Archive of Our Own

When Cyno dreams for the first time in fifteen years, he dreams of Tighnari. 

He dreams of touching him, all of him. His skin—bare, warm, soft. The teasing curve of his lips. His soft tail, curled neatly around himself; his legs, entwined with Cyno’s. 

“Cyno,” dream-Tighnari whispers, and reaches up to touch his cheek. “Is this what you want?”

Cyno wakes up sweating and appalled at himself, his blood running hot under his skin like summer, like the burning desert sun. Restless, restless, wanting. His body feels foreign with it. Cyno breathes in deeply, clenching his fingers into fists, and refuses to give in to himself. 

It takes him a while to fall asleep again. When he wakes in the morning, he pretends he has forgotten about it, that it never happened. And this is all well and good, until it happens again, and again, and again.

If anyone knows how to fix things like this, it would probably be Al-Haitham. So Cyno asks him, although he keeps things as vague as possible. 

Al-Haitham is sharp as always, all corners and edges. Incapable of gentleness, if Kaveh is to be believed. And true to form, he expresses no sympathy for Cyno’s plight, only curiosity.

“Nightmares?” he says, brow furrowed. 

“Not particularly.”

“But you don’t like having them.” 

Cyno nods. 

“It’s likely just stress,” Al-Haitham says clinically. “Or your body getting used to dreaming. You haven’t dreamt properly for years, after all.” And then, “Are you going to be alright?”

There is a hint of concern in his voice. Perhaps for Cyno, perhaps not. Their plan against the Akademiya will be put in motion soon, after all, and it wouldn’t do to have one of them be incapacitated by lack of sleep. 

“Yes,” says Cyno. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” 

Truth be told, Cyno suspects he knows where these dreams come from. The first is a book—yes, one of those books—complete with illustrations and all, that Kaveh had given to him previously as a joke, and that he’d made the mistake of skimming through. And the second, well.

A short while back, he’d arrived early in Gandharva Ville, only to find that Tighnari wasn’t at home. 

“Master Tighnari? He went out a while ago,” Collei had said. “Maybe he’s collecting specimens again?”

So Cyno had searched along the riverbank, and spotted Tighnari in the river near a small waterfall a distance away, his clothes folded neatly on shore. Bathing. His back—slender, bare—was to Cyno; perhaps due to the sound of the rushing water, he hadn’t heard him approach. 

For a moment, Cyno had stood there, frozen in his tracks. He knew that this was an intrusion, that he was not meant to see this, and yet he could not tear his gaze away. He would’ve stood there longer if a dusk bird had not called harshly overhead, bringing him to his senses.

Cyno had left immediately. Fled, really. 

“General, you’re back!” Collei said when she saw him return. “Did you find him?” 

Cyno shook his head mutely, his heart thudding in his chest, his face almost feverishly warm. Silently, he berated himself, vowed to himself: never again, never again, do not even think of it, and buried the memory of that evening with a steely determination. 

And that had worked for Cyno, up until now. Because, well—he can control his thoughts. The same, however, cannot be said for his dreams. 

It’s likely just stress, Al-Haitham had said. But now Sumeru is safe, and everything is over and done with, and yet Cyno still dreams of Tighnari. 

Cyno finds himself back in Gandharva Ville one evening shortly after the banquet. He runs into Collei first, who is gathering harra fruits from Tighnari’s potted garden. 

“Hello, Collei,” he says.

“Ah, General Mahamatra! You’re here!” Collei smiles, evidently excited. “Master Tighnari!” she calls. “He’s here!”

A soft laugh from inside the house, and Tighnari appears at the doorway. “Is he, now?”

Cyno’s heart warms at the sight of him. Dreams and all aside, it’s been too long since they last saw each other, truly. “I am,” Cyno says. 

“Welcome back, General Mahamatra,” Tighnari says, a teasing lilt to his voice. His gaze is gentle. “It’s been a while.” 

Cyno huffs softly. “Don't call me that,” he says, stepping inside. “It's strange, coming from you.” 

Tighnari smiles. "As you wish, General."

