Work Text:
Three days have passed since the incident with the General Mahamatra and his friends, and Sethos hasn't left the Temple of Silence once.
For many in the Temple that kind of behavior was business as usual—they were all encouraged to keep trips to the outside to a minimum anyhow, to prevent dissemination of the temple's secrets—but Sethos had once taken every possible opportunity he could get to be away from the place. Even if it was his home, there was something haunting about it, about how it was thick with dust and heavy with unchanging expectation.
The outside world was always so much more alluring to him. Even the pockets of the desert Sethos’s grandfather had shown him as a child evolved and grew in ways that the Temple of Silence was simply incapable of: there were the ordinary people that passed through it, with all of their ever-shifting whims, and there was wildlife tousling, mystery calling, conflict advancing. There was a life that pulsed through it all. The only trouble was that Sethos had no place in it (and had reason to believe he never would), but that had never stopped him from yearning for it desperately, in some part of his mind that he had to suppress whenever he stepped back into that Temple.
So now more than ever, when he was truly free to do what he pleased, Sethos should have been feeling eager to break free from the temple's monotonous halls of books and scrolls. But strangely, he couldn’t seem to take that first step outside that he'd done so many times before. Instead he idled about, always half-expecting a sudden scolding from his grandfather to spur him into doing something, as it always used to. His scoldings, Sethos had always noted, were always strangely stilted inside the Temple of Silence, as if they were coming from somewhere outside himself. A disavowment to the warmness he carried outside their walls. But, warm or not, the scoldings came no more, and so those days ticked by with nothing but stagnation—Sethos earned awkward glances, pitiful stares, but never did anything change in the Temple of Silence, despite what exhilarating drama the rightful vessel of Hermanubis had ushered in.
Sethos was really waiting for him—well, not waiting, but certainly expecting him. He had expected him the next day, even, considering all his big talk of reestablishing the Temple of Silence in the Akademiya, but he hadn't come. Waiting for him, part of Sethos was starting to believe that he'd dreamt it all—that in reality his grandfather had passed in quiet obscurity, and he had never met Cyno's fiery eyes in that oasis and, seeing how he did not recognize him, confirmed the reality he already feared. Yet Sethos knew that to be impossible, and there was one simple reason why.
He could not feel Hermanubis anymore; he could not feel Cyno anymore. The Ba Fragment had been taken.
And so, as he spent three days in the Temple, he’d not even had that humming comfort. In his life, Sethos had never heard true silence—not really, not when he'd always been able to breathe and feel traces of that faint presence: a muffled voice, the throb of a heartbeat, a shiver of emotion. He’d slowly understood that it was Cyno, somehow, even if for a time the precise name and image of him slipped through his fingers like sand. Sethos never uttered a word of it, because he knew it was something apart from Hermanubis. He didn't want to incur his grandfather's bristling at the reminder of the vessel who had fled with Cyrus, nor did he want to risk compromising the meager remnant of his friendship with the boy, so precious in those days of new loneliness in the Temple, when his mind was foggy and fresh with the sting of Hermanubis. They were the same, the two of them, and that had meant more than anything to his young heart.
But he half-wished now that he had said something. He wished he'd asked why Hermanubis had chosen to link the two of them in such a way when it would one day be taken away so cruelly. Now Sethos had nothing but a faint ache where that presence had once resided. Now he knew silence. Silence that was becoming familiar all too quickly.
Thankfully, on the third night, a familiar voice pierced through it.
“Good. You’re here.”
Sethos hadn’t caught the sound of his approach, but when his eyes shot toward the voice he saw Cyno wading nonchalantly through the sand toward the Temple of Silence.
“Woah—” Sethos shot up from where he was reclining, in front of the Temple where the sun usually broke through the ceiling. It was nighttime though, so now there was nothing but haze and stars to be seen through the crevice in the rocks. “I know you’re the one with Hermanubis’s blessing, but you still seem weirdly okay with just waltzing on in here in the middle of the night.”
Cyno shrugged as he ascended the stairs toward Sethos, and then slowed to a stop in front of him. “Should I come back tomorrow, then?”
