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Tighnari hasn’t seen Cyno since the whole…thing happened. He’s obviously been back to their room while Tighnari’s out, since his backpack is gone and there’s always some new mess to discover when Tighnari gets home. Last week, it was the pot at the end of his bed, tipped over so the black-rich soil covered the floor. An accident, he’s sure. Cyno might be confused right now, but he’s never maliciously hurt any of Tighnari’s plants.
It’s been two weeks. Midterms are right around the corner, and Tighnari’s floundering, caught between the need to do well and the need to find out what the fuck happened between them. He tried texting several times, but Cyno didn’t answer. And when he tried the group chat, the only person who got back to him was Alhaitham, who told him to give Cyno some space.
He’s staring at his phone right now, where a sketchy text from Kaveh fills his screen. Kaveh is known at Genshin University for many things, most of which are not necessarily good, but first and foremost, he’s a shit secret-keeper, and the fact that he’s quite obviously avoiding Tighnari makes him wonder if Cyno is holed up in Kaveh and Alhaitham’s room.
He finds Alhaitham deep in the library basement, sorting through a mile-high stack of old books, humming contentedly to himself, headphones firmly in place. Tighnari can’t remember the last time he voluntarily stepped foot into the library. The greenhouse and the campus gardens are more his style, and besides, the librarians hate him because he leaves dirt everywhere. He and Cyno did a little study session last semester…and just like that, he’s spiraling down the what the fuck happened hole, unable to find a foothold.
“Ibn,” he says loudly, breaking Alhaitham out of whatever history-induced haze he’s in. Turning, his friend tugs his headphones down and stares at him with something like distrust.
“Don’t you dare put your grimy hands near these books. They’re hundreds of years old.”
“It happened once,” Tighnari growls. “And it was an accident. And that book was only like three minutes old.”
“Even worse! You defiled it before it truly had a chance to live,” Alhaitham retorts, stacking his books swiftly as if being around Tighnari will somehow cover them in soil. His fingerless-glove-encased hands are nearly a blur. Bro can move fast when he wants to. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah. Cyno,” he says, and then he flushes, because that sounds all kinds of wrong, even if it’s the truth. “I mean, I know he’s been sleeping in your dorm room, and I want to know why you’ve been avoiding telling me this fact.”
“I’m not the one who let him in,” Alhaitham hurriedly says. “That was all Kaveh. The little asshole felt sorry for Cy and let him crash for a while. But I want him out. He snores, and has no concept of personal space. Talk to Kaveh.”
“I tried texting him, and he’s ignoring me,” Tighnari says, staring down at the carpet. Is that dirt he sees next to his slip-ons? Yes. Is that dirt that came off the soil-covered soles of said slip-ons? Also yes. Shit. The librarian is going to kill him. He shuffles over a step to cover up the incriminating stain and tries to remember what he was saying. “And I saw Kaveh yesterday in the Student Union Building, and he scuttled away so fast he forgot to grab his vegetarian chicken tenders.”
“Those things are fucking gross,” Alhaitham says vehemently, and the two of them nod in solidarity for a minute. Tighnari has nothing against vegetarians, or plant-based food, but that Vegimals place in the student union building somehow manages to make a fool out of the art of vegetarian cooking. They specialize in plant-based meat replacements, and somehow, all of them taste the same (bland) and smell like a gym locker room. Kaveh must be nose-blind or something.
“What happened with you two, anyway?” Alhaitham asks, flipping a book open. Apparently he’s forgotten that the Book Defiler is standing right next to him. “Cy refuses to say anything, but he sort of gets this look on his face, like he kicked a puppy.” Alhaitham gets right up in Tighnari’s face, their noses almost touching. Shit, why is Alhaitham’s nose so fucking cold? “Are you the puppy, Tighnari?”
“Um…” He’s definitely the puppy, isn’t he? Cyno did toss him away, after all. “...Yeah?”
“Why’d he kick you, then?”
“Um, I, uh, maybe, um, kissed him—” Tighnari’s voice gets so tiny, he can barely hear it.
“WHAT!” Alhaitham shouts, slamming his book shut. Then he smirks like the evil bastard he is. “I knew it. It looked like someone had been chewing on his mouth.”
“Shut up,” Tighnari says, miserable. Why do all of his friends suck so bad? “He liked it. I think. And then Childe ruined it—”
“As he is wont to do,” Alhaitham muses. He runs a hand through his silver hair. “I kissed Kaveh once, you know.”
