Chapter Text
Collei.
She stands there, looking up at nothing. In her raincoat, oversized, hanging off one shoulder, fraying at the seams. It hides the scrawny figure and blanching skin that tells more truth than desired. This small, curious child, long forgotten in the backdrop of an abandoned playground. She’s swaying in that usual fatigued way, dizzy, and it keeps her from standing for too long.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Like a fragile leaf, as it flows back and forth, helpless to the temperament of the wind.
Like his thoughts as they go back and forth, wondering whether to go up to her, or walk away.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
She sits down, tired, still looking up. Looking at nothing, looking for something. A person, a dream, anything to bring her reprieve. Quiet and thoughtful.
Cyno walks away.
><><><
… Notable missing person reports … police are investigating … percentages have gone up …
The old TV blares static and news at home, coupled with the delicate clink of dishes in the kitchen and an old man humming a matured tune.
Everyday feels the same.
Cyno lays on the worn mattress in the small, one bedroom apartment, shared with his adoptive father.
And everyday that’s the same, through and through, it works for them.
“Cyno, get up!”
He turns to face Cyrus who’s now standing at the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed, wearing weak disdain towards his laziness. Cyno dismisses him with a “10 more minutes” and lazes for a little longer. Enough for the foot to start tapping and the threats to surface.
“If you don’t pick up your ass right now, I’m dragging you off this bed.”
Indeed, Cyrus is a man of his word, as true as Cyno’s to his when he says he plans on staying in bed.
Nevertheless, the old man wins.
“An adult your age yet you’re still acting as if you’re still in high school!”
Cyno is ushered into his seat and he watches the older man stomp about the flat.
“I can’t believe that at your grown age, I’m still carrying you out of bed. Hurry up! Sit, eat, dress up, and go get some groceries, we’re out of meat especially.”
He rolls his eyes as his father goads him through his meal. On and on about gray hairs and how they increase in number on Cyrus's scalp as he suffers himself to take care of his son. Honestly, the barking this man can do.
“You didn’t carry me, couldn’t if you wanted. I could hear the strain in your voice as you struggled to pull me off the bed.”
“Oh hush, boy.”
Cyno bites through his rice as he switches focus to the words spewing from the television right across the dining. Something something, an increasing number of missing people, of children, an increasing cause for concern. A repeat of history that’s got everyone on edge. Cyno too, because it causes him to remember.
… Hopefully things start looking up soon, but in the meantime, make sure to keep yourself safe first and foremost. Walk in pairs or groups, and if you notice anything or anyone suspicious …
“Are you even listening to me?”
Now Cyno disregards both sources of noise and focuses on his food, his wooden utensil scraping the plate as he shapes it funny. He needs to eat, dress up, and go get groceries; he says so to Cyrus.
“Don’t you dare use my own words against me…”
Cyno doesn’t listen, telling Cyrus that an old man his age shouldn’t be yelling as though he’s still in high school. He then inhales a few more spoons before rushing to escape the kitchen. To his misfortune, his father wins and manages to land a kick right smack on his ass.
><><><
It’s sunny this afternoon, Cyno mutters to himself as he takes the sidewalk all the way to the bus stop. His neck is unbearably sweaty but he’s not yet ready to blame the dark thin sweater he’s wearing as an accomplice, so he ties his white hair up into a loose bun with a spare rubber.
He passes by a bicycle rack, almost bumping into a middle aged man struggling to park his bike, failing, and sharing with everybody that he’s failing through a loud, annoyed groan. Everybody moves past him, including Cyno.
Behind him, he hears dusk birds sing a tune for crumbs as a senior chuckles and shares with them their bread. Here birdies, have some! Cyno’s pretty sure there’s a sign nearby that reads how you shouldn’t feed anything wild, but the senior keeps laughing and he keeps walking.
In the distance, there’s a flashy young woman with her babystroller about to cross the street. He notices that the bus stop is just after them, his first stop, so he continues on his way.
And a couple, now standing to the side a few steps in front of him, allow for smoke to gather around their heads— their shared cigarette burning between them. Cyno lets the smoke float by, coughing, walking.
The streets are a lot barer than usual. He turns to look back and finds one gray sedan driving a little too recklessly, maneuvering through the few other vehicles like they’re on burning wheels. Horns and honks pollute the air.
Eyes trail to the sidewalk where the senior sits behind him as there’s now a growing cacophony sounding from the birds as they beg for more.
Cyno shakes his head and faces front.
A child with a bright green popsicle catches his eye as it drips.
So he looks again, feeling his heart pick up slightly.
The young woman and her babytroller are crossing the street and he sees his bus pulling up to the stop ahead of them. He’s a bit behind, but he keeps the same walking pace.
The dusk birds continue to squawk, their volume managing to increase in his ears despite the growing distance.
Smoke. It clouds his vision, burns his eyes.
He turns back, that car is still going too fast.
He turns front, the woman and her baby are in the middle of the street.
There’s a lot of noise. Not only the birds.
So close, so close; move out of the way!
He turns.
A green crystalfly catches his eye.
Cyno is back at the bikerack. It gives him a second chance. He doesn’t hesitate.
“Hey! What’s wrong with you, you bastard?! Wait– ugh!”
Cyno mumbles a disingenuous apology, cutting the man off as he shoves him away and steals his bike. Wasting no time, he jumps on it and starts cycling; leaving behind the squawking, moving past the smoking. His eyes are solely trained on that woman and her stroller, his breakneck pedalling causing the wheels of his ride to rip through the sidewalk.
So close.
So close.
His hair pulls loose, the rubber lost within the dust he leaves behind. Such a short distance shouldn’t feel as long as it does, but maybe it’s because every second matters. Each drip of melted ice cream onto the concrete, a tick, as the car speeds down the road and readily catches up to him. It’s a race, the shouts start coming— cheering, screaming. She’s on the road with her baby.
Yes, it’s close. As the car draws nearer, as he draws closer.
“Hey lady!! Please— move!” His heart is pounding as he tears his throat to find the voice to scream. Any edge he can take, any attention he can grab. He eventually does get some reaction, but it’s not enough and she just stops half step in the middle of the road, clutching her stroller as her brain tries to catch up to the overwhelming scene surrounding her.
He reaches the zebra cross and lunges off the bike with burning legs, flinging himself towards the pair. Stroller first, tore from the mother’s grip and kicked towards the other end of the street. Fast as it rolls, hopefully someone in the growing crowd is smart enough to pull it off the road completely.
He must look insane, kicking a baby like that. The speeding car is right there.
Seconds away.
Maybe he is insane for trying to outrace the car, insane for trying to save everyone.
Seconds away, that car is right there. Maybe he’ll manage.
Cyno doesn’t waste a single step or turn of his body. He grabs the woman who’s now screaming for her child, shoving a few desperate punches at his shoulder, and quite literally throws her away, not sparing her a second glance as she trips to the side, off to somewhere that isn’t in the middle of the road in front of a speeding car. Into the arms of a frightened bystander. Now there’s only one more person left, and he tries—he really does—down to the milliseconds.
The sun, the bike, the birds, the smoke, the noise, the lady, her baby.
That speck of green.
Every single observation he makes, “just in case”. From distractions to escape routes, yes, every single piece on the board. This time that turns back, the empirical proof, a green crystalfly. It has entrusted a responsibility to him. It’s unexplainable and he doesn’t question it, he just needs to make things right.
So close.
So close…!
Yet the car still wins, too close, was the distance, and Cyno’s world turns black.
