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It isn’t the stranger’s regular appearance on the sky tram that unnerves Cyno - there are others who share his commute, after all - so much as the fact that Cyno doesn’t notice him . By the time he has catalogued teal eyes and smoke-silver hair as a daily appearance in his carriage, he realises that he has been there for more than a month. It jolts him - there is very little that can escape his notice - and from then on, he pays close attention, laying out the facts that he can gather from his observations in a small notepad.
- Seating pattern - irregular - always within view. Seems random but could be deliberate?
It’s difficult to secure the same spot in the carriage every day - Cyno only does so by virtue of being the first on both morning and evening. All of the other regular commuters hug the nearest seat available, or stand, if there’s nothing left or they are just travelling up one level of the Divine Tree. Still, those commuters, who don’t have the need that Cyno does for vision inside and out of the cart, don’t commit to the same carriage in the way that this stranger does. The ‘regulars’ will sometimes go unseen for days, and Cyno might only catch a glimpse of them through the window when they disembark, choosing the carriage that has the most space, or that is closest to where they are waiting. No one else seems to have noticed that the centremost carriage has the best views as the skytram winds its way around the branches and through the trunk of the Divine Tree, obscuring some of the dendro-infused vines that make the system work so that it feels as if the tree itself is moving them. Nor have they noticed that this carriage has the best air conditioning. It’s possible, Cyno admits, that the stranger has recognised the perks that he himself has - but then why, when there were empty seats available on the far side, did he choose to squeeze past the small crowd of school teens that blocked his view to stand directly opposite Cyno? The stranger’s eyes are clear and discerning as they lock onto the book in his hands, but he never once meets Cyno’s gaze - not even accidentally, which is was statistically improbable.
- Always reading - new book each day. Cover for his actions?
The stranger’s books varied in size and thickness, and though Cyno has to sometimes strain to see the cover or spine, he can’t identify a pattern in their titles, either. They are mostly non-fiction, topics ranging from history to mathematics, though he has occasionally seen the illustrated cover of a novel, too abstract to determine its theme. On more than one occasion, Cyno has witnessed him leafing through the early pages of a hefty volume in the morning, only to have moved onto another by the commute home.
If it weren’t for his implausible pace, then Cyno might believe that he truly was reading. His pupils dilate and flicker across the pages, turning at a fast but consistent rate. His face remains impassive as he reads, lips flat and relaxed, with no emotional response beyond the occasional tic in his square jaw. Determined to know more, Cyno finds himself studying his face more than the outside view that usually enraptures him, trying to gauge what prompts him to wet his lips; his breath to quicken. His skin is dark enough to be a Sumeru native; light enough that Cyno suspects his family hails from the rainforest, and that he doesn’t spend a lot of time outdoors. On occasion, when the weather is warm enough that the stranger forgoes his usual light jacket, he has caught a glimpse of sunburn around his elbows - he is negligent of his own fragility. His cheekbones and throat are as defined as the rest of his body - that is, muscular, with a body mass unfitting of a bookworm.
- Headphones - another cover?
The stranger’s nose is a strong, hard slope, with nostrils that flare when something amuses him - whether that is the book he is pretending to read or the frivolous argument between a mother and child seated next to him. That he overheard the argument at all is another cause for suspicion - the headphones he wears are conspicuous, large and intricately designed, and for him to discern the eight year old scolding his mother for forgetting his toy, he must either not be listening to anything, or able to read lips. Why wear headphones at all, if not to pretend that you aren’t paying attention to your surroundings? Were Cyno to confront him, he would have more than one defence to argue that he was not spying, caught in his own world during his daily commute like any other passenger.
- I think he’s toying with me.
It happens the day after Cyno has purchased the latest, limited edition Genius Invokation TCG expansion. The latest card release had come with an exclusive tie-in to the animated series, and he had spent his entire lunch break in the queue to purchase one. Fear that it would sell out as he waited had tempted him more than he had ever been to exercise his privilege as General Mahamatra and intimidate his way to the front, but he had restrained, and now that he is on the train he can restrain himself no longer. He balances the box carefully on his knees, checking that he has enough space either side of him before carefully lifting the lid. He leaves the merchandise in its wrappings, too cautious to expose them to the elements of the sky tram, and focuses instead on the cards, taking them out a section at a time to leaf through them. The first section contains archived cards with a holographic foil, and Cyno traces the border with awe, giving each card its due attention before moving on to the next one. The designers of the cards - even the support cards that some consider superfluous - put enough care into every element that their effort deserves to be recognised, and Cyno takes the time to commit each card to memory.
