Work Text:
These symbols, though partly still undeciphered, remain an integral part of
the history of the Nation of Wisdom. Thus, it is important to seek
understanding of the context in which they were first made,
as well as knowledge on where they can still be found.
--- Introduction to A History of Ancient Runes.
Whoever came up with the idea of compulsory elective subjects clearly needed to revise how that was supposed to work, Alhaitham thought as he meticulously copied the inscription they were supposed to work on into his notebook. He did it in neat and tidy handwriting, copying the symbols precisely in order to avoid any doubts about what each one was supposed to be later. However, none of that changed the fact that this class - A History of Ancient Runes - was simultaneously the most interesting and the most frustrating one on his curriculum for the year.
Interesting, because it hit a number of his core interests in one go. Languages, runes, translation and historical linguistics. Even that eerie silence he mentally associated with those historical spots. The sound of lives from centuries past, long since faded to dust.
In his mind, it was a calming sound. Familiar in a way he had never been able to pinpoint more exactly. Perhaps, if he allowed himself to be self-indulgent for. a moment, it might even have been one of his reasons for picking this class at all.
In practice, however, studying Ancient Runes was a frustrating exercise in separating facts from speculation and inaccuracy, riddled with too many uncertainties for his liking. Even some of the runes remained undeciphered, rendering the ancient language with too many variables, and more questions than answers regarding its structure and usage.
Perhaps that could be a research project for his senior year?
He pushed the thought out of his mind with a sigh. That was still too far ahead; no use thinking of that yet. For now, he simply needed to make sense of the current text.
Translation first, then. Morphological and syntactic analyses afterwards.
A few strands of hair fell over his eyes as he leaned down to reach for the dictionary in his bag. He brushed them back with his hand, quickly scanning the room with his eyes until his gaze stopped and lingered for a moment on the white-haired boy seated near the window.
That was another reason this class was the most frustrating thing known to man.
Cyno was too handsome. Too interesting. Seemingly good at everything he did; including staying focused on his work. Hopefully to the point of not noticing that he was being watched.
Hopefully.
Distracting, was what this was. A distraction Haitham could absolutely do without. Still, he went back to his classwork with a soft smile on his lips. It remained for only a moment, before fading into a more serious expression to match his gloomier thoughts.
He's never going to look at me the way I looked at him just now.
***
- How did it go? What's your score?
Haitham was not sure he wanted to answer that. The Professor had returned their translations from the other day with marks and corrections earlier, and the amount of red in the margin of his own was still disappointing. "The amount" meant two small markings, commented in detail underneath, but it was still two points away from a perfect score.
A foolish way to drop points. He should have been able to avoid those.
It wasn't a major test, so those two points were unlikely to impact his mark for the overall course that much. Normally, that would have been enough to calm his annoyance. Normally, of course. However, there was nothing normal about the way Cyno was perched on the edge of his desk, leaning closer in an attempt to look at the paper Haitham had pushed deliberately out of reach.
The slight, infuriating smirk on the older boy's lips told him everything he needed to know.
He probably aced it, as usual.
"I got 98%," he answered with dejection, fully aware that he couldn't keep avoiding the question. "You?"
"Same. What did he dock points from you for?"
That was surprising. If their scores were the same, there was no reason for that smirk from a moment ago. Yet, it seemed to be still hiding right under the surface, despite the more serious look now.
"You looked about ready to murder someone when you saw the result," Cyno remarked, inching further onto the desk. "I thought it was more serious than a measly two points. You still didn't say what for, by the way?"
"Taking liberties with the translation, he called it," Haitham replied flatly, with a nod in the direction of their Professor. "Except translation is not an exact discipline, and I simply attempted to convey the right shade of meaning within the known historical context."
"I know," Cyno answered, dropping his voice into a more earnest tone. "Some professors sadly misunderstand their role. Instead of imparting knowledge that aids students in honing their own skills and understanding, they would rather have us become a clone of their own mind. To some people, this is an unfortunate consequence of power," he mused, apparently lost in thought for a moment, before suddenly returning to the present moment.
"Can I see your paper? I messed up on drawing the analyses trees, so I want to see how you did yours."
"Sure," Haitham reached for it and handed it over, a little less upset than before.
Whether it was coincidence or not, their hands brushed lightly against each other.
Once. Twice.
***
Sunshine. Truly the perfect weather to do nothing at all.
Alhaitham was not quite doing nothing, but sitting on the edge of the winding pathway above the sparring practice arena, half hidden by the leaves and branches of a large, nearby tree, was close enough. Even though he had a book in his hands, his mind failed - uncharacteristically - to focus on the words therein. Instead, his attention drifted to the arena below every few moments.
He was not here to watch the practice. Of course not.