><><><
Home has always been safe.
It was just the two of them, father and son, related by only a promise.
And they were just fine.
No matter the whispers that filled the air like the light flitter of a moth’s wings; of how he’s still young, how he has his whole life ahead of him, how he can find a pretty lady, settle down, and have a real child.
Home was safe, and they were just fine.
><><><
It was the whirr of an air purifier that registered first, then the headache inducing fluorescent lights. Last was the fabric of a bed covering that he’s not familiar with and a tingling soreness snaked around his body from head to toe. All that’s left now is for his brain to catch up.
… Awake … ?
Cyno wakes and hoists himself up way too fast, the pounding migraine that comes after unrewarding. He looks right, recognizing the environment he’s in as a small room in a hospital. He sees the room door closed and the quiet, purring machine beside it, cool air blowing from it slightly. Then he turns to the left and immediately stares at green streaks.
And to the flicker of two long ears.
“Finally, you’re awake.”
Tighnari’s dark hair sways as he rushes off his stool and closer to Cyno’s bedside, sifting his fingers through green highlights before using them to gently push Cyno back down onto the bed. There’s a large window behind him, the sun no longer carrying the weight of the sky as the moon takes shift and rises upon hues of pink or orange. It must be late evening.
Cyno startles for a second, not expecting his friend to be the one beside him at all, but then recalls seeing him in the crowd of people right before he got hit. That bystander was Tighnari. But before he can say anything, a mumble spills from his friend’s lips.
“…Just how crazy are you?”
Tighnari looks at him with one of those unique expressions of his. It’s a lot more interesting to see it in person, but it's pursed lips and slanted brows. There’s concern, exasperation that reads an exaggerated “I will gladly burn the tips of my tail off if it means I never have to witness something like that again”, and the ill-hidden desire to smack Cyno across the face with said tail.
“Huh…?”
The surprise he sees kindled in hazel eyes and the quick purse of pale lips makes Cyno think Tighnari hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. His ears hang sheepishly.
“Ah uh, sorry. First and foremost, how are you feeling? Any pain anywhere? Should I go call the doctor?”
Cyno nods because he knows the other will run off regardless.
And he does.
The door shuts quietly, leaving one person left in the room. He takes a look at the short bedside table on the left. In the middle there’s a closed book and phone—both probably belonging to Tighnari—and a small, round vase sits just at the corner nearest to the wall and the bed. No flowers in it but it’s filled with water and Cyno spots a weary reflection. He stares for a second before looking back at the phone, which, as if on cue, starts ringing.
And ringing, and ringing, and Cyno isn’t sure what to do, his fingers twitching and clenching the blanket he rests under. The caller ID is one he recognizes as Tighnari’s boss from that quaint flower shop he works at, but he makes no move for the device. It keeps ringing until it stops and after that it doesn’t take long for his friend to return with the doctor in tow. Then it starts ringing again and Tighnari excuses himself to answer it. His call takes as long as his check up.
“That should be it then,” The doctor affirms with an easy voice as Tighnari slips back into the room, deciding to stay by the door to not interrupt, “You’re lucky you got out of the way fast enough for the car to not hit you full force, but the impact from the fall still managed to give you a slight concussion. I’d suggest staying put for another 30 minutes to an hour just in case, but you've been stable for a while now so that’s good news.”
She talks a bit more, flipping through her clipboard, “Mr. Tighnari here told us that we could try calling your relative, Cyrus, but we were unable to reach him. Is there anyone else you’d like us to call?” Cyno shakes his head, he isn’t close to anybody else and Tighnari…he’s here just by chance. Plus there's no need to worry his dad by calling him again.
The doctor says she understands and promptly leaves the two men alone, the air purifier producing the only sound that fills the air for a time.
“…”
“…”
Tighnari walks over to sit back down on the stool, looking like he has something to say. He stares at Cyno and Cyno stares at the door.
“You’re insane,” he eventually sighs.
><><><
“I saw the news, can't believe you declined the interview.”
Cyno barely managed to lock the front door before Cyrus called out to him.
“You didn’t come see me in the hospital.”
He shakes off his shoes and drops his key in the bowl beside the door, not looking at his father sitting on the couch as he walks straight into the bedroom to change.
“I just saw the news,” Cyrus corrects, sounding inconspicuously tense. He increases the volume of the television that blares a report on what happened ealier in the afternoon, “Not to mention that I’d been urgently called into the university right after you left this morning, so I left my phone on silent in my bag. I haven't taken it out yet,” He sighs as he powers off the TV and follows into the bedroom, spotting Cyno stripping himself of his sweater beside the closet, ready to sift for some lighter clothes. Cyrus strolls over and leans on the wall on his side, arms crossed, staring, assessing. He's still in his bland work outfit, which is more than enough proof that what he says is true.
“You shouldn’t be leaving your keys near the door like that but, regardless, how are you feeling?” Cyrus's voice is much softer.
Cyno pauses his hunt for a change of shirt and faces Cyrus, nothing being said between them for a second, and then another. It's always like this, the back and forth, the barks and bluffs. Until they both crack a smile that truly shows the care in their eyes. Cyno decides to give up his search, shutting the closet door and striding towards the bed. He answers once he’s seated.
“I’m fine, it was just a minor concussion. As for the accident…there was someone in danger, so I saved them.”
His father sits down beside him, staring at the floor. His exhaustion with Cyno’s nonchalance wasn’t very well hidden, a touch of sarcasm staining his next praises, “Saying it so casually, huh? Mr. Hero, sharp intuition and decisiveness, leave it to him to stop all forces of evil.” He sighs and turns to the young man beside him, placing a hand on his head and roughing up his hair like he’s a kid, “Coming out of danger barely scathed, he’s superhuman, my son. Hmm, I suppose you could call him “son-stoppable”, get it?”
Cyno pushes Cyrus off him before the latter gets too carried away, a playful scowl appearing on his lips, “Yeah I do, now leave my head alone. Didn’t I tell you I was just concussed? You’re moving it back and forth too much and a “m-headache” would tell you not to do that.”
A laugh, “Just amazing! It’s not like I’m wrong though. Anyway, we’ll go grocery shopping together another day, for now, get some rest. Hungry?”
Cyno shakes his head and Cyrus dives in for a tight, one arm hug, fair palms gripping tan shoulders. Then, leaving the bedroom, he hums a tune befitting of the quiet night after a long day.
Leaving Cyno to sit with his thoughts.
After how many years, should he tell his father about it? The green crystalfly and the turning back of time; his observations and the instincts to do something whenever it happens. Revival, he likes to call it.
This Revival has turned him into some part-time superhero and he's not sure how to feel about it. He doesn't even remember the first time it triggered, why it did, or how he knew what to do when it did. It also happens too randomly to properly predict when it'll appear in the future or how far it’ll take him back in the past. Even when something bad or avoidable happens, the crystalfly might not show.
He scratches his head and reclines comfortably on the bed, deciding that he'll think about this another day. He’s way too tired.
><><><
“ … Anyways, t-thank you for your purchase. Have a great day sirs!”
The young lady behind the cash register sheepishly bids them goodbye, the smile still straining on her face as she turns towards her next customer.
The entire interaction she and Cyrus had when they recognized each other was filled with awkward smiles and poorly punctuated laughs, and it didn't take long for both the girl and Cyno to quickly realize that that was a mistake. The obligation to keep up formalities carried them through the check out and it gave Cyno second hand embarrassment to watch Cyrus go through this one-sided conversation. He chatted away, trying to fill up as much space in the air as he could, most of her responses in return remaining “mhms” and “ahhs”, and maybe the occasional four word sentence. Perhaps it was the uncomfortable heat inside the store or the impatient cough of a shopper waiting in line behind them that had them speeding things up.
