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No one knows who he is or where he came from, though his features and dress are clearly Inazuman. He has the appearance of a youth, but his eyes are too old. Haunted as if they have seen ages of turmoil. It somehow suits him that his features are so androgynous; ambiguity and contradiction pervades his form and manner. He is undeniably beautiful but there is something unsettling, uncanny about his beauty; just a little too perfect, not a single flaw or asymmetry on his porcelain face.
But none of this concerns Alhaitham.
Though the Traveler seems to be wary of the unknown man—and Alhaitham is certain he is a man, those eyes could never belong to a naïve youth—their Archon has never regarded him with any doubt so he poses no threat to Alhaitham’s stable life and comfortable home. Personally watched over by an Archon, he is no enemy of Sumeru.
~
They meet by chance.
Alhaitham is reading as he lounges in the high canopy of the Great Tree, only the rustle of leaves breaking the hushed silence when a breeze passes. The hubbub of the city is a faraway, faint background noise at this elevation.
He is not expecting company. No one else in the bustle of the Akademiya would have the time or energy to climb the Tree, much less ascend to such a height. The occasional curious adventurer or visitor will scale the lower branches at most.
There are only two people who have ever found him here: their Archon who had floated gently up and the General Mahamatra who had practically run up the tree at terrifying speed with a bounding stride.
His solace is rudely interrupted by a flurry of wind that sweeps through the branches with enough force to push him off the branch he is seated on.
Alhaitham’s heart drops into his stomach with the weightless feeling of being airborne for a second. He quickly touches his headset, calculating a Vision assisted jump.
But before he can act, he hears a loud curse and is swept into a light hold. The unknown man with his slight, diminutive form is carrying Alhaitham in his frail appearing arms as if he does not even feel Alhaitham’s substantial weight. He flies over to a thick, sturdy branch and sets Alhaitham on it, alighting delicately on a higher branch facing him.
“Loitering at such a height, are you such an imbecile you would believe your mortal body could survive the fall or are you seeking your death?”
His tone is sharp enough to cut with the subtle edge of malevolence he always speaks with—as if to convince the world of his villainy. But Alhaitham has never been one to judge by appearance or words alone.
“Neither. Had you been a second later I would have completed my Vision assisted jump to a different branch,” Alhaitham returns evenly and the man’s narrowed gaze darts to the Dendro Vision pinned to his cape.
Alhaitham is too distracted by the loss of his book, an original which had been difficult to acquire, to care too much about the man’s high handed manner. He can already feel a headache building at the thought of combing the landings and ground level of the city for it.
The man sneers, “Even beasts have a self-preservation instinct. Do you not even have the intellectual capacity to recognize danger or is your life so worthless?”
“Perhaps I simply have justifiable confidence in my abilities. And Sumeru City does not have such foul winds. Had you not interrupted me, I would never have been in danger.” The reply is automatic as he tries to triangulate where the book may have fallen.
“Foul winds? How dare you—“
Alhaitham was not paying attention before, but he is now. The man’s tone has completely changed—strident, furious, but beneath that is a quiet anguish; hand unconsciously clenched against the Anemo Vision pinned to his chest as the winds whip into a gale. It seems Alhaitham has unknowingly stepped on a landmine, caused unintentional hurt.
“Pardon my words, I was preoccupied with finding my book and misspoke. Sumerians of the city are unaccustomed to such high wind velocities. I am sure it would be appreciated by all if you could give some warning before creating such a strong wind next time.”
He does not fear this man, despite his evident skill and the disadvantage of fighting an Anemo Vision holder at this height. It is because this man had acted to save him and because Alhaitham can hear the concern deeply buried under his caustic words that he takes a step back. He is not so ungrateful as to return this man’s good intent, however rudely presented, with harm.
His words and forthright delivery give the Anemo holder pause and the anger diffuses from his gaze though he tries to keep up an irate front, maintaining the whipping gale around them.
“Asking me to lower myself to accommodate your inadequacies? Know your place.” He slashes viciously with his arm, throwing out a wind blade at Alhaitham.
He holds the man’s fierce gaze and does not move an inch, relaxed where he sits. As expected, the wind blade merely scratches his face as it passes, the cut is so shallow he barely feels it. He owes the man at least this much for his misstep.
“Hmph. At least you have some mettle.” The winds dissipate completely this time.
Alhaitham watches him curiously as he flies over to him, sandals tapping down next to him.
“Here. Your book.” He is not looking at Alhaitham as he hands it to him.
Once he takes the volume back, the man mutters “I’ll consider your words.” He hops off the tree and glides down.
Alhaitham stares at the book in his hand. He cannot keep calling him “that man” and he refuses to call him by the other…monikers he has heard. Nahida’s “Hat Guy” offends him as a Haravatat scholar and “Wanderer” is not a name.
