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Tighnari and Kaveh are often awake at odd hours together.
Tighnari is always on call. It's not unusual for him to return home well after midnight after aiding an emergency patient, or following up on a poaching report delivered by dusk bird, or because some jackass ate a poisonous mushroom again. He's well accustomed to his lack of sleep schedule, and simply opts to nap whenever he has the opportunity to make up for it.
Kaveh never had much of a routine to begin with. The master architect is prone to staying up all night poring over blueprints with single-minded focus until his caffeine wears off, then passing out on the couch until well into the afternoon. When Tighnari stumbles through the door in the predawn gloom, weary and spattered in river mud, he's not surprised to find Kaveh still awake in the sitting room.
Kaveh sets his sketchbook down, looks sharply at Tighnari struggling to wrestle his sodden boots off, and clucks his tongue.
“Follow me,” Kaveh commands. “I'll get you cleaned up. If you try to take a bath when you're this tired, you'll fall asleep in the tub and drown.”
Kaveh shepherds Tighnari to the washroom like some docile sumpter beast being led to an oasis. Tighnari offers no protest when Kaveh shucks him out of his dirty clothes and dumps them in the hamper, nor when Kaveh fusses over his battle-scarred body with a damp washcloth, wiping away the traces of his long night with surprising gentleness.
It's not long before Tighnari is yawning and leaning against him for support. He buries his tired face into Kaveh's shirt, and relaxes into the familiar scent of coffee grounds, charcoal, and eraser shavings. Kaveh's skin is always so warm to the touch, radiating body heat like his boundless energy is the result of some exothermic reaction.
“That's the last of the mud,” Kaveh announces. “Turn around and I'll do your tail, too. You know it will get matted if it dries like this.”
“Procrastinating on your commission, huh?” Tighnari chuckles. “That bad?”
“I've never procrastinated on a single project in my entire life,” Kaveh huffs. He reaches over the counter to uncork a small vial of one of Tighnari's distillations. Kaveh dabs traces of the Sumeru rose oil on his fingertips, then combs his elegant fingers rhythmically through the dark, glossy fur of Tighnari's tail as he talks. “And you have no idea how annoying this client is, Nari! Waterproofing is absolutely basic! Leaks are already an architect's worst nightmare and we live in a tropical climate with no dry season – but they insist on the kind of detailing that makes it impossible for me to even install rain gutters! I keep telling them, a blueprint is not a drawing. Materials are three-dimensional! You have to take into account more than aesthetic – there's wind patterns, solar radiation, heat absorption, and humidity to consider! But instead of defaulting to my knowledge, as a Kshahrewar graduate who studied literally this, they keep sending me back revisions and I simply cannot! I cannot put up with it for much longer–!”
A soothing floral aroma fills the small washroom as Kaveh chatters on. Tighnari's ears angle back in pleasure to the droning of his voice and the rhythm of his fingers. His eyes flutter closed, trusting Kaveh to groom him.
“This design needs cross-ventilation from window placement, the perimeter-to-area ratio needs to maximize cooling areas, the roof needs to be light-colored and incorporate overhangs to block direct sunlight – Nari, you should let your hair grow out,” Kaveh abruptly blurts, distracted by the flat edge of the efficient haircut Tighnari trims by himself every few weeks. “You'd look so dashing with a ponytail, or a braid. You could braid in a flower!”
“Not practical,” Tighnari shrugs, accepting Kaveh's swings of focus in stride. “I have to be able to roll out of bed at a moment's notice, don't I?”
He smiles at the way Kaveh pouts.
“You're so pretty though,” Kaveh huffs, tracing a fingertip along the velvety rim of Tighnari's long ear. “You should take better care of your body.”
“You're one to talk,” Tighnari snorts, crossing his arms. “Quit drinking and then I'll think about it.”
“Hmph! I'll quit drinking when you quit experimenting with mushrooms,” Kaveh snipes back.
“I studied botany, not toxicology. How else will I learn which ones are the bad ones?” Tighnari grins at him.
Kaveh bundles Tighnari in a dry, fluffy towel and ushers him out of the washroom, complaining with every step about the effort required to make him take care of himself.
Tighnari putting his own needs last is really just triage. By default, Tighnari is the one to take care of everyone around him – be they junior Forest Watcher, Gandharva villager, outcasts like Karkata and Collei, the disgraced former Sages, or even Avidya Forest itself. He's the responsible one in their household, grounded in reality while Kaveh's lofty ambitions, Alhaitham's laser focus, and Cyno's stubborn determination all distract them from basic needs like eating and sleeping.