"Tighnari."

A chuckle. "Yes, yes. Sit down, Cyno. We've just finished setting the table."

Cyno sits. The wonderful aroma of tahchin drifts through the air. “You didn’t have to do all the cooking by yourselves,” he says. “I could’ve helped.”

“Well, we couldn’t very well make you cook for your own party,” Tighnari says, amused. 

“This is a party?” 

“Collei insists.”

“It—it doesn’t have to be!” Collei says, sounding embarrassed as she sits down across from them. “I just meant—well, we’re celebrating, aren’t we? Isn’t that a party?”

“Very well, then,” Cyno says. “A party it is.” He seems to be attending quite a few of these lately. “Thank you both.”

“Of course,” Tighnari says, piling food on everyone’s plates. 

The food is delicious and the night is warm. They eat and drink and talk, and Cyno takes out his notebook to recite some choice jokes if only just to see Tighnari wrinkle his nose and wave his tail in an endearing expression of displeasure. Collei tells Cyno excitedly about how she’s picked up the lyre lately now that her Eleazar is gone, and about the songs that she’s learned from a grandmother in the village. 

He feels like a different person here, amongst the greenery, the soft fragrance of karmaphala wood, the flowers and evening birdsong. Collei laughs at something Tighnari says—a soft, lovely sound—and Cyno sits back, content and full, and lets his sharp edges fall away, lets himself be suffused in warmth and light. 

“What do you think, Cyno?” Tighnari says, turning to him.

“Master Tighnari, no—”

Cyno blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Gods, he wasn’t listening at all,” Tighnari says, laughing. “I said, since this is a party, don’t you think we should have music, hmm? Maybe some lyre music, some singing?”

“I agree,” Cyno says, smiling. “If only someone could help us with that.”

Collei huffs, resigned. “Fine!” she says. “But I’m just playing, okay? I’m not singing, no matter what you both say.”

She ends up playing an old love song for them, a little clumsily, but with a quiet focus. And despite her earlier proclamation, she starts singing the lyrics softly, too. Tighnari hums along, catching Cyno’s eye, and smiles. 

Cyno smiles back; he cannot help it. 

“I’m glad you could come tonight,” Tighnari says. 

Usually, after dinner when Collei has left for bed, they’ll play a game of Genius Invokation. But today, they end up sitting next to each other on Tighnari’s doorstep, watching the sunset fade into dusk. When they are alone together like this, the world itself is smaller, gentler. Cyno loves it fiercely. 

“I am, too,” he says. 

Tighnari bumps Cyno’s shoulder gently with his own. “I’ve missed you, you know?” he says, and it shouldn’t make Cyno’s stomach flip, but it does.

“Thank you,” Cyno says, swallowing.

Tighnari laughs. “Aren’t you going to tell me you missed me, too?”

“I missed you,” Cyno says, even though his ears are a little warm.

“There we go,” Tighnari says with a smile. 

For a few moments, they look out silently over the rainforest, at the horizon. Things are different now, even as much as they’ve stayed the same. Sumeru itself is different, its god restored, its people heading down a new path. A better one, Cyno hopes.

As if reading his mind, Tighnari smiles. “It’s getting cool,” he says. “Let’s go inside. Have some tea before you leave.”

So Cyno follows him inside, watching Tighnari light the lamps and brew fragrant tea. The firelight casts Tighnari’s features into relief, illuminating the latticework scar arcing from his shoulder down to his forearm, and Cyno starts. Tighnari notices.

“What is it?” 

“Your wound,” Cyno says. It is his first time seeing it. 

Tighnari sets down the teapot. “Oh, right.” He turns to look at it with a placid curiosity. “It’s strange. The scars should have faded by now,” he says. “But I suppose it wasn’t ordinary lightning, after all.” 

Cyno hums, the familiar heat of fury stirring in his chest. At the perpetrator, but at himself, too—for not being there, for letting Tighnari put himself in such a situation. If only he’d been there, if only—

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tighnari says, almost sternly. “Stop it. It’s not your fault. And the person who did this has no doubt gotten his comeuppance, anyhow.” He pokes Cyno’s forehead. “Don’t frown. I’m fine now, aren’t I?” 

