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It is not necessarily unusual for Cyno to be late for his visits. Cyno does not leave his post before a job is done and all loose ends are tied up. And yet Tighnari finds himself grow restless every time when hours begin to stretch into days with no sign of the General Mahamatra. He doesn’t truly fear for Cyno because he knows of Cyno’s strength but that doesn’t quench the little voice inside his head that worries.
Three days have passed since Cyno had originally wanted to visit. So when Tighnari registers steps right outside his hut, familiar steps, relief rushes through him like a river breaking through a dam. He rises from his desk, daily report only half-written, and moves towards the door to welcome Cyno. Half-way across the room he stills. The door has been opened, the outline of Cyno a shadow against the darkness. Night has fallen hours ago, and the light of the candle on Tighnari’s desk is barely strong enough to reach Cyno.
Something is different from usual. Tighnari senses it immediately, and so it doesn’t come as a surprise when Cyno crosses the distance between them before Tighnari can so much as open his mouth. Cyno collides into him with enough force that Tighnari staggers back a step from the impact, but he catches his balance quickly. Arms have wound themselves around his waist, trapping his arms at his sides and his tail against his back. With his fists balled into the fabric of Tighnari’s clothes, Cyno wraps himself around Tighnari, his nose pressed against the nook of Tighnari’s neck. His hold is tight, so tight Tighnari finds it a little hard to breathe. There is a desperation in the tautness of his muscles that Tighnari rarely sees. Cyno isn’t hugging Tighnari, he is holding onto him as if Tighnari is a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea, and Cyno a sailor desperately trying not to drown.
Tighnari has no idea what demons Cyno has seen while he was gone this time. Which choices he had to make. There is a darkness inside Cyno, Tighnari knows. It has festered for so long, a darkness born from loneliness and principles so relentless they might just strangle Cyno himself one day. And no matter how much Tighnari wishes for it, he cannot dispel the darkness—but he can keep it at bay. It is something. It has to be enough.
Cyno’s breathing is ragged, his pulse hammering against Tighnari’s chest where he presses close. Tighnari remains silent. This is not the time for words. His fingers graze across rough bandages when his hands move around Cyno’s waist, and he stiffens slightly when Cyno flinches. It’s a movement so miniscule he would have missed it if not for the fact that every centimetre of Cyno’s body is pressed against him. When he pays attention, Tighnari can smell the bitterness of the herbs he uses for the antiseptic balms he always gives Cyno, underlaid with notes of iron, and a sickening sweetness. It’s very subtle, so Tighnari knows it’s nothing life-threatening, but it also hasn’t healed well yet. Still, Tighnari does not scold Cyno for the festering wound in his side, like he usually would. Not tonight.
Instead he places his hands softly on Cyno’s back, and leans his head against Cyno’s. His white hair smells like dust and smoke, mixed with the scent that is distinctly Cyno. They stand like this, in the middle of Tighnari’s room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the candle, until the rain that Tighnari had smelled from far away has reached Gandharva Ville. Heavy rain had fallen every night for the past week, the fauna greatly appreciating it and making Tighnari’s job of looking for herbs a lot easier.
The rhythmic pitter-patter drowns out all other noises from the forest, all birdcalls and the hum of insects. As long as Tighnari can remember, he has loved the sound of the rain. It relaxes him, and he can feel the desperation slowly fade from Cyno’s hold as well. He hasn’t fully released the tension in his muscles, not yet, but Tighnari no longer feels as if he’s getting crushed. The air feels calm around them, and through all his worry, Tighnari almost smiles. Then, the room is bathed in blinding light and a thunder crashes, loud and deep and rumbling, right above them. Tighnari jumps in Cyno’s hold, an involuntary yelp escaping him. His ears fold back against his head in annoyance, still ringing even after the thunder has subsided already. He feels Cyno’s laugh more than he hears it, a gust of air ghosting against his neck. It’s just a short huff, and Tighnari is almost inclined to believe it was just his imagination when he feels the smile on Cyno’s lips against his neck.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asks incredulously, a spark of indignation in his voice.
“You’re cute,” Cyno mumbles, ”Afraid of thunder.”
The spark bursts aflame. Tighnari leans back so he can properly look at Cyno. “Excuse me? I am not afraid, I am just sensitive to sound. We can’t all be deaf like you.”
Instead of looking appropriately abashed, Cyno meets his gaze head on. “Are you going to give me an earful now?”
And just like that, the heavy atmosphere around them is lifted. Tighnari rolls his eyes, and Cyno releases his hold. Just by the way he breathes in, Tighnari can tell what is coming. His eyebrows furrow.
“I was planning to warm up something from dinner for you but if you insist on explaining that joke I might as well serve it to you as is, save myself the trouble.”