He is so focused on his purchase that he pays no regard to the stranger, beyond registering his arrival in the carriage as usual. No doubt he has brought yet another book, the one he was reading this morning now nowhere in sight, but Cyno has more important things to attend to. When he gets to the cards he purchased the deck for - exclusive artist renditions of each archon, foiled in elemental colours - he gasps, clutching the cards tighter in his hand, and uses all of his restraint not to wave them around on the train. His sensitive ears catch the rumble of a cough opposite him, but he pays it no mind, too eager for the end of his journey so that he can rearrange his current deck with these new cards in mind.
The next day Cyno finds a slip of paper no larger than a credit card tucked into the rubber that surrounds the window frame of the sky tram, exactly in the middle of his seat. He is always one of the first to embark, and he looks around, suspicious that someone could have placed it there without his notice. For the first time, he locks eyes with the stranger, and he is rewarded with the minutest uptick of his lips before he moves on, sitting three places away from Cyno as if he hasn’t registered his existence. Cyno’s jaw and shoulders tense, and he angles himself away from the stranger before looking at the card, unwilling to show that his curiosity has been aroused.
On the card are four simple glyphs; images from the artbook that accompanied the first Genius Invokation novel. The glyphs had only been found on one card previously, but an illustration of the memorial stone for the Ibis King had given fans enough to decode them completely. Cyno had spent several sleepless nights on forums ironing out the details until they could equate the symbols to the historic script of King Deshret.
“ Still (Stop? Station). Library. Tomes. Eight. ”
Cyno stares at the card in frustration, then tips it into the small bin on the sky tram in deliberate vision of the stranger, alighting at his usual stop, the picture of unaffected. Unless he is truly being spied on, then the stranger will be none the wiser if Cyno chooses to use his lunch break that day to travel to the library station, hopping off amid the crowds of students escaping their morning of studies.
At first, he thinks that the final glyphs must refer to a section of the library, but as he is exiting the tram station he catches sight of the day lockers, stylised according to the theme of the station, as tall, imposing books with the titles of classics embossed on them. Each book is the width of two lockers and the length of four, and Cyno hesitates, arms folded across his chest, before he eventually decides not to approach locker number eight, but the locker which has “٨” across the spine - one of the earliest treatises on the virtues and sins that once made up Sumeru’s governing laws. It’s locked, and Cyno takes his time before trying out potential answers.
“2021” - the year that the Genius Invokation artbook was released - unsuccessful.
“06:13” - the time of the sky tram he and the stranger catch in the morning - unsuccessful.
“19:55” - the time of the sky tram he and the stranger catch in the evening - and the locker clicks, its door opening.
Cyno is not sure what he is expecting to find inside. His vision crackles at the surface, ready to defend himself, but in the end, the locker is mostly empty, but for a Genius Invokation card. The back is simple - one of the earliest designs, Cyno recalls - and when he flips it over, he stares at it in wonder.
Eternal Friendship . The card that never came into play.
Cyno clutches the card so hard that he fears he might crease the edges and has to pry his own fingers loose. He holds it against his chest, glancing around him; surely no one would leave something so valuable unattended? It can’t possibly be from the stranger, who has only given Cyno reasons to be wary of him. Yet - there he is. Cyno only sees the tail end of his dark green jacket, but it’s unmistakable nonetheless, and he immediately gives chase.
Their game ends here; he needs answers.
The stranger is fast - another note on Cyno’s page arousing suspicion - but no match for Cyno, who has tracked down far more elusive targets. He does not even make it as far as the station exit before Cyno’s fingertips grasp at the deep emerald tail of his coat, tugging him hard until he can pull him by the arm into a dim, staff-only corridor.
He had known that the stranger was taller than him, but pinning him against the wall brings that difference starkly to the forefront. Cyno’s elbow is braced across a firm abdomen, just grazing the lower part of his ribcage, and he has to toss his hair aside so that he can look up through his bangs to meet the man’s gaze.
“You’ve been following me,” Cyno states, expression hard. The stranger’s expression is placid, but his eyes spark with something like amusement. Up close, Cyno can see that they aren’t fully blue, as he had assumed, but closer to teal, with pupils with a warm glow, like cor lapis. He is still wearing his headphones, but it doesn’t stop him from hearing - or understanding, if he’s reading Cyno’s lips - what Cyno is saying.
“This is my workplace,” he responds, and Cyno realises that he has never heard the man speak, even in passing. His voice is smooth and deep, with no fluctuations in tone; there is no gravel to cause tension as he speaks, words flowing smoothly from one to the next, each sentence a story intended to captivate. “It isn’t yours. Perhaps you’re the one that’s following me.”