“I suppose so,” Cyno says, exhaling softly, relinquishing some of his anger. 

“I don’t hate it, I have to say,” Tighnari says. “As scars go, it’s quite interesting.”

“It looks like a tree,” Cyno says. In a way, it is quite beautiful. 

Tighnari nods. “You can touch it, if you like,” he says, and perhaps Cyno is imagining it, but he sounds almost teasing. “It’s just skin, though.” 

Cyno reels, his dreams all too vivid in his head. Guilt and shame. “No, no, I couldn’t—”

Tighnari smiles. “Relax, General Mahamatra. I’m not ordering you to,” he says. “Just thought you looked curious, that’s all.” He sips his tea. In the low light, he looks softer than usual, but beautiful still, as always. Almost unconsciously, Cyno follows the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“So when will I see you again?” Tighnari asks, breaking Cyno out of his reverie. “I know you’re busy these days.”

Cyno blinks, his face warm like he’s been caught red-handed, although Tighnari shows no indication that he’s noticed anything out of the ordinary. “Next month, I believe,” he manages. 

Tighnari looks disappointed. “That’s a while,” he says. 

It is. Cyno does not look forward to it. “I know,” he says. “I’ll write.”

“Good.” 

A moment of silence. 

“Will you miss me?” Cyno asks, and is mortified even before the words leave his mouth. He does not know why he says it, only that he wants to hear the answer so much that he hadn’t been able to stop himself. 

For the first time tonight, Tighnari looks a little forlorn, a little sombre despite his smile. “I always miss you,” he says. 

It’s strange, Cyno thinks, that something should make him feel so delighted and regretful at the same time. 

That night, he dreams of the imprinted tree on Tighnari’s shoulder, the elegant boughs which branch again, and again, and again. 

You can touch it, if you like. 

In this dream, Cyno leans forward and presses his lips to Tighnari’s skin, his mouth slightly open, tasting the salt and the lightning. Kisses him. Bites down greedily, like a beast. Starving, he is starving. 

Cyno hates the morning after visiting Tighnari’s home. Because being there sometimes makes him forget the unkindness, the cruelty of the world. Any reminder of reality is always a jarring one. 

The individuals he goes after will often resist judgement. Some may attempt to flee before he arrives. Some may try to bribe him, to talk their way out of it. All to no avail. And then when they realise that there is no escape, they lash out at him, whether through tears or fury. 

Cyno knows better than to let this bother him. He knows what he is in the right, that what he does is necessary for the safety of all. But all the same, it can be tiring. Sometimes, it seems that his work is never-ending, the root of corruption running so deep that it will never be purged. 

“General,” Nayab says, noting Cyno’s weariness. “Are you alright?”

Cyno looks up from sharpening his spear. He has been so tired these days that he doesn’t even dream. But there’s just a bit more left. Just a few more days, and then this mission will be wrapped up, and he will see Tighnari and Collei again in that little house on the hill. 

“Yes,” he says. “I’m perfectly fine.” 

By the time Cyno next returns to Gandharva Ville, he is exhausted, physically and mentally. He barely speaks, can’t even bring himself to tell any jokes. Collei leaves earlier after dinner, but not before telling Cyno to rest well. 

“I’m sorry,” Cyno says to Tighnari, when they are alone.

“Whatever for?” Tighnari says, frowning.

“For—for being like this,” Cyno says. “I must have been poor company.”

“You’re exhausted,” Tighnari says. “We can tell. That’s nothing to apologise for.” He reaches out and brushes Cyno’s hair out of his eyes. “I hope coming here made you feel better.”

“It did,” Cyno says. “It always does.” 

He rests for a while, watching Tighnari write in the lamplight, and then prepares to return home. 

“Cyno, wait,” Tighnari says, just when he’s about to leave, and Cyno turns. 

Tighnari reaches out and embraces him with all the gentleness in the world. He rests his head on Cyno’s shoulder. Slowly, slowly, giving him time to run, if he so wishes. To say no. Cyno does neither. 

