Work Text:
It was nothing unusual.
If there was one person in the Akademiya who would come and go as he wished, it was Cyno. He was often away on missions for long periods of time, and mostly returned at odd hours; silently and without drawing any unnecessary attention towards himself.
Alhaitham suspected it was on purpose. Cyno was known to have the sense to prefer working alone, after all. Returning at odd hours also had the added advantage of being able to simply leave his report on the sages' desk for them to peruse the next day. More time between the end of a mission and the sages learning the details about it also tended to yield fewer invasive questions, as it made little sense to question what had already been efficiently resolved.
That, he surmised, was a fact Cyno was both well aware of and well accustomed to using to his advantage. Yet, the uneasy feeling in his gut refused to fade.
It had been almost a week. Six days, nineteen hours and thirty-seven minutes since he had been standing by this very window, secretly watching Cyno as he left. The fact that he did not even need to count the hours and minutes was a testament to how much he cared.
Too much, he reminded himself, reaching for the coffee cup on the window sill and taking a long sip.
Cyno can take care of himself better than anyone. He doesn't need you worrying about him for arbitrary reasons.
The attempt at a dismissive thought did not calm his worries in the slightest.
***
This unease, however, was unusual.
Most of the time, Alhaitham was used to simply registering Cyno's comings and goings in his own mind; little facts that he collected with pleasure, without ever stopping to consider when the smaller man had begun to matter that much to him that he would care about these details. It had become a matter of habit, something he did naturally and effortlessly. Now that he thought of it more thoroughly, it was true that he always felt calmer whenever he knew that Cyno was back and safe after missions, yet he never recognised the tension that went along with watching him leave.
Such shifts in emotion over something - someone - as unimpressionable as the General Mahatma himself were unproductive at best, and foolish at worst.
If there was one thing Alhaitham would not do, it was foolish things on purpose.
He turned his back to the window demonstratively, and picked out a book on comparative linguistics from his shelf for a bit of light reading later in the evening.
In a minute he'd be off the clock, and able to go home and spend his time however he wanted.
Perfect.
***
As he made his way down the winding road from the Akademiya to the streets below, he was met with a rather larger amount of people than usual. Perhaps because it was the first day of weekend, and people scurried to and fro to prepare for the couple of days ahead. However, the further he walked, the more it seemed that the people ahead were gathering in a sort of crowd, lining the sides of the road instead of moving along to their own rhythm.
Something was clearly drawing their attention. However, unlike the buzz of a crowd watching something interesting or inspiring, this one was silent. A reverent, almost eerie silence; as if they didn't know how to handle the sight in front of them.
Against his better judgment, Alhaitham took a few steps closer. The advantage of being taller than most, meant that he had a good view once he got close enough.
His heart squeezed in his chest.
Cyno.
Cyno in his full General Mahamatra gear; his more inconspicuous travel cloak nowhere in sight. However, this wasn't Cyno in his usual intimidating and untouchable state. He was limping on his left foot; a long gash in his leg still oozing blood through a makeshift bandage. Several smaller cuts and bruises made it clear that he had been in a fight, and quite recently at that.
A few people in the crowd gasped out in shock at the sight, but no one - not a single one - made any move to get closer.
Alhaitham could feel the rage burning in his veins.
The fact that people were able to just stand around and openly stare like that made him furious. It was as if this was some sort of play or twisted entertainment to them; as if this chance to see the General at a vulnerable moment brought its own excitement.
How dare they?
In the space of a few seconds, Alhaitham had connected all of the dots.
The fact that Cyno had returned exactly now; exactly at a time when the Akademiya would be closed for the weekend, was so that he could quietly deliver his report and then go home and have some time for the worst injuries to heal before the next working day. He had, however, failed to gauge the interest in his person and the fact that the same people who would normally shy away from him were now standing around delighting in this dent in his usually stoic demeanour.