Half the time Tighnari's convinced that without him, his partners would all starve to death, if they didn't murder each other first. So Tighnari can't even say he dislikes it whenever Kaveh forces his overbearing brand of care onto him, not the way Cyno and Alhaitham always resist him tooth-and-nail.
It can be nice to be the one looked after, for a change.
Cyno and Alhaitham don't always see eye to eye.
They're well past those early days of heartbreak and hostility, of reaching for their weapons to settle disputes, enforced by Tighnari confiscating all weaponry at the door and banning any duels that do not involve trading cards. They are loyal partners to Tighnari and Kaveh as well as each other. The quiet, slow-growing affection Alhaitham and Cyno share runs deep, like rivers shaping sunken caverns beneath red desert sands.
Still, they clash. Each is so deeply entrenched in his own viewpoint that Cyno and Alhaitham easily lapse into their old pattern of bickering. It is the drawback of their similarities.
Lesser Lord Kusanali, in all her wisdom, once remarked in their company that 'the depth of the desert underground remains invisible to one who treads on the surface'.
Even that they could not agree on.
“Must you read while you play?” Cyno grumbles, looking reproachfully over his hand of cards. Nothing escapes a matra's senses. “It's distracting.”
“Yes, I must.” Alhaitham does not glance up from his book as he replies. “If you made your moves faster, I wouldn't have the need to entertain myself. It's one or the other.”
Cyno's brows furrow. He taps a chewed nub of a fingernail against the tiny hourglass they've set on the card table, making the grains of sand jump.
“It's been less than a minute. We agreed one minute per move was a fair compromise.”
“Precisely,” Alhaitham replies. “You take an entire minute. Do you expect me to simply sit still and watch you ruminate for that long?”
“I don't overthink things. You're just pressuring me,” Cyno mutters, and flips the hourglass over. “I'm restarting my minute so I can concentrate.”
Alhaitham sighs, turning the page. “Then I shall continue my exploration into the field of astrophysics for one minute longer.”
“What does Haravatat have to do with astrophysics,” Cyno says, eyes flicking to the title of the Rtawahist textbook.
“Nothing,” Alhaitham shrugs. “That's what makes it fascinating for independent research. Curiosity often proves to be the most dangerous thing in this land, does it not?”
Cyno merely grunts and returns to his hand.
Without Tighnari or Kaveh to serve as a buffer between them, the friction does not abate. Yet by the same token, Cyno and Alhaitham are equally likely to miss the tone of Tighnari's dry sarcasm, or let Kaveh's airy flirtations fly over their heads. They communicate through the demonstration of remaining in one another's presence.
Alhaitham would not hesitate to get up and leave if his patience with Cyno truly ran out. But still he sits, playing Cyno's game, deliberately sharing Cyno's space. If Cyno's heart was bruised by rejection, he would have already packed up his Casket of Tomes and retreated to brood over his mistakes. But still he compromises, wanting to share the hobby he enjoys most as a means to connect.
(Lesser Lord Kusanali would be delighted.)
“Mm. I still have Jade Screen for another round, so I'll spend one die to switch Stonehide Lawachurl in as my active character,” Cyno announces. He leans back with his arms crossed, clay-red eyes gleaming in self-satisfaction. “You can play boulder than that and it still won't get through my iron defense.”
Alhaitham presses his lips in a thin line as he scoops up his dice.
“Puns are the lowest form of comedy,” he mutters darkly. “I spend all my remaining dice to activate Collei's Elemental Burst, summoning Cuilein-Anbar to the field. Your move.”
“Perhaps you simply didn't get the punchline. Boulder as in rock is a homophone for bolder as in braver,” Cyno deadpans. “And you run a Dendro reactions deck, so I would say, leaf it to the Scribe to have a counter strategy prepared. Because leaf sounds like leave–”
“If you continue to butcher spoken language in this irreverent fashion, I will stop listening to you permanently,” Alhaitham warns, card hand hovering over the glowing cord of his noise canceling feed. It is not an empty threat.
“If you want to make me stop, then beat me,” Cyno challenges calmly. “I activate Stonehide Lawachurl's Movo Lawa skill with +1 bonus damage, which defeats your Collei. Select your next character.”
Alhaitham stares down at the table, the glimmer of intensity sharpening his scrutiny. He marks his page and closes the book.