The sliding doors shut once they’re out of the way and they head towards the parking lot, each carrying three bags of groceries. Sweat beads down his forehead and Cyrus already has stains appearing around the pits of his pale pink polo, not to mention an odd map of ancient Teyvat on his back. Cyno appreciates his foresight to wear a tank top because it saves him at least half the gross appearance.
“Whew! Did those bastards forget we’re in the middle of a shitty Sumerian season? It's almost summer for crying out loud! I don’t think you’re supposed to be baking the produce in the store like that, or the customers.”
Cyno has no intention of saying anything, good thing Cyrus doesn’t care.
“By the way, I recognized her from the university, in case you were wondering. She’s enrolled in one of my classes.”
“Mh. I recognized her too.”
“Really? I wouldn't have guessed since it’s been so long since you’ve come to any of my lectures.”
“I don’t need those, I can just study at home. Plus, we live together, if there's anything I could simply ask you directly.”
“Don’t think I’ll give you special treatment just because we’re family.”
“I won’t ask you then.”
Cyrus rolls his eyes at Cyno’s all or nothing mentality, squinting from the glare of the sun as he gives another bag for his son to hold as punishment. “Don’t start, boy.”
The two continue walking, this time in silence. Until Cyno slows.
There’s a wave of unease.
The parking lot isn’t too large, nor is it full. From where he and Cyrus are walking—close to the middle—they get a clear view of the entire area. Behind them is the grocery store and in front of them is the main road and intersection. Turning his body to the left, he sees a bright red car reversing out of a parking space. A little further down, closer to the edge of the lot, is an old lady with a cart packed high, heading to where her own car is probably situated. His gaze continues to sprint across the lot as he spins clockwise in a slow 180, landing on the spot where the bus they took dropped them off at. There’s a new bus pulling up and an influx of people offloading onto the sidewalk, walking towards the store or crossing towards somewhere else.
It takes Cyno a second to realize he’s already stopped walking and—
“What’s wrong?”
Cyrus has stopped too, closing the previously growing distance between them with a calm stride.
“I feel…something is off.” He keeps surveying. People walking in and out of the store. Taking and putting away carts. Crossing the road. Parents and children alike. Adults and children.
“Is that so? Hmm, you’ve always had good intuition ever since you were young.” And Cyrus is looking too.
They turn and look and ignore every weird glance they receive their way. For about a full minute they stand like this, and it’s not until a white SUV; making a suspicious full circle around the whole parking lot before driving out towards the main road and Cyrus; snapping a pic of the license plate with his phone and a distant look on his face, that Cyno feels the air getting lighter.
“What is it?” Peeking at his father’s phone, he subconsciously notices how they’re almost the same height now, then he purposefully notices how Cyrus stares at the white car even as it rides out of their field of view, his device locked in a tight grip.
There's no response except for the giggle of a child beside them, singing about free chocolate from a friendly stranger.
And a parent grabbing their hand, snapping at them not to run off like that again.
He steps back just before he and his father both open their mouths to speak, “Hey Cy—”
“Hey! Cyno, Mr. Cyrus!”
Startled, the two whip towards the direction of the call. Behind them is Tighnari, waving in his comically soaked t-shirt from neck down and a friendly smile on his face. As if the tense atmosphere never existed, it doesn't take more than a second for Cyrus to return it with a jolly hello of his own.
Now Cyno holds six bags as he watches the old man jog up to his friend.
><><><
“Was there a reason we didn’t take the bus back?”
“Yes, Cyno, it’s a beautiful day today, why not enjoy it with a walk?”
Cyno glowered, yeah, because that was certainly the sentiment he shared with him earlier. Bet it feels a lot more enjoyable for the one not forced to carry two weeks worth of groceries with him. Tighnari tried to lend a hand but Cyrus had already graciously declined the offer for Cyno. Even if the latter would've done so himself, it still ticked him off.
The three walk beneath the setting sun and step above the vibrant reflections of warmth on the sidewalk. I suppose it has gotten a little nicer, Cyno admits to himself as he strolls behind the pair, the sweat from earlier now acting like a cooling balm on his back. Though it's still a tinge warm and he pulls at the collar of his loose tank to let some more air through.
The trees sway softly to the tune of the breeze, and the soft, quiet voices of his father and friend mend the dullness that resides upon their neighborhood.
“By the way Tighnari, would you like to join us for supper this evening?”
Cyrus’s invitation wakes him from his observations.
“Oh! Uh, sure, if I won’t be intruding. I can even help you make it.”
Tighnari’s small smile radiates at the prospect of coming over, tail swaying to its own, sweet rhythm as it rustles against his shorts and bare legs. Contrast with the sheer grimace Cyno wears and the tension that draws his body hunched at the idea his father proposed. To be honest his and Tighnari's relation is better described to be that of acquaintances, he really only calls them friends to appease the fox’s feelings on the status of their relationship, Cyno himself wouldn’t even consider them that close.
Yes, he only calls them friends in his head for that exact reason.
“Cyno, wipe that frown off your face, it’s been a while since we’ve had someone over.”
Cyrus wasn’t even facing him, how could he see?
“Tighnari, do you believe in wizards?” Cyno asks with a sarcastic lilt in his voice, though he must've come off as a little intimidating because Tighnari’s response was rather serious.
“Huh? Uhm, no. Is…there a reason?”
“Take one good look at professor Cyrus.”
“Cyno!”
It isn't too long before Tighnari’s light chuckles fill the air and Cyno's too focused on dodging his father's blows to notice the white car parked discreetly, just on the other side of the street.
Yes, he mistakes the discomforting swirl in his gut for the belated pain from Cyrus’s punch.
Yes, he mistakes the goosebumps on his arms to be caused by the cool sweat rolling off of them.
It’s a sunny afternoon and they make it home while the sky is still bright and welcoming.
Yes, faraway, the green butterfly unfurls from its cocoon; he'll mistake it for just another Revival.
><><><
“Wow, you play TCG?”
Tighnari settles in the seat next to him, eyeing the shiny, limited cards Cyno and his father plastered on the walls beside the door outside the bedroom.
They’d finished cooking the tachin, Cyrus and Tighnari bearing most of the brunt after Cyno nearly overcooked the chicken. He apologized, of course, but was swiftly resigned to clean up duty as the two worked through the kitchen.
“Does it surprise you?”
“No, I suppose I can see it.”
Tighnari pulls out his phone from his shorts, fingers rapidly padding all over the screen. Cyno’s eyes stray from the man beside him and he takes note of the lack of spices of his friend’s food, finally realizing why Tighnari’d cooked a portion separate from the rest of them.
“Your—”
“Ahah! You’re on the Akasha.”
“—huh? Don’t look me up.”
Cyno scratches his nose, watching as Tighnari slips his device back into his pockets, “Why not? I noticed you had the trophy card from that one tournament, which I thought was pretty cool.”
The latter continues to observe his house, not even attempting to hide his curiosity and awe as they wait for Cyrus to come back from the bathroom and sit so they can begin eating.
“Right. By the way, your food…”
Long ears twitch in his direction before the sound of a faint chuckle reaches him, Tighnari turns to his meal and runs slender fingers through his short hair.
