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Truth be told, hardly anyone in Sumeru knows just how old—or young—the General Mahamatra is.
“Yeah, no idea,” Kaveh says, sipping on his drink. “Anywhere from eighteen to thirty, I suppose. Am I right?”
Tighnari laughs. “Well, you’re certainly not wrong.”
The three of them are sitting together at a table in Puspa Cafe, a game of Genius Invokation lying forgotten (although perhaps not entirely by Cyno) on the table after Kaveh had been distracted by something or other. And so after a series of varied, decreasingly sober conversations, they’ve somehow ended up at this topic. Tighnari doesn’t mind. It’s always amusing.
Cyno raises an eyebrow. “Eighteen?” he says dryly. “Really, Kaveh? How long have we known each other? You think I graduated at twelve? Became General Mahamatra at fourteen?”
“How am I supposed to know? You’ve never told me.” Kaveh grins. “So, who’s older between the two of you?”
“Why does everyone ask?” Cyno says, his brow furrowed. “It’s obviously me.” Tighnari cannot hold back his laughter. “What’s so amusing? That wasn’t a joke.”
Kaveh is chuckling too. “Well, I don’t think it’s as obvious as you believe it is,” he says.
“That’s ridiculous,” Cyno says, crossing his arms. “I’m a fair bit older than him. Look at us.”
“To be honest,” Tighnari says, “there are times where you come off younger than you actually are.”
Cyno huffs, offended. “You’re calling me childish.”
“No, no,” Tighnari says. “You’re just… endearingly youthful.”
“You’re lying.”
Tighnari grins, leaning in closer. “I would never.”
“Another lie,” Cyno says, reaching out to brush Tighnari’s bangs to the side. “It never ends.”
“Well, why don’t you get the truth out of me, then?”
“Alright, alright,” Kaveh says. “Either buy me another drink or take the flirting home. I’m not drunk enough for this.”
Tighnari turns to him, amused. “I thought you were a romantic, Kaveh.”
“I am!” Kaveh says. “But there’s romance and then there’s watching your friends make bedroom eyes at each other, and I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who really enjoys the latter.”
“Don’t mind him,” Cyno says to Tighnari. “He’s just lonely because Al-Haitham’s away.”
“How dare you, I would never—”
“Oh,” Tighnari says. “I’m sorry, Kaveh. That was inconsiderate of us, wasn’t it?”
“I am not lonely!” Kaveh retorts, incensed. “I‘ll have the whole house to myself tonight! I am not lonely! I am free—”
“Sorry, Kaveh,” Cyno says, deadpan. “You should’ve let us know you were going through a hard time.”
“I’m not! Stop apologising!” Kaveh exclaims. His face is very red. “I don’t want your fake pity!”
“You can always stay over at Gandharva if it’s too unbearable,” Tighnari says. “You know we’d never turn away a friend in need, especially one who’s heartbroken—”
“Enough!” Kaveh says, slamming down his glass. “Enough! Why did it turn into this? We were talking about—about—” He points at Cyno accusatorily. “How old are you? How old are you, you ambiguously-aged bastard?”
Cyno blinks, the picture of innocence. “Me?”
“Yes!”
“Oh. I’m eighteen.”
Tighnari laughs. Kaveh looks murderous. “I’m going to burn this place down,” Kaveh says.
“Hold the arson,” Tighnari says, smiling. “He’s twenty-six.”
Cyno turns to Tighnari. “You’re not backing me up on this one?”
“Kaveh’s been through a lot today,” Tighnari says. “Some mercy is called for, I think.” He lowers his voice. “He’s sleeping alone tonight, you know.”
“I can hear you,” Kaveh says. “I hate you both. Sumeru’s—no, Teyvat’s worst couple, really.”
“Cheers to that,” Tighnari says, clinking his glass with Cyno’s.
For Kaveh’s sake, they behave themselves in front of him. But if Tighnari takes Cyno’s hand under the table, and their ankles bump once or twice—well.
What Kaveh doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Later that night, when the two of them are alone in Tighnari’s bed and they’ve been kissing for a while, Cyno slides his hands under Tighnari’s shirt, a clear suggestion. And it’s nice—it always is, but Tighnari must’ve had a little too much wine earlier, because his only physical reaction is to yawn. Cyno laughs quietly, evidently unoffended.