“...Hmph. Very well. If it is competition you seek, best prepare yourself, General Mahamatra. I will not be dominated without a fight.”
Alhaitham and Tighnari don't handle loud noises well.
It is a shared weakness that neither of them likes to reveal, even to each other. Alhaitham uses the repurposed Akasha headset Kaveh designed back in their Akademiya days to dull the world's jagged edges beneath soothing layers of white noise. Tighnari taught himself the art of masking his reactions to blend in, smiling in bland politeness at even the loudest voices, never flinching no matter how jarring the crowd around him.
It is also why they revel in the companionable silence they can share when they are alone together.
Tighnari lets himself be absorbed in extracting samples from the Rukkhashava mushrooms growing merrily in his box of kitchen compost, while Alhaitham sits at the dining table reading, never interrupting, never distracting. Alhaitham buries his nose in that book for hours, and when he finishes it, he finds a cup of lemon tea that Tighnari left waiting beside him with nary a word.
Today, Alhaitham permits touch. Alhaitham's not wearing his binder or his work clothes, just an oversized shirt of Kaveh's emblazoned with the slogan 'vision, creativity, passion' that he would never admit to borrowing under penalty of death. Tighnari rests his head against Alhaitham's shoulder, and curls his tail across Alhaitham's lap, content to merely share his space and his company.
Tighnari insists that mutual understanding is best fostered through time spent together. They have a rare peace granted by Kaveh's on-site construction in the desert, Cyno's most recent investigation requiring a stakeout, and Collei's long-awaited vacation to Mondstadt to visit Amber, leaving their home empty and still – and Tighnari will not let it go to waste.
The Scribe is now writing rapidly with his left hand, and absently petting Tighnari's tail with his right. He's translating an electronic research paper on gender roles during the Scarlet King's reign into Inazuman script for the novelist from Yae Publishing House that commissioned him. Alhaitham's genius is one of the few not scuppered by the loss of the Akasha System, for his encyclopedic knowledge of language was his own to begin with. Side jobs like this take little time from his day.
When Alhaitham is this focused on skimming the digital stream of words glowing in the air in front of him, he fails to notice Tighnari watching him work with open admiration. Alhaitham fails to notice many things he does subconsciously, too. The jiggling of his knee beneath the table, betraying the frenetic speed Alhaitham's thoughts are racing at. The lip he's chewing on, mindlessly worrying the skin between his teeth until it cracks and bleeds.
Tighnari feels no need to interrupt his process to remind him to be mindful of his body. The one sensory input that would jar Alhaitham out of his head like no other would be unexpected sound.
Their easy peace is broken gently when the shadows grow overly long, and Tighnari must rise to light the oil lamps and refresh the pest-repelling devices outside the windows. Alhaitham blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and switches off the projection of the document. He stares blankly at his ink-stained fingers, then the paper on the table, then up at Tighnari, who drifts to his side and presses a chaste kiss to Alhaitham's brow.
“It's getting late. I have to start dinner,” Tighnari murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “Anything you're in the mood for?”
Alhaitham says nothing, which is his answer. He merely turns up the volume on his headset, acknowledging that Tighnari will be making noise in the kitchen, and returns to his papers, already sinking back into his single-minded focus.
Tighnari smiles fondly. He watches Alhaitham for a few moments longer. Then he pads barefoot into the pantry to gather his ingredients, and starts preparing their meal, making as little sound as possible.
Cyno and Kaveh let their reputations precede them.
Kaveh, light of the Kshahrewar, and Cyno, reinstated General Mahamatra, attract many whispers and stares when they walk the city streets holding hands, or catch up over coffee and cards in Puspa Cafe, or meet in the House of Daena with a kiss. There is nothing about them that does not attract attention – and when knowledge is currency, rumors spread faster than wildfire.
Cyno quietly ignores those who gossip about him in his presence, same as he always does, resigned to his role of being feared and misunderstood by the public. He holds his truth in his heart, and it matters not if others witness it.
But Kaveh's sense of justice may have an even keener edge than Cyno's. He's never been able to control the impulse that makes him fire back when someone is wrong – however inadvisable engaging may be, and however many times his righteous arguments land him in hot water.
“Care to say that again? I'm afraid all I heard was 'affair',” Kaveh calls viciously, rounding on the hapless researcher who commented a little too loudly behind his back. “Who, exactly, is having an affair with whom?”
“Kaveh,” Cyno murmurs, grip tightening on Kaveh's forearm.