“WHAT!” Tighnari shouts back, not because he’s really surprised, but mostly as payback for getting his own eardrums busted. “Why?”
“Because he wouldn’t stop yammering about architectural shit, and I wanted to shut him the fuck up before my brain exploded all over the study room.” Alhaitham gives him a long, hard look, strange peacock-green eyes contemplative. “It didn’t mean anything. But I think we both know that this thing with you and Cy means something.”
“I think you’re in the wrong degree program,” Tighnari mutters, turning to leave. “You should seriously consider counseling. I feel sooo much better.”
“You’re welcome,” Alhaitham says.
He hunts down Kaveh next, which is probably the biggest mistake of his life. The architecture building freaks him the fuck out. It’s five stories tall, not counting the basement, and the entire southern face is made up of glass windows that overlook the street and the rest of campus. He and Cyno like making fun of the architects from the sidewalk below, ogling at their desks and projects, right there for all the world to see, but it’s a different matter to be inside the hellish building. Tighnari’s had a fear of heights since he was little, and his knees shake as he climbs up to the fourth floor, clinging to the metal railing with all his strength.
Kaveh is in the middle of the wide room, leaning over a large table covered in little wood models of bridges and stacks of paper. A bunch of freshmen are crowded around him, hanging onto his every word with bated breath. A red pen’s tucked behind his ear, holding his blond hair back, and his red-brown eyes are intently focused on the paper in front of him, tapping one of the upper corners with a metal ruler. “The upper floor is too heavy for the type of support you have here. You might want to consider I-beams, since the open ceiling design is going to be made of concrete. It’ll provide more support and go with the design you’ve chosen.”
Leaning against some student’s workspace, Tighnari watches in silence. Kaveh is a weird dude. Most of the time, he’s a total flirt, flitting through life with a canteen of shitty wine in hand, which honestly can’t be good for the bipolar meds he’s taking. He either dresses like a ho or a tragically romantic hero from an old novel, sometimes both at the same time. He’s loud and extraverted and a total party animal.
When he’s not terrorizing campus social life, he’s here, in the architecture building, tutoring the new freshmen. His entire demeanor changes when he’s working. Right now, he’s completely focused and serious, and there’s no trace of a flirty tone in his voice. “Kazak, consider the consequences of building a western-facing facade out of brick. It’ll help with internal heat during the winter, but in the summer, it’s going to be hell.”
Tighnari accidentally leans a little too hard, and the mini building made of toothpicks on the student’s desk crumbles with a sad wood sound. The whole room looks over at him.
“MY POT SHOP!” someone shrieks.
“It wasn’t glued together!” Tighnari grumbles.
Kaveh’s eyes meet Tighnari’s, and he turns for the exit, quickly weaving his way through the studio tables and desks and tall rolls of paper. Sighing, Tighnari bolts after him.
The knee shakes become a problem again on the stairs. Kaveh’s already on the second landing, and Tighnari bites the inside of his lip, squinting at the steps in front of him. It helps a little with the fear, but it doesn’t help with the fact that he’s climbing down stairs. “Kaveh, can you just stop for a sec?”
“No!” Kaveh shouts, but his footsteps stop.
“I feel like my fucking kneecaps are lodged in my throat right now!” Tighnari roars. “I just want to talk about Cyno!”
For a moment, there’s silence, and then he hears footsteps tapping their way back up. Kaveh climbs onto the third landing and stares at Tighnari, who’s halfway down from the fourth floor, clinging to the railing. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I don’t kid,” Tighnari says, plopping down on the stairs and sliding the rest of the way down. One flight down, two to go. “Alhaitham already said Cyno’s staying with you guys. Why didn’t you just tell me that?”
“Whatever’s going on with you two is your business,” Kaveh says, and Tighnari stares at him like he’s grown a second head. What the fuck?
“Since when did you decide to stay out of other people’s personal life?” he demands. “It’s your favorite hobby.”
“Second,” Kaveh corrects. “Right after bugging the shit out of Alhaitham.”
“He told me you kissed once.”
“Yeah.” Kaveh taps his fingers along the railing. “What about it?”
“You’re still friends.”
“If you want to call it that.”