Still, he took in the sights and sounds from below with keen interest. He counted the number of participants in his mind, and made a mental note that the majority of them seemed to practice the same moves over and over. Only for a little while at a time, before moving to the side to sip water or engage in idle chit-chat with each other, as if any actual fight would allow for that level of predictability.
Only one was obviously different.
Cyno was constantly switching his moves up, and barely allowed himself any breaks at all. Even when he did, his concentration remained on whatever was going on in the arena. He spoke only out of necessity; a few words of advice or encouragement as he deemed fit, but seemingly no nonsensical chatter.
Even after the group had thinned and then fully dispersed, Cyno stayed behind to practice by himself. The practice dummies took hits in quick succession as he danced around them, landing precise strokes with his spear near the middle of the targets almost every time. Then, again, with the spear in the other hand, or approaching from a different angle. No matter the approach, the efficiency remained the same - pin-point precision, or visible disappointment whenever a hit landed a little to the side.
Against his better judgement, Haitham admired the dedication. Even though he didn't quite understand the desire to stay outside for hours on end - even beyond the allocated practice time (who in their right mind did that?) - and exhaust oneself under direct sunlight, he could at least recognise the effort; the drive for perfection.
Besides, his mind supplied unhelpfully, Cyno looked gorgeous like that.
Hair moist and clinging to skin glistening with sweat, lithe body slumped against one of the practice dummies as he finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.
Beautiful.
Haitham felt a sting of annoyance at the thought. He had no time for that sort of preposterous nonsense. Besides, he had a book to read.
With his gaze demonstratively focused on his immediate surroundings, he scrambled to his feet, intending to leave in a hurry.
If he had expected the branches and leaves to keep him hidden from a certain someone's observant senses, he was wrong.
***
- Alhaitham!
The sound of his name, practically shouted despite the quiet tone in a voice he would always recognise in an instant, held him back before he had even moved two steps from his hiding spot.
"Yes?"
"Aren't you going to show me what you learned?"
He hated how the question immediately got under his skin; pulling at the strings of irritation as much as it piqued an interest he had just spent the last several minutes trying to convince himself that he did not have. For a brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to accept the challenge out of pure spite. However, it was one he could not win, hence he had to remain calm.
"You know I do not consider fighting a pleasurable activity," he said with a shrug.
Cyno was, however, undeterred. "Yet, you stayed up there watching the entire practice?" he questioned; his gaze locked on Haitham, his expression closed. Impenetrable. "Knowing you, you don't bother with things you do not deem worthwhile. That, in itself, means you did not stick around for so long without picking up new knowledge. Come and show me?"
"Just one spar?"
"Just one," Cyno agreed.
If Haitham didn't know better, he thought he had seen a slight smile at that.
***
- Come and pick a weapon.
There were a few different kinds on the rack, but Haitham had his eyes set on the swords from the first moment. It was the only kind he was familiar with; if practicing by himself for the sake of understanding the techniques even counted as familiarity in this case. In the privacy of his own mind, he mentally scolded himself for the foolish choice to even accept this challenge. On the outside, however, his confidence did not waver for a second.
There seemed to be little difference between the available swords, quality wise. They were regular training weapons; dull blades with little actual damage potential. The only obvious difference was size, balancing and hilt designs - slight differences to accommodate for different grips, stances, and centres of gravity.
Haitham weighed a few of them up in his hand, before picking one that seemed to suit him well enough.
"A nice choice," Cyno remarked quietly; not without a disapproving look at the weapon type. "But if you don't mind me asking, why a sword? I hope you don't have any fantasies about elegance and ease of use?"
"I do not tend to entertain any sort of fantasies, neither about weapons nor otherwise," Haitham scoffed. "Or were you perhaps implying that my choice is basic and predictable?"
A challenging glare was the only answer he got; the telling silence more than affirmative enough.
"We'll see," Cyno said as they stepped into the practice arena. "Three strikes to win."
***
Alhaitham was not foolish enough to go into the spar thinking he could win. In his mind, he knew very well that Cyno would likely be adapting to him, and could settle the match in his favour at any time. However, even such knowledge could not temper his sudden need to prove himself; to show that his choice of weapon had been about more than a ludicrous, romantic fantasy.
That he did, in fact, know how to handle a sword. At least in a purely technical sense.
It was a foreign feeling to him; one that left behind a nagging discomfort. He didn't care about the opinions of others, and certainly didn't need anyone else's approval for whatever reason. Least of all the guy who had the audacity to rope him into this; who was now watching his every move with hawk-like focus, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
With his best attempt at a nonchalant expression, he assumed fighting stance.
"Ready when you are," he smirked.
***
The sound of the words had barely faded in the air before he had to sidestep the first strike from Cyno's spear. Fast and precise, yet not enough to bring Cyno off balance when it didn't land as intended. A second strike followed a moment later; this time caught against the forte of Alhaitham's sword and blocked. Their weapons clashed a few more times, sword blocking spear attacks with less precision each time, until Cyno suddenly found the opening he needed.