“No, don't leave, I would love to hear which one of us is the homewrecker,” Kaveh snaps, blazing eyes still bearing down on the researcher beating a swift retreat down the hallway. “Sounds fascinating! Maybe you should write a paper on it!”
Cyno makes a small, disapproving noise at the back of his throat, and shakes his head. He has long learned the patience necessary for a matra to wait for the right moment to strike, and the right target to take down. Cyno is ruled by his head, where Kaveh is ruled by his heart.
Kaveh grinds his teeth in frustration as he jabs a finger into Cyno's bare chest.
“Don't tell me I should calm down! It isn't right to let them slander you like that, just because they're too close-minded to understand what polyamory is!” Kaveh speaks rapidly when he's incensed, words tumbling from his lips in their usual torrent. “They can gossip all they like about my lack of modesty, say I'm too feminine to be a man but too masculine to be a woman, say I'll sleep with anyone who will provide funding to my Darshan – I've heard it all before! But to imply for even a moment that you, Cyno, were cheating on Tighnari – with me! Ugh! I simply cannot abide by ignorant cowards who want to tear down a good person's reputation over hearsay and falsehoods! If it isn't stopped, they'll just continue to spread nastier and nastier stories–”
Kaveh continues to rant on as they walk through the Akademiya halls to his department, even as Cyno's fingers slide down to interlace with his, silently anchoring him.
Cyno is loyalty incarnate, the most faithful and devoted man that Kaveh has ever had the honor to call his own. Once Cyno's stoic affections are won, he will never stop caring about that person, no matter how deeply they wound him.
The sourness that the former matra Taj Radkani's name leaves in Kaveh's mouth is enough to make him hate the man's memory – purposely destroying the Court of Desolation, a priceless marvel of ancient architecture, lost forever! – but Cyno never blamed his old partner for his actions. Even the Sages using Cyno and betraying the principles he swore to uphold did not tip his scales against them – it was their mistreatment of Lesser Lord Kusanali that shifted the balance.
Cyno sets his feelings aside for the greater good, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any. It makes Kaveh want to ram his claymore through anyone who disagrees.
“–And worst of all, the absolute worst, is the fact that it was you who first introduced me to Tighnari! You, who brought me as your guest to his home!” Kaveh stamps his foot as he whines. “You would never betray him, never!”
Cyno observes with taciturn amusement. Cyno did bring Kaveh to Tighnari first, and let him go on a tirade about his impossible roommate for the entire dinner, and never interrupted no matter the laughter Tighnari and Collei fought to hold back. Cyno doesn't interrupt now, either, except to tighten his grip on Kaveh's hand.
It matters not if outsiders understand them. The truth of their bond speaks for itself.
Tighnari and Cyno communicate the most through touch.
Cyno's warm palm against the small of Tighnari's back is his promise of unwavering support and protection. Tighnari's finger pads trailing down the lean muscles of Cyno's bare arm is his way of asking to be held. A needy tug on the tail is Cyno's way of demanding a kiss.
Tighnari lowering his ears and tucking his head beneath Cyno's chin is his way to signal that he needs a break from work, and wants Cyno to take charge of him. When words fail Cyno, he can always reach for Tighnari, and convey what he needs to say without speaking at all.
In the days after the false god's lightning struck him down outside of Pardis Dhyai, Tighnari was confined to a grudging bedrest. Collei took over his immediate duties, and while Alhaitham and Kaveh were too embroiled in the Akademiya turnover to leave the city, Cyno faithfully trekked back and forth to Gandharva Ville to check up on him daily.
“You've been attending every meeting with Lesser Lord Kusanali and the Sages, right? When do you find the time to sleep?” Tighnari asks, squinting suspiciously at the dark bruises beneath Cyno's eyes, and then the worn-down nubs of bitten fingernails. “You know I'm fine. You don't have to wear yourself out for my sake.”
Cyno simply grunts in answer, earning him a scowl from Tighnari.
The keraunographic marks feathering down his bare back and ribs leaves a shadow haunting Cyno's guilty stare. His gentle hands apply the antibiotic ointment and change Tighnari's dressing, mindful of every hiss and flinch Tighnari cannot suppress. His fingers tie the bandages off as gingerly as possible, and still, Tighnari's ear flicks in automatic reaction.
Cyno's gaze drops to the floor.
“It's not you. Paresthesia is common in lightning strike victims,” Tighnari grumbles in sour explanation, tail lashing in tight circles behind him. “Collei's condition does this too, you know. It's not just numbness. Damaged nerves send extra signals too, like chills, tingling, burning. When you touch me, it's... a lot.”