“It’ll be alright,” Tighnari murmurs. His hair is softly fragrant—padisarah and karmaphala wood, and all the lovely things of the forest. “You’ll be alright, whatever happens.” 

It’s strange, Cyno thinks, that there are some people you can just believe unconditionally, as if they are the voice of the universe itself. As if they can speak truth into existence. After a moment, he embraces Tighnari too, breathing him in. 

“Thank you,” Cyno says, and closes his eyes.

They stay like that for a while. Perhaps a little too long. If anyone had seen them, they might have thought it strange. But Cyno does not care. He lets go only when his heart is sated, if only for the present moment. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he tells Tighnari. 

Tighnari smiles. “I look forward to it,” he says.

After that, Tighnari never lets Cyno leave without embracing him first.

It’s become a habit, something they never speak about, which happens only in the quiet darkness of evening. A shared waking dream of sorts.

Cyno looks forward to these moments so much it embarrasses him. It must show every time he stands at the doorway of Tighnari’s house and turns back, afraid that perhaps this time is the one where Tighnari refuses him. But Tighnari never does. 

“Cyno, come here,” he’ll say, opening his arms. And Cyno will obey, because he wants to, because he can do nothing else.

A dream is—

Meaningless, says Al-Haitham, not looking up from his reading. A way for the mind to dispose of unneeded material. Nothing worth paying any attention to.

Art, says Kaveh, with his cat’s smile. Pure imagination. And then, I’ll bet Al-Haitham said something stupid. He did, didn’t he?

A message from the gods, says Collei, her eyes bright with youthful excitement. That’s what my granny used to tell me! It’s from a story she’d heard before as a child, and which she recites kindly for Cyno, albeit a little clumsily.

Cyno listens to them all, and feels like he understands even less than he did before. Because to him, tonight, a dream is—

Tighnari, sitting next to him in a field of flowers, all the same shape and hue as the one he wears on his breast. The sun is sweet, the sky boundless with birdsong on the breeze.

“Cyno,” Tighnari says, taking his hand.

He is smiling, and somehow it is more warm and beautiful than the sun and flowers combined.

Now that Collei is completely cured of Eleazar, she’s been relearning how to move—more specifically, how to use her bow now that her range of motion is much larger. 

From a short distance away, Cyno watches Tighnari teach her patiently. He’s brought a tome of rules and regulations to review, but he isn’t doing much reading, really. Something about the peaceful scene before him makes him want to watch it forever.

After a while, Tighnari leaves Collei to practise on her own, and makes his way over to Cyno. 

“Done for today?” Cyno says, looking up.

Tighnari sits down next to him, and just being this close makes Cyno’s heart skip a beat. “She can handle some independent practice,” Tighnari says. And then, so abruptly that Cyno almost jumps, he lies down and lays his head in Cyno’s lap.

“Excuse me,” Cyno says, once he’s recovered.

Tighnari turns to look up at him. “You’re excused.”

“You’re disrupting my reading.”

Tighnari smiles and stretches, yawning; his shirt rides upwards, exposing a sliver of his stomach, the ridge of his hipbones. “Am I?”

Cyno looks away quickly, but not before his traitorous brain commits everything to memory. His hands are restless, itching to touch. “You know you are,” he says, throat a little tight. 

“Well then,” Tighnari says, smiling up at him through his lashes, his cheeks still flushed from exertion, “why don’t you punish me, General Mahamatra.” 

Oh, the things Cyno wants to do to him. He is speechless, dizzy; part of him wonders if he is dreaming, because this would be something he’d dream of. Thankfully, Collei chooses that moment to shoot an arrow dangerously close to their heads, which Cyno grabs out of the air. 

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry—” 

Tighnari sighs. “Guess independent practice is a little too much,” he says, and gets up, dusting himself off. “Collei,” he calls, making his way over to her, “try not using as much force this time, alright?” 

Cyno finds himself equally relieved and disappointed at Tighnari’s departure. He returns to his book, hardly able to read a single word, and scarcely dares to imagine what kind of dream he’ll have later in the night.