Sethos rolled his eyes with a smile. “No, no, it’s fine! Just—” His voice lightened in mock indignation— “I guess I just expected a bit more courtesy from the General Mahamatra.”
“Well, it’s not just the General Mahamatra speaking now. I’ve been worried about you.”
“Oh, really? It’s kinda hard to tell from your face, y’know.”
“Really.” Cyno peered into him with that furrowed brow so characteristic of him, though Sethos couldn’t be sure if that was supposed to demonstrate his sincerity or if he was scrutinizing Sethos for the answer himself. Nonetheless, the directness made him a little nervous, and an awkward moment passed before he cleared his throat and responded.
“I’m fine. Honestly, I just wanna get out of here.” He sighed and looked back into the Temple of Silence idly, its halls seeming darker and lonelier than ever. “Being in charge doesn’t make things any less boring, in case you were wondering.”
“Hmm.” Cyno seemed to ponder his words, still maintaining that relentlessly inquisitive gaze. “Then let’s leave now.”
“Huh?” Sethos blinked. “Like, now now?”
“Yeah.” A hint of a smile fell over his face, clearly satisfied with himself for the idea. “Don’t worry. You can go pack your things if you want.”
“... Psh. I have my waterskin, I have my bow, I have the General Mahamatra. I think I’ll be okay.”
“I’m flattered you have so much trust in me.” Cyno looked over at him playfully, still smiling.
Sethos sighed, and hastily brushed past Cyno as he headed toward the exit. “Geez. Don’t look at me like that. Come on, where are we headed?”
Cyno followed after him, the swish of their feet through the sand joining the nighttime ambience of the desert—the chitter of insects, the soft howl of the wind, the distant shuffle of wildlife.
“I was thinking we could make a detour before our trip to the Akademiya,” Cyno explained. “There’s still so much I don’t know about you.”
“What kind of detour are we talking?” Sethos replied, quickly glossing past the other part of his statement. But Cyno’s solemn tone didn’t change.
“... That’s the thing. I thought… you might be able to show me the desert.” Cyno faltered for a moment, eyes flitting toward the open desert sky. It lit their way from the stars and moon alone, painting the sand in cool indigo tones. “I’ve been thinking about it since everything happened. This was supposed to be my home… But I’ve only really come for work.”
Sethos flashed him a smile of bravado, trotting closer. “Sooo you’re hankering for a desert tour, huh? Lucky for you, I’m not too shabby of a guide.”
Despite how he claimed ignorance, Cyno’s gait seemed so natural in the cool sand that Sethos couldn’t imagine trying to seriously lecture him about the desert with much confidence. Part of him, then, thought to bring up those hazy childhood memories of squealing and chasing scorpions or gingerly wading through oasis ponds with Cyno, but that seemed even less appropriate when the atmosphere between them had already grown so friendly. So… normal. He intended to keep it that way. Now that he was free from the shackles of the Temple of Silence, Sethos definitely didn’t want to become another person stuck in the past—and (he was realizing this slowly) he didn’t want to lose Cyno again, either.
So instead, Sethos chattered away about more menial matters: the others in the Temple of Silence, all the strange characters he’d met before in the desert, his endless excited questions about city life and the Akademiya. Mostly he led Cyno around aimlessly, offering an introductory explanation here and there, happily absorbing any words Cyno had to offer. Even though Hermanubis no longer connected them, the way Cyno’s words grounded him were reminiscent of that same feeling. It was strange—he never really imagined he’d be able to hear the voice clearly enough to parse its words, much less be able to smile and reply to them, or study Cyno’s expression as he spoke them, noting the small shifts in his eyes that betrayed white lies and obscured deep emotions. After his three days of silence, it was somehow… relieving. If Sethos could have spent the rest of his life wandering the midnight desert with the General Mahamatra all to himself like that, he probably would have—and his missing Ba Fragment would have been a worthy price for it.
After a while, Sethos abruptly trailed off in the middle of whatever story he was telling when he realized with a startle where his feet had taken him. Cyno was close behind, and glanced around in confusion when Sethos stopped in his tracks.