“It needs to be bland, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to handle it. My senses are very heightened so…” He picks up his fork and prods at the rice, “…No intense spices.”
Heightened senses; no intense spices, Cyno repeats in his head, subconsciously filing away what Tighnari just said into the recesses of his mind. Tighnari resumes his appraisal up until Cyrus settles down across from them, only starting his food when the two hosts begin. A little “thank you for the meal” before it’s quiet for a while, no one intending on saying anything.
Except for Cyrus, of course.
“Till this day I still can’t believe Cyno made friends with a polite boy such as yourself, Tighnari. Can cook, isn't a complete loner…how’d you seduce this poor grump?”
The flattered man perks up.
“Haha, it’s nothing like that. We just ran into each other a couple times on the bus.”
Tighnari takes a sip of his water before continuing, his plate already halfway clean, “Ah, then he came by the flower shop to buy something one time, I think that was it.”
“Flower shop?”
“Yes, the one down on Treasures Street. Ameretat Stems.”
Cyrus turns alert at the name, snapping his fingers in quick succession as he forces a premature swallow, “Ah– ah– Naphis! Tell me, your boss is Naphis then, right?”
Cyno slows down his chewing, barely a quarter of the way through his food and already mourning the surfacing of another conversation topic. He side-eyes Tighnari unimposingly, watching the latter mirror Cyrus’s excitement at the name to a slightly lesser degree, his tail swiping through the hole at the back of the chair and sweeping up dust.
“Yes, it's Professor Naphis! He only comes by once in a while though, too busy with the university, so it's mostly up to me to help run the place.”
“How did I not know this!?” Cyrus tosses glances between the two boys in front of him, “And Naphis, he never told me he worked with his student! I was running out of reasons to pester that damned coworker of mine, but now I can head to his shop under the guise of visiting you! Hah! Just kidding of course, but I am curious though, Cyno–”
Cyno peeks forward and Cyrus is already staring at him. Knowing full well what’s about to spill from his father’s mouth, he racks his head for a lie, belatedly realizing he can’t really hide it with Tighnari right beside him to fact check.
“Yeah…?”
“What were you buying flowers for?”
Just keep it vague and dismissive, then.
“Nothing important.”
He sees Tighnari discreetly raise a brow through his peripheral, but nothing is said as clarification. Unfortunately, Cyrus is persistent. Persistent and annoying.
“Hah, right…”
His father returns to face Tighnari.
“If I were to share my two cents, I think he just wanted to see you.”
A soft but audible sigh resounds around the dining area as Cyno pushes a knuckle to his temple. He's really not feeling this right now.
Tighnari waves Cyrus off with an awkward chuckle, “No no, it’s nothing like that,” and picks at some lint at the hem of his green shirt.
“That right? But Cyno rarely leaves the house unless it’s for school or to buy groceries, and I don’t remember seeing him ever bringing home flowers before. No other friends that I know of that he keeps in contact with either.”
“Ah…well,” Tighnari glances at Cyno, more obviously now, worriment lacing his features as if he’s asking for permission. Cyno gives it with a perfunctory shrug, not wanting to see how long Cyrus could draw this out for.
“He didn’t buy any bloomed flowers, actually. It was just a couple seeds; dandelion seeds.”
“…Dandelions? You mean those weeds from Mondstadt?”
Cyrus finishes the last bite of his tachin and leans back on his chair, using the blunt end of his fork to scratch his scalp. He turns to Cyno.
“Well, I don't recall seeing any Mondstadt dandelions growing around the complex, so I’m assuming you've planted them elsewhere.”
“…I haven’t planted them yet.”
To this, Tighnari whips towards his direction, placing his fork down on his empty plate to softly grip the edge of the table, surprise hanging from his mouth, “You haven’t planted them yet? But it's already been a few months since you bought them!” He then throttles on, mumbling about how Cyno shouldn’t just plant the seeds anywhere—as they could disrupt the native ecosystem—and about how delicate the seeds are, and about how difficult it is to transport seeds from Monstadt all the way to Sumeru, and on and on.
And wow, he can really talk about plants.
About two minutes pass in genuine surprise as Cyno and Cyrus listen respectfully to Tighnari’s unprompted ramblings, only for his rant to come to an abrupt pause as he catches himself, finishing off with ears hanging low.
“Ahem, well, I’d advise against keeping the seeds for too long without planting them.”
With that, Cyrus eventually drops the topic, allowing the rest of dinner to go smoothly, and Tighnari, after a couple more minutes, points out that he needs to start heading out.
“You could just stay the night, it’s late already.”
“Ah, thank you for your concern Mr. Cyrus, but I think I’ll be fine. I have work tomorrow anyway.”
Cyno resigns himself to walking Tighnari to the bus stop safely, out of courtesy. He puts the leftovers on his plate into the fridge for later.
Frugal steps disturb the tender night air.
“When you say nothing important…”
“Let it go, Tighnari.”
“Sorry, just wanted to point out a discrepancy between what you told me and what you told Mr. Cyrus.”
Cyno doesn’t say anything to that.
It isn’t too long of a walk and they can already see the late night bus pulling up to the stop. He doesn’t realize that his feet have picked up speed all on their own, not until he hears Tighnari’s hasty footsteps trying to keep up. Cyno slows down a bit and stares at the ground until his friend’s pace matches him properly.
He forces his legs to not hurry again when he notices Tighnari staring at him.
“What…?”
“Nothing. It's weirdly chilly tonight, yeah? Thanks for inviting me over, Cyno.”
Well, it wasn’t like I had much of a say in whether you could come or not, Cyno divulges in his head, tugging at the hood of the thin sweater that he'd put on before they left the apartment. “Uh huh, yeah. We’re almost there, by the way.”
“Yes, I see it,” Tighnari now runs ahead of him, turning back once he closes the short distance towards his bus. The pale lights emitting from the vehicle and street lamps catch his eyes, and Cyno can’t help but stare at the green of them.
“I’ll return your jacket later, ‘kay?”
Cyno nods and Tighnari wastes no time before he disappears, now all that's left for him is to return back home.
He looks up.
The stars dot fate within the nightly dome and the quiet wisps of crisp winds carry the flutter of time through the air. He hasn't started walking yet.
Not yet, as he stands there, looking up at nothing
As his thoughts go back and forth, back and forth.
To the seeds of the dandelions, and the wishes they carry. To the little girl, long forgotten in the backdrop of those dreams.
It's almost her birthday, Cyno thinks.
And he walks away.
“Welcome back,” Cyrus greets him when he hears the front door open, busy with clearing up the dishes in the sink. Cyno shrugs off his sweater and tugs at the heel of his sneakers with his toes.
“Mh. By the way, Cyrus, you can relax when it comes to Tighnari. We aren’t that close.”
His father pauses what he’s doing when he hears that, turning to face his son who’s made his way to the entrance of the bedroom and is now glaring at him.
They stand there, staring; one in an exasperated glout, the other in curious observation. Seconds pass in quiet competition.
Until Cyrus breaks first, a tired smile resting upon his lips and the creases of age etched into his forehead. He turns back to the sink, and that should’ve meant that Cyno won, but it didn’t feel like so. Not when his father opened his mouth again.
“You’re too dense, you know that right? Tighnari isn’t stupid when he hangs out with you like he does.”
Plate after plate, it isn’t long till empty space on the dry rack diminishes and the sink is free of dishes and soapy water. Cyrus rinses his hand for the final time and runs it through his whitening bangs.
“Try to meet him halfway, yeah? You might just make a proper friend.”