“Nameless”, Alhaitham decides. It is not a name, but until the man deigns to give him one to call him by, he feels this is the most appropriate address he can think of.
~
Alhaitham thought it would be a one time occurrence, but Nameless frequently though irregularly comes to rest in the upper canopy after that. He warns Alhaitham with a curt, “I’m here” before flying up and does not stir up such a strong wind again. His company is silent. He simply sits with an unnatural stillness and stares broodingly out over the city so Alhaitham leaves him be.
The routine is broken one day when Nameless flies up and sees Alhaitham eating a Potato Boat.
“What is that abomination.” He asks flatly with fascinated revulsion.
He cannot really blame Nameless for it, since the dish had been partially smashed when he bought it. It does not change the taste so Alhaitham had asked, too lazy to wait in line, and the vendor had handed it over refusing to accept any mora for it.
“Potato Boat. It’s a potato baked with cheese and mushrooms. This one was damaged but it doesn’t affect the taste.”
Nameless has a strange look on his face as if he cannot decide what he thinks of this.
“Would you like to try it?” He does not know what prompts him to make the offer, but he does not expect Nameless—who seems to be even more antisocial than himself, which is really saying something—to accept.
He gives Alhaitham a wary look. “Poison does not work on me,” he says as if it has any relevance to the conversation.
“Suit yourself,” he says and digs into the potato.
He has eaten half when Nameless flies over and sits next to him leaving a foot of space between them, not saying a word.
“Here, try some.” He hands the dish over to Nameless.
He watches as Nameless takes a bite. There is no visible reaction on his face.
He takes another bite. And another. And another.
“Alright, that’s enough. That is my lunch you are finishing off.”
For a moment it seems like Nameless is going to fly away with it, but he reluctantly hands it back to Alhaitham.
Unexpectedly, Nameless stays sitting next to Alhaitham the rest of his lunch break and he is distinctly reminded of a stray cat he had on occasion provided food for, long ago. Not just his behavior, but even the feel of his presence. It is…surprisingly agreeable.
Nameless seems to consider this an open invitation. Whenever he is interested in what Alhaitham is having or if there is specifically a potato boat he will fly over and sit quietly next to Alhaitham until he gives him a bite. He seems to be satisfied with just a few small mouthfuls so Alhaitham does not lose anything out of it.
But Alhaitham is not the type to cater to others. One time, he resolves not to give Nameless any of his meal when he sits down next to him. By the time Alhaitham is about to finish off the dish Nameless still has not said a word. His face is blank, but there is a forlorn air about him, like a…sad kitten.
Alhaitham caves in.
It is inexplicable. He hardly has a bleeding heart. Having a “soft spot” for a person or animal is not something that happens to him. But there is no other explanation.
~
He catches a familiar flash of blue out of the corner of his eye one day when he is shopping for groceries. At first he thinks it is a coincidence, but as he pays closer attention to his surroundings in the following days he realizes that Nameless has taken to following him around.
He is surprisingly good at concealing himself despite having such a conspicuous hat and Alhaitham suspects he is only seeing hints of him because Nameless does not realize he has caught on. The key is to check the rooftops in the periphery of his vision.
It is infrequent and there is no set pattern—sometimes there are little hints of Nameless’s presence when he is at work in his office, occasionally out and about shopping, a few times at home.
Sometimes it is the tinkling of ornaments. Sometimes a flash of blue ribbon.
And one time it is a violent gale that blows through the windows of his home, slamming them open. That day he has a loud row with Kaveh far worse than their usual, both of them saying harsh words they will regret in the morning. The wind had shoved Kaveh to the floor without injuring him and the shock of it had stopped their argument cold.
He should be disturbed, reporting it to the matra or even Nahida but it just…feels so much like a cat following him around.
He knows he should not get involved with Nameless or get attached to him. That he is extraordinarily dangerous—the small signs are all there if one cares to look. He is the complete opposite of a harmless creature. The man may be fascinating and certainly piques Alhaitham’s scholarly curiosity, but he also very clearly has trouble written all over him—sure to disrupt Alhaitham’s very normal everyday life.
~
It is pouring rain one day while he is working in his office, when he gets an odd sense that Nameless is there somehow. Feeling incredibly silly he opens his window and says, “Come in. This is poor weather to be out and about in.”
He goes back to his desk. There is only cold wind and rain blowing in through the window for the next six minutes, so he is about to get up and close it when a familiar figure drops in.
“The weather does not affect me,” Nameless says and looks at Alhaitham with a defiant, bitter gaze as if daring him to ask.
Alhaitham has no interest in making things difficult for himself.
