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There’s something soft about the glow of his computer screen after a long stream. He can’t put his finger on it, but it’s as tangible as the crack of his back when Cyno stretches, throws his head back against the cushioned chair. The hair-tie digs into his skull; he’s left it on too long, annoyed by the cloying heat. But he’s too old to keep his hair up the whole day, and the tension pulls at his scalp with vengeance.
Still, he wouldn’t change a thing.
He pulls the hair-tie out, throwing it on his keyboard and shaking his hair out. There’s merit to cutting it, like Al-Haitham keeps suggesting he does. And still.
Cyno would literally rather sit naked on a hot grill.
He sighs, pulling his head down towards his knees. It hurts, his spine stiff. That’s fine. He just has to give it a moment and then…
“Ming’er?” he calls, voice garbled through his contracted throat. He can’t see his son like this, but the shuffle in the kitchen is unmistakable. Lately, the kid has gotten so deep into cooking Cyno is considering renovating the kitchen. They could use a better oven, maybe a few gadgets. Especially if Gaming keeps at it; Cyno is not a measly cook, but he will admit to preferring meals he can make in the comfort of a single pot or casserole.
Hm, he should make tahchin.
“Yes, pa?”
“Shower or yoga first?” Cyno grumbles out—the hot water is calling to him, but the already high chance he won’t want to move after is increasing by the second.
Gaming’s laughter rings out like wedding bells, all fluttery wings and sunshine. He taps something—a spatula, probably—against the door frame. Cyno straightens to see him leaning against it, bright-eyed and grinning. He’s getting tall.
The kid shatters his dreams, because he is cruel —“Yoga”—then fixes them right back when he adds “Then we can eat and hit the sauna, how about that?”
Cyno doesn’t hesitate. He’s out of his chair in seconds. “Deal.”
Cyno feels the weight of the gaze slipping down his shoulders and arms before he notices the other person. His tank top is clinging to his skin, the heat uncaring they’re moving into autumn. He rolls his neck, letting the tension drain from sore muscles. Glancing around, he can just barely spot the newcomer in the distance; they’re too far for any details.
Not that he’s worried. The house is in a good area, and the city is safe overall. Whoever it is has a reason to be here—Cyno is simply not used to being perceived outside of the camera lens.
Maybe I am too much of a shut in, he sighs. He never did agree with Aether; they hike together whenever their schedule allows, and Cyno has plenty of friends to socialize with.
It has been a while since he met somebody new though.
“Is it the last one?” he asks Collei when she hurries over, a book and a plush both clutched to her chest. The bags of soil Cyno’s been asked to move aren’t all that heavy on their own, but he’s pretty sure there was more than a hundred of them. Why does anyone need that many Cyno neither knows nor bothered to ask. Then again, the garden, barren as it is, takes up more space than the house itself.
When Razor mentioned they’d need to hire help because of his father’s injury, Gaming didn’t think twice before offering to help. The two of them were lounging on the living room’s floor, beads and crafts scattered around them in preparation for Bennett’s birthday—birthday that, mind you, was months away. But as they said, it was rare from them not to be all present.
Cyno had just finished his stream, and he was leaning against the couch to watch them when Razor brought it up; they had recently moved, and his father had big plans of reinvigorating the garden. He’d ordered a mass of things that went over Cyno’s head, only to get injured during a tennis match with a friend. So Cyno offered his help as well.
As it is, the kids have long since succumbed to the heat, retreating to the sweet air conditioned inside of the house with a promise of having ice tea ready for Cyno and Collei whom they abandoned so. Their words.
“Yes! Thank you so much, Mister Cyno!”
“Just Cyno is fine.”
“Absolutely not! It’s rude!” she puffs her cheeks out. Then, with twinkling eyes, she adds, “Papa would have my neck if I even tried.”
Cyno breathes out a laugh, shaking his head out as he lets his hair down. “Your father is too strict.”
“Excuse me for raising my kids to have manners,” sounds out from behind him.
Cyno turns to see the most beautiful man the universe has ever created, from the toes of his shoes, to the tips of his ears, and focused especially on his smirk.
He has his hip cocked, hands tentatively crossed over his chest, clad in a loose, thin burgundy hoodie. Cyno thinks he spots a bit of a bandage over his hand, but well, he’s too busy staring at his lips to pay attention.