"One," he counted, emotionlessly. The tip of his spear pointed to Alhaitham's side, millimeters away from piercing the fabric of his shirt at the seam.
As much as such a hit could be expected, it was still frustrating to Alhaitham how quickly he had been forced on the defensive. And worse, he couldn't quite work out the mechanics about how and why. However, there was no time for that now, and if he wanted to get anything out of this spar, he would apparently have to be quicker about it.
Get a quick hit in. Make use of his longer range. Surely that should be possible?
It was true; the new approach at least granted him an opportunity for attack. However, Cyno dodged it with the agility of a cat, only to counter with a lunge of his own.
"Two," he counted with a smug smile, spear again stopping just short of touching skin. "Frustration and anger never gives good advice, Alhaitham."
"I would be a fool to get angry over a fight I was never going to win in the first place."
Cyno's smile faded into a more earnest expression at that; the serious mood permeating his entire being as he placed his weapon down and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Competitive instinct makes any man a fool until you learn to control it," he pointed out. "You claim that you weren't expecting anything from our spar, yet it bothers you that you can't tell how you're being pushed on the back foot. Am I right?"
Haitham nodded in reluctant agreement, suddenly all too aware of how close they were. If he leaned in just a little, their bodies would be touching. He would have been able to feel Cyno's words against his own skin. A thought that inadvertently caused his expression to soften a little as he became aware of the way Cyno looked up at him, evidently still expecting a verbal answer.
"Yes," he admitted. Without difficulty or resentment, now.
"Good. I appreciate your honesty." Cyno paused after that, his silence adding to the impact of his words. After a moment, he once again directed his attention towards his spear, returning it to his hand with a clear intention of finishing the spar.
"You have decent footwork and acceptable technique," he said, holding Alhaitham's gaze as if he wanted to make sure the words hit home as intended. "Use it."
If motivation comes in bundles, those words truly worked wonders. When their weapons clashed again a few moments later, Haitham went into the fight with renewed vigour and an entirely new desire to put his carefully studied techniques to practical use. Even though he could tell that Cyno was simply holding him off, blocking as needed and trying to draw out every move he had, none of that felt important right then. It was still an immense pleasure to be able to finally escape the block and press the edge of his sword lightly against Cyno's chest in demonstration of a point.
"And one... for me," he panted, unable to hide a slight smile once he had regained his breath.
The pleasure, however, was short-lived.
"You lack precision," Cyno remarked coldly. "And probably some natural constitution as well. We're going to have to work on that."
The promise there; the prospect of spending more time in close proximity to Cyno, sent an involuntary shiver down Alhaitham's spine. However, he was never going to admit that much.
"I thought you said just one spar?" he questioned instead.
"One spar for me to see how you fight. And just one, because I knew you wouldn't agree to anything that takes more time than that. You're probably mentally calculating time left even now, trying to figure out when you can get back to your books, correct?"
"As much as your assessment would usually be right," Alhaitham replied, "you are entirely wrong in this case." He stepped closer; close enough to place a hand under Cyno's chin, to gently coax him to look up. "Contrary to what you seem to think, I like spending time with you."
The words took all of his courage, leaving him breathless at the touch of a smaller hand against his chest. Slowly, questioningly tracing up to the back of his neck, pulling him down. Closer.
"More than books?" Cyno asked, red-orange eyes burning with the intensity of the question.
"More than books," Alhaitham confirmed, dropping the words as close to Cyno's skin as he dared to, before moving away ever so slightly. "Sometimes."
The honesty earned him a huff and a playful poke in the ribs.
"Sometimes isn't enough if I'm going to teach you how to fight," Cyno said; an indecipherable, dark amusement evident in his voice. "If we are going to do this, then I want your full, undiluted attention during the time we have together. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Alhaitham agreed.
In his mind, he wondered about his own unconditional acceptance of such harsh conditions. It was a lot to ask; a promise he would never have made to anyone else. Yet, the wording and the tone had made him prickle with excitement.
Another feeling that made no sense. Certainly not the first, whenever Cyno was involved. He was definitely losing patience with figuring such abstract complexities out.
"I take it you saw something you liked, then?" he deadpanned instead, escaping the confusion in his mind with smirky arrogance, the way he knew best.
"I saw... potential," Cyno replied.
Cold truth hit harder than unfounded compliments.
***
"We still have a spar to finish."
If it felt hard to return to the task at hand while the thought of the last few moments still lingered on his mind, Cyno did not make it any easier with his efficient attitude. Nothing in his appearance gave away the earlier tenderness; even the look in his eyes was one of cold determination, now.
A sharp thrust with his spear only served as a stark reminder to remain focused and vigilant in battle. Alhaitham only barely managed to dodge; a less fluid move than he would have wanted, but still enough to get a counter attack in. Cyno simply twisted out of the way, ensuring that the sword hit only thin air until he could catch it on his spear in a weapon lock.
