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Birthdays were funny things, Sethos had always thought.
Funny in the sense that they were as much a celebration of everything good in peoples’ lives as they were acknowledgement of everything bad. As if the benchmark of ‘one more year’ meant it was both a relief to have lived long enough to see that day again, and an agonising reminder of change.
Change.
Things had…changed a lot since his last birthday.
He supposed in both ways, for better and for worse, though from other angles it could be for better or for worse. It was hard. Harder than it had been in a long time, to simply think for himself.
Here he was, a whole year later having uprooted his entire life, forged many new friendships along the way across the city on his errand runs. The warmth of the old aunties and uncles of the stalls of the Bazaar, ruffling his hair as he accepted deliveries, or pinching at his cheeks gently to push food into his hands, refusing refusal, was some comfort to think about. And yet, some days it was harder to not picture his grandfather’s face in those wrinkles, the creases across foreheads and smile lines etched into sun-worn skin, aged with the essence of a long life. Some days just the hoarseness of their voices, or a stumble in their step, knees unsteady from many decades of use was enough to summon a sharp inhale from beneath his breath, an instinctive grin covering his unease with a hand on their elbow to lead them to a bench.
Some days, all he could manage was to miss him.
Perhaps last year’s birthday had been the worst, though it was hard to recall the details of the day, what with how busy he had been with reorganising the Temple of Silence after they’d lost their former leader. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected to be given the role at all. He hadn’t known what he wanted really, after the duel; part of him ached to nurture the pride in his chest for his distant brother’s victory, knowing that he had not stood a chance against the might of the General Mahamatra’s force, but another yearned for what could have been. What his grandfather might have felt, what expression might lay on his face in his final moments to see the child he had raised from boyhood to now, claim that legacy for himself, for them both. Would he have offered that gentle smile, quiet in his proudness, to him instead?
But it wasn’t meant to be, and Sethos couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than grief on that fateful day, nothing in anger or humiliation, only loss.
He supposed he’d spent the day keeping to himself in his grandfather’s old office, shifting through scrolls, barely reading them through the blurriness of his tears. There had been much to do, much to reconfigure and no time at all to spend any moment in celebration; that was what he had told himself. As he curled into the old mans bed, clutching at the embroidery of the blankets, letting his head rest to the side where he had once felt the callouses and sun-worn skin of his grandfather caressing his forehead, and then only the cool air of the Temple, he could not muster any thought aside from yearning for that feeling once more, chest aching with sobs swallowed down in hitching breaths knowing that he would never know that sensation again.
It had only been months after, once he had finally escaped the confines of the desert and taken up Tighnari on that offer of dinner several times over that he’d let slip that that day had passed some time ago. To this, he was met by a very insistent celebratory desert after their meal and a late message of good wishes from the fox and Cyno, though Sethos could sense that they picked up on his hesitation to make light of the topic, given all that had happened recently.
Other birthdays passed, Cyno’s, who the invitation he’d received for the party came as a surprise at the time, in a night of crafted jokes and more than a few rounds of Genius Invocation TCG that none could refuse this time, Tighnari’s with a quieter day of contemplation and appreciation, but no less enjoyment and finally, Hat Guy’s on which Sethos took it upon himself to prepare several ‘something specials.’
It came easier, giving rather than receiving.
Run some errands at the market, guide merchants across the sands for a meal from over the stretches of Teyvat, offer a teasing remark of companionship to a friend as his hands slipped through those silken strands of indigo, carefully weaving the ribbon into it, just enough so that it held itself up but gentle enough to ensure it wouldn’t pull at the hair uncomfortably.
As that day drew nearer the next year, sometimes he’d dream of a day packed with joys, good laughs from new friends and old, of the most succulent of meals, sweetened by good company and of finally returning to sleep with a smile that refused to fall from his lips. And others, he’d wake to clutch at the hollowness in his chest with a blank haze, staring down at his laps with that same emptiness he’d come to know so well.
An emptiness that he felt in that moment, and now, as he sat at the broad clifftops of the desert, looking up to the stars as the wind brushed the skin of his cheek, dusting his nose pink.
Sethos threaded through the sand in one hand, sinking it into the soft grains, met occasionally with harder stones and scattered roots, mindlessly fiddling as he rested his chin on his knee.
Here he was again, alone.
The glinting stars above grew hazy as he stared, not blinking away the dampness from his eyes.
“Is it really true that people become stars when they die, Grandpa?”
Bamoun shifted in place where he lay, turning to look down at the boy who wriggled with endless energy even deep into the night where they lay to sleep.
The old man raised an eyebrow, yawning, “Where did you hear that from, boy?”
Sethos set his cheek upon his palm, “A storybook Betresa got me - the King of Etina is slain by the magi of the Old Realms and he’s sent all the way up there to look after his children from far, far away, even after life.”
“That’s quite the story, lad,” Bamoun hummed, “And what do you make of it?”
The boy groaned, shuffling closer, “Well, I don’t know, Grandpa, that’s why I’m askin’ ya.”
To this, the old man huffed out a chuckle and ruffled his sandy curls, letting him rest against his shoulder to look up at the night sky.
“Alright, alright, I’ll humour you on this one.”
Bamoun nodded his head to the sea of blue, “What do you see up there?”
Sethos squinted.
“Just…the stars.”
“‘Just?’ Take a closer look, lad.”
As the young heir blinked at the view once more, taking a longer second to observe, he then saw it - how they too blinked back.
Sethos gasped, pointing at them with a grin.
“They’re blinkin’ Grandpa, they’re sayin’ hello!”