“Even if it does not, you are still soaking wet. Take off your hat, you’re dripping everywhere.”
Nameless stands stiffly for a moment before removing his hat, setting it to the side. Alhaitham hands him a towel but Nameless stares at his outstretched hand and does not move to take it, his gaze far away.
He still has two stacks of paperwork to go through and does not have the time for whatever is going on with Nameless so he walks up and directly starts toweling his hair.
Nameless freezes.
There is a second where the air is charged with elemental energy and Alhaitham is sure he will attack him, but it is there and gone. When he has dried off Nameless’ hair satisfactorily and patted over his shoulders he hands him the towel.
“You can do the rest yourself, right?”
He heads back to his paperwork and makes a minimal dent in the stack. When the kettle whistles he goes to pour two cups of hot tea. He turns to find Nameless sitting on the sole empty corner of his desk, instead of the perfectly serviceable chair for visitors to the side.
It will not disrupt his work though so…
He sets the steaming cup just to the side of where Nameless is seated.
“Chamomile tea. If you want something else you can look through the selection in the tea chest. Help yourself. I still have a lot of work to get through,” and goes right back to work. It is not until he is victoriously slapping the last form into the Completed bin that he realizes his cup was never empty, Nameless had been quietly refilling it for him.
He looks up to see Nameless near the window. “Thanks for the tea.” He rises into the air and then he is gone.
The kettle and Nameless’ cup are cleanly washed and set to dry…and there is a chunk of his black tea bags that is missing. Rather fitting that the man likes bitter tea. He wonders if he has tried coffee.
~
Alhaitham is startled the first time he accompanies the Traveler into the desert with Nameless, who she calls “Wanderer”. He has gotten used to Nameless’ silent company so hearing him shout things like “Bow your head!” “Cry louder!” “Worthless insects!” “Know your place!” laughing maniacally while they are fighting is a bit jarring though that last one is familiar.
It suits him—Alhaitham has always known he is a little gremlin at heart. His almost compliant manner when around Alhaitham is the anomaly and he still has no idea what causes it.
They seem to have a complicated relationship, he and the Traveler. The Traveler looks at Nameless with pity sometimes and Nameless seems to crave it and hate it in equal measure.
And Nameless acts like a little hellion with the Traveler present. The Traveler looks used to it, completely unperturbed and supplements their skills with their Electro abilities without comment. The synergy of their team is poor but Traveler tells them apologetically that no one else is available.
They are all subjected to Nameless’ poisonous tongue, but Alhaitham does not miss how he carefully watches their backs from his higher vantage point or how his insults are more pointed when they are almost injured.
~
“Wanderer is not a name. What would you prefer to be called?” He asks directly.
“Call me whatever you want, it doesn’t matter to me.”
Alhaitham has to fight down the burning desire to call him kitten. He hypothesizes that if he does so, Nameless will slaughter him and he does not particularly want to be proven right in this instance.
“I will call you Nameless then, until you tell me your name.”
Nameless laughs, high and wild. “I have many names but they are all meaningless.”
“Then until you find one you prefer.”
Nameless gives him a long look, but does not say anymore after that.
~
“Why are you so heavy?” Nameless hisses at him as he carries Alhaitham’s deadweight through the air. It seems hours of flight are enough for him to finally feel the strain.
“It’s all muscle,” Alhaitham replies blandly and feels a lurch as Nameless makes to drop him, but Alhaitham is not worried and stays relaxed in his hold.
He won’t. Alhaitham knows him.
Which just makes Nameless curse even more fervently.
~
He once told the Traveler that people inflict trouble upon themselves. And that is exactly what Alhaitham is doing at this moment.
Creating trouble for himself.
Alhaitham does not understand how, but he is occasionally able to intuit that Nameless is around. Tonight, he had been home per his usual routine reading a book in the living room when that familiar feeling had come upon him. And so he went over to open a window.
“Are you just going to stand on the roof all night?” He calls and then goes back to the couch to wait while he reads.
Several minutes later Nameless is standing in front of him.
“How did you know I was there?”
“I didn’t. You just confirmed it.”
Nameless does not react to that and there is something patently wrong with him. He looks wretched, half-mad and his aura is murderous. His sharp, intelligent gaze is muddled and his frame is taut as a bowstring, read to snap.
It seems that tonight, he invited trouble right into his home.
Alhaitham did not sign up for this. He should just give Nameless the room or ask him to leave, but instead what he says is “May I hold you?” like the lunatic the Akademiya believes him to be.
He feels like a lunatic.
Nameless stares at him expressionless. And then curls his lips in a derisive grin and laughs, high and hysterical. “So you’re showing your true colors? Go ahead then.”
