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Tighnari knew something was wrong the moment Alhaitham didn't argue.
It wasn't even the absence of noise. Alhaitham could do quiet like it was an art form—could weaponize silence until it felt like you were the one being unreasonable for filling the air. But this was different. This was the kind of quiet that had weight to it, the kind that sat wrong in the chest like swallowed sand.
He found him in the House of Daena, of course, because when the mood struck, Alhaitham valued his freedom even against his own body.
Alhaitham was at a desk in a far alcove where the light didn't glare off the paper, elbows planted, spine straight with that stubborn discipline of his. He'd chosen a seat with the least foot traffic, which would've been in-character, not to mention sensible if he hadn't also chosen to exist while visibly feverish.
He was supposed to be the one that didn't make Tighnari's life hell the moment he caught the sniffles, but here he was. Insufferable sick boyfriend number three.
His hair looked a shade darker than usual, as if damp with sweat. His eyes were on the page, but the focus behind them was… smeared. Like the world had buffered and he was pretending it hadn't even as he thought he could will it back into existence with enough logic.
Tighnari stopped a few steps away and watched.
Counted the signs, because counting was easier than the immediate, feral urge to march over and drag him home by the collar.
One: his breathing was shallow through his nose, a little too careful.
Two: he blinked less, and when he did blink, there was a fraction too much time in it—as if his eyelids were heavier than expected.
Three: there was a cup next to his papers. It was empty.
Four: he still didn't realize Tighnari was there.
Tighnari folded his arms. "How long have you been doing this?"
Alhaitham didn't look up right away. That alone was another datapoint. He took too long, as though he needed to decide whether acknowledging Tighnari's presence was worth the energy.
Tighnari knew him. This behavior wouldn't surprise him against Cyno or Kaveh, especially when they made themselves obvious they intended to yell at Alhaitham. But himself?
If anything, Alhaitham knew better.
Finally, Alhaitham's gaze lifted. "Doing what?"
"Denial, disguised as semantics?" Tighnari's tail flicked once, sharp. "Do not insult me."
"…That wasn't my intention."
"How long have you been sitting here, pretending you aren't sick?"
"I am not pretending I am not sick," Alhaitham corrected. "I made sure to quarantine myself within the circumstances of a public space."
"You could have quarantined yourself within the circumstances of your very private home. You look like someone polished a statue and forgot to let it dry." Tighnari stepped closer before he could talk himself out of it, because proximity meant he could verify. "Give me your hand."
Alhaitham's brow twitched. "Why?"
"I feel romantic enough to check your temperature."
"And if you weren't feeling romantic?"
"I would have stuck a thermometer down your throat or up your ass, which would depend on my mood."
"Well, that's still romantic. Just in a more… unconventionally sexual manner."
Tighnari stared at him for a long, flat second.
Fever-bright eyes. Damp hair. Flushed skin. A man visibly losing a fight with his own immune system, and still somehow finding the energy to be insufferable.
"Congratulations," Tighnari said at last, voice dry. "You're delirious enough to flirt in public."
Alhaitham's expression didn't change. "I'm not delirious. I'm making an observation."
"Mm. Then observe this." Tighnari held his hand out again, palm up. "Hand."
Alhaitham looked at it, then at Tighnari, as if considering whether noncompliance would be worth the inevitable consequences. While he was considering the efficiency of refusal versus compliance, the calculation was visible on his face in the smallest, most infuriating way.
It was also too slow to be normal.
Alhaitham set his pen down with deliberate precision and placed his hand in Tighnari's. Tighnari kept his inspection to the sensitive patches of skin that reflected the inner temperature with less obstruction; over the pulse on the wrist, following up the visible veins until they stopped being visible.
Alhaitham's eyelids lowered with the touch, just slightly.
Tighnari hated how much that tiny, involuntary response made something in his chest go tight.
He checked the inside of the elbow, just to be sure. When he reached for the armpit, Alhaitham flinched away as though Tighnari was going to pull down his pants right then and there.
"That should be more than enough for someone with your expertise on anatomy and medicine."
"It is. I am simply making sure you have no basis for arguing you don't have a fever when you do."
"I wasn't going to argue with the facts. I realize I have a fever. A mild fever," Alhaitham repeated with distinction.
Tighnari's smile tightened. "Oh, good. Let me write ‘mild' on your head so your immune system feels appreciated."
Alhaitham blinked. Slowly. "Sarcasm isn't helpful."