“Where is this?” Cyno asked, gesturing to the unremarkable hill of rock they stood before.
“Oh, it’s—” Sethos blinked and swallowed, quickly recovering. “Just, uh… My grandpa used to take me here a lot. That’s all.” Before Cyno could offer some strained apology to dampen the mood, he forged ahead, glancing back at him with a grin when he began to climb the face of the rock. “I’ll show you. C’mon.”
He didn’t wait for Cyno and quickly made it to the top, crawling nimbly onto the sand-dusted peak. It wasn’t anything extraordinary—during the daytime, he recalled the way a higher ridge of land always cast its shadow over it—but Sethos settled into the area swiftly, reminiscing on the many times he’d wandered around impatiently while his grandfather read under the remnants of the midday sun. He was still smiling and plucking scenes from his memory when he heard Cyno’s voice.
“You can see the city.”
He approached, then pointed so Sethos could see. Indeed, once he squinted, he could just barely make out the silhouette of Sumeru City over the Wall, its great branches stretching into the night sky.
“Huh.” He tilted his head, as if that would make it easier to make sense of the sight. “I don’t remember ever seeing it from here.”
“It is strangely clear out tonight.” Cyno looked over at him. “Maybe Bamoun wanted you to see it.”
“Pff.” Sethos laughed half-heartedly at that. Then he sat down, keeping his eyes set on the city. He had intended to keep telling stories, to keep Cyno entertained, to keep him talking, but as soon as he felt the earth beneath his hands he couldn’t manage a word. After struggling for a moment, eventually Sethos just exhaled and rested his chin on his knees, looking out to the horizon. To the future. Cyno remained at his side, arms crossed, like he was standing watch. They stayed like that for a long while, not uttering a word.
It felt like an eternity before Sethos finally felt compelled to say something. When he did, a sandy breeze had blown, and his voice was dull and low.
“You know… I used to hate you.”
Cyno glanced down at him warily. “I could see why.”
“We were the same, but we also weren’t. Y’know?” Sethos sighed and tapped his fingers absently against his knees, as if the matter was nothing more than a nagging discomfort. “I didn’t really care if you were the General Mahamatra—even the other day, I didn’t really care about losing my Ba Fragment. Not exactly. It was just…”
“Because I was free.” Cyno nodded sagely. “I was thinking something similar, although it’s only been over the past three days. How it could so easily have been me instead of you with such a heavy burden on my shoulders, all these years.” Then he turned to Sethos directly. “I have dear friends. A purpose. A life all my own. But it could have been all yours. Really, I think the remarkable thing is that you ever found a way to stop hating me.”
Sethos felt the ache in his chest then—and it was so fierce he felt like a fool for ever hoping it would disappear.
“I guess I missed you too much,” Sethos said as he fought off the feeling, his eyes still straight ahead. Then he smiled bitterly. “Maybe Hermanubis took pity on me. ‘Cause otherwise he would’ve let me forget, too.”
“Sethos…” Cyno had a frown in his voice, and finally Sethos allowed himself to peek over as he spoke. He seemed both genuinely touched and intrigued, his eyes wide and eager. Perhaps it was the investigative prowess that earned him the title of General Mahamatra taking over—but still, he seemed to hold his tongue for now. “So you remembered me, all this time? I had no idea.”
“Yeah. But… that’s actually not the strangest thing.” Sethos exhaled unhappily and looked away again, hesitant to make the confession. It suddenly seemed so terribly childish, so embarrassing to linger on it as much as he always had. Not only that, but the notion of speaking of their connection aloud almost made him afraid it was all imaginary, especially after he’d just spent those three silent days without it. Still, he swallowed and pressed on, feeling Cyno’s curious gaze bore into him. “When you were younger, you had constant bouts of fever and migraine, right?”
Cyno narrowed his eyes, taking his time to form a response to the assertion. “Yes, I did. Was that not a symptom of the Ba Fragment’s meddling with my memories, like I thought?”