“Tired?” he asks.
Tighnari nods. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t think I can do much tonight.”
“That’s alright,” Cyno says. “We can just sleep. You must be exhausted.”
“Okay,” Tighnari says. And then, “Next time. For sure, okay?”
Cyno huffs, looking embarrassed. “Do you think that’s all I think about?”
“Well, I know you think about it plenty,” Tighnari says, grinning.
Cyno flushes. “Be quiet, you.”
“Yes, yes, General Mahamatra,” Tighnari says.
He shifts to rest his head on Cyno’s arm. Cyno runs his fingers through Tighnari's hair, and begins to sing quietly in the soft, lilting syllables of the desert dialect. Tighnari recognises the melody—Cyno’s sang it to him a couple times now.
“I like this song,” Tighnari murmurs, half-asleep already. “What do the words mean?”
“I wonder,” Cyno says. “I can’t quite remember, unfortunately.” He presses a kiss to Tighnari’s forehead. “Goodnight, Tighnari.”
Goodnight, Cyno, Tighnari wants to say, but he’s not sure if he actually does so out loud—everything is so comfortable and warm, and Cyno is here, and so Tighnari drifts off almost immediately.
Tighnari’s first impression of Cyno had been much the same as anyone else’s. He’d taken a look at him and thought, I wonder if that man has ever smiled in his life. But unlike most Akademiya students, Tighnari had never been afraid of Cyno, simply because he’d done nothing wrong, and planned to do nothing wrong in the future, either.
And once they’d deepened their acquaintance, it’d been even harder to be afraid of Cyno. Because—well, how could he be afraid of someone who tells the worst jokes ever uttered aloud, who adores Genius Invokation TCG with all the passion in the world, and who grumbles about the impracticality of poorly-designed tableware? Or rather, how could he not love him?
Yes, Tighnari thinks, he’ll leave fearing Cyno to nervous academics and unfortunate criminals. He has his hands full with loving him already.
Recently, Cyno has been pushing for the three of them to go fishing together. Although they’d eventually acquiesced, Tighnari and Collei had been a little resistant to the idea, because, well—
“I suppose we’re all fishermen today,” Cyno says. “Call me Cyno the Angler.”
Collei looks as pained as Tighnari feels. “General Mahamatra—”
“I don’t know who that is,” Cyno says.
“Mister Angler, sir,” Collei says, seemingly already resigned, “your bait’s fallen off the hook.”
“Ah,” Cyno says. “Thank you.”
They’re allowed a few minutes of peace before Cyno speaks again.
“Seems like we’re a little unlucky today,” he says. “Perhaps we should make a fish wish.”
Tighnari stares out at the water, silent. Collei does the same.
“A wish for fish,” Cyno says. “It rhymes, so—”
“Oh, I got something!” Collei exclaims, and the relief in her voice is palpable. “I got something!”
The next few moments are a little chaotic—Cyno and Tighnari helping her with her first catch, Collei doing her best to hold the slippery creature while Tighnari brings out the Kamera to capture the moment. And after that, the fish come one after the other, and unfortunately for Cyno, there is not much time for him to share any witticisms he might have prepared.
When they’ve caught enough for dinner, Collei opts to return home early and get a head start on preparing the food, so Cyno and Tighnari stay behind to collect their equipment and release any fish that are too small to eat. Tighnari almost knows what’s coming before it does.
“There are plenty of fish in the ocean, but you’re the only one I sea,” Cyno says. He glances at Tighnari. “Do you get it? Sea, like the—”
“We’re at a river,” Tighnari says.
“So we are,” Cyno says. He looks just a little disappointed. “I was thinking of that one all night.”
Tighnari’s heart softens. “Cyno,” he says. He sighs inwardly, resigned. “Cyno the Angler.”
Cyno turns to him, looking delighted. “Yes?”
Tighnari pulls him in by the headdress and kisses him. Cyno makes a small, pleased sound of surprise and responds enthusiastically. Perhaps they both get a bit too enthusiastic, and come close to doing something indecent in broad daylight.
“Wait,” Tighnari says, breathless and barely able to think straight. “Collei is waiting for us.”