"You need more precise thrusts," he remarked, still maintaining their weapon lock. "Three centimeters to the right, and you would have had a strike. Besides, your moves are getting clumsier because you are starting to exhaust your physical reserves."
He spoke with an infuriating smirk; one that made it clear that he was simply prolonging the moment as he wished.
"I don't think you are going to want to stay here for hours each day to build up fighting stamina, so we are going to work on getting the most effective hits in," he continued. "Of course as long as you accept this proposal?"
"I accept," Alhaitham announced without hesitation; surprised at how the weapon lock suddenly released as soon as the words were out of his mouth. However, he had no time to react as Cyno stepped closer; the smirk from earlier now widened into a roguish grin.
"I might have forgotten something, though," he said flatly, his tone not at all matching the dangerously teasing glint in his eyes.
"What?"
"You leave me - " The tip of his spear poked gently at Alhaitham's side.
"- far -" Another poke, to the other side.
"- too many -" It wasn't even a poke anymore, as much as it was using the spear tip to trace a line from the previous point of impact towards Alhaitham's chest. The motion drew a soft moan from him; one he immediately bit back in shame. However, Cyno seemed to take it as encouragement, pushing closer and placing his free hand a little to the left of where the spear currently pointed.
The touch seemed playful at first; so light that it could have been easily brushed away. However, when Alhaitham made no move to back away, Cyno became more insistent. He traced both fingers and weapon further up in a dangerous version of a caress, tilting his head upwards just enough for them to maintain eye contact.
The smile there. The soft touch. Haitham's eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Even remembering how to breathe was hard; his breath heavier, more charged than he wanted to admit.
"- openings," Cyno finished, finally pressing the tip of his spear into Alhaitham's throat. Still as careful as he had been the entire time, but this time with just enough force to leave a small, pinprick mark.
"That's three strikes for me, by the way," he grinned. "And you didn't even try to fight me off at the end. It seems we have to work on making sure you stay alive, too."
***
That comment about "staying alive" never quite faded from his mind. Despite the fact that it had clearly been in jest, he had not failed to notice a slight sting underneath. A challenge; one he was not going to fail. Perhaps it was that, more than any actual desire to hone his fighting skills, that made him always return to the arena for their appointments. On time, every time without fail.
It was shameful how much he craved these meetings. The attention, the occasional closeness. A few kind words cleverly hidden underneath advice and disagreement; slowly seeping into his mind and becoming needs in their own right.
Over the next few weeks, they gradually started seeing each other more. As if a shared class and a few hours in the arena were no longer enough, they started naturally gravitating towards each other. Even to the point of actively seeking the other one out.
Hence, it was no longer a surprise to Alhaitham to find his favourite table in the House of Daena already occupied when he arrived. Even that had become a competition by now; calling dibs on their favourite spot an almost daily occurrence. He stifled a hiss of annoyance at the sight, but the competitive aspect soon faded to the back of his mind as he got closer.
Cyno had, in his trademark fashion, placed a neat stack of books and papers on the table in front of him. Judging by the scent, his ink bottle had been newly opened, though the quill lay discarded on the table. The ruffled feather edges made it look every bit as miserable as its owner: slumped on a chair, lying over the table and hiding his face in his arms.
"Sleeping in the library is prohibited, Cyno."
The words and the matter of factly tone belied Haitham's true feelings as he moved closer, grabbing a nearby chair to sit down next to Cyno. Not on the opposite side of the table, like he usually would. Right next to him; close enough that they could touch, though he did no such thing.
"There's no need to be funny. Besides, I'm not sleeping."
"Being funny is your task, is it not? I was merely stating the facts."
If nothing else, that got him Cyno's attention. The gaze that locked with his own was fierce. Annoyed, despite the tired expression not quite following suit.
"You are insufferable, do you know? Can't a person get a little work done around here?"
"So, I'm insufferable for catching you in a compromising position, am I?" Haitham merely scoffed at the idea, though his demeanour softened slightly before he spoke again. "This would have been fine if you had actually been working, and then admitted to falling asleep from exhaustion. That seems like the sort of thing you might do. You were, however, doing no such thing."
"How could you tell?"
Much to Haitham's satisfaction, there was honest interest in that question. The hint of annoyance had not faded, but at the very least Cyno was talking; responding in a way that did not consist merely of telling him to get lost.
"You opened the ink bottle to give the impression of fresh work, yet you left your quill untouched, not even dipped into the new ink. You were probably picking on it as well, seeing as its feathers are uncharacteristically ruffled for something belonging to you. What's the matter?"
Cyno stifled a sigh as he straightened up, sitting properly up on his chair.