“No, no, it’s not that—we were both perfectly healthy kids, actually.” Sethos paused again, growing almost wistful. “I just remember feeling it—it was always so sudden. Every so often I was just suddenly struck with this heat, or pain, or whatever, coming from somewhere outside myself. I just… knew somehow it wasn’t mine.”
Cyno was quiet. Sethos trusted he could piece together the conclusion he was hinting toward—and indeed, when he finally spoke again, he had a certain quality to his voice that told Sethos he understood.
“So then, can you feel me now?”
“Nope. Gone with my Ba Fragment,” Sethos said flatly, shrugging. Even now, as he sat right next to Cyno, he felt nothing at all. He couldn’t feel what he felt, couldn’t hear the murmur of his thoughts or feel the cadence of his breath as if it were his own. He could barely even guess what emotions were mixed up in Cyno’s voice as he spoke.
“So it is the Ba Fragment,” Cyno mused. Sethos was almost amused by how calmly he was taking it all, but truthfully, his lack of reaction was more relieving than anything else. He cautiously watched Cyno stare out into the desert, as if it would grant him the answers to his questions. “But I don’t feel anything like what you’re describing,” he went on, “even though I have both Fragments now.”
Sethos clicked his tongue. He hadn’t known that particular detail, but somehow it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. “Guess it really was an intervention from Hermanubis then.”
“I wonder.” Suddenly Cyno’s eyes darted to his again. “My fevers and migraines were abnormal, too. Don’t you think it’s possible that we merely responded to our Ba Fragments in different ways? Our memories were affected to highly varied degrees, too.”
“... Y’know, you sure do talk like an Akademiya student sometimes.”
“I’m serious.” Cyno’s expression was utterly unchanging.
“Well, so what? I gave you my Ba Fragment, and now it’s yours. It’s over with already.” Sethos was beginning to grow exasperated. “Listen, let’s just change the subject…”
“But I’m not sure about that either,” Cyno cut him off. “It’s true I wield its power, but your Ba Fragment doesn’t feel like mine at all.”
Sethos shot him a perplexed look. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. What does it mean for you to feel what I feel, even when I’m halfway across Sumeru?”
Sethos huffed, prickling at how Cyno could find such simple words to describe it. “... As if I know.”
Cyno softened, finally sitting down next to him. Sethos watched him warily—he half-wished they would just move on and ignore the issue of the Ba Fragments altogether, and as time passed it wouldn’t matter anymore, and they could somehow become ordinary friends. But still, he didn’t stop Cyno, not even when he faced him a little too eagerly. It alarmed him a little, how easily he let that happen. If Cyno were anyone else, he probably would have seen his sincerity and thought it ridiculous. Naive. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d twisted someone’s sincerity to his own benefit. But now? Sethos did nothing at all.
“I want to try something,” Cyno said firmly, once they were close. “I don’t think a connection like that would disappear so easily.”
“Doesn’t seem that far-fetched to me,” Sethos retorted quietly. Cyno ignored him.
“Here.” He reached his hand out like it was the most natural motion in the world.
Sethos studied it. His fingers were square yet slender, his palm worn with use yet still seeming to radiate warmth. And it was perfectly steady, not betraying even a single tremor. Sethos hesitated for only a few seconds before he took the hand in his own. The motion felt gentle and right, like slotting a sword into a sheath—one perfectly fitted for the other. He sensed an uncanny familiarity in the touch and savored it, but it was difficult to discern if it was of the supernatural sort he was used to.
“Hm…” Cyno sounded lost in thought, and at the sound of his voice Sethos realized he had been staring at the sight of their hands together. “I was hoping direct contact with its original owner would stimulate some sort of reaction from your Ba Fragment.”
“Aw, and here I thought you wanted to hold my hand because you like me,” Sethos teased.
Cyno cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well… it’s not unpleasant,” he assured him, stroking his thumb against his wrist. “Sorry. I just thought it was worth a try.”
Sethos hummed approvingly, his face warming. “You give up too quickly. The Ba Fragments don’t rest in your hand, do they? So this isn’t really direct contact.”