While Cyno stews in silence, Tighnari pulls his undershirt back on with no small amount of difficulty. He exhales a long breath as he waits for the flurry of pins-and-needles firing across his skin to subside, then calmly continues.
“...Well, it should be temporary. There were no signs of infection around the entry and exit wounds, right?”
There is a lump growing in Cyno's throat. He swallows, and shakes his head. He is thinking of when he first brought Collei to live with Tighnari, and how uncomfortable she'd been allowing anyone to touch her, even for a medical examination.
Cyno stares at his fingers. He does not know what to do with this rising swell of feelings that threaten to choke him.
“See, it's healing just fine.” Tighnari strokes his chin in thought. “I've treated electro-charged patients for all sorts of things, from arrhythmias, paralysis, even hearing loss – compared to them, I got extremely lucky. This will pass. Probably.”
“When you are in pain, I want to hold you,” Cyno says earnestly, desperately. “But I cannot, without hurting you more. Tell me what to do.”
The false god that did this was dethroned, and Lesser Lord Kusanali freed by Cyno's hand. The Sages receive her judgment and not the General Mahamatra's. He cannot give himself over to the spirit he houses, when there is no desert full of enemies for Cyno to vanquish in order to process his inner turmoil.
“Oh. You want me to take control?” Tighnari smiles, tilting his head. “For starters, can you fetch me that incense on the shelf over there, and light a stick? I can't get out of bed easily right now, and it would make me feel better.”
Cyno is swift to obey. Soon the aromatic smoke drifts through the bedchamber, filling the air with sweet lavender, the spice of frankincense, and an undertone of something else Cyno cannot identify.
Tighnari's thin smile does not waver as Cyno lays his heavy head down on his arms, and his eyelids begin to droop.
“See, that incense is pretty good at making people fall asleep,” Tighnari remarks. He eases the jackal hood from Cyno's head, and strokes a hand through his tangled mess of white hair. “Not me, mind you, my resistance is too high to that sort of drug. It would take a lot more than this to knock me out, and besides, laying down hurts too much right now. But a stubborn lummox who hasn't slept for days because he'd rather punish himself over a misplaced sense of responsibility? Well, works like a charm, right?”
Cyno grunts, but it's all the resistance he can muster. Tighnari pulls Cyno's limp hand into his lap, and rubs his thumb in soothing circles against the rough skin of his knuckles.
“Relax. I'm right here,” Tighnari murmurs. Cyno's fingers twitch in a feeble attempt to grasp him, so Tighnari laces their fingers together to appease him. “The best thing you can do for me right now is rest, so I don't have to worry about you, too. Take care of yourself first, Cyno. Trust me when I say I can handle this.”
Cyno whines softly, a plaintive little whimper that makes Tighnari squeeze his hand in reassurance.
“I'll still be here when you wake up,” Tighnari promises, smiling crookedly at the man slumped over his bedside. “Trust me, and sleep.”
Kaveh and Alhaitham live together the longest.
Before this house in Gandharva Ville became their home, there was the cushy house in Sumeru City they shared for years. Two keys, one silver and one gold – and only one master bedroom, with every guestroom converted into libraries. Alhaitham did not have guests. This was his sanctuary – enough bookshelves to support his collection of physical copies, a walk-in closet with functional clothes, low lighting to not hurt his sensitive eyes, and minimalist decoration to not stress him with visual clutter. Practical and logical.
Then along came Kaveh, his senior from the Akademiya and his childhood friend, who just needed a couch to crash on and didn't know who else to turn to – and neither practical nor logical had a place in his household any longer. Alhaitham already regretted every decision that led him to saying yes.
Kaveh took one scornful look at the paint job outside, and vowed to repaint if it was the last thing he did. Then Kaveh took one look at Alhaitham's dark bedroom, and threw open wide the blackout curtains to usher in the hateful Sumerian sun – and that was strike two.
In no time flat, Kaveh had filled Alhaitham's quiet sanctuary to the bursting point with gaudy clothes thrown haphazardly over the furniture, sketchbooks and architectural blueprints strewn along the floor, half-full mugs of coffee and bottles of wine everywhere, colorful knickknacks crowding the once-neat bookshelves, and a damn drafting table shoved halfway into the kitchen because there was no space for it anywhere else.