"I guess I should have expected you to notice," he murmured, inching slightly around on his chair so he could sit with his entire posture turned towards Alhaitham. "It's the matra recruitment tryouts tomorrow," he explained. His shoulders visibly relaxed as soon as the words were out of his mouth, as if even mentioning the topic brought a mild relief. "I guess I'm just nervous."
"Nervous because of what, related to that?" Haitham tilted his head quizzically, clearly more confident in Cyno's abilities than Cyno himself in that moment.
"Tests. Tryouts. Everything. There is only this one chance to make it through. If I fail, then I'll have to rethink my entire future. This is what I want to do."
"It's a conspicuous fact that you cannot name a single crucial detail that bothers you about the actual tasks of the test," Haitham pointed out, calmly. "You didn't mention the battle tryouts in the arena, because you're already well aware of your skills. You said nothing about the written test, because you already studied and reviewed for it to the point of internalising every single detail. Even the odd unpredictable question will not faze you, and you know it. Seems like the only way left to inflict trouble upon yourself is to focus on variables beyond your control, like environment and evaluation. I fail to see how that is supposed to impact your performance in any way."
Cyno scowled at that, but remained silent as he tightened his hands to fists; hard enough to draw forth a slight tremble. If conviction could truly pack a metaphorical punch, then this was it. His posture straightened, his expression hardened. Even the look in his eyes changed. Steady, now. Holding Alhaitham's gaze with fierce determination.
"Cyno," Haitham said the name quietly, covering Cyno's fist with his own, much larger hand before he spoke again. "We both know that this is going to be fine. Get some rest instead of putting yourself through so much unnecessary mental and emotional exertion."
Underneath his hand, the smaller fist unclenched. Fingers relaxed as they interlinked with his own in a silent expression of trust and gratitude.
***
If focusing through Ancient Runes class was hard at the best of times, it was certainly not any easier the next day. Even though the subject was an elective, attendance was compulsory and roll call was taken every time. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, or so Alhaitham thought as he answered affirmatively when his own name was called.
He paid no mind to the other names being called, instead opting to look over his previous translations, as well as a few other texts he had copied from books in the library, to work on for a later project. However, one name in particular caused a slight smile to briefly pass over his lips; an expression that immediately hardened at the Professor's next words.
"Cyno is not present?" he questioned, sounding practically elated at the chance to add a non-attendance tick mark next to the name.
Haitham felt a sudden flare of anger at the reaction; an indignation he had never known himself capable of feeling on behalf of another person. However, his face remained impassive as he raised his hand ever so slightly to request making a comment.
"He requested a permission for absence for the entire day, Professor."
"Did he, now? And do you happen to know why that is?"
In most cases, such a question was harmless enough. But then again, most cases of missing classes or lectures also had harmless, personal reasons. This, however, was an Akademiya internal affair - a procedure that was supposed to remain secret to anyone not involved. Haitham certainly had no intention of disclosing what he knew purely because of being asked to do so.
"I believe that's all in his permission request form," he answered. "Sir, if I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion? It might be wise to read those forms prior to taking roll call."
He heard a few quiet snickers around the room, either in agreement with his comment, or more likely a mock appreciation for the fact that he was about to land himself in this Professor's bad books. It didn't matter to him either way, and his expression did not falter even as the Professor glared at him in return.
"Obstinacy and insolence are not traits to be rewarded in this class. You are his friend, are you not?"
"I am," Haitham affirmed, without missing a beat. "That is exactly why it isn't my place to answer personal questions about him in his absence."
***
The pavilions had never been a place they had been to all that much. During the day, it was a much too popular spot, and in the evening it was too dark to do useful things, like reading. However, in the days immediately following the tryouts, they had found themselves there more often, apparently finding comfort in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Cyno spoke noticeably less during those days, seemingly still needing time to process the events from a few days ago. The silence was never uncomfortable; it merely settled between them like a soft blanket, similar to how their concept of personal space imperceptibly expanded to include the other. True, it had been unexpected the first time Cyno had nestled himself against Haitham's body, leaning back against his chest and allowing himself to rest in a comfortable embrace from behind. Since then, however, the position had become the one they naturally settled into, at least whenever they came here to be alone. Together.
"You know," Haitham remarked as he softly tucked a few stray strands of white hair behind Cyno's ear, "it would be helpful for you to get out of your own head a little."
Despite the way Cyno leaned into his hand at the gesture, the comment earned him nothing but a disapproving sigh. "It doesn't matter. It'll be fine in a few days. Hopefully."
"And until then, you cannot change anything. Life has enough hardships, there's no need for you to add to it."
***
"It's an interesting concept," Haitham commented after a while, "that speaking your mind is supposed to always be easier in your first language. Do you agree with that?"
He could feel how Cyno tensed up against him at the question, though he seemed to give it some thought before he answered. "Not always. It's a matter of choice and convenience, nothing else."