Cyno looked mildly surprised at Sethos’s implicit suggestion. “Do you want to try?” he asked, his question composed yet daring. Sethos nodded, feeling an eagerness flutter in his chest. He straightened up, inching closer to Cyno and squeezing his hand just a bit tighter as he did. He watched to see if Cyno’s expression would grow reluctant, but it never did.
So Sethos reached up with his free hand and gingerly pressed his palm into Cyno’s chest, right where he'd seen the Ba Fragment fade into his skin days before. He hadn’t actually been expecting much, truthfully—but in an instant he felt a rush of familiar sensations suddenly suffocate him, like he had been yanked underwater by a current. He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes to let the feelings simmer and settle into his body. Those feelings were as inscrutable as always, but they were decidedly Cyno, just as they had always been.
After a moment, his eyes cracked open again and searched for Cyno. “So… do you hear anything?” he whispered hopefully.
Cyno didn’t reply for a moment—he seemed baffled, frozen in place as though he was actually having trouble finding words. Sethos had felt him flinch slightly when his hand had sunk into his chest, and now it occurred to him that perhaps the sensation was not nearly as pleasant for Cyno as it was for him. Guilt nagging at him, he thought about retreating—but he was so relieved feeling a semblance of connection with Cyno again, even if it was so crude now as to require a physical touch. So he didn’t pull away.
“I... can hear your heartbeat,” Cyno reported after a silence that felt like hours. He spoke tersely. Carefully. “I can also feel it. From your finger.”
Sethos smiled at his joke, relieved that he was at least not rejecting him outright. He spread his fingers against Cyno's skin and let the echo of the touch engulf him. "I can't even hear that much myself," he admitted. “It just feels... familiar, you know?”
“No,” Cyno replied, frowning. “This is new. Very new.”
Right. It was a harsh reminder: Cyno was the one who had to forget. Of course Sethos, who was left behind and always, always lingering everywhere yet belonging nowhere, had to be the one harboring the Ba Fragment that clung to its counterpart so stubbornly. Sethos blinked in embarrassment. Why had he said that? He knew Cyno had not sensed his presence before now, just the same as he had not regarded him with any sort of recognition that fateful day at the oasis.
He was just about to pull his hand away (and go crawl into a hole and die, at the rate his mortification was accelerating) when suddenly Cyno flicked his amber-red eyes up to pierce his.
“It's not a bad feeling. Don't make that face.” And he reached up to his chest, resolutely placing his hand over Sethos's. “It almost feels like... surveillance. Except I don't see or hear anything. I just... feel it." Cyno was still struggling for words, and after a second he just sighed in surrender and curled his fingers tight around Sethos’s hand. "It was like this for you? All this time?”
Sethos wasn't listening. It felt so right to have both of Cyno’s hands on him—so capable, so hardened by his duty, and yet so gentle and kind when they handled him. They had almost the property of sandpaper, the way they eroded—his skin, his thoughts, his common sense. At their presence, Sethos realized just how maddening it was, all this time, to sense his presence so tangibly yet remain unable to touch him. And the two of them had not been so close since they were kids. He had already long noted how Cyno’s shoulders had grown broader and his features had grown sharper, more determined than when he was a child. But up close, he was even more unfamiliar—his skin was a touch lighter, silver hair longer and fuller, eyes bright with authority. And his chest was so firm, recoiling no longer at his touch. Sethos exhaled and felt his hand tremble pleasantly as he did, leaning into Cyno further.
“Sethos?” Cyno looked concerned.
He thought he had been ready to move on from this. He'd spent so many dull hours within the walls of the Temple of Silence, biding his time, half-reading endless texts and listening to dust settle and training until his hands stung and trembled—waiting for midday, waiting to bathe in the meager sunlight that leaked through the ceiling.
That sunlight had been Cyno.