Cyno’s dreams about Tighnari are more varied as of late. 

Of course, he still has the dreams that make him flush, make his blood run south. But some of them are different now, gentler, almost indistinguishable from reality. Like the one he’s having now, where the two of them sit quietly next to each other on Tighnari’s doorstep as the sun rises. Cyno only knows he is dreaming because he has never seen the dawn in Gandharva; after all, he always leaves in the night. 

In the distance, the sound of birdsong. Somehow, Cyno knows that in this dream, this is not his first time here, nor will it be the last. That he calls this little house home, just as Tighnari does, and they are happy now, and they will be happy tomorrow, and the day after that. It is a beautiful feeling. 

“Cyno,” dream-Tighnari says, turning to him. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Cyno says. It is the first time he has ever spoken in one of these dreams. 

And dream-Tighnari smiles, and leans in close, and kisses him. 

The next morning, Cyno wakes up alone in his bed, and thinks that perhaps he is in love. 

Truth be told, Cyno doesn’t know much about love. Not this kind of love, anyways.

But now that he thinks about it, it’s not as if this feeling is completely new. His affection for Tighnari, his adoration, had existed long before, although he’d taken it for granted and never thought to call it anything other than friendship. Hadn’t thought much of it, just as you would not think much of the sun rising every day. 

“Cyno, are you even listening to me?”

Cyno blinks, taken out of his reverie. “Yes.”

“You’re an awful liar,” Tighnari says. “Just like Collei.” He huffs, exasperated. “I was saying, would it hurt to be more careful on your missions?”

“I try to be.”

Tighnari’s gaze flicks to the wound he’s dressing on Cyno’s shoulder. “Do you, now?” 

“This doesn’t usually happen,” Cyno says, trying to reassure him. He’d been careless this time during the fight, his mind half-occupied by other things. The embarrassment hurts more than the wound itself.

“It better not,” Tighnari says, as he finishes bandaging. He sighs, resigned. “But—well, when it does happen, let me know, alright? I’ll come to you.” 

“I will,” Cyno says, quietly grateful.

Tighnari smiles, and reaches out to cradle Cyno’s cheek briefly. “Good,” he says.

His touch is honey-sweet. It calls to Cyno’s heart, that foolish, doglike thing—beat for me, beat for me—and just like that, his pulse is thrumming, his breath short. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Cyno?” Tighnari asks, sounding concerned. “Your face is a little red.”

Cyno clears his throat. “Yes,” he says. “I’m fine.” 

He is in love. He is going mad. He is in love. 

The way Tighnari runs his fingers through his hair. The slight furrow of his brow when he is deep in thought. The gentle way he holds his bow, like it’s something alive—Cyno wants them all, wants them forever. His greed is like a child’s, insatiable and incorrigible. 

But perhaps this, too, is one of the many thousand facets of love.

“Cyno. Come here.”

The stars are just beginning to shine. Cyno steps into Tighnari’s embrace and closes his eyes, suffused in warmth. Holds him close, like something precious. 

“You know,” he confesses, “nobody’s done this for me since I was a child.” 

A pause. “That’s a pity,” Tighnari says. “Guess I’ll just have to do it more often, then.”

His hand comes to rest on Cyno’s nape, gentle; Cyno almost shivers. Slowly, slowly, he presses his forehead to Tighnari’s, closing his eyes. Tighnari does not shy away. 

“I wish I could stay,” Cyno says quietly. 

“Why not?” Tighnari murmurs. “I’d let you.” 

Cyno opens his eyes, meeting Tighnari’s gaze. They are so close to each other that their noses brush; Cyno can feel Tighnari’s exhale. It would be the easiest, the simplest of things to kiss him right now, and then—

And then what? Will Tighnari kiss him back, tell him he loves him? Or push him off, disgusted, and never want to see him again?

Inelegant with fear, Cyno turns away. His gaze is a heavy thing; it falls to the ground, and he cannot lift it. 

“I will see you soon,” he manages to say, and flees. 