"That implies that every language is inherently able to express all the same things," Haitham protested, his tone making it painfully obvious that he found such implications utterly ridiculous. "Yet," he continued, more thoughtfully: "there is a saying that the number of languages you speak is equal to the number of personalities you have. It is not untrue."
That finally drew a reaction from Cyno, irritation dripping from his whole posture as he turned his head to answer.
"That is a boatload of nonsense," he spat, poisonously. "Or do you mean to say that you honestly believe that personality changes based on what language is spoken at any given moment? A most outrageous idea."
Alhaitham did not budge; did not even flinch at the fierce display of anger. On the contrary, he made no move to hide the look of smug satisfaction upon his face.
This conversation was going exactly according to his plan.
"Not as outrageous as denying the fact that language shapes society, and society in turn tends to shape most individuals' sense of identity," he pointed out; Cyno's annoyed glare not enough to break his flow of words. "Hence, one's personality will always depend slightly upon context, the most important of which will always be language."
"It's a miracle anyone can graduate from Haravatat, if this absurdity is indicative of your darshan's level of logic," Cyno commented with finality, turning around to face Alhaitham. With a thoughtful sigh, he pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them as if trying to give himself a hug.
After a moment, he continued: "Too many people in the Nation of Wisdom grow up with the pain of having their first language - subtly or forcibly - taken away from them. Hence, they learn to get confident in a second language instead. Would you still say their personality is primarily shaped by the language they need to speak to survive? Perhaps the loss of what they were never allowed to have is more important?"
The words left a heavy silence between them for a while. It was the first time Cyno had ever alluded to his desert heritage, or willingly provided a perspective that was so radically different from any of the prevalent viewpoints in the Akademiya. Such an expression of trust was not lost on Alhaitham, though he also did not fail to recognise the challenge to his worldview.
"I still maintain that if language is the foundation for thought; the provider of all concepts used to express meaning, then it will invariably influence all of its users, as long as they are able to use the language effectively," he said quietly, holding his ground with unyielding rationality. "You are, however, right that the oppression of desert culture and languages is a loss of perspective unworthy of the land that calls itself a Nation of Wisdom."
He fell silent at that, glancing at Cyno with another question on his lips. For the time being, he held it back, transfixed by the earnest gaze locked with his own.
"You're a rare one, for a city boy," Cyno told him quietly. "Underneath that warped Haravatat logic of yours, you're at least trying to understand. I appreciate that."
The moment left Haitham at an uncharacteristic loss for words, because what was he even supposed to say to something like that? A simple "thanks" did not even begin to cover the multitude of thoughts in his mind, nor the fact that the moment felt significant in a whole new way. He kept silent for another moment, before diverting his attention to a fly landing on the back of his hand.
Cyno leaned in to wave it off. "Hey, do you know what a fly without wings would be called?" he asked, a slight smile on his lips despite the impassive tone of voice.
"What? No?"
"A walk! Get it? Because a fly without wings wouldn't be able to fly, so that makes it a walk, of course."
Alhaitham chuckled, genuinely amused at the morbid joke
***
"Do you still remember it?" Alhaitham questioned, once the tension between them had settled into a more familiar mood. "Your first language?"
"Yes," Cyno nodded, wistfully. "I just never really get to speak it anymore. Why do you ask?"
"I'm just curious. It's a language that exists so close to my immediate surroundings, yet I know so little about its sounds and structures. Aside from that, I still consider it a part of who you are; a slightly different you compared to the person I know. I'd like to hear you speak it, if you would indulge me," he paused, leaving the request hanging for the time it took to wrap his tongue around the sounds of an unfamiliar word. "Please?"
Despite the fact that Cyno visibly froze at the sound of the word, his reaction was immediate. "Where do you have that word from?" he questioned, breathlessly.
Haitham only smirked and hummed in reply. "There are a lot of interesting things in the restricted section in the House of Daena."
It was a well calculated reply; one that was sure to provoke Cyno into reaction. Still, the swiftness and sheer force of impact came as a surprise. Cyno was on him in a second, pushing Haitham on his back and pressing a nimble hand to his throat.
"Is that a confession?" the likely-soon- to-be matra recruit questioned, his voice low and dangerous. "Are you admitting to sneaking into the restricted section for illegal research?"
The hand against his throat prevented an immediate verbal response, but Haitham still glared fearlessly, his smirk never faltering even as Cyno appeared to scrutinise his expression for any sign of a troubled conscience.
Apparently finding nothing of note, the grip on his throat reluctantly relented.
"That took you long enough," Alhaitham hissed, his voice unmistakably raspy after the rough treatment. "But unfortunately for your instincts of justice, my permit was all in order."
The provocative wording was all on purpose, he could not resist winding Cyno up further, now that he had unintentionally discovered how to do so. The gaze that remained locked with his own still glittered with barely restrained fury. An intoxicating sight, further enhanced by the sudden lack of distance between them.