Kaveh came home from the taverns offensively drunk on some nights, then demanded Alhaitham listen to his relentless whining while brushing his disastrous hair the next morning.
Kaveh hung artwork on his walls without asking, and overstuffed his bathroom cupboard with beauty products. He spent Alhaitham's Mora on frivolous impulse purchases for himself, and had the gall to debate it was his right every step of the way.
Alhaitham even found Kaveh napping in his bed some afternoons, when the couch was just too uncomfortable to bear for one moment longer, and 'what does it even matter, Haitham, you never sleep anyway'.
That spoiled guy was the worst roommate in all of Sumeru.
“I thought what you craved more than anything was normalcy! Routine! An easy, predictable life!”
Kaveh's accusations are shrill with emotion.
“Correct,” Alhaitham agrees, adjusting his noise canceling feed to take the edge off Kaveh's voice.
“But! You sold your house,” Kaveh sobs. “I can't believe you, Alhaitham. That's the opposite of routine! I would never ask that of you!”
Kaveh's wedding gift to his partners was the blueprint of the dream house he designed for them. He sold his soul to Lord Sangemah Bay just to secure the loan and the land. The construction took years to complete. Now Alhaitham and Kaveh share their lives fully with Tighnari and Cyno, a foundation balanced by the stability of four pillars rather than two.
Of course Kaveh weeps, once his ultimate act of service is fully realized. And of course Alhaitham holds him until his tears run dry, letting his actions speak louder than his words.
“It's nothing to get sentimental over. It's simply illogical to continue paying property taxes on a house I will not be dwelling in. Did you expect me to live in both houses?”
“Well, yes!” Kaveh blusters, as he produces handkerchief after handkerchief from his sleeve, each one a different, flashier color. “You didn't even tell me!”
“I intended to fully commit to the relationship when I agreed to marriage,” Alhaitham replies calmly. Then, he adds, “I would also not allow one of my spouses to drown in debt while I stood by and watched. Our credit is combined now, you know. Your poor financial decisions reflect upon me.”
“Of course, of course, it's all logic with you. No sentiment at all.” Kaveh lets out a watery laugh, and dabs at his cheeks with his scarves. “Did you at least save my...”
“Obviously,” Alhaitham sighs, pressing Kaveh's tacky lion keychain into the hand not currently occupied with too many handkerchiefs. “I assumed you would insist on using it for your new housekey as well.”
“Obviously,” Kaveh grins, squeezing the battered old toy to his chest. “Thank you... Haitham.”
Kaveh refuses to throw anything away if it has emotional value to him, which is apparently every piece of junk he's ever encountered. Kaveh is utterly ridiculous. The worst roommate in all of Sumeru, truly.
“Mm,” Alhaitham grunts, hiding a small smile.
As he does every morning, Alhaitham studies his wedding band, a modest ring whose meaning is shared between three others. Like a word whose definition evolves through use over time, it has grown from an unremarkable object to a symbol of the stability of his peaceful life. The value it has been assigned has been determined through them.
Tighnari is found in the kitchen reorganizing his jars of tea leaves and coffee beans by caffeine content, while Karkata boils enough water for everyone's mugs. Cyno is outside with Collei, going through limbering exercises to ease their bodies into the motions of another day. In the washroom, Kaveh cinches the laces of the binder that flattens Alhaitham's chest, blocking his view of the mirror until the man he married is ready to face it. In return, Alhaitham eases the brush through Kaveh's flyaway hair, then tames it into order with braids and barrettes, until Kaveh is confident enough to present himself to the world.
Tighnari, Cyno, and Kaveh chose to accept Alhaitham as he is, just as he accepts all of them. There is an easy acceptance of flaws between the four of them that, frankly, Alhaitham did not think possible.
In their home, Alhaitham is allowed his necessary reading time to unwind, his periods of no touching and no talking – and even those spells of weakness when all sounds and lights overwhelm his senses, so he does not leave the sanctuary of his bedroom and skips Akademiya appearances entirely.
Alhaitham is well accustomed to criticism and ignorance from others, even embracing their mocking epithet of lunatic. Lunacy suits him, given the way his mind works, given the shape of his body, given his lack of desire and his nontraditional marriage. He deviates from the societal standards of normalcy, so of course, he is a lunatic in the eyes of judgmental fools.
It is unconditional love in the language of acceptance that he is unfamiliar with. One piece of jewelry cannot undo a lifetime of mistrust and doubt.
But every morning, Alhaitham gets a little more used to the weight of the ring around his finger.