“Ah,” Cyno says, also looking a bit dazed, “yes, of course.”
And so they tidy themselves up, patting down messy hair, tucking in their clothes where they’re supposed to be tucked, whatever’s needed to make it appear that they hadn’t just done what they did.
“That wasn’t Cyno the Angler back there,” Cyno says, on their way back.
“Excuse me?”
“That was me, Cyno the General Mahamatra,” Cyno says. “I can’t have other men kissing you, after all.”
“You are ridiculous,” Tighnari says, rolling his eyes. But he takes Cyno’s hand anyways, interlacing their fingers.
He knows about Cyno’s past, the suffering and loneliness he’s gone through. Knows the heavy responsibility he’s taken on as the General Mahamatra and the burden it brings. And so he also knows that to see Cyno like this is a wonderful thing, terrible jokes notwithstanding.
“You know,” Cyno says later, “I’ve been informed by the Traveller that Lesser Lord Kusanali quite enjoys my jokes.”
Tighnari stares at him mutely for a moment, and then bursts into laughter. It’s nighttime, so he has to actively stifle it in his pillow.
“Why are you laughing? I wasn’t joking,” Cyno insists. Tighnari laughs harder. “Tighnari, it’s true.”
“May Lord Kusanali forgive you for blasphemy,” Tighnari says when he can finally speak, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Although—gods, that was funny. Perhaps you’ve got a talent for humour, after all.”
“It’s true,” Cyno says again.
Tighnari frowns. Now that he thinks about it, from what Traveller’s told them about Kusanali’s inclinations towards unconventional thought, it’s not completely out of character for her. And neither Cyno nor the Traveller is inclined to dishonesty, so—
“Oh, gods,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “The Dendro Archon likes your jokes.” Sumeru is done for, he supposes. And after all they’d gone through to save it.
“Well, you don’t have to sound so upset about it,” Cyno says.
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“No. I’m proud that my efforts have finally gotten the recognition they deserve.” Tighnari starts giggling again, and Cyno huffs, climbing on top of him. “Tighnari. Respect your elders.”
“My elders?” Tighnari says, looking around. “Where are they?”
Cyno huffs. “Insolent, aren’t you?”
Tighnari grins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Cyno taps the tip of Tighnari’s nose with his finger. “Insolent.”
Tighnari smiles up at him. “Punish me, then,” he says, and Cyno obliges him for the rest of the night.
Afterwards, Cyno sings that same song gently, his voice a lullaby in itself. Tighnari closes his eyes and smiles. He may not know the lyrics or understand them, but he knows the melody by heart, now.
When the two of them don’t have time to meet up for a while, Tighnari will often return home to small parcels of food left on his desk, along with a handwritten note. The note will, without fail, contain an attempt at humour, just as the food will always be something that Tighnari particularly enjoys—honeyed fruits, rare mushrooms, spiced pastries.
“Wow, he’s like a dusk bird,” Kaveh says, laughing.
“How so?” Tighnari asks. And then he remembers the species’ courtship ritual—bringing each other choice morsels of food to convey affection—and blushes, just a little. “Ah,” he says.
Kaveh grins. “Indeed,” he says. “Well, I dare say you’ll be well-fed for the foreseeable future, Tighnari.”
It’s true, really. In one of Tighnari’s drawers, there’s a large collection of notes in Cyno’s handwriting, folded lovingly and dating back for years.
Cyno’s birthday is, as usual, a joyous occasion. Tighnari even prepares a surprise for him.
“Tahchin?” Cyno says, sounding pleasantly surprised. “You learned how to make it for me?”
“Of course,” Tighnari says. Truth be told, it had been quite difficult to master, but he’d done it eventually.
Cyno puts an arm around Tighnari’s waist and kisses his cheek. “Thank you,” he says.
“Not at all,” Tighnari says, unable to hide his smile.
For a moment, he almost forgets that they’re not alone. Thankfully, Collei is looking very pointedly elsewhere. Tighnari clears his throat. “Well then,” he says. “Let’s eat, shall we?”
At night, they do what lovers do. But Cyno is so gentle, and something about this time is so tender, that Tighnari cannot stop himself.
“Cyno,” he says, “I love you.”