Cyno looks pensive for a second, as if weighing his options but Tighnari feels the back of his neck prick, as if the danger instincts of his animalistic DNA are warning him. He has dubbed that feeling his Cyno-joke-sensor and it rarely fails him.
“Well, they do say revenge is best served cold.”
Cyno waits, as he always does, for Tighnari’s reaction, when he must already know what it’ll be. Among the matra it is an unwritten rule to laugh at Cyno’s jokes, just to circumvent the lengthy explanations that will invariably follow if Cyno is met with silence. Tighnari however refuses to be baited. If Cyno wants laughs, he’s gotta earn them.
“Really? This one is quite easy to understand though, isn’t it? You are mad at being called scared, so as a revenge, you give me cold food.” And as if on cue, he starts laughing. Tighnari still remembers the beginnings of Cyno’s jokester career, when his laughs sounded as mechanic as those of the recipients of his jokes. Almost as if he had read somewhere that when he laughs, others are more likely to join in.
Years have passed since then, and while the quality of his jokes has not improved, at least Cyno appears to be genuinely amused by them. Tighnari wouldn’t admit it out loud, even if he were on his deathbed, but it is quite endearing.
The moment lasts but a second, because then Cyno winces. Laughter does not go together well with a fresh wound. Tighnari’s exasperated expression immediately softens.
“Go sit on the bed,” he orders, “Let me have a look at that wound.”
Cyno does as he’s told without protest. He might downplay the severity of his wounds regularly, but he is no fool either and he knows better than to argue with Tighnari. On his way to fetch his medicine kit, Tighnari quickly lights up the small stove in the corner of his room, placing the leftover curry he made the day before—he must have been spending too much time with the children from Vimara Village—on top of it. It can reheat while Tighnari is tending to Cyno’s wounds.
He flicks on the lamp next to his bed, his eyes needing a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, then he turns to Cyno. The bandages wrapped around Cyno’s waist are dusty. Cyno must have been to the desert, Tighnari concludes, and fears for the worst as he peels them away. With all the wind and sand it’s almost impossible to keep a wound clean out there. The gash Tighnari reveals does look ugly, yes, but Cyno did a good job with the initial treatment. Perhaps he was paying attention to Tighnari’s lectures after all. There are no signs of infection, and the scent of the antiseptic balm is even more pungent now.
“I’ll have to sew it shut,” Tighnari declares after his initial assessment, rummaging through his bag. “But first, drink this.” He pulls out a small vial, filled with a dark blue liquid. It took Tighnari forever to convince Cyno to accept Tighnari’s analgesic potions—not because he didn’t trust them, but because they dull his senses. Over time, he begrudgingly started accepting them—in the safety of Tighnari’s home, at least. And Tighnari, in turn, only makes him take them if he sees it as absolutely necessary.
Cyno empties the vial in one gulp, and passes the empty container back to Tighnari who has bound his hair back into a short ponytail. He can’t have it fall into his eyes. Without a word, Cyno leans back onto his hands, stretching out his torso to make it easier for Tighnari to work. They have developed a routine over the years, of Tighnari patching Cyno up after his more perilous missions. Tighnari cleans the wound with practiced movements before stitching it up. Cyno doesn’t show any reaction throughout the process, no twitch, no bated breath. He just watches Tighnari. It should be unnerving, to be watched so closely, but Tighnari finds it rather calming. For him, Cyno’s piercing gaze holds nothing but warmth.
Once he has reapplied the antiseptic balm and dressed the wound with fresh bandages, he looks once at his handiwork, then up to Cyno. Out of impulse, he leans up to press a small kiss against Cyno’s lips. Red eyes widen in surprise.
“What was that for?”
“For not calling me the funniest guy on earth because I have you in stitches whenever you visit,” Tighnari explains, gathering his tools to stow them away again. He will likely need them again tomorrow—though the emergencies he has to deal with on a daily basis thankfully are not of this severity.
Cyno’s mouth is caught open in a small ‘o’ shape of realisation, and Tighnari follows his gaze to the door, where he dropped his satchel after coming in.
“You better not be thinking about writing that down. I wouldn’t be able to face the Matra again knowing I had contributed to that joke collection of yours,” Tighnari warns. He takes two bowls from the shelf—he already had dinner, but the smell is making his mouth water, and he still has a good bit of protocol writing ahead of him, so a little bit of additional sustenance isn’t the worst idea. He just hopes the food will be distracting enough to make Cyno forget about the stitches joke.
As he sits down next to Cyno on the bed—the only proper seating he has in his hut being his bed and his desk chair—Tighnari realises that he wouldn’t have had to worry. Cyno gratefully accepts the hot bowl handed to him, but Tighnari can see the bone-deep exhaustion in him. It’s sheer force of will that’s keeping him going at this point. They eat in a comfortable silence, Cyno leaned against Tighnari’s shoulder.