…
Him and Tighnari aren’t friends, he only calls them that because…
In his mind…
Cyno rests his eyes from digging holes into the back of his father’s head and he properly crosses the threshold of the bedroom. Despite being more than ready to finally end the day, he’s interrupted from his stride with talk that ultimately sparks his interest.
“By the way, back at the parking lot—”
“Hm, what about it?”
Cyrus has already hopped onto the couch in front of the TV, stretching for the remote at the other end of the sofa and ignoring the dramatic pop of his bones as he does so. Once he’s settled and seated, he rolls his shoulders and sighs in response, “I think a kidnapping was prevented.”
Seriously?
“Seriously?” Cyno pushes, and he’s once again gazing into the back of Cyrus’s head. There’s an uptick in his heartrate and the chuckle from his father does nothing to falter its steadily, quickening pace.
Cyrus steers his upper body to look at Cyno above the back of the couch, his honest expression coffined in false humor.
“Just kidding.”
><><><
Perhaps it was the news again, on and on about the recent kidnappings and increased crime, that brought Cyno to the library first thing this morning.
… Keep your kids close and walk in pairs …
A librarian sits at the front desk. Her small, portable radio softly repeating the broadcast he had heard earlier today, right before Cyrus left for some errand runs.
… Report …
He’s not sure what exactly it is he’s looking for, passing the arranged shelves that are labeled and numbered as a means of organization. His fingers trace the binds of a few books, tips never lingering long enough to take in the titles that allude to the words printed within the pages.
He knows where he’s headed though, his feet leading him to a secluded corner of the building where a window’s blinds block most of the sun. He stumbles upon a rack filled with magazines and newspapers.
Deftly and unassuming, Cyno grabs one, flips through, puts it back, and grabs another.
Again and again.
… More and more cases are popping up …
Like a deck of shuffled cards splayed out in front of him, each one he brings up to inspect asks him to choose it as the magician prepares for the better half of their trick. He keeps going, noticing how most share a headline or at least some mention about recent events.
… and if you notice anything or anyone suspicious …
But it doesn’t matter if he gambles on the rounded clovers or tapered spades, beneath the magician’s sleeve was never simply an educated guess.
… Do not engage.
He picks up one last newspaper and within its folds is a collection of missing people reports from past years in Sumeru. He doesn’t drop it, despite the impending sense of dread chiseling itself on his brows as he reads through the names one by one. He can’t drop it.
He eventually reaches a list from a good fifteen years ago of consecutive kidnappings and subsequent killings, all bodies managing to be found by the police.
Picture, name, age of death.
Cyno already sees her before he reaches her, so involuntarily, his mind just shortcuts through, already knowing where he’s going to end up anyway.
An Inazuman boy, sixteen years.
A Sumerian girl, seven years.
And then Collei, seven years. She looks the same as she does in his memories. He’s found it.
Still, it’s not impossible to trump a magician, so long as they’re able to make a few errors themselves. The scowl on their face almost as rewarding as that unforeseen joker you noticed in time, squeezed between two kings.
Cyno can’t help but reflect as he steps out the library and into the searing sun. He likes to convince himself he’s gotten over it but—
Collei, he could’ve saved her, no?
Just after New Year's break and during his third year of high school was when he saw her for the first time, alone in the middle of a damp playground near an elementary school. He was walking home then, still living in that neighborhood at the time. She was small, pale, and skinny in appearance—draped in long sleeves and high turtlenecks despite the warmer weather—and she was simply standing there, facing away from Cyno and giving him half the mind to go up to her and ask her if she was alright. But after a minute of contemplation, a short woman bearing the same head of hair as the girl dragged her the other way. He thought that was the last time he’d see her.
But it wasn’t. From then on, she would appear in the same place, standing, staring at the midday sky, maybe turned to where he could see the side of her face, staring at her gloved hands. There were rare occasions where she’d bring with her a thin brochure on Mondstadt flora, her fingers idly tracing the dandelion seeds floating on the cover page.
And each time, he would pause where he was going and stare at her, noticing how she seemed to be wearing larger and larger coats every passing day, probably to hide her growing frailness. Cyno wondered if she noticed him whenever she swayed and stumbled to catch herself, momentarily jumping out of the world within her head.
This went on for a few months and Cyno hadn’t even realized he never learned her name, not until a tall man, sharing her nose, chin, and solemn expression, grabbed her thin wrist with a sigh.
Collei, please, it’s time for your appointment.
That was the last time he saw her, late April.
At least until a couple weeks later, when she became the face of the news.
“I could’ve saved her, really! I saw her almost everyday, I could’ve done something!”
Cyrus, in youth that’s long been lost from him, would hold Cyno’s little hands and trace fingers through his shorter, whiter hair, hugging him close.
“It’s not your fault, Cyno. Really, you didn’t know and there was nothing you could’ve done.”
His father never said it but he’s sure that’s part of the reason they moved after he graduated. An excuse of wanting to be closer to the university, but also to be further from the scenes of the crime causing a mess of Cyno’s head.
A few weeks after the incident, he'd heard her birthday in passing, walking by the elementary school for a reason he can't really remember, and a group of kids singing happy birthday to their late friend.
Ever since then, Cyno would plant a dandelion every year on her birthday. He used to get them from a shady yet notable merchant, as the seeds were especially hard to come by, but this year he decided to get them from Tighnari’s shop after finding out they have them in stock once in a while.
He shoves his right hand inside the pocket of his jeans, gripping the pack of seeds buried within its depths. He shouldn't have bought them so early but he's just been feeling increasingly on edge these past few months, in need of a familiar ritual to ground him. He considered planting them a little earlier, maybe in honor for all the newly missing children, or perhaps to ease the irrational part of his brain berating him for being unable to do anything, but he never got around to it.
Well, whatever, it’s her birthday today.
It’s always a trek but Cyno makes it to the regular spot as usual, a quiet area away from the main city and suburbs. He manages his balance as he hops down the hill and closer to the river that spans a distance he believes he'll never travel, slowing just before the bank.
He breathes in, closes his eyes, and listens to the sound of rushing water and teeming wildlife. It's so calm here, quiet, and he's ever fortunate that people's lives are far too busy to ever even stumble upon such serene scenery, forbidden that they ruin it with their hapless loitering.
He himself only comes by once a year anyway. He takes a couple minutes to empty his mind before continuing where he left off.
Because Mondstadt dandelions don't naturally grow in Sumeru, it takes increased effort for them to transform into the recognizable puff of seeds everyone knows them as. They're either drowning or scorching in the polar weather of this nation, unused to anything but the fair skies and gentle winds of their home. Cyno still tries, hoping to see even a head of yellow fighting to make its way through its life cycle, but nevertheless, when he walks to where all the previous years were planted he sees nothing but outstanding, overgrown leaves. He’s not a botanist by any extent, but he can see when a plant doesn't look like the plant it's supposed to be. Maybe he’ll mention it to Tighnari.
He kneels on the earth and calloused fingers dig into fragile soil, ripping the packet open with stained nails once he hollows a few holes for the seeds to find rest in. Once again, the paper packet empties and the dirt fills with foreign life, another year to wait and pray for wishes to come to bloom.
He strolls over to the river and scoops up a handful of water, doing with it a poor job of plant watering. But once it's all finished and he's content with his work, Cyno rewards himself with one last look around as he wipes his hands on his plain gray tee.