He has never said it before, even though he has thought it and felt it many, many times by now. And it feels so natural to say, so true, that he almost wants to say it again immediately.
“Oh,” Cyno says. In the dark, it is hard to make out his expression. A long pause. “Thank you very much.” He kisses Tighnari on the forehead. “Should we take a bath?”
Tighnari doesn’t sleep much that night.
The morning after, he’s still on edge, wounded. It makes him curt, colder than usual. Of course, this doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Tighnari,” Cyno says. “About last night—”
“Listen,” Tighnari says, frustrated and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. So—just forget it, okay?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Cyno. Forget it.”
His words come out a lot harsher than he’d meant them to be—Cyno looks taken aback. Tighnari’s heart twists. He’d only wanted to hide his own hurt, not lash out in the process. But his pride is too wounded for him to explain himself, and so they part ways that morning in silence.
Left alone, Tighnari feels his frustration fade into regret.
It’s not Cyno’s fault if his feelings aren’t as strong as Tighnari’s. After all, it’d been Tighnari who had loved him first, who had asked Cyno to be together after years of friendship. For all of his talk, all his teasing, perhaps he’s the childish one. Sometimes, it feels like he’d been the one chasing after Cyno, ever since they’d met all those years ago, and now he wonders if he’d ever quite caught up.
Whatever the case, he should apologise. The next time he sees Cyno, he will apologise for sure.
An unexpected guest arrives at Tighnari’s house the day after.
“Tighnari! Thought I’d see you here.”
Tighnari blinks, surprised but pleased. “Hello, Dehya,” he says. “What brings you to Gandharva?”
Apparently, she’d been passing through on business, and decided to pop in on the off chance that she’d see either him or Cyno. Tighnari’s glad to see her again—although they haven’t had much opportunity to speak after the whole ordeal at Pardis Dhyai, she’d left quite the positive impression.
Tighnari offers her some tea and snacks, and they chat about nothing in particular while he works on sorting through herbs. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ve got to do this before they dry. I don’t mean to be rude.”
“Oh, not at all,” Dehya says. “I’ll help out!”
“No, you’re a guest,” Tighnari protests.
Dehya waves dismissively. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do,” she says. “I’d like to learn, anyhow.”
“Well, if that’s what you want,” Tighnari says, pleased.
Dehya is quick to learn and efficient. But even though she is wonderful company and Tighnari enjoys the work, he cannot help but feel a little empty, just as he has for the past day or two. Almost without realising, he begins to hum the song that he now associates with Cyno, as if to comfort himself.
Dehya tilts her head. “I never took you for a romantic, Tighnari,” she says, looking amused.
Tighnari blinks. “Sorry?”
“This song,” Dehya says. “It’s a traditional love song, mostly played at desert weddings and the like.”
“Oh,” Tighnari says, taken aback. “I didn’t know.”
“Really?” Dehya says. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t understand the lyrics, anyhow.” She chuckles. “Perhaps it’s for the better. They’re quite cheesy, really.”
Tighnari swallows. “Dehya,” he says, “if you don’t mind—what do they mean?”
“Well, the it's a little hard to translate them directly. But essentially, they’re a promise in song. That you’ll protect your beloved no matter what happens, that they will never be alone as long as you live and breathe. That you’ll love them forever, even after the stars burn out.
…Tighnari? Tighnari, your face is so red—are you alright?”
Tighnari rushes to Sumeru City without much of a plan in his head. Truthfully, it’s a gamble whether Cyno will be there at all. But Tighnari does not care—if he does not find Cyno here, he will search anywhere, everywhere to find him—
And as if a miracle, he finds Cyno on the road, walking away from the city. Cyno looks shocked to see him.
“Tighnari? What are you doing here—”
Tighnari embraces him tightly, wordless.
“What’s this?” Cyno asks, even as he hugs Tighnari back. “Tighnari? Did something happen?”
Tighnari reaches out to hold Cyno’s face in his hands. “I’ve been a fool,” he says. “I’m sorry for being upset with you, Cyno. You don’t have to say it. You don’t have to say anything.”
“Why—”
“You’ve already been telling me in so many ways,” Tighnari says. “So it’s alright, if you can’t say it out loud. I’ll say it enough for both of us, so—it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Cyno takes Tighnari’s wrist gently, turns to kiss Tighnari’s palm. “No,” he says. “You deserve to hear it. I’ve been thinking—I want to say it. I want to tell you.”