The few whispers that could be made out over the deafening silence were not pleasant. The curious tone adopted by a few bystanding scholars failed to mask the hatred underneath; their usual respect thrown aside in favour of momentarily being able to remain faceless and nameless among many; their verbal courage evidently perpendicular to the size of the crowd.
"To think that our General can't hold the enemy off in a fight," in a sneering voice somewhere.
"I wonder if it was the Eremites that got him?"
"A most fitting way to treat an enemy of research, if so."
With sudden determination, Alhaitham pushed through the crowd, not stopping until he was next to Cyno on the path. He could feel the curious gazes of the crowd in his back as he took off his coat and placed it gently over Cyno's shoulders. Even though it was far too large for the General's smaller frame, it served its purpose for the moment - to cover up his injuries, and shield him from the hungry gazes devouring the sight of him in this state.
"Such a large crowd, and such an utter lack of competence," Alhaitham remarked coldly, his gaze and attention suddenly directed towards the bystanders.
"I fail to see the appeal of idly delighting in the misery of another."
The crowd backed away slowly at his words, but didn't fully dissipate. For that, the scene in front of them was still too intriguing; too interesting to simply leave behind.
Alhaitham, however, was not satisfied.
"If you have no intention of making yourselves useful, then I'm sure your precious eyesight could be put to better use elsewhere," he continued, before his tone sharpened considerably.
"Perhaps you'd be better off looking for a grain of common sense. More than a few of those seem to have been lost in this area as of late."
With that, the crowd finally dissolved, shamefully.
Cyno looked up.
"You didn't need to do that."
Alhaitham merely huffed in response to that; a sound of quiet disagreement. He did, however, notice the fact that Cyno pulled the coat tighter around himself and remained still on the same spot.
Apparently comfortable in his presence, despite the attempt at being dismissive.
***
"I need to go to the Akademiya with my report."
"No, you don't. Not yet."
"I do!"
Alhaitham stifled a sigh. "No-one will read it until the start of the new week anyway. What difference does it make if you hand it in now, or before the end of the weekend? Besides..."
He paused, suddenly unsure of how to word his thoughts in a way that didn't sound too personal, too intrusive.
"You're injured," he finally pointed out, with a glance towards the gash in Cyno's leg. "Taking care of yourself is far more important than handing in a few pieces of paper."
Cyno shrugged. "It'll heal," he said with a small wince. "In due time."
"In due time" is an arbitrary constraint of time. With proper rest and care it'll heal faster and with less discomfort on your part."
It wasn't quite an invite, but Cyno understood.
"If you insist," he said with a small smile. "I could actually use the company. For a while."
***
Cyno was curled up on the divan on the left side of Alhaitham's living room table. The large piece of furniture made him look small; an impression not at all remedied by the way he kept his legs tucked in under himself.
"You didn't need to do this," he commented as he watched Alhaitham emerge from the bathroom carrying a large washbasin filled with warm water. His tone was quiet and matter-of-factly, but he had to look away as he spoke.
Suddenly self-conscious. Suddenly all too aware of where he was, and with whom. A hint of warmth blossomed in his chest at the thought, before he forced it to the back of his mind while pulling a thoughtful hand through his hair.
Alhaitham merely huffed in response.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted. "But it would have made no sense to let you go home alone when I knew you were injured."
"I do that fairly often," Cyno pointed out; an unspoken question underneath his words.
What had changed, suddenly?
"You often do, because you come and go in the dead of night precisely to avoid arising the concern of others," Alhaitham pointed out, placing the basin on the floor. He grabbed a soft cloth poking out of his belt pouch, and kneeled next to the basin.
"Your feet?"
Cyno shifted, sitting up properly. He inched closer to the edge of the divan, until he could slip his feet over the edge and allow Haitham to guide them into the warm water.
A soft sound of appreciation escaped him as his feet soaked in the water, earning a brief change of expression - a hint of a soft smile? - from the man kneeling in front of him.
