Work Text:
Cyno notices your vision soon after he starts hunting you.
He would have noticed it earlier, but you never use it and you always keep it hidden under the folds of your clothing. He suspected you had a vision; vision wielders all have a sort of aura, an elevated state of self. He supposes that's why he is so attracted to you. But he would have pegged you for a hydro, or anemo.
But you're not cool, or collected, like that. You're a Pyro. You flare and you flicker and you burn. He burns when he thinks of you.
Cyno wonders what fuels you, or what has hurt you in the past.
What are you doing in the Grand Bazaar, knowing that's where he could easily catch you if you try anything, like you usually do?
It's why you only come here when there is a sanctioned festival or party. You're still not allowed to perform, and Cyno is always there to make sure you don't, but you hum and sway with the performers. You want to join in. He can tell.
The sages have been allowing more festivals, if only to move eyes off the issue of their apparent hatred of the arts. Every Festival, every party, they send the matra. And every major gathering, especially one you would attend, they send Cyno.
It's an intimidation tactic. The Matra are enforcers, and the General Mahamatra is justice incarnate. When he stands with his jackal headdress, with his staff and regalia, and lightning in his eyes, the people feel off. Wary. The mood is dampened and water has always been a good conductor for Lightning. Cyno can see what is happening and a twinge of indignation crackles in his chest.
He doesn't know why you're here.
"I'm helping to set up the festival." You say, a crate in your arms.
"I wasn't made aware that a festival would be held here."
"That's because we only just got confirmation. And you just got back from some mission." How do you know that? Are you keeping tabs on him?
"We have only a few days to prepare. The invitations have been spread , the cooks are at work, and we're decorating." You shrug. You don't look pleased or wary to see him, and he still doesn't know how to feel about that. You always act so familiar.
"What kind of festival will it be?"
"The theater is celebrating its anniversary, as well as the birthday of the manager's son. He's returning from an internship in Liyue and turning 21."
"I see." He looks around at the hustle and bustle. People are rushing, they are smiling and excited. But there is a wide berth around him, and their eyes flicker over him and escape just as quickly. No one dares approach him but you.
"...I would think only theater members would be allowed to help with the preparations."
"They're accepting all helping hands." You counter him, your eyes not wavering. "Will you be attending the festival?"
"No. I have more pressing matters."
"You always have more pressing matters." You sigh and shuffle the crate in your hands. Is it heavy? It looks heavy.
"You never let up. Even when they put you to watch me at these things you never do anything. You wallflower. You just cross your arms and stay with that glare," you tilt your chin down and fake a glower. "Like we're personally offending you. I've heard that the other matra let loose sometimes." What?
"Who? When?" If there are any of them playing merry and making light of their duties, they deserve to be dealt with. But you shake your head in mock pity.
"Goodness, you're ruthless. I'm pretty sure there aren't any rules that say you're not allowed to sing or dance or eat at these things.
"Tell you what, I will be attending this next party. No doubt you'll be sent to watch me, so come. Relax. I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself." You tilt your head and smile.
There's a thin scratch on your cheek. Your nails look healthy and strong, did you scratch yourself? Brushing your stray hairs away? Was it something else? Did someone hurt you?
It's too easy to feel relaxed around you. You have this jovial, easygoing nature that makes Cyno curious about you. Like a cat winding about his ankles, he wants to be endeared by you. Dangerous, in this line of work. He shoves these feelings down, and his jaw tightens. He looks at your mouth.
"We are not friends. I'm sent to make sure that you remain in your place, nothing more or less." He turns his back to you. He still has to go to his office and file paperwork. He ought to go do that.
He thinks you shrug before he turns away.
"Well, anyways, I'll have something for you on the day of, so you can look forward to that."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing is guaranteed yet, so I don't want to ruin the surprise. I'll let you know first thing if I get everything in order though, promise." You sound excited, and Cyno feels wary.
"..."
"...It's nothing bad, I promise."
"...Stay out of trouble, bard. Or I'll catch you." There's only one moment of silence while you shuffle with the crate. It is heavy.
"Hm. Well, only because you asked me to, Cyno." He whirls around, but you're already flouncing off with a grin and a pep in your step.
He feels like he watches you for far longer than is appropriate.
--------------------
You were right, he was sent to watch you. Not like he doubted you or the sages. It was expected.
He's still working, so he keeps his jackal headdress. But it's a windy night, so he ops for coverage; the black top suits his character, the thin gold lines flashing in the fading sunlight. It matches his shoes too. His Salwar pants are comfortable and soft white.
He spent too much time fussing over this outfit. He had a brush to his hair before he remembered himself. He shouldn't have taken Tighnari's advice.