For so many years, he was the only taste of freedom Sethos had. Through Cyno he'd felt the world, or at least he'd felt Cyno's world. He'd felt when Cyno was scared, when he was happy or frustrated. He'd lay restless at night wondering what Cyno could possibly be doing to make him feel the way he did, if he felt the same connection, if he still cared about the times so long ago when they'd only had each other. Now all of that was torn away from him. He knew he should be better off now, knew that freedom is so much more than that, but he couldn't help but want it back anyway. Before, there was a devotion that practically consumed him, defined his every thought and action: everything was to the end of meeting him again, surpassing him. Cyno had been all that mattered. Now, he was faced with the prospect of rebuilding a life without Cyno at the center. It felt alien.
That was maybe why Sethos didn't want to let go, and why he bit his lip and clutched at him like doing so might link them together again if he was persistent enough.
What he didn't expect was the way the touch left a dizzy flush in his face. He knew Cyno was staring at him, so he averted his eyes and tried to ignore how his chest thrummed with strange sensations, how he suddenly wanted to press deeper, touch further. And he kept his mouth shut, because he knew he would sound utterly insane trying to articulate what he wanted—he just had to hope Cyno would allow whatever this was to persist into eternity.
“Hey…” Suddenly Cyno had grown gentle. “Is everything okay?”
Sethos softened his eyes, lost in his reverie. “You really don't... remember, do you?” He winced when his voice came out weary and pitiful. “Not even a little? Not even now that you have my Ba Fragment?”
“... No. I'm sorry.”
Sethos frowned, but the disappointment didn't last too long—not when Cyno's hand tensed and he nudged his fingers so they were interlaced with his own. If Sethos hadn’t been waiting for a sign of acceptance, he might have laughed at the cliched gesture, felt sorry for himself for acting so pitiful. Instead his eyes fluttered shut and a small exhale escaped his throat.
“Maybe—” Sethos started, smiling wryly because even he himself didn’t believe it— “Maybe if we stay like this, you'll remember. When we were kids, y'know.”
Cyno’s gaze awkwardly slid down to their hands clasped together, then back to Sethos. “...It’s really that important to you.”
His words could have been a question, but they didn’t sound like one. Sethos didn’t reply, and after a pause Cyno sighed at his stubborn expression.
“You know… Your Ba Fragment. I thought it would stop feeling strange eventually, but after three days I still sensed it so sharply.” He absently stroked Sethos’s hand with his thumb once more, as though it would help him think, as though he didn't notice how it drove him to madness. “If both our Fragments are shards of Hermanubis’s soul, shouldn’t they operate in harmony?”
“They do in a way,” Sethos reasoned breathily. He leaned in closer, close enough that he could no longer use the Ba Fragment’s connection as an excuse if Cyno asked. “But think about it. The Fragments were apart for so long. Maybe they’re more used to missing each other than they are being together.”
“Maybe yours.” Cyno sounded a little hesitant. “I never knew I was even missing anything… Or anyone.”
“Well, what about now?” Despite a daze engulfing his mind like a thick fog, every one of Sethos’s words was razor-sharp and humorless. The question they formed lingered in the air, refusing to be ignored. He drew even closer—and like an overeager dog, he pushed until Cyno had leaned back onto his elbows and he was hovering over him, eyes wolfish and wanting. “Does my Ba Fragment still feel strange, General Mahamatra?” he pressed, voice low.
There was silence for a moment, and a warm breeze washed over them, blowing Cyno’s hair over his face.
“It feels… hot,” Cyno finally yielded in a murmur. “Like waking up with a fever.”
His gaze didn’t falter, neither indulging nor condemning him. Even though he must have known exactly what was on Sethos’s mind, Sethos—and this surprised him—could not feel a hint of resentment from Cyno, not even when he found himself descending on him, breathless and warm. He searched and searched—but only familiar, pleasant sensations rushed through him as his fingertips clutched harder at Cyno’s chest and he was suddenly feeling the sting of his warm breath against his face.
Cyno was similarly without objection when Sethos inclined his chin and leaned in to kiss him, reluctant but longing, his dry lips always half-parted like he was hoping for something more. It was an urge Sethos never quite realized he harbored, but now that it was happening he knew it must have been buried within him all along. That realization made the action worth it, even if Cyno’s eyes were open all the while and he only kissed him back just enough to reassure him he didn’t mind.