It's refreshing how calm he feels when he's here, also ironic how this is the one place he'd rather stay and observe all day, but can't bring himself to use objectivity against the dreamlike mystery that shrouds the river. So he lets it keep its mystique and it allows him an uncommon curiosity that he welcomes without fret.
Full of green but there's never a need to worry. No need to look twice, no need to think too hard.
He readies for the long walk back.
Cyno decides to stop by Ameretat Stems instead of going straight home, ignoring his leg’s groaning protests. He wants to retrieve his jacket from Tighnari.
From his friend.
Can't believe he's still on that.
“You know, it'd do us both good if you’d just share your number, that way we can text details when we need to and quit leaving it up to chance meetings. It’s a good thing I had the foresight to bring it to the shop instead of keeping it at home.”
“Good thinking. However, to your other point, there’s no need. I can just visit here if I need to see you.”
“You've only visited once before so I can't help but take offense to that.”
Tighnari peels off his gloves, slowly, once he steps behind the counter, grabbing a clean napkin from a tissue box to wipe his face with. There's something off about him today, but Cyno can't tell what it is.
“Not to mention how one sided that is and— uh, you're staring.”
He is, but he doesn't stop even as the other rolls his eyes. He watches until Tighnari walks into the break room by the side to grab what Cyno’s here for.
Once the fluff of a tail completely disappears behind the threshold, he turns his attention to his environment. It impressed him the first time and it impresses him today. In front of the counter, behind the counter, on the windowsill, below it. Densely lined on shelves or on display in the middle of the store, and not to forget the greenhouse in the back, there are plants everywhere. Anything you can think of from any part of the nation. Then there's the floral patterns on the floor, pressed flowers on the walls, and any piece of furniture that’s here is occupied by the plants and plants only. Really, it's borderline obnoxious.
Pale stems topped with a variety of colorful petals, every single life here looks like it thrives at the hands of their florist gardener, and it seems the florist gardener thrives at the hands of them, too.
The first time Cyno visited, Tighnari couldn't keep his hands off the life around him. Gloved or ungloved, if he's not casually inspecting a pistil or caressing an overgrown leaf, he’s testing the soil or revitalizing a dying orchid. Every time he talks his feet wander from one nearby pot to the next, his eyes constantly straying from the only other human in the room.
Cyno doesn’t blame him; if this were a room filled entirely of TCG cards, he'd be embarrassingly worse.
A few minutes pass as Cyno patiently waits, alternating from the balls of his feet to his heels as he sways back and forth and resists the urge to sit on the floor. He hears some clatter sound from the room but he doesn’t move. Not until another minute or two passes and he finally decides to check on things for himself.
He stops just before entrance, the room surprisingly bare of anything green and living. Actually, it’s pretty much empty save for two couches, a table, and a wardrobe. Tighnari is rummaging through said wardrobe and cursing under his breath.
“Where in the abyss—”
“Tighnari.”
“Gah–!!”
He jumps and hits his fingers on a metal hanger roughly, though no reaction to it as he turns around with annoyance aflame in his eyes.
“Lesser Lord, you scared me! Don't sneak up on someone like that, I'm not yet used to…uh, Archons, nevermind.” He rubs his knuckles with a pout, dropping his fierce expression and replacing it with another kind of exasperation.
Cyno's not sure if he's allowed inside the room, so he stays right where he is, supporting his weight on the doorframe, “You didn't hear me?”
His eyes pointedly trail the length of the large ears atop his friend's head, the latter noticing and laying them flat against his skull with a grimace.
“I would've, if not for the fact that all my senses are screwed up right now,” Tighnari turns around and continues flipping between coats, pausing for a second before snapping his fingers and jogging towards the long couch pressed close against the back wall.
He hops onto the cushions and starts scattering the large throw pillows. It must be here somewhere, Tighnari mutters under his breath.
“You know, it's alright if you don't have it right now.”
“Nope, found it! I knew I shouldn’t have let those stupid part-timers touch anything, heaven knows how it ended up here. ”
Tighnari’s tail wags gleefully as he runs up to Cyno, handing him his jacket that was buried somewhere deep inside the sofa.
“Thanks, I'll wash it when I get home.”
“That’s probably a good idea, I'm sorry.”
Cyno folds the piece of clothing neatly until it's small enough to tuck under his armpit. He shoves his hands into his pockets and steps away from the doorway, “Don't worry about it.”
Tighnari nods and slides past to leave the breakroom, going behind the counter to grab another tissue to wipe his face. Cyno’s just about to head towards the exit when the former starts talking again.
“I can tell you’re curious, so if you must know, there was a recent delivery, an entire box filled with plants and herbs I’d never seen before. At the time they came I was the only one here, so I ended up handling them and couldn't help but touch and inspect everything out of curiosity. I didn’t think much about then because Naphis had told me to expect a delivery of foreign samples, and it's not like we work with anything particularly dangerous in this shop—”
Tighnari drops the tissue somewhere and slams his bare hands on the counter top hard, causing the entire thing to rattle hazardously. There's no way bruises aren’t forming on his palms.
“—Turns out those were special herbs used in anesthetics and numbing creams and they could take effect even with the barest of contact. It wasn't until Professor Naphis came back and told me about it, guessing the products were sent here by accident…”
And he just keeps on rambling. Cyno zones out for meat of it, which was him mostly cursing the deliverer, and returning when Tighnari lets out a dramatic groan and pinches his ears.
“Because of my nature I wasn't affected in a way that’s critical by any means, but now everything is dull and uncomfortable. I've just perfected not yelling every time I open my damn mouth but I can barely feel anything, can barely hear anything…”
It's clear this is causing him a lot of distress, simply by the way his words tumble out out his face grows redder as he keeps talking, not even looking at Cyno anymore as he directs his gaze to a nearby pot.
“I’m not used to this and it’s pissing me off. That’s not even mentioning how our dumb part-timers continue adding fuel to the fire. I hate it so much.”
Cyno wants to leave but he’s not an asshole. He’s sure Tighnari wasn’t even aware of his ranting and just needed someone to vent to, so Cyno stays and watches. Tighnari lets go of his ears and sighs, ducking his head and his palms landing softly on the table this time. Silence reigns between the two for a second, and then another, before eye contact is finally made.
“Sorry, it should go away eventually.”
“Did you file a report or…?”
“A report? No, it was something minor. Like I said, if not for my constitution things could’ve been worse, so I should turn out fine.”
So that was it. Cyno grips his jacket tighter against the side of his body and gives Tighnari an awkward, half-second smile of reassurance, it being returned with a sheepish chuckle that’s cut off with a graceless cough. He slowly turns towards the glass doors, listening to the jingle of the bells overhead as he opens it and nearly misses the last few words Tighnari mumbles.
“Uh, by the way, you can tell Mr. Cyrus that he can visit whenever he likes. Professor Naphis won’t mind, no matter how he might act.”
Cyno nods and welcomes the searing afternoon sun.
><><><
Cyrus’s steps leave echoes within the polished hallways, refined walls mocking the disarrayed thoughts spilling into his mutterings.
“Its been a few days but I still can’t get it out of my head. I recognized that man—I swear I did—but from where…?”
He turns a corner and runs into a pair of students. Cyrus nods when they wave to him, silently hoping they don’t express notice of his current fluster. He keeps the pleasant smile on his face until they’re gone the other way, his mind reeling.
“He was definitely the one to bribe that child because right before he entered the SUV I saw him holding a box of chocolates. Was it really a kidnapping? Did he change his mind once he noticed we were onto something? No, I didn’t even take note of him until he reached his car and he had no child with him then, nor should he have known what we were looking for in the first place. But the way he glared at me through the rearview when he drove by…”
Unless he recognized us too.