Those lips stretch into a proper smile, though Cyno can’t tell if it’s genuine or cynical—but the man’s eyes are warm, if calculating, so he’s leaning towards the former. “So you’re the one who has been stealing my son away from me,” the lips tease.
He’s dangerous, Cyno thinks. In more ways than one. Somehow, he has no doubt the man would know exactly how to choke him if he wanted to.
…depending on the type of choking, Cyno might even let him.
“The kids like the flat,” he offers, wiping his hand of sweat and dirt on his shorts before extending it, “Cyno.”
The man looks him up and down so slowly it makes him fidget—something he hasn’t done since middle school. Cyno can’t tell if his gaze is hot or cold, just that it freezes him to the spot all the same.
“Tighnari. I’d take the handshake, but…” he uncrosses his arms, presenting his immobilized fingers, ring and little. His nails, pointing to the sky, are long and on the sharp end, meticulously maintained. Cyno never knew he could find hands pretty.
He doesn’t think before acting, reaching out and grasping his hand—gently, gentler than handling a fawn. He guides it between them, has Tighnari—Tighnari, Tighnari— straighten his arm in a loose hold. Just before he leans down to press a kiss into the soft skin, cautious of the injury, he catches a flash of surprise in those sunset eyes, widening and trembling, lips falling open like a doll.
The kiss is quick, and, if Cyno’s to be honest with himself, rather awkward. He doesn’t do this. Doesn’t offer courteous gestures to strangers, no matter how much his son gushes about them. Cyno is the type to start off wary even with the spouses of his inner circle. He’d heard Aether talk about Xiao for years before he met the man, and it did nothing to ease his discomfort. Maybe it’s the way he was raised; maybe it’s just his nature, but until now, Cyno has always been suspicious of new people. For Tighnari to grasp him so strongly, no matter how pretty he is…
Ah. So that’s how it is.
Tighnari’s eyes are softer when Cyno rises, amusement dancing in them like fireflies in the night. His heart flutters at the sight, attempting to crawl out of his chest and into this gorgeous man to make them one.
“A gentleman,” Tighnari hums. Purrs, really, tail flicking behind him. It’s not Cyno’s first time seeing one of his kind, but Tighnari is certainly the most striking. Among all of Teyvat’s peoples. “Thank you for helping out.”
“It’s no problem,” Cyno replies, mapping each strand of hair framing Tighnari’s face, memorizing where it’s dyed and where its natural. Two wisps of his fringe stand stark against his dark hair, two locks brained in the length proper. Green, soft like leaves in the autumn just before they change color, and ashen-gray, reminding Cyno of wolf fur.
His kids’ colors.
“Let me pay you back,” Tighnari says, motioning to the house. Cyno’s eyes follow his gesture, only to find Collei much further out, hovering by the planters lined against the house walls. When did she move?
Nudging Cyno to follow, Tighnari continues, paying no attention to Collei’s not-at-all-inconspicuous whistling,“We’re not fully set up yet, as you can see, but I’m sure we can find something you like. Tea is in its place, at least.”
“I’m not much of a tea person,” Cyno says before he thinks. The urge to smack himself in the head in strong, but Cyno has been an adult long enough to hold back. It only leads to more embarrassment anyway.
A sharp pain shoots through his ribcage at the way Tighnari’s ears drop, pulling back against his skull. Tail curling around his hip, a quiet oh leaves him mouth— but Tighnari gathers himself quickly, rolling his shoulders back as he sighs at himself. Cyno wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t watching the man so intently. And he’d be a fool if he let this stand, so he rushes to fix his fumble.
“But maybe you’d let me take you to dinner?” he adds, only work experience at modeling his voice keeping him from sounding as lame as he feels.
Tighnari pauses, eyes shifting to Cyno, a huh written all over his his face, though he doesn't word it at all. A second of silence, then a smile blooms like the flower of eternal life. It lights up Tighnari’s face more than the beaming sun, more brilliant than any jewelry—which, Cyno notices, Tighnari’s wearing quite a lot of.
Just like his house—what Cyno saw of it and what Gaming had described from the previous setup—Tighnari doesn't seem to care whether his adornments go together or not; he’s got several bracelets and even more brooches on his clothes, as well as half a dozen cuffs lining his ears. Cyno thinks there’s clip-ons, but he’s no expert. Despite their apparent messiness, they work together well, brought together by Tighnari’s very essence.
He’s stunning.
It seems Tighnari is already quite adept at reading Cyno’s thoughts, because his grin grows more confident. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he opens the door with a flourish and a bow, the kind Cyno saw from Lyney.