He only grew more persistent, in spite of it all, and it wasn’t long before he heard the scrape of his shoes against rock as he shifted into him as much as he could. Cyno’s hands squeezed as Sethos kissed him harder, less carefully, and whined faintly against him, though he couldn’t tell if it was meant to soothe him or urge him on. His entire body felt burning hot, just as Cyno had said. It felt like no time at all before it was all a haze and he couldn’t breathe; he knew he should’ve regretted it, but also knew that there was no way he could have done anything else in that moment—that there was no other possible way to convey to Cyno how intensely he had yearned, even if logically he knew Cyno must be able to feel it just as tangibly as he did. When he was finally forced to part from his lips, he was panting desperately, and knew he looked pathetic and didn’t care.
“Sethos.” Cyno’s voice drew his attention to his face again. He seemed a little flustered in the color of his cheeks and the heave of his chest, though his voice was strangely calm. But when Sethos tried to lean in again, he shook his head and brought their hands to his face, holding him back by the chin. “Breathe,” he ordered sternly.
That was when Sethos really noticed how violently his own heart was hammering, how sweat clung to his neck and just how desperately he didn’t want to stop. He noticed, too, how tender the atmosphere had somehow grown, ever since they climbed this hill—why had Cyno let him do this? Why had he pitied Sethos so much in the first place?
“Hey,” Cyno beckoned gently, interrupting his thoughts. Then there was a long pause that felt a little less gentle, followed by a small sigh. "Listen…" Another pause, even longer now. "Why don't we visit Gandharva Ville tomorrow?”
It was his way of pulling away without pulling away. Don't you think this obsession is unhealthy? —That was what he was really saying, Sethos knew. He didn't even need to be grasping at Cyno's chest to understand that much. The worst part, though, was how even in his needy stupor he knew he was right. Sethos knew, once he caught his breath, that Cyno would have let him kiss him again if he wanted to—and who knows what else—but because he knew Cyno was right, and knew it wouldn’t become anything more than what it was now, he didn’t.
He ended up staring into his chest with half-lidded eyes, faintly annoyed at Cyno's politeness. Then, finally, he tried to swallow everything down; he certainly had the practice for it. A considerable amount of time passed before Sethos had recovered enough to look him in the eyes again.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. His hand still rested on Cyno’s chest, and his want still simmered warm within him, alongside his mortification. His voice prickled with self-loathing. “Haha. That must’ve hardly meant anything to you, huh?”
“But I can sense it means everything to you.” Cyno gave him a patient look, but Sethos was hardly comforted. He pulled his hand away in distaste, trying to smother his wince when he felt that absence, that silence rush into him yet again. Cyno straightened slightly, clearly noting it anyway. “I’m serious,” he insisted as Sethos withdrew from him completely, again hugging his legs and focusing on the desert landscape sprawled out before them.
Sethos lowered his eyes. “... I know you are. You always have been.”
Cyno reached out to take his hand again. “I swear on my duty as the General Mahamatra that I don’t hold anything against you, Sethos.”
It felt like such a paltry comfort, feeling his hand now, that Sethos barely even acknowledged it. Cyno, however, remained resolute as ever.
“I don’t want to become another shackle around your ankle—but I don’t want to lose you, either. I’ve… already lost you before, when I forgot the Temple of Silence. I don’t want to ignore my past again.”
“... ”
“Maybe it’s selfish of me to ask for both. But that’s how I honestly feel.”
After a pause, Sethos sighed. “... I know. It’s alright.” He clicked his tongue, softening. “Geez. Just how did you become the General Mahamatra with such a naive personality…? I seriously wonder.”
“I’m not naive.” Cyno narrowed his eyes, displeased with the distinction.
“Then… sincere.”
Sethos smiled weakly and squeezed his hand hard, so Cyno knew he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t remain shackled to him for a long time to come. Their hands remained tightly linked for the rest of the time they spent in that spot, speaking softly about plans for the following day until dawn began to peek past the sandy horizon.