Let it be known: the General Mahamatra is a coward. 

Work is busy the next few weeks, and so Cyno does not visit Gandharva.

But he knows—this is an excuse. Even if he weren’t as busy as he was, he would be hesitant to return so soon. He’s sure that Tighnari knows now, and it makes him so afraid that he cannot even bring himself to write to him. And when he dreams, he dreams of Tighnari walking away from him, leaving him in the dark. 

Dreams. He is sick and tired of them, lately.

While on business in Sumeru City one day, Cyno bumps into Collei outside Puspa Cafe. 

“General Mahamatra!”

“Ah. Collei.” Cyno is surprised, but pleased to see her. “Are you giving a lecture today?”

“I just did, actually!” 

“How was it?”

“It went well,” she says, and smiles. “I’m just about to have lunch now, if you’d like to join me.” 

“Of course,” Cyno says.

So they eat together, and Collei talks happily about the positive response to her lectures on canned knowledge, about the lovely strangers who thank her for her work. Cyno is pleased for her, of course, but seeing her inevitably reminds him of Tighnari, and it makes something in his chest twist. He’s quieter than usual, and he’s sure Collei can tell. 

Before they part, Cyno musters his courage. “How is—” He swallows. “How is Tighnari?”

“He’s fine,” Collei says. “He’s fine, but—”

Cyno tenses, concerned. “What is it?”

“I—I know this is none of my business,” Collei says, sounding nervous, “but—did something happen between you two? You’re both… a little out of sorts, lately.”

“Perhaps,” Cyno says, after a pause. “It’s my fault.”

“Ah,” Collei says.

A moment of silence. 

“You know,” Collei says, “sometime he sets the table for three without realising. Even when you’re not there.” 

Cyno blinks. “Is that so,” he says.

Collei nods. “What I’m saying is,” she says, swallowing, “I don’t think you have to worry too much when it comes to Master Tighnari. Just like—just like he doesn’t have to worry about you. He doesn’t, right?” 

Cyno thinks he understands what she’s asking. “No,” he says. “He doesn’t.”

At this, Collei smiles. “That’s good, then,” she says. “If you can, come to dinner next week, General Mahamatra. He misses you, you know?”

Cyno’s heart skips a beat. “He said that?” 

“He didn’t have to. Just like you don’t, either.”

With that, she bids him farewell and leaves. Cyno watches her go, a little embarrassed that she’d seen through him so completely, but proud, too. The Collei he’d met years ago would have never dared to say such a thing. 

She’s become brave. Taking after Tighnari, surely. Cyno should take a leaf out of her book.

Cyno goes to dinner the week after. He has never been this nervous for anything. And yet even then, his heart sings to see Tighnari again.

“Cyno,” Tighnari says, quieter than usual. He smiles. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Yes,” Cyno says. Oh, how he’s missed him. “I am, too.” 

Dinner is nice, if a little subdued, the air a little heavy with expectation. Afterwards, when the two of them are alone, Tighnari exhales, settling down on his bed quietly, and pats the spot next to him. Obediently, Cyno sits.

He takes a deep breath. “Tighnari,” he says. “I’m sorry—”

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

The question takes Cyno aback. Not why did you try to kiss me, but why didn’t you. “Excuse me?”

“Last time you were here. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Tighnari’s gaze is direct, unwavering as usual. But Cyno can make out a blush on his cheeks, can see the uneasy twitch of his tail. He’s nervous too, and somehow, that makes Cyno feel calmer. 

“I—I didn’t want to ruin things,” Cyno says. “Even though I ended up doing that, anyways.” He pauses. “And you’re—you’re too good for me, Tighnari.”

Because, well—because Tighnari deserves someone who can be at his side always, not someone who is always coming and going, leaving emptiness behind. Deserves someone gentler, warmer, more inclined to laughter. Someone who would balk at doing the things Cyno does every day, someone with no blood on their hands. And Cyno wishes he could be that person, truly. But he is not, and never will be, and so here they are. 

“Is that what you think?” Tighnari asks, after a moment. His brow is furrowed.