"It's extremely helpful," Tighnari said, reaching for the empty cup and tapping it. "This is the part where you lie and tell me you've been drinking water."
"I have."
"With what," Tighnari asked sweetly, "telekinesis?"
Alhaitham's gaze flicked away—half a second too long. "I finished it."
"And then you didn't refill it."
"I was reading."
Tighnari inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again, because if he didn't regulate, he was going to commit a crime in a library, and there were going to be witnesses, and stupid Cyno with his stupid black-and-white morals was going to arrest him, and Tighnari was going to have to escape him and live on the lam in the desert, and the desert really did not go well with his constitution.
He leaned down so his face was level with Alhaitham's. "You do realize," he said, voice very calm, "that dehydration makes everything worse."
Alhaitham's eyes sharpened. There he was. The spark of him. He rallied just enough to debate. "I'm aware."
"Are you?"
"I don't need supervision. This is a simple cold. It shall pass regardless of whether I do something about it."
"This is a fever-inducing infection and the last thing your body needs is more exertion than the minimum essentials."
Alhaitham held his gaze, expression composed in that infuriating way that meant he thought he was still in control of the conversation. "‘Minimum essentials' is a broad category," he said.
Tighnari's ears twitched. "Not for you, apparently. You've demoted hydration below reading."
"I was not exerting myself."
"You walked here. You sat upright for hours. You used your brain." Tighnari tapped the side of Alhaitham's empty cup again, each point a quiet strike. "All while febrile. Dehydrated. In public."
Alhaitham's mouth flattened. "You're making this sound dramatic."
"I only make it sound accurate." Tighnari straightened, then folded his arms before he did something indulgent again like touch Alhaitham's forehead. "Stand up."
Alhaitham blinked. "I can walk on my own."
"That's nice. Goes well with standing up."
Alhaitham set both hands on the desk and pushed to his feet. He made it halfway upright before his balance tipped a fraction to the left.
Tighnari caught his elbow immediately.
Alhaitham glanced down at Tighnari's hand, then up at his face. "Unnecessary."
"You swayed."
"I corrected."
"You started to sway," Tighnari said. "And I corrected."
Alhaitham looked like he wanted to argue over ownership of the recovery, which was so absurd that Tighnari nearly laughed. Instead he said:
"You're going home."
"I have work."
"You have no regard for work."
"I have things I want to work on."
"You have a fever."
"I can still read at home."
"Then you should have started there." Tighnari's grip stayed light but unyielding, a steady line at his elbow. "Gather your papers, before I change my mind about letting you."
Alhaitham did so, and quick, since the stack of papers wasn't that messy in the first place, which was why Tighnari didn't mind.
"Kidnapping me out of the House of Daena," Alhaitham said, "with concern for my health. It's a very romantic gesture."
Tighnari stared at him, then snorted despite himself. "Keep talking and I'll become romantic enough to carry you out over my shoulder."
That pulled the faintest twitch from Alhaitham's mouth.
Good. If he was still being obnoxious, he was still coherent.
By the time they were moving through the House of Daena, Tighnari had already shifted into management mode: keep pace moderate, avoid bright courtyards, minimize conversation, get fluids into him before he crashed.
Alhaitham coughed once into his fist. Dry, restrained.
Tighnari didn't look at him. "How long have you had the cough?"
"It's minor."
"Minor is not a duration."
Alhaitham was quiet for a moment. "Since yesterday."
Tighnari's tail lashed once. "And the fever?"
Alhaitham didn't answer quickly enough.
"Since yesterday evening?" Tighnari guessed.
A pause. "Possibly."
"Possibly," Tighnari repeated flatly. "Excellent. A retrospective diagnosis performed by a man who came to the library with a fever. I don't know you to have such blatant disregard against your own comfort, let alone health."
"I never denied being sick."
"Why didn't you rest at home?"
"Kaveh is home."
"If you wanted to protect him, he is going to get sick from sharing the same confined air with you, anyway."
"No, I didn't want to hear him say I told you so."
Tighnari went silent for half a step.
Then another.
He turned his head slowly to look at Alhaitham, ears angling back in disbelief. "You spent an entire day feverish in a public library because you didn't want Kaveh to know he was right."
Alhaitham kept his gaze forward. "That is an oversimplification."
"It is an exactification."
Alhaitham's mouth tightened, which on him was practically an admission. "He has a tendency to become theatrical."