Cyno was now straddling him, leaning in close in order to speak.
"Continue," he demanded, one hand lazily tracing from Haitham's chest towards his throat in a silent threat of another chokehold unless the answer was to his satisfaction.
"I only meant to pick up a few translation exercises for Ancient Runes class, but the same book also happened to have a few chapters of comparative research linking modern desert language to Deshret's inscriptions. A few key words were listed as examples, to demonstrate phonological and morphological structures and changes," Haitham explained, undeterred. "I believe reading the entire source material for context is completely within reason, wouldn't you agree?"
"Ancient Runes class, you say?" Cyno questioned, his anger fading in favour of a more teasing look. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that you didn't particularly like those translations, after that incident a while back?"
The malice dripping from those words was as infuriating as it was enchanting. However, it was not worth picking that fight just now.
Not when Cyno had his lips hovering so close to his own that they could almost touch.
He would be a fool to not take that invite. And Alhaitham was many things, including perhaps a bit reckless at times. But he was certainly no fool.
***
The new matra recruit badge on Cyno's chest seemed to work like a shield. Where his short stature had previously made it easy for him to disappear in a crowd, the badge now made others keep their distance. Students, researchers and Professors alike kept at least two steps away, seemingly not wanting to draw any unwanted attention towards themselves.
As much as Alhaitham found the effect a curious one, it had not failed to escape his notice in the hallways earlier in the day. Only now, a few minutes from the start of their Ancient Runes class, he got to take a closer look.
"Are you happy?" he questioned, his gaze lingering on the badge in silent explanation before he fixed an earnest look upon Cyno. "Do you honestly feel that you've made the right choice?"
Cyno shrugged at that, clearly not quite in agreement with the line of questioning. "Happy is a strange way to put it," he mused. "I am grateful to have been given the chance to learn these duties, and do my part in upholding justice. It is a commitment I intend to take seriously, if that is what you were wondering?"
"I see," Haitham deadpanned. "Then I suspect you will not appreciate the reminder that I told you that this would be fine."
The comment earned him a soft chuckle, before Cyno closed the already small distance between them, his face against Haitham's chest in a momentary silent embrace before he looked up with a small smirk.
"You couldn't just say congratulations, like a normal person, could you?"
***
They remained in that slightly awkward embrace for a few moments; simultaneously all too aware of each other's every move, yet still unwilling to untangle themselves from the other.
A small click in the door handle made them immediately jump apart, though it was not enough to smooth out all signs of their more intimate moment. Cyno's hair remained slightly tousled from where Haitham had tangled his fingers in it, while Haitham's shirt had been visibly scrunched up in places. Only the latter was easy to cover up by pulling the obligatory Akademiya coat tighter, and by the time their Professor entered the room, Alhaitham looked his usual impeccable self, even down to the unperturbed expression.
Cyno glared daggers at him for that, mouthing an insult under his breath.
"What an interesting sight," their Professor remarked, his tone one of half intrigue, half mockery. "The insolent student with an attitude problem, and the Akademiya's newest enemy of research. An unlikely pair, indeed."
Despite the fact that Alhaitham could feel the intensity of Cyno's fury even from this distance, he did not anticipate the instant change of poise and attitude.
"Be that as it may, I do not believe that should be any of your concern, Professor," Cyno replied coldly, arms crossed over his chest.
"Of course not," the Professor agreed indifferently, brushing the topic aside in favour of his regular pre-lesson routine as the other students began to filter into the room.
"Enemy of research, now?" Haitham murmured, with a sideways glance.
"Insolent student with an attitude problem?" Cyno retorted immediately, before his voice took on a more earnest tone, audible even at whispered volume. "What in Teyvat did you do to earn yourself such an appropriate title?"
"Well," the reply came with a flippant shrug, as if to emphasise the complete lack of regret. "I could not very well allow him to be mean about you in your absence, could I?"
***
Time is a strange concept, Alhaitham mused to himself. As long as his life remained orderly and predictable, peaceful and free of too much stress, the passage of time hardly bothered him at all. He paid it only the necessary amount of attention; purely because life had the unfortunate habit of allocating different activities to different blocks of time.
Much to his dismay, one such block was about to come to an end soon.
Between everything that had slowly become normality over the course of the last few months, he had failed to consider the consequences of the end of the academic year drawing closer. It had never been an event of great significance to him, beyond the need to complete his academic work in the best possible way, and the quiet appreciation for a few weeks of more personal time - the perfect excuse to make some extra reading time for himself.
He had never expected a Graduation Ceremony to mean much to him at all. Much less someone else's Graduation Ceremony.
As a younger student, he had always been bored to the point of annoyance while sitting through these events. So much pretentious conventionality; such a waste of time that could have been better spent doing almost anything else.