“I could never make you pay after all you've done. Sit. I will prepare something for us.”
Inside, the boys regard them curiously; Bennett cheerily launches into some tale, though he barely gets a sentence past his lips before Razor grabs his sleeve. Cyno sees Bennett and Gaming exchange a look, Razor staring intently at Tighnari. “Later,” he mouths, and all the boys huddle together with sparkling interest in their eyes. Collei shuffles into the room, looking between the two groups while chewing on her lip.
“Why don’t we go out for ice cream!” she suggests, just a bit too loud to sound natural, and gathers the boys up by their elbows before they even consider their answer. It takes maybe twenty seconds before the front door shuts behind the four of them.
Tighnari, who has been watching them with starry amusement, huffs out a laugh, shaking his head with affection. His ornaments jingle, though nowhere as loud as the love he carries for his children.
“Collei thinks I’m lonely,” he explains at Cyno’s inquiring look, sweet fondness coating the words.
“Aren’t you?” Cyno says, tease lifting his words to breathlessness.
Tighnari gestures around the house with a small smirk and a cocked hip. “Do I look lonely?” He moves to the fridge, glancing at Cyno with half-lidded eyes. No man should be this attractive standing in the kitchen. “Do you eat meat?”
“I do,” Cyno leans closer, stepping up to help Tighnari— who shoulders him away gently and cuts out two pieces of lasagna from a big tray. Puts them into the oven, shutting the door with his hip. Seeing Cyno still hovering, he rolls his eyes good-naturedly.
“The cutlery is in the third drawer, if you really want to help,” he sighs, and it’s the sweetest sound Cyno heard in his life. “Sorry for the mess.”
“I don’t mind,” Cyno hums, rummaging in the drawer. The cutlery is all pooled in a single box, clearly yet to be organized. “For the record, I think you look like a man who has his life figured out and is enjoying it a lot.”
Though, he hopes, there’s space in it for something new. For Cyno.
Tighnari’s smile is pretty and wild like a cornflower, a glimpse of a fang peeking through his lips.
“Indeed.”
They talk as they eat, though Cyno has to admit he interrupts Tighnari quite a bit to gush over the food. Luckily, the foxian takes it in stride, tail swishing pleased and ears twitching with amusement. He huffs and puffs when Cyno insists on cleaning up after, but his contentment swims through the air like the fragrant, mellow scent of his plants.
Cyno feels his eyes on his back as he washes the dishes, moving slowly over his shoulders, down the divot of his spine. Up again, lingering at his nape, intense enough that the little hairs there rise. It’s not the hotness of sudden lust; it’s warmer than crackling fireplace of affection. More like sitting too close to a campfire, the heat biting at his skin but too tempting to stray from it, any inch away too cold, too lonesome.
Those eyes don’t stray from him as he moves back to the table. No, Tighnari stares unabashedly, shifting on the spectrum of calculating and examining. Like Cyno is a specimen he can’t wait to delve into, bury his claws under his skin and catalog his bones. A scientist, through and through.
A scientist that knows how to use his knowledge for more than diagnoses and academics, unafraid to make it known.
Cyno licks his lips, dry and hot, watches Tighnari’s eyes trace the movement. It gives him just enough courage to take the man’s hand as he sits down, playing with Tighnari’s claws, enjoying the slight prickle.
“I was curious since Razor started talking about you,” Tighnari hums, smile dancing upon his lips, his eyes, his tail, “But I’ve got to admit I didn’t expect this.”
Cyno never expected to have a soulmate at all. Certainly not with the father of one of his son’s best friends. But now that he’s felt it, he can’t imagine anything better. Anything more perfect.
“I didn’t expect anything in particular,” Cyno answers. “But I can’t say I’m soulprised.”
Tighnari’s ear twitches. His tail freezes in its lazy sway. For a moment, he only stares blankly. Long enough for Cyno to open his mouth, intent on explaining—then he snorts, head bowing towards the table.
“I see how it is,” he huffs. “Should… sould I prepare myself for a lifetime of exasperation?”
It’s Cyno’s turn to grin, his teeth, while nowhere as sharp as Tighnari’s, glint in the light. “I’ll get you to like it.”
The tail hits the back of the chair, fur rustling against the wood. The dual tones of Tighnari’s eyes shift from a sunset into a solar flare over the forest, deep and promising. “I’m looking forward to it.”