“Go to sleep,” Tighnari tells him once they’re done, plucking the bowl from Cyno’s hands. “I still have to finish up my daily report, so I’ll join you later.”
Cyno doesn’t even protest, just nods and proceeds to undress until he’s in just his underwear. He crawls under Tighnari’s blanket. Tighnari can hear his heart beating, slowly, relaxed, but even though Cyno’s eyes are closed, he is not yet asleep. Still, the sight of Cyno in his bed never fails to make a deep sense of contentment spread through Tighnari.
He puts the dishes in a basket next to the door to clean the next day, extinguishes the light next to his bed and sits down at his desk. It’s the same position he was in not even an hour ago but he feels so much lighter, the words flowing more freely than they did before. In the end he manages to finish his report twice as fast as he anticipated, even with the occasional glances he sneaks at Cyno’s sleeping form. His breathing has evened out, mixing with the splatter of the rain against the roof.
TIghnari is good at being quiet, he really is. Not only does he have a keen sense of hearing, but his movements are more controlled than those of most humans. With his bare feet, he manages to make no sound that is perceptible to his own ears—meaning no human should be able to hear him. And yet, the moment he approaches his bed, Cyno’s eyes snap open. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Tighnari, then exhales slowly. He shuffles back, making space for Tighnari to join him. As soon as TIghnari has settled in, Cyno slings an arm over his waist and cuddles into him. The next second his breathing slows, until Tighnari is sure he has fallen asleep again.
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Despite his late bedtime, Tighnari wakes the next morning at dawn. His biological clock is wired to the sun, and when the forest awakes, so do the Forest Rangers. The soft light of the morning filters through the cracks of the blinds he closed because of the storm the previous night. A weight is resting on Tighnari’s chest, warm and reassuring.
Cyno is still fast asleep. Like this, his features are uncharacteristically soft. In his line of work, Cyno constantly has to deal with the dark sides of human nature. No matter how often Tighnari tells him to not be so serious all the time, he knows that it is not easy for Cyno to let go of all the demons haunting him. But here, asleep in Tighnari’s arms, he looks at peace.
A knock suddenly resounds through the room, followed by a hesitant voice. “M-master?”
Shit. Morning patrol.
After the happenings of last night, he had forgotten all about his own duties. He does not want Cyno to be woken up, so he frantically searches for a way to respond to Collei’s calls without having to raise his voice. His gaze lands on his vision, nestled on the bedside table next to Cyno’s. In a spur of the moment decision, he reaches for it. With its help, he summons vines to push open his door.
“Master?” Collei whispers in confusion, popping her head into the now open but empty doorway. Her gaze scans the twilight of Tighnari’s hut, eventually settling on the bed. She makes a soft sound of understanding.
Tighnari beckons her over with a wave of his hand, careful for the motion not to startle Cyno. Collei enters with quiet footsteps, and pride blooms in Tighnari’s chest. She has come a long way in her Forest Ranger training.
“Sorry, Collei, can you lead the morning briefing today? My notes are on the desk, they should detail everything you need.”
“A-are you sure, master?” Collei asks, flustered.
Tighnari smiles. “You’ll do just fine, don’t worry. I wanted to give you more responsibilities soon anyway, I know you’re ready for it.”
He doesn’t just mean morning briefings, but he has to keep their conversation as short as possible. “Tell the others I have urgent matters to attend to, but I will be with you for the noon shift at latest,” he instructs quietly, then adds, “Of course you can get me if there is an emergency.”
Perhaps it goes without saying, but Collei still nods to signal that she has understood. Her gaze rests on Cyno’s face, or rather, the white hair that conceals most of it. She always wears a complicated expression when she looks at him, or even if he is just the topic of a conversation. Tighnari knows of the various emotions warring inside of her regarding Cyno.
“Tell him that I hope he’s doing well.”
“I will let him know,” Tighnari promises.
Collei nods, once, twice, as if to herself. Then, she meets Tighnari’s gaze, and nods again, this time with more purpose. I got this, you don’t have to worry, is what the motion tells Tighnari. He nods back with a gentle smile. She moves to the desk with quiet steps to collect the notecards, then leaves just as quickly as she arrived, closing the door carefully behind her to not make any noise.
Tighnari exhales deeply. All throughout the entire exchange, Cyno hasn’t stirred once. His breathing and pulse remain even and slow.
“You must be very tired,” Tighnari muses quietly, stroking a hand over Cyno’s white hair. “It’s okay. Sleep as much as you need, I’ll be here watching over you.”