“Cyno—”
“No, listen,” Cyno says, and his voice shakes a little. “I—I love you, I adore you. You are the love of my life, truly. Please believe me.”
“Oh,” Tighnari says, and realises all too late that as much as he’d wanted to hear those words, he’d never quite anticipated how they would make him feel. “I—oh. Oh, gods.” Mortified, he puts his burning face in his hands. His tail is wagging so violently it may as well fall off. Perhaps joy is like sunlight—too much for the body, and this is what happens.
“Tighnari, what is it?” Cyno sounds concerned, anxious. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Tighnari mumbles. “No, of course not. Just give me a moment. Don’t—don’t look at me.”
“But I want to see you.”
“You can’t,” Tighnari says, desperate. “You can’t, you can’t.”
“Please, Tighnari.”
Cyno’s fingers are gentle around Tighnari’s wrists, slowly moving his hands away from his face. Tighnari lets him, even as his cheeks burn with embarrassment and his heart pounds with elation. He feels hypersensitive, feverish. So this is love, he thinks. So this is love. How terrifying, how beautiful.
Their eyes meet. Cyno’s face is just as red; he looks just as overwhelmed. Somehow, seeing him like this makes Tighnari feel calmer. When it comes, the kiss is a gentle thing, chaste, and yet it makes an electric thrill run through Tighnari’s body. He wants to kiss Cyno stupid. He wants Cyno to have his way with him. He wants to be together like this, forever.
They’re leaning in again when someone interrupts them.
“Is that the General Mahamatra?”
Tighnari returns to reality, blinking. Cyno, too, looks similarly startled. And then Tighnari remembers that they are very much out in the open, where anyone can see them, and it is not quite dark enough to hide their faces entirely.
“No, it’s not,” Tighnari says, frowning at the gawking group of young Akademiya students. “Mind your own business.”
The group runs off, apparently abashed. Cyno laughs, gentle, and Tighnari takes his hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tighnari says. “Where were you headed?”
“I was going to see you,” Cyno says.
Of course, of course. Tighnari’s heart is full. “Come on, then,” he says, and together, the two of them make their way to Gandharva Ville.
“You know,” Cyno says later that night, when they are in bed together, “you’re the first person to ever say that to me.”
“Oh,” Tighnari says.
“My master, I’m sure he cares for me,” Cyno says. “I know he does. But he was never the type to—to say such things out loud. And so I just… never did, either.”
Tighnari thinks about his own family, where expressing affection had been the norm, I love yous simply a part of their everyday. Before bed, before partings. In times of happiness and times of sorrow. And Cyno hadn’t had any of that. His heart twists. “I see.”
“Truth be told,” Cyno continues. “I’d never really felt like I needed to. Until you, that is. I was so happy when you told me, really. But I just—I didn’t know what to do. I was… afraid, somehow.”
Tighnari takes his hand. “Are you still afraid?” he asks quietly.
“No,” Cyno says. He smiles, joyful and unrestrained. “No, not at all.”
“Tighnari?”
Tighnari narrows his eyes, suspicious. There’s a way in which Cyno says his name that suggests the setup for a joke, and that he’s learned to recognise after all this time. “What is it?”
“Would you still be with me if I were specific?” Cyno asks.
“What?”
“Instead of being the General Mahamatra. What if I were the Specific Maha—”
“No.”
“No, you wouldn’t be with me?”
“Cyno, stop.”
“Did you not get it?” Cyno says. “I thought it was one of my better ones. ‘General,’ as in ‘General Mahamatra,’ but also—”
“Finish that sentence and you’re sleeping alone tonight,” Tighnari says.
“How cruel,” Cyno says. “Don’t you love me?”
“Don’t you love me?” Tighnari retorts. “Why do you have to torture me like this?”
“It’s how I express my feelings for you.”
“Well, can you please express them differently?”
Cyno sighs, mock-resigned. “If I must,” he says, and pulls Tighnari in for a kiss.
It is gentle and lovely, and Tighnari can feel him smiling into it. And if he, too, is doing the same, it has nothing to do with that terrible joke just now, nothing at all.