasn’t Cyno’s present concern. He let Alhaitham lead him to the tavern, absentmindedly taking in the scenery.
Sumeru City never failed to surprise Cyno. Even through all his time staying here, he loved the beauty of his home still.
“The Hive,” Alhaitham interrupted his thoughts. “-was just a metaphysical perception. That which defines it exists today, regardless of if a ‘collected conscience’ can be achieved.”
Cyno snapped out of his thoughts. “The Akasha determined that,” he sighed, hitting himself internally for believing they could have a normal, quiet night.
“It’s not hard to predetermine the future if you know what you’re looking at.”
Cyno looked up, meeting Alhaitham’s eyes. Prolonged eye contact was Cyno’s forte.
Alhaitham broke away first, piercing green eyes with that tinge of red glancing at the table briefly, lost in thought.
“You know what you’re looking at?” Cyno prompted.
“Only that history will repeat itself.”
“History,” Cyno repeated. The two had come to a cautious alliance after the events of their split and then the disasters of the trial, amicably agreeing that Alhaitham was not allowed to be his lofty self, and in return, Cyno would not send mixed signals (mixed signals? What mixed signals did he ever send?)
Cyno missed the easy days they spent together before their occupations came to define them as who they were. He liked Alhaitham, truly. Liked being with him.
“What’s next? What should I be on the lookout for?”
Alhaitham ignored his question, looking past him. Cyno turned, irritated by Alhaitham’s self, but as Kaveh and Tighnari approached, he bit his own tongue.
The evening unfurled from there, several drinks making their way onto the table. He thought not of Alhaitham’s resignation, nor of Alhaitham’s pretty eyes, nor of Alhaitham’s superior intelligence. He didn’t think of any of it, and if he did, it was only because he reminded himself of the paperwork he had yet to do.
“Good wine,” Alhaitham said, taking a sip of Cyno’s cup, sending him a twinkling look as Kaveh and Tighnari spoke about something—Celestia-knows-what, really.
“You have your own cup,” Cyno pointed out stubbornly. “Drink your own wine.”
“Yours was closer,” Alhaitham supplied, taking another sip.
Cyno swiped at him, flushing, suddenly feeling warm. Alhaitham gave him another look with that ever-familiar light in his eyes, amused and mocking all the same, that same twinkle that had Cyno in a sudden state with the need to tear Alhaitham’s eyes out.
Tighnari snickered beside him, flushed with the drinks, leaning back in his chair. “What a lovely evening,” he sighed absentmindedly. “Spent with friends and enemies alike.”
“Your fastidious observations are unwarranted,” Kaveh stated in a low tone, mocking Alhaitham. This sent Tighnari into a choking laugh, loud and unrestrained, Kaveh joining in and gasping when he couldn’t breathe.
Alhaitham gave the two a dry look, setting Cyno’s—now empty!—cup down. “You spent thirty minutes trying to straighten a painting.”
“Thirty! It was barely five! And only because you refused to help!”
“It was tacky.”
“It wasn’t! It was perfectly fine,” Kaveh sputtered. “You just don’t understand good taste.”
Tighnari and Cyno exchanged a glance, Tighnari bursting into chuckles.
Cyno sighed, feeling a small smile creep onto his face. A knee nudged his, and his eyes snapped up, meeting Alhaitham’s knowing ones. If it was possible to redden even more, he would.
And if Alhaitham winked at him, Cyno would take it to the grave. No one would believe him anyway.