He has definitely been misunderstood. It is a disturbing indicator of how compromised Nameless’ sound judgment is, that he is distorting such an innocuous question.
But Nameless was beyond reasoning before he even came in through Alhaitham’s window. Words were never going to get through to him.
He walks over, meeting Nameless’ cruel glittering eyes unflinchingly and reaches for him slowly, telegraphing his motions, giving him a chance to push him away. But Nameless only stands in place unmoving, indigo eyes fixed on him.
It is probably the most awkward hug he has ever experienced and he feels as if he is embracing a ticking time bomb. Nameless’ murderous aura has not diminished and he is rigid in his arms, quivering as if he is a second away from flying off the handle, but Alhaitham holds on and waits.
He can be patient.
He stands there for a harrowing half hour before some of the rigidity drains from Nameless’ figure. A full hour later he is able to completely envelop Nameless in his arms in a proper hug, the smaller form tucked against his.
Nameless is disquietingly still in his arms. His chest does not rise and fall to mimic breathing.
Another half hour later when Alhaitham is fighting back a yawn, Nameless finally pushes him off with a grumbled, “Get off me.”
Alhaitham expects him to immediately take off and fly out the window, but instead Nameless continues to stand there looking down, not meeting his eyes.
Alhaitham has done his good deed for the year. He is not equipped to deal with this.
“You are welcome to stay. Linens are in the cupboard down the hall and you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you clean up after yourself.”
Nameless does not reply so Alhaitham goes to get ready for bed. It is earlier than he is used to, but he feels drained despite having done little.
He walks into his room toweling off his hair to find Nameless sitting on the corner of his bed. He has stripped down to his skintight undershirt and a tiny pair of shorts. His chest moves slightly in imitation of human respiration.
He cannot fathom why he is unable to throw this grown man out of his room. But Nameless is tense, looking at him with a bleak and hopeless expression as if just waiting for rejection and Alhaitham…just cannot do it.
“…Go take a shower at least. No one is allowed on the bed unless they’ve bathed.” He realizes it sounds a bit suspect after he has said it but Nameless does not seem to notice anything wrong and slinks into the bathroom.
He is half asleep when Nameless comes back out, skin damp and hair wet. The too-hot steam escapes through the doorway to wash over Alhaitham.
“Towel,” he mutters and hears a huff.
The rustling of cloth is heard for a few minutes and then the bed is sinking.
Alhaitham keeps his eyes closed. He is done for today. If Nameless tries anything he will really throw him out this time.
A small body cuddles up to his chest and he reflexively pulls Nameless in with an arm around his waist. Nameless’ temperature is too low as his body cools, unable to retain the heat from the hot bath and he is tensing again in Alhaitham’s arms.
“Go to sleep,” Alhaitham growls. “You can move me if it’s uncomfortable, just don’t wake me up.”
He sleeps like the dead that night and when he wakes, there is no sign that Nameless had been there at all.
~
Alhaitham becomes Nameless’ purveyor of hugs and cuddles.
It is absolutely ludicrous.
Mercifully, it is only necessary once every few months. But Nameless’ thin tether on sanity, about to explode into homicidal violence on those nights is very real. The tension always leaves Alhaitham exhausted but he cannot seem to turn the man away.
~
One day, Alhaitham voluntarily steps on an obvious emotional landmine. He is not sure what it is about Nameless that makes his sanity falter.
“You said you have many names. Of those many names, is there not one you would like to be called?”
“Those names belong to the past. I have no name.”
“Then why not choose your own?”
Nameless is silent and does not reply so Alhaitham lets it be.
That night, when they are lying in bed under the cover of darkness Alhaitham asks him, “Is there someone you wish to receive a name from?”
He does not gentle his voice. He does not speak softly.
Nameless is perfectly still in his arms.
He knows he should tread carefully but Nameless had looked so deeply wounded when he spoke of not having a name.
“If there is not someone you want a name from, may I be presumptuous and ask if you would allow me to give you one?” He asks simply. He does not infuse his words with sincerity, sympathy.
Alhaitham waits patiently for a long while before Nameless replies.
“If you want,” he whispers, voice so low Alhaitham barely hears it.
“Then I am honored to do so. I would offer you the name ‘Arashi’ if it pleases you.”
He is a beautiful tempest that blew into Alhaitham’s life like a storm.
The silence that follows is so long that he is about to offer Nameless the other choices he has considered when he hears “Thank you” in a soft, hoarse voice.
He hugs Arashi tight.
Feeling somewhat foolish he says, “My name is Alhaitham. May I ask your name?”
It is the first time he has heard this man laugh like this, happy without a hint of bitterness or madness.
“My name is Arashi.”
[End.]