Cyno blinks. “Yes, I—”

“Cyno,” Tighnari says, quiet but firm. “Why don’t you try asking me what I think?”

There’s something about his gaze: soft and intense all at once. Cyno can hardly dare hope. “Okay,” he says, voice hoarse. “What do you think?”

Tighnari exhales, soft. “I think,” he says, “that I would have been happier if you’d kissed me.” 

He’s smiling, small and beautiful and just a little shy. Cyno can hardly think, can only take in the soft radiance of Tighnari’s affection, can only feel a joy so intense that he barely recognizes it. 

“Oh,” he whispers. “Well, then.” 

Tighnari reaches out to touch his cheek. “Well, then,” he echoes. 

There is nothing left to say. Cyno leans in and kisses him.

Gently at first, almost chaste, overwhelmed with joy. Overstimulated, in every sense of the word. And then Tighnari parts his lips, letting Cyno inside, and the next thing he knows he is kissing Tighnari so fiercely that they will both surely bruise, pushing him down gently, his hands roaming greedily under Tighnari’s clothes, everywhere, everywhere. 

I would do anything for you, he thinks, almost forgetting to breathe. Anything, anything.

“Cyno,” Tighnari gasps against his mouth. His legs are wrapped around Cyno’s waist, so tightly it almost hurts. “Cyno,” and the one word sounds like a thousand things when it falls from his lips: darling, lover, beloved, dearest, mine, mine, mine. A thousand things, and yet one and the same. “Cyno—”

Cyno kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. His own name has never tasted so sweet. 

Later, when they have calmed down, they lie there together quietly. Naked, entwined. Basking in elation and contentedness, like all new lovers do. 

“You know,” Tighnari says, smiling, “I’ve dreamt about this. About us.”

His cheeks are rosy; his tail is wagging. His joy is part human, part vulpine, all beautiful. Cyno drinks it in, quietly dizzy with his own happiness, and wonders: who needs wine, when you have this. 

“So did I,” he says. 

“I could tell,” Tighnari says, a tinge of amusement in his voice. 

Cyno blinks. “You could?”

“You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me lately?” Tighnari asks, and Cyno flushes down to his neck. “You’re not very subtle, Cyno.”

“I’m sorry,” Cyno says quietly, mortified. 

“Why?” Tighnari says, smiling. “It’s a good thing. Before, I never knew, really. How you felt about me. I’m glad I know now.”

Cyno kisses his forehead. “Me too,” he says, and means it. 

They fall asleep like that, embracing. And when Cyno dreams, he dreams of the two of them years and years into the future, dreams of them being old men together in this same little house. Together, always together, even then.

“You smile in your sleep, you know?”

The dawn has barely just broken, its light pale and soft. The two of them sit at Tighnari’s doorstep, enjoying a moment of respite before the day begins. 

“Do I?” Cyno says.

“What were you dreaming about?” Tighnari says, curious. “Do you remember?”

Cyno does away with embarrassment. “You,” he says, and the blush on Tighnari’s cheeks is worth it. 

“Hm,” says Tighnari, evidently flustered, “I see,” and turns to the horizon, where the sun is just beginning to rise. He takes Cyno’s hand silently; Cyno smiles and interlaces their fingers.

At this hour, the forest is gentle and quiet, a place of dreaming just on the verge of wakefulness. They sit there together, content in their silence, watching the sky grow brighter and hearing the forest come alive. The light falls on them gently, its touch soft and warm. Tighnari is smiling, nearly outshining the sun in his quiet happiness. 

“Oh,” he says, turning back to Cyno. “Good morning, Cyno.”

Cyno laughs softly. “Good morning, Tighnari.” 

He knows, now: to love is to want, is to have—greed at its most beautiful. But it is also giving, and giving, and giving. Until what is yours, what you are, becomes something else altogether. But there is no loss in this, no sadness. There is only contentment and satisfaction, as sweet and pure as honey and sunlight. A miracle, a dream, a miracle.

And so when Cyno kisses Tighnari under the the morning sun, he does so with nothing less than joy.