“Do you think I should just tell Cyno that it was a mistake?” Tighnari asks, picking wood shavings and those awful little paper bits that happen when you rip a page out of a spiral notebook off his cargo pants. Have these people never heard of vacuuming?
“Do you think it was a mistake?”
“No. I mean, I did, but it doesn’t feel wrong, exactly.” Tighnari tugs on his shoulder-length hair and chews on a strand, a habit which he hasn’t done since he was like nine.
“Gross.” Kaveh flicks the red pen at him. It strikes him in the jaw and clatters to the floor. The hair falls out of his mouth. “Nari, the relationship you have with Cyno is different from me and Haitham. You can’t compare the two. You need to talk to him.”
“I can’t. And you know whose fault that is?”
“He’s at track practice, Nari. Get your ass out of my building, and get your kneecaps out of your brain cavity.” Kaveh snatches up his pen and heads up the stairs. “Text me later and let me know how it goes.”
Tighnari flips his middle finger at Kaveh’s retreating back and braces himself to slide down the rest of the stairs.
The track team is on the far side of the green, across from the dorms. Tighnari weaves his way across the grass, trying to avoid the field hockey players and the cheerleaders and the marching band twits and the two grad students making out next to a lightpost. It’s easy to spot Cyno. He’s not the tallest person on the team, but his pale hair is bright in the sun, his high ponytail blowing in the slight breeze.
Tighnari manages to get five yards away before Cyno hears his footsteps, and pale brown eyes lock on his before Cyno takes off, tearing across the grass.
“FUCK!” Tighnari roars. His kneecaps might not be in his throat anymore, but they’re still not exactly where they’re supposed to be. He chases after his friend anyway. Kaveh isn’t worth running after on wobbly legs, but Cyno is.
Cyno also has legs that are half a mile long, and he’s been running track since high school, and Tighnari hasn’t. The muscles in his calves burn as he forces himself as fast as he can, hand outstretched as Cyno comes within arm’s reach.
“I just want to talk to you!”
“Why!” Cyno shouts back, not stopping.
“Because!” Tighnari’s fingers close around the back of Cyno’s loose tank top, and he grips the material as hard as he can, hauling Cyno back. “Stop running, you jackass!”
Cyno might be a faster runner, but Tighnari’s stronger, and he doesn’t really struggle as Tighnari yanks him backwards until their bodies collide. Tighnari feels Cyno’s heart beating through the back of his ribs, rabbit-fast and skittish, and he wraps his arms around Cyno’s waist, burying his face in Cyno’s long hair. Cyno’s shirt rides up under Tighnari’s hands, his hard stomach slick with sweat, and Tighnari squeezes his eyes shut, panting against that terrible, beautiful mane of white hair. Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” Cyno says, voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to shove you. I just panicked.”
“Why? We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Because there’s like these categories you put people in, right? Once you label someone a friend, it feels weird to do things that aren’t friend things.”
“But we’re not just friends, Cy. We’re best friends.”
“And that makes it worse!” Cyno’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding.
Tighnari inhales, his lungs full of sun-kissed hair and cinnamon and Cyno. “Did you want it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“Nari—”
“Do you want to drop this subject right now and go get something to eat?”
A moment of silence. “Yes.”
The ache in Tighnari’s throat definitely isn’t because of his rogue kneecaps right now, and he swallows it down. This is good. It’s not a complete solution, but it’s a start. He slowly releases Cyno, stepping back. “I’m feeling like Thai.”
“Me too.” Cyno’s eyes meet his, and for the first time in their entire lives, Tighnari can’t tell what this emotion is. Something’s changed.
“But you’re paying,” Cyno adds, and Tighnari laughs, glad that they’re still okay.
Cyno collects his gear, and they head across the green to the Murder Road, weaving through stupid field hockey players.
“That was the gayest thing I’ve ever seen!” Childe shouts, smacking one of his teammates with his hockey stick.
“Go suck a dick, Childe,” Cyno says. “You ain’t seen gay until you’ve done that.”
“Fuck you,” Childe says, grinning.
In their usual booth at their favorite Thai place, Tighnari gives Cyno his wallet and lets him go order, sinking back against the cushions. He pulls up Kaveh’s number and sends him a text. I talked to him.
The answer comes back a second later. And?
We’re good.
Closing his eyes, Tighnari leans back against the booth and sighs.
The memory of Cyno’s mouth hurts.