This time, however, he took in all the details attentively. From his position leaning against the back wall, he could see a seemingly endless line of students waiting to go up to the podium to receive their graduation certificates, and in some cases some other badge of honour. Some seemed taken with the moment, barely able to keep the items within their trembling hands, while others struggled to maintain a tough and unfazed look. Only one seemed to deal with even this moment with the same stoic demeanour as always.
Cyno remained untouched throughout his ceremony, receiving his certificates with a steady hand and a small bow. His features betrayed neither emotion nor pride, and only the ceremonial exchange of his recruit badge into a proper matra insignia revealed an expression of respect and reverence. One of the senior matra leaned in close to fasten the insignia to Cyno's coat; the familiarity between them obvious even from a distance.
If anything about the ceremony even mattered to Cyno at all, it would have to be that moment.
In his mind, Alhaitham mentally scolded himself for needing to look away; needing a moment to swallow thickly and quash the impending sense of loss. He dismissed the feeling as nonsensical, as loss implied the existence of something that could be lost in the first place.
Rationally speaking, there had never been any such thing. Yet, his throat was still constricting with emotion and his eyes remained wide open in a look of undisguised longing as he caught eye contact with Cyno across the room. Their gazes remained locked upon each other for a long moment, neither able to look away.
He had no strength left to muster a smile, but it didn't matter.
He got what he came for.
A final, wordless farewell.
If he had not been so busy trying to keep his heart from shattering to a million pieces in his chest, he might have noticed the fact that the look upon Cyno's face had been a perfect mirror of his own.
***
Graduation day was hopeless. Too crowded, too much noise and shouting filling the air. Every last corner of the Akademiya was packed with people - half of whom did not actually belong there, and couldn't find their way around without "their" student in tow. All the popular spots were the same; the gardens, the training grounds, the student dorms... In the evening, the same would certainly apply to the taverns of Sumeru City.
Alhaitham stifled a sigh as he made his way through the crowd. Realistically speaking, there was only one place he could go at this moment.
The House of Daena. No-one in their right mind would be in the library today, hence it was the perfect place to hide until things quieted down outside.
No-one in their right mind, except...
- Haitham! Wait!
He would have recognised that voice anywhere.
***
They went to the usual table, as a matter of habit. For a brief moment, it registered in Alhaitham's mind that it was strange to see the space so clean; completely without the usual amount of books and papers and student's supplies. This time, it was only the two of them.
Alhaitham pulled up his usual chair, only to find Cyno already perched on the edge of the table. The proximity felt oddly familiar, even though it was strange for him to need to look up in order to make eye contact.
Silence. A few seconds of long silence, before Cyno swallowed and cleared his throat.
"I thought you hated all this ceremonial nonsense as much as I do?" he asked, leaning slightly back on the table and placing his hands behind his back.
"I do," Haitham affirmed, grateful for a question that did not probe at his rapidly disintegrating emotional state. "Has anything made you doubt me, suddenly?"
"You didn't have to be here," Cyno pointed out, matter-of-factly. "You don't have compulsory ceremony attendance this year, so you could have just skipped it. But you came anyway." His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. "It... it means a lot."
How fitting, Alhaitham thought darkly. A new matra, and he's almost having an emotional breakdown within the first hour, all because of one person in the ceremony crowd. Beautiful.
In any normal case, the thought would have been vocalised in an instant, but at the moment he had no strength left to hold up his usual attitude.
Only his honesty remained.
"I wanted to see you again," he admitted, feeling each and every word as a pierce right through his own heart. "Even if this might be the last time."
While he was speaking, Cyno had imperceptibly moved into his personal space, now sitting on the table directly in front of Alhaitham, with his legs spread just enough to put a foot on either side of Haitham's chair.
"Who said that it has to be the last time?" he asked, placing a hand under Haitham's chin to pull him closer. However, he stopped before their lips could touch, a breathless question left in the minimal space between them. "Of course unless you want it to be?"
"No," Haitham breathed in reply, practically screaming at whispered volume, before crushing his words against Cyno's lips in a messy, desperate kiss. They parted only to breathe, their hands tugging at clothes and hair in fervent need to hold on to each other. Another kiss followed; passionate, but less sloppy now that the initial despair had been quelled.
"You'll be busy with your matra duties from now on, though. We won't be able to see each other as easily as before."
"True," Cyno admitted thoughtfully, before a dangerous smirk formed on his lips. "But that does not mean that I won't be keeping an eye on you. And if you put as much as a toe out of line, I will be hunting you down myself. Is that understood?"
That tone again; the same dangerously promising darkness that had made him prickle with excitement back in the arena some months ago. It had been unfamiliar then, but this time Alhaitham recognised it for what it was.
His lips curved into his most annoying smirk before he answered.
- That, my matra, is a challenge I can accept.
His heart suddenly felt lighter than it ever had, yet he had never been more serious about anything in his life.