Tighnari stared at his profile—fever-flushed, stubborn, perfectly serious—and felt laughter and exasperation collide in his throat. "You are unbelievable," he said, low and flat. "You chose dehydration, heat exposure, and public humiliation over listening to Kaveh say ‘I told you so' once."
"It wouldn't be once."
"That is not helping your case."
They made it out of the House of Daena with minimal spectacle, mostly because Alhaitham's reputation as a "don't talk to me" person did a lot of social heavy lifting. People saw them and kept to simple greetings from afar, like refusing to third wheel on something intimate.
Outside, the air was warm and fragrant with late-afternoon Sumeru—spice and sun and distant flowers. It should've been pleasant.
Alhaitham squinted at the light like it had personally offended him.
Tighnari angled his body so he was between Alhaitham and the worst of it, not because it mattered that much, but because it was a small, stupid thing he could do to make his stupid boyfriend the slightest bit more comfortable.
This was how his brain worked: solve problems. Reduce discomfort. Remove friction. Make the world easier for the person who was currently being a stubborn academic scribe about his own fever.
It was—unfortunately—satisfying.
They reached Alhaitham's home, and Tighnari didn't even ask permission before letting himself in. He'd done it enough times that the house almost recognized him as part of its routine. It smelled like books and coffee and faintly like Alhaitham—clean, sharp, the kind of smell that said I don't need anything from anyone.
Tighnari shut the door behind them and nudged Alhaitham toward the couch.
"Lay down," he said.
"…This, also, could be used with inconvenient sexual acts."
"Alhaitham."
"It was supposed to be encouraging."
"It is encouraging me to crack your skull on the counter like an egg."
"That is rather counterproductive to you treating my ailment, don't you think?"
"I think I am going to sedate you."
"…Speaking of inconvenient sexual acts—"
"Talk to your notebook about it," Tighnari said, grabbing a stray notebook from the coffee table and swinging it in Alhaitham's direction.
"This is Kaveh's," Alhaitham said, and started writing.
Tighnari went to the kitchen, because if he stayed in the same room he'd just keep staring and feeling that unpleasant twist under his ribs.
Instincts were a funny thing. They evolved to understand threat, and people had died of colds and coughs, so when someone you loved displayed symptoms, you worried even though the modern medicine (not to mention Tighnari's pharmacognosy) was way ahead of such little ailments.
He found the pantry. Found the staples Alhaitham kept for emergencies: rice, lentils, some dried herbs, a jar of honey that looked untouched, like it was decorative.
Tighnari pulled out what he needed with brisk, practiced movements.
He could already hear the argument coming.
Sure enough, Alhaitham's voice drifted in from the next room. "What are you doing?"
Tighnari didn't turn around. "Making you soup."
A pause.
Then, with the weight of someone delivering a thesis statement: "No."
Tighnari stared at the pot in his hands like it had suddenly developed the ability to talk. He set it down slowly.
He turned, leaned against the counter, and looked at Alhaitham across the room. Alhaitham had shifted so he could see him, arm braced on the couch like he might stand if he needed to make a point.
Fever hadn't dulled his instincts for control. It had just made them clumsier.
Tighnari's tone stayed even. "Why?"
Alhaitham's face did that slightly blank thing it did when he thought he was being reasonable. "I don't like soup."
Tighnari blinked. Once. Twice. "You are sick," he said, like maybe Alhaitham hadn't noticed.
"Yes."
"Your throat is irritated."
"Yes."
"You are dehydrated."
"Yes."
"Soup," Tighnari said, gesturing with his hand as if laying out a logical proof, "is warm, hydrating, and easy to digest."
Alhaitham nodded. "I understand the theory."
"And?"
"And I don't like the texture. And it keeps spilling on my books."
"Don't read books while you are eating soup," Tighnari said.
"I would like to not eat soup even while not reading books."
"That's not better."
"I am… hungry. I want sustenance. I don't want soup."
There it was. The actual request, squeezed out under the stubbornness. I need care, but I need it on my terms.
Tighnari's tail swished once. He shifted gears.
"Fine," he said, and watched Alhaitham's posture subtly ease like his nervous system had exhaled. "No soup."
Alhaitham blinked at him, suspicious. "That was fast."
"I'm adaptable," Tighnari said. "Unlike some people."
Alhaitham opened his mouth again—
"And," Tighnari added, voice turning into pure warning, "you are still going to consume something with calories, water, and sodium."
Alhaitham's gaze sharpened. "I didn't agree to supervision."
"You don't have to agree," Tighnari said, already turning back to the kitchen. "You can either accept my help, or you can accept the consequences of refusing it. Those are your options."