“Looking to gain an extra twenty years Cyrus? The wrinkles on your forehead aren't getting any smoother.”
Naphis stands in his way as tall and imposing as ever, arms crossed and blocking the entrance of a room he was just about to enter. Where on earth did he sprout up from?
“If you're just going to stand there at least do me a favor and open the door.”
“With that comical frown you're wearing I would’ve thought that boy of yours finally did something even you can't pardon.”
“Oh that reminds me, you never told me you worked with Tighnari.”
Naphis frowns, those stupid round glasses of his doing little to block the death rays from his glare. “I didn't tell you about it because I don't want you pestering the poor boy about me. Now that I've maturely answered your question, it's your turn. Go on, tell me what's wrong.”
Since when did you start caring about my wellbeing? Cyrus refrains from saying that out loud. He settles on a sigh and quickly sidesteps to reach behind the uptight man. Naphis barely reacts.
They stand back to back when Cyrus opens his mouth to speak, fingers gripping the doorknob gently.
“I have a feeling something bad's about to happen but I'm not sure what. I ask you to forget all our past disputes and instead use your common sense when the present calls for it, please, don't make a decision we both know you'll regret.”
Cyrus shuts the door behind him after stepping in, not waiting for a response he knew wasn't coming.
“Ahah, I knew it! I did recognize that man.” With enough digging online and searching through the room, the picture he took helping find the locations he needed to know, he discovers what he’s looking for.
But there was more than one revelation, that being that Madam Faruzan seemingly took an undeserved fall. This might be the chance to turn things around and clear her name.
Cyrus holds the folder open with one hand while using the other to reach for his phone in his back pocket. There aren’t many people that frequent this campus building during the afternoon, and the file room is completely empty, but he’s still worried about someone listening in.
He walks towards the door and peeks through the small window, dialing a familiar, but old number. He lets it ring while he keeps an eye out, only speaking once he hears the click of someone picking up.
“Hello?”
“Uh, hello, this is Professor Cyrus…”
The man was apparently a suspect at some point, but never ended up convicted of anything.
Cyrus locks the door as he steps inside his apartment, dropping the spare key off in the nearby bowl. He hadn't realized he'd forgotten his lanyard at home, frustration drawing from his lungs as he berates himself for such negligence.
He pulls off his shoes at the doorway, feeling uncomfortable in his clothes as fancy black dress shirts and brown high-waisted pants weren't something he wore often outside of professional settings. He likes bright colors, mixing and matching things together as if he were a base in a cauldron and his outerwear were ingredients that, when mixed together, brewed him into something less broody.
Brewed him into something less broody…hmm…brewed and brood are homophones enough, maybe he could turn that into a joke and share it with Naphis when the man decides to crudely opinionate on his sense of style.
Cyrus enters the bedroom to fashion his body into more comfortable wear, steering his mind back to a previous thought.
After the incident, he’d blindly believed that nothing like it would ever happen again just because officials claimed to have apprehended the true culprit and brought justice to light. Untowardly, recent news proves otherwise and all that's being seen now is what a naive man he used to be. Well, that will be all if his current theory proves incorrect. Hopefully the retired officer he contacted keeps his end of the bargain and they can finally put a stop to this once and for all.
Cyrus sighs to himself as he tosses pillows left and right in his boxers, looking for his keys, thinking about how there's only one more person he needs to talk to. And as if on cue, the front door clicks open and the professor redirects to pull on a pair of bright green sweats, neglecting a shirt in his haste to meet who he believes it is.
He bends down to pick up a stray pillow and throws it onto the bed as he opens the door of the bedroom wider. He didn’t even manage to look up properly when—
“Cyno, perfect timing, I have something I need to talk to you about.”
There’s a searing pain in his abdomen and he sees blood stain the vinyl floor below. He can’t help but think about how turmeric caused him enough trouble already, and that cleaning this up will be a pain in the ass.
“Ugh! C-Cyn…?”
Cyrus doesn’t stop staring downwards as the knife digs deeper into his stomach and the pressure builds helplessly. He folds inwards, teeth clenching as he feels bile and more seep through the cracks, his hands instinctively, futilely, trying to push the blade back out. Those black dress shoes that strode into his home aren’t his son’s. Those gloved hands that are gripping the weapon aren’t his son’s. Whose could they be then? He needs to call Cyno and tell him not to come home, that there's someone else in here that shouldn't be, but he left his phone in the bedroom. Well, no problem, he’ll just have to turn around and get it.
With enough strength and courage—static noise and the tangible, rapid beating of his heart filling his ears—he raises his head to look at the face of the one who stabbed him.
That face, great heavens, it's him! Impossible, how—
His legs can't hold his weight any longer and he drops to the floor with a harsh thud, line of sight back at those sleek, sleek shoes. He's barely buoyant above the waves of unconsciousness and yet, when he glances at his pants, all he does is think about how much of a pain it’s going to be to wash out all the blood.
Focus, he still has to enter the bedroom first.
He needs to get up and call Cyno and tell him to stay away. He needs to get up and keep this man here while he calls the police so they can apprehend him. He needs to get up and call somebody, anybody, to do something. Shit. Why won’t he move dammit!
Everything’s so blurry and loud. Fucking hell, where's his phone? Where's his phone?
His fingers twitch, arms laying uselessly at his side as his body jerks back and forth, trachea struggling to let air in as he chokes on blood and vomit. He wants to pull his hair taut in frustration and the thought causes Cryus to recall all the times he pestered Cyno about his age, riling himself up stupid as if that’d somehow get a reaction out of his son. Despite how he acted though, however, he truly loved every ounce of curls on his head, no matter the color. He was proud of the strands he saw turn his dark brown to gray because all it was was a reminder of the many years he's spent with Cyno.
Haha, now that he thinks about it, he remembers when Cyno was still in grade school and would get so shy about how white his hair was compared to everyone else's. Cyrus had hugged him then, telling him that he just needed to wait a few more years and they'd be matching white and gray in no time. It was meant as a joke because Cyrus at the time was still rather young, genuinely expecting the change to only start when he was at least in his fifties. He was just trying to tease Cyno by inadvertently saying the boy would stress him out so much that his roots would break at thirty; oh how it got a laugh out of both of them.
Now he’s not going to make it to fifty. Tch, that’s a sour thought. Fifty would've marked his…his…how many years of being-family-with-Cyno anniversary? Shit, he had made plans and everything, with him being retired by then and Cyno having found a proper job. First they’d take to Fontaine for sightseeing before riding a cruise all the way to Natlan, which is where they would spend the remaining summer vacation at a famous resort and celebrate both their birthdays at once. Down to the nitty-gritty, he’d thought of all they could do, maybe they'd even visit north if they had a chance.
Ah, the times when Cyno would mutter about how he wished to live in a place that wasn't as hot as Sumeru. Oh it was amusing then, especially considering Cyno had no idea how deep his roots from the desert went. But with that amusement came guilt, and Cyrus promised to himself that he'd tell Cyno everything when he was older.
Now Cyno is…ah, how old is Cyno again? He hasn't broken his promise has he? That wouldn’t be very good, he'll have to tell Cyno everything when he comes back this evening.
Wait, no, he can't do that. Not yet, because Cyno needs to…
He needs…to…phone…
Sorry…
…
It isn't another second before Cyrus's body lies completely still and can now be pronounced legally dead; the calculating intruder taking their unbidden welcome back out the front door.