"What's this idea about washing my feet, anyway?" he wondered, directing attention away from the uncomfortable awareness of the moment. "I thought you were mainly concerned about the wounds?"
Alhaitham shrugged. "I'm merely doing things in order. I wouldn't want any of your wounds to become infected because I had neglected the cleanliness while taking care of them."
With that, he started picking out a number of little supplies from his pouch - a bottle of saline solution, gauzes, pads and even a small pair of scissors should anything need to be cut. Cyno watched intently; taking in not only the items themselves, but also the meticulous way Alhaitham worked. The movement of his hands, and the precision with which he placed each item exactly in its spot.
After a while, he turned his attention back to Cyno's feet and the washcloth. With gentle motions, he placed one small foot in the palm of his hand, applying only the necessary pressure as he used the washcloth to clean off any residual sand or dirt from the sole, or even between each toe.
Cyno snorted a bit at that, but remained still and letting Alhaitham repeat the process with the other foot.
Once Cyno's feet were clean and dried, Alhaitham pushed the basin to the side and turned his attention towards the gash. A few fresh droplets of blood contrasted with the ones that had already dried; the sight enough to cause a frown as he wiped it clean with a gauze dabbed in saline solution.
Cyno's heart squeezed in his chest at such a display of reaction.
"What's with the frown?" he questioned, not without a slight smile underneath.
"Wounds are fairly common in this line of work. Most of them heal and fade with time."
Alhaitham raised an eyebrow at that, allowing a telling gaze to linger on a few older scars; uneven and eye-catching in how they still stood out from the unmarred skin around. Even though he wanted to ask about every single one; to learn the details of each little line of imperfect perfection, now was not the time to ask.
His gaze remained telling; inquisitive. His tone of voice still flat; completely unlike the myriad of questions rapidly replacing themselves in his mind.
He needed - wanted to know. Just not yet.
"Most?" he questioned instead. It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but it'd do. For now.
"Yes, most. Only some of them leave scars that remain." Cyno shrugged and winced as the saline solution stung a little against his wound, before he masked the pained expression with a smirk.
"You look thoughtful. Could it truly be that this bothers you, Scribe?"
Alhaitham only looked up as he finished applying dressing to the wound; his expression a perfect mirror of Cyno's a moment before, even down to hiding the softness in his tone behind sharp words.
"If it did, I wouldn't want to inconvenience my General with such insignificant details, now, would I?"
***
"I'm afraid you're going to have to wash your coat."
The mildly apologetic tone was only superficial; in fact, Cyno had no intention of letting go of Alhaitham's coat just yet. Despite the fabric being stained from the events earlier in the day, he had remained wrapped up in it ever since he'd first gotten it over his shoulders back down on the street. Even now, with his wounds freshly treated, and no obvious need to continue covering up, he still held on to the coat as if it were a cosy, oversized blanket.
"If I had known that you liked my coat to the point of even taking an interest in its care, I could have gifted you my spare one a long time ago," Alhaitham replied. His tone remained flat, though the corners of his lips curved very slightly upwards as he spoke.
The reaction made no sense; the expression softened the impact of his words in ways beyond his control. It was maddening, though not as much as the look Cyno gave him in response.
Darkly amused; almost teasing underneath the thoughtful exterior.
"That's not the same thing, you know."
Alhaitham remained standing in the same position for a moment, as if the words had physically slapped him in the face. Processing this type of comment rationally did not compute; he kept turning the words over in his mind in an effort to make them make sense. However, no matter what he did, he came up empty handed.
"How is that not the same thing?" he questioned. "It's exactly the same coat, made of exactly the same material and colour, in exactly the same size. How would that be different in any way?"
As if to demonstrate the point, Cyno drew the coat even tighter around himself, pulling the collar all the way up to his nose.
"This one has your scent on it," he admitted quietly after a moment, peering up at Alhaitham before he spoke again. "It smells of safety and home, exactly because it's yours."
There it was, in plain sight.
An irrefutable declaration of trust.
Words were powerful things, indeed.