Alhaitham stared at him like he was offended by the concept of limited choices.
Tighnari started rinsing rice.
From the couch, Alhaitham's voice came, carefully neutral. "Cook the ingredients together, then. Separately. So I can eat them as solids."
Tighnari paused, wet hands hovering over the pot. He turned his head slowly.
Alhaitham looked utterly sincere. Like he thought he was offering a compromise that would make a mediator cry with joy.
Tighnari put the lid down with controlled gentleness.
"For the love of—" he began, then stopped, because he could feel his temper trying to spike and he refused to be the reason Alhaitham's heart rate increased further.
He took a breath. Reframed. Scientific, no-nonsense.
"Alhaitham," he said, in the voice he used on trainees who insisted they didn't need a rest break, "the point is that when you're sick, you need food that takes minimal effort to break down. It's not about your personal aesthetics."
Alhaitham's eyes narrowed. "My sensory tolerance isn't aesthetic."
Tighnari froze.
Then, slowly, he smiled—small and sharp and a little too fond, because of course this was how they were. Of course Alhaitham was going to correct the terminology while sweating through a fever.
"Fine," Tighnari said, surrendering the word like a bargaining chip. "Your sensory tolerance."
Alhaitham nodded, satisfied.
Tighnari continued, pointing with the spoon as he spoke because apparently that was who he was now. "This will be bland. It will be predictable. It will be consistent. And you will eat it."
Alhaitham looked wary. "What is ‘this.'"
Tighnari considered his answer. Then he said, with deliberate precision, "It's a tea."
Alhaitham blinked. "Tea doesn't have calories."
"Mine does," Tighnari said, and set the pot on the stove. "Now stop talking before you convince yourself you're fine."
Alhaitham's mouth twitched. Almost a smile, but not quite. "That isn't how convincing works."
Tighnari glanced over his shoulder. "And yet you keep trying."
Alhaitham didn't respond. He leaned back against the couch, eyes half-lidded, like the simple act of being managed had drained him, and not his useless defiance.
Tighnari watched that—watched the way Alhaitham's shoulders lowered by a fraction, the way his hand unclenched from the couch cushion.
Good. Let him rest.
Tighnari turned back to the stove and stirred with quiet purpose. Under his annoyance was something steadier: the satisfaction of doing what needed to be done, the firm warmth of protecting someone who would never ask for it in a way that sounded like asking.
Alhaitham would never say take care of me. He would say I require sustenance and I don't like soup and make it a tea like he was issuing rational directives.
And Tighnari, apparently, would translate.
Because he was… well. He was a forest ranger. He was a scientist. He was irritatingly logical and competent.
And he was Alhaitham's boyfriend.
Which meant, whether Alhaitham liked it or not, Tighnari was going to win this argument.
"Drink," he said a while later, setting a steaming cup in Alhaitham's hands.
Alhaitham looked down at it. "This smells like—"
"Ginger," Tighnari said. "A little honey. A little salt. You need electrolytes."
Alhaitham lifted it carefully, tested one sip, and paused.
Tighnari watched his face like a hawk.
Alhaitham swallowed. Considered. Then, with the seriousness of a man evaluating a contract: "This is acceptable."
Tighnari's smile went sharp again. "You mean it's good."
Alhaitham blinked slowly. "It meets requirements."
"And you like it," Tighnari insisted, because he was petty and it was important.
Alhaitham's gaze flickered toward him—half annoyed, half… softer than he would ever admit. "It is not offensive."
Tighnari hummed, pleased. "Progress."
Alhaitham took another sip, slower, and leaned back into the couch as if his body had finally decided to stop fighting the obvious.
Tighnari sat on the edge of the coffee table facing him, close enough to monitor, far enough that Alhaitham didn't feel cornered. He reached out and brushed the back of his fingers over Alhaitham's forehead again—gentler this time, because Alhaitham didn't move away.
"Next time," Tighnari said quietly, "you tell me earlier."
Alhaitham's eyes opened a fraction. "Why?"
"Because," Tighnari said, and felt his own voice soften despite himself, "I don't like finding you like this."
Alhaitham stared at him for a long moment, as if parsing the sentence for hidden threats.
Then he looked away, and said, very low, "Noted."
Tighnari's tail flicked once, satisfied. "Good," he said. "Now drink your… tea."
Alhaitham took another obedient sip.
And didn't argue.
Which, Tighnari decided, was the most serious fever symptom of all.