><><><
Red.
That's the color of Cyno’s eyes. They're red and bright and they invoke too many emotions uncalled for.
The sun’s already left its peak by the time he spots his apartment in the distance, low-rise with only four stories and sturdy in all its grandeur, but still bearing the wear and tear of summers long past.
There are no elevators in the building and the lobby is built like the basement of an abandoned church, topped with flickering lights and wooden benches with little cushion. There’s also a murky scent that Cyno can’t help but scrunch his nose at whenever he smells it. Though when he does that, he always receives a glare from the old receptionist, who also happens to be the landlady, seated in the corner of the foyer.
And she’s actually not here right now, Cyno notices once he steps through heavy glass doors. Surprising. He swore her butt was glued behind that counter.
As he opens the doors leading to one of the stairwells he hears the echoes of a person coming down. Each footstep sounds unnecessarily deliberate, perfectly paced, as it bounces off the walls of the narrow space. Cyno can’t help the nervousness that spikes as the distance between them closes, oddly tempted to turn around and wait outside.
They cross paths just on the landing of the second flight. Cyno sees his black, refined suit and dusty blue hair before he notices:
Red.
The color of the man's eyes. They’re red and bright and they tell of secrets buried within the graves of many.
They stare at each other for one second, two seconds. Smirk against frown, the man nods as he brushes past Cyno, the kind where he grabs the rim of his black fedora with gloved fingers and tips it in respect. His polished shoes clack with each step down.
Cyno forces his legs to keep moving up and his head looking forward. He can't bear the possibility of turning back and meeting those eyes again, not with the way his insides are climbing out his throat and palms are getting frightenedly moist.
He swallows down a shudder and makes it to the third floor faster than he would have any other day.
Down the dull hallway rolled over with an ugly patterned carpet, he's already fumbling for his keys before he reaches his apartment door.
“Shit.”
He drops them and nearly trips over his own feet. Why is he so nervous? It couldn't possibly be because of that man.
Three tries and he can't seem to pick up the brass because his hands are so wet and friction doesn't exist anymore. This is stupid, this is stupid, he finds himself muttering, but he can't seem to hear it over the aggressive beating of his own heart.
He wipes his palms on his jeans and bends down for the key again, getting it after a few more seconds and ignoring the spinning of everything when he stands. Dizzy, stumbling, he topples to his place on heavy feet and halts in front of an open door.
“Fuck.”
His voice cracks, the word torn in half with a gnawing chill that overcomes him. Why is it open? Is Cyrus back? Did he forget to lock it? Maybe, even though that’s out of character and he'd never do something so mindless but, yeah, maybe he forgot to lock it. That man sometimes, honestly.
Cyno reassures himself as he pushes the front door wider to allow himself in. He calls out to the man he believes is sitting on the couch and binging news.
“Cyrus, how'd you forget to lock the door?”
The entrance of the flat is a short hallway with a countertop, coatrack, and a bathroom on the side. The kitchen is straight up ahead but you have to turn right before you enter into the main living area, and despite the very little you can see until you make it past the corner, you should still be able to hear properly.
However, there's no sound of an anchor repeating the same breaking news that’s been trending for the past how many weeks. Neither is there the sound of his father greeting him with a scoff or yawn or whatever other noises the old man likes to make. Maybe he’s asleep in the bedroom? He sometimes takes naps, very rarely, basically never, but still sometimes. Yes, he was probably tired, making him forget to lock the door, and now he’s taking a nap.
Silly man. Cyno laughs at the thought, sweating down his neck, slipping off his shoes and leaving the front door open. He’s thinking about how he wants to wake Cyrus up and poke fun at him for it, but then spots the spare key inside the bowl on the counter. And his stupid logic keeps getting proven further. It seems that Cyrus also forgot his keys which, in reality, is really out of character, but once you put it together it actually makes sense. His father didn’t take his keys with him before he left this morning which explains why the spare key is in the bowl instead of in its usual spot beneath some flower pot outside, and that’s the reason the door was unlocked and wide open and that validates the idea that Cyrus must’ve been so tired he’s actually taking a nap right now and really, it’s just so out of character, but it makes sense and Cyno can’t exactly figure out why he’s so goddamn nervous, but it couldn’t possibly be because of that man. Right?
Of course not.
Of course not.
Unfortunately, Cyno only manages five steps into the living room before his thrumming heart burns through his chest and he retches his lies of comfort.
“Cyrus dearie~ oh! Your door it’s—”
Cyno doesn’t notice the landlady walking in, her steps laden with haste and excitement as she yaps about something that Cyrus supposedly did and how she’s very pleased with it and him.
He doesn’t perceive her turn towards the living room but he does hear her gasp when she spots the absolutely frightening sight that Cyno’s kneeling down beside. Trembling hands covered in blood and eyes wide saucers as he stares at the ground. He can't look at her. He can't look at her.
“Oh my Archons, oh my Archons! Wha-wh-wh-what the— what on earth?!”
She’s sputtering as her eyes dart from Cyno’s shaking frame to Cyrus's still body. Shit, shit, she's going to get the wrong idea.
“N-no it's not…” Cyno croaks. It's not what? What can he say about this that would convince her that Cyrus is still alive and breathing, that he just couldn't make it to bed before dropping for a nap? That despite the pool of blood still red and still spilling from the man's body, everything is alright and Cyrus is still alive and breathing and napping on the ground like a fool? What can Cyno say to convince himself of that?
“It's…it's not what you…Plea—please, please Cy…da-dad is—he's—!”
He can't see her but he can tell she's shaking her head rapidly in denial of whatever was about to come out of his mouth. Can feel the thumps of her brazen footsteps as she backs away instinctively, fearfully. Can hear her shrieking for help as she finally breaks out of her shock filled stupor and sprints out of the room, a false idea planted in her head.
That woman has never liked him, gods, what will she say? What will she do? Cyno needs to get out of here, he needs—
His eyes rake over Cyrus’s dead, dead body once more and stop at his…
Green.
Green pants.
Haha, yes! Green green green, where is it? Where is it?
Where’s that fucking fly when you fucking need it?!
But he turns left and right and up and down and all he can still see is red.
Red red red red red. And it won’t disappear no matter how much he pleads.
Red eyes, red blood, red rage as he chases after something he can not see. He runs out the flat and uses the walls around him as support, his balance as distorted as his current mind yet his speed matching its pace perfectly. Ignoring the opening doors of his neighbors—each of them taking their own turn to peek at the mess that’s inside his apartment—he reaches the corridor to the stairwell soon. There’s screaming, shouting, the dialing of some number.
So much noise.
Murder, murder, a murderer! He’s getting away!
How can that foul boy kill his own father?
He pushes through to the staircase, bumping into a passing tenant as he does.
“Hey, watch it man!”
Cyno doesn’t care; skipping steps, jumping down flights, he’s insane.
Where is it?
Where is it?
Please—!
He hears sirens in the distance as he bursts out the glass doors of the building, he sees lights flashing blue and red as he sprints out onto the still sunny driveway and parking lot, he thinks of a well dressed man and ignores the hollers from uniformed officers as he runs on adrenaline and looks for something he can not see.
Something that he can not see.
He’s panting, he’s crying. Weighed down by distraught.
Where, where, where?
Where is…
Leisurely, innocently, goes the green crystalfly. Out of sight of piercing eyes and welcomed by the gentle froth of nature. It leaves behind a trail of glittering mist and haze, and brings forth a reality still unseen. Yet.