Cyno exhales through his nose, lips twisting into a frown that mirrors the stranger’s smile.
“I’ve seen you - for months now, so don’t pretend. You’ve been watching me, and you left me this card. What does it mean? Who are you?”
“It means you’re as good at interpreting codes as I thought you might be. I’m Alhaitham,” he introduces himself. The name does not ring a bell. He’s on no watchlist that Cyno has been privy to, unless he’s lying about it. “I work at the library, and it seems we keep the same hours. I wanted to give you a gift.”
“ Why ,” Cyno asks him, because his explanations are too ordinary to make any sense. Alhaitham has been everywhere Cyno has looked - and this card is priceless, his interest in Genius Invokation not widely known outside of the forums. He pats his pocket where the card now sits, relieved when he feels the stiff form of it with no bends or creases in spite of the chase. “How did you even get this?”
“I’ll tell you how I got it if you have dinner with me. Perhaps that’s enough of a clue regarding the answer to your first question, since you were bright enough to solve the code. Or is your intelligence reserved for card games?”
Alhaitham, Cyno decides, is incredibly annoying. Cyno’s forearm is getting warm against Alhaitham’s abdomen, so he puts it down, confident that he won’t try to run.
“To get me to go to dinner with you,” he responds, feeling like he’s back at school, being led through the steps to solving a math problem. “You want to play with me? That doesn’t explain why you’ve watched me all this time.”
“I’m not opposed to playing with you, but it’s not my ultimate goal,” Alhaitham says, speaking slowly. His gaze dances over Cyno’s form, and the heat creeps from Cyno’s forearm to his neck. “You always sit in the same seat in both directions. You’ve been doing so for months.”
“Years,” Cyno corrects. For as long as he’s been in his position, travelling from the Matra quarters at the roots to the Sanctuary of Surasthana at the summit of the Divine Tree. It grounds him, following the same view as the dendro-powered sky tram weaves through and around the trunk that supports Sumeru City, with a view of the desert towns he came from at its highest point. Alhaitham’s lips purse in a suppressed smile at his admission.
“It’s cute,” Alhaitham tells him, stopping Cyno’s suspicions in his tracks. “I thought you were cute and interesting, so I made sure to get on the tram where I could watch you. When I saw you with the cards yesterday, I saw an opportunity, and I took it. If you have dinner with me I’ll tell you how I got the card. I can guarantee that it’s an interesting story, well worth two hours of your time.”
Cyno is not accustomed to being asked out; it has happened twice in his life, and one of those times was through a letter posted through his door, the young woman too intimidated to approach him. He thanks his complexion for hiding his blush as he folds his arms, reconsidering everything that he has taken note of over the last few months. He was right, in one sense - Alhaitham has been spying on him - but he’s a librarian, not an enemy, and his interest is…romantic?
“What was the code for, then? You could have asked me out on the tram,” Cyno points out.
“I’d rather not have the rest of the commuting population bear witness to my rejection,” Alhaitham responds. “Additionally, I don’t date stupid people. You’d be far less interesting to me if you couldn’t solve the code.”
“You’re an asshole,” Cyno says, and Alhaitham shrugs.
“I’ve been told that, but I think I can be perfectly pleasant - it’s just better to be straightforward when it comes to dating. I’ve seen relationships fall at the first hurdle when people have been coy about their intentions.”
“Watching me for months and leaving coded messages isn’t coy?”
“It’s interesting, isn’t it? And I’m being honest now.,” Alhaitham studies him, and for a moment, his confidence seems to falterfalters. Cyno wonders if he’s asked anyone else out before - if he’s done it this way, and how many people would feel as flattered as Cyno reluctantly is right now. “Did it work?”
There’s a long pause as Cyno watches him. He waits deliberately until Alhaitham shifts, his shoulders beginning to curl in on himself, his eyes losing their spark of hope. He lets Alhaitham stew under his stare, letting him stew in the discomfort, a small act of petty revenge.
“I’ll tell you after dinner,” Cyno says eventually, watching Alhaitham’s lip part in first surprise, and then amusement. “Tomorrow - we’ll get off one stop early. There’s an Invokation cafe, so you can show me how you play, too, because I don’t date people who are bad at the game.”
“I’ll study hard,” Alhaitham tells him, expression wry.
“You’d better,” Cyno turns on his heels, striding quickly away. He hesitates by the trash can with his notebook, now-useless pages fisted in his hands, and then puts it back into his bag.
The information might come in useful later, after all.