The soft rumble of the old man’s hums vibrated warmly against the boy’s shoulder, like the purring of a tiger.
Bamoun yawned once more, settling back into their blankets, “Does that answer your question, boy?”
“So this is where you ran off to hide.”
Sethos whirled around, jolting in place as he searched for that voice, all-too-familiar in its lilting teasing.
There, just a few feet from him in the sand stood Hat Guy, hand pressed to his hip as he looked down at the desert guide with an unreadable expression.
Sethos moved to turn his head away, swiping at his eyes as quickly as he could. If the anemo-user took any notice, he didn’t mention it in the moment. A smile tugged at his lips without thought.
“Aha, me? Hidin’?” he chuckled, sniffling, “I’m just appreciatin’ the view.”
From the corner of his vision he saw the other roll his eyes, an all-too-familiar expression of annoyance, softened by the barest hints of affection. There was a shuffling of footsteps upon sand, and then a blur of blues beside him as the Wanderer settled on the cliffside on his right. The chill of the wind upon his exposed shoulders came replaced by that not-quite-human warmth where the other’s skin brushed against his own through the delicate fabric of his clothes.
They sat in the quiet of the night for some time, simply basking in the soft breeze of the desert and gentle shifting of sand over the bounding dunes around. Sethos let his head come to fall on the other’s shoulder, leaning into the space below his chin until Kunikuzushi rested his own cheek on his hair without word.
“How’d ya find me?”
The Wanderer hummed, “You thought I wouldn’t see right through that ‘last minute commission’ excuse? Hm?”
Sethos let out a guilty chuckle, trying to push down the lump in his throat.
“Yeah, ya got me on that…sorry…”
He felt the other shake his head a little.
“S’fine, stupid, I figured you’d try to go off by yourself today anyway, ‘since I know you pretty well,’ and all. You’ve also looked like a kicked puppy every time someone’s brought up the topic of your birthday.”
Sethos let his eyes fall closed as he leaned into his companion, sighing.
“...That obvious huh?”
“It is when you’re usually all for talking to people.”
It seemed painfully ironic how in that moment, Sethos couldn’t bring himself to reply, milling over thoughts in his head. He stayed silent for a long moment, until there was a coldness against his hand, fluttering his eyes open once more.
Kunikuzushi pressed something into his palm, hand hovering over the skin for a second before Sethos turned it over to find a small object. It was rounded, with edges carved into little bumps that raised into petals, delicately crafted by hand, the metal glinting in the light of the other’s vision. On the back, was a long, thin stick with a rounded end.
Sethos looked up to his companion, who had turned his face away slightly beneath the brim of his hat.
“Is this…” he started quietly.
“It’s a kanzashi, for your hair.”
To this, Sethos frowned in confusion, feeling over the object once more to take it in.
“A lotus, huh…wait,” he paused, eyeing the way the other’s fingers fiddled with the edges of his sleeve, “Did you make this?”
Kunikuzushi cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically bashful.
“It was not trouble, I…had a friend who taught me metalworking many years ago.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sethos breathed, staring at the soft contours of the other’s face, a warmth coming to his chest as their eyes met, violet and verdant, “Thank you.”
Something like the barest hints of a smile flashed over the Wanderer’s mouth that disappeared the moment it came, but Sethos caught onto it nonetheless.
“Like I said, it was no trouble,” the other said, “I can…show you how to put it in, if you want.”
Without words, Sethos moved to unclasp the old clip he’d been using to tie together his fluffy mane, shaking it out slightly to let the curls flood over his back. The motion felt strangely intimate where they sat in solitude over the desert’s hills, and he let the other take the gift from his hand and begin to gather his hair, knuckles brushing over the sensitive skin of his neck in passing.
The feeling of fingers weaving through his curls, the gentleness of the action, slow, yet confident in their practised ease, as if his companion had much time to practise this. He felt his hair become twisted into a bun, the loose ends tucked softly into the sides and the coolness of the stick as it slid in, somehow holding it all together where it lay.
Sethos let his hand wander to feel the back of his head with a smile, and to his surprise, he found it softly returned this time.
“Thank you,” he said again, weaving their fingers together.
Kunikuzushi rolled his eyes once again, the expression contrasting the gentle squeeze of his hand.
“You said that already, stupid. It’s your birthday, just accept the gift and don’t get all mushy on me.”
Sethos chuckled, “Alright, alright.”
They settled into silence where they sat, peering up at the sky’s blanket of blue, swirling with the remnants of the days clouds and scattered with the light of the stars.
As the thumb rubbed over the back of the desert-guide’s hand, the unease that had been haunting him for the past weeks simmered down to gentle contemplation.
He looked up, and at his side, he felt the softness of a gaze on his face.
The stars winked, glimmering in the darkness.
Sethos let his eyes linger on them for a second longer, before at last, turning back to his companion, a fluttering in his stomach.
“Do you uh, wanna come see my place?
Kunikuzushi raised a brow, “Me? Invited to the sacred grounds of the Temple of Silence? Aren’t you supposed to be protecting all those important relics and scrolls, busy bee?”
“Well, technically,” the other smiled, “It is open to scholars that find interest in its contents.”
“Uh huh, so this is a purely ‘educational’ invitation.”
Sethos chuckled, a little heat warming his cheeks.
“Among other things, if you’re interested.”
Violet eyes gazed into his own, the picture of elegance and power above a teasing smirk. The Wanderer stood, brushing off the sand from his shorts before setting out a hand to the Temple leader, palm open.
“Consider me interested, then.”
Sethos grinned, and took his hand.
As he stood, so too did the weight from his shoulders lift to diffuse into the night air.