No, he shouldn't have told Tighnari about you at all. He visited and after checking up on Collei, he and Tighnari talked. Tighnari had asked him about work, and instead of avoiding the sensitive issues, like usual, he mentioned you.
The trouble you're causing. The fact that you always just toe the line. How you're everywhere, Cyno's chased you half across Sumeru at this point. The fact that you call him by his given name. How you like to invade his private space. How he lets you. The way you laugh-shriek and how loud it is; you catch eyes when you run from him with your lyre and laughter.
Tighnari asked him when he expects to see you again. He told him and asked him why he asked that. Tighnari just shot him an unimpressed look.
Earlier this morning a package arrived for him, from Tighnari. It was the outfit he's wearing now. He probably noticed how he doesn't alternate his outfits all that much.
He still thinks he shouldn't have worn this.
"Oh, oh wow! You look so different!" You bound through the crowd towards him, with all the mirth and crackling firelight in your eyes. You don't look any different than you normally do, but your eyes glow.
"It's too cool for my usual attire."
"And here I thought you just never felt the temperature. You look nice though." You rock back on your heels, hands behind your back.
"Better than nice actually. You look really really good. I guess you're going to take my advice and loosen up?"
"I'm here for work and nothing else." You chuckle, with an awkward yeah, I guess so, and look back to the growing crowd.
"Yeah, I expected that. I just finished helping set up the buffet, so I think I'm going to go see Miss Nilou for the other preparations. You'll stay right here?" He stays silent as confirmation.
"Might want to get a better spot if you are supervising. Miss Nilou is the opening act. Look, right there," you turn and point. But you put your hand on his bicep so that he turns with you, and he smothers the slight hitch of his breath. Your skin is beaded with sweat from the heat of the crowd. It's humid.
"That is the manager and his son. His name is Sheikh Zubayr, and his son is Najaf Zubayr. You might want to introduce yourself if you're gonna be here.
"Oh! I also have something to show you. Just so I wont get in any more trouble with you. It's that thing I told you about earlier. Here." From an inner pocket you pull out a folded piece of paper. The paper is thick and cream colored. Expensive. He unfolds it surreptitiously.
It's a form. An official form, one that requires multiple signatures from multiple authorities. Or a sage.
"....This form is for foreigners, and allows for you to use your vision in cases of defense. You're labeled as a pyro."
"And other instances as well! As long as it's non violent, I'm good to go!" You perk up on your tiptoes. His eyes narrow down at the paper, and then at you.
"How did you get this?" Foreigners are not an uncommon occurrence in Sumeru, but one with a vision is, especially one from so far away. Monstadt, the paper says. How fitting. Acquiring this signature would have taken several months, and you've only been here for a couple.
Furthermore, knowing the Sages intense dislike of you, having even one of them sign would never happen. Even getting this form would have taken you a good couple of weeks, if not months.
"It's lucky I don't need the Grand Sage's signature, right? Otherwise, this thing would've never been signed."
"What are you doing?" This strange infatuation aside, you're up to something, and Cyno is suspicious. His instincts have never failed him before, and he knows, he feels you're planning something.
The side of your mouth pulls into a grin.
"I am planning something." He feels you can read his mind sometimes. You shrug, and lean back out of his space. He watches you. You're still touching him.
"But nothing malicious. It's a secret, so sit tight for a bit, alright?"
A man waves you over and beckons towards the crowd. You let go of his arm.
"Ooh, I'm late. I'll see you later, 'kay?" Now it's Cyno's turn to grab you, halt you in your tracks. A flicker, fear? Anger? Flits over your face before you school it back to geniality.
"You're not going anywhere. What are you planning? What are you going to do?"
"Let go of me, Cyno." But he isn't here as Cyno. He is here as the General Mahamatra, and you're becoming more and more of a problem.
"Listen. We are not friends. We are not comrades. You are a nuisance and I will deal with you accordingly. I won't ask you again." He tightens his grip and pulls you towards him, when you try to wriggle away. You purposefully turn your face away.
"You suspect me on what grounds, General? Have I done anything to make it seem like I'd undermine the Akademia?"
"Yes." Because that is all you have done. You've breathed life into the mediocre lives of the Sumerian citizens, lives devoid of art or music or beauty just for the sake of it. You're a spectacle, and Sumeru is so starved for a marvel that anything you do is a scandal blown out of proportion, especially with him on your case. Especially that he hasn't caught you yet.
Your eyes darken, and there is a flash. "Fine. Do you think I'm capable of harming people?" He looks into your face and sees the mask you've drawn up. You are still, but your eyes glow, and it is strange. Like standing in a dark, starlit desert, watching fire burn far off on a desert dune. Like something approaching, a cat slinking in the sands.
"...Yes." He lets you go. Because fire is approaching, and the desert is always cold at night. How much longer can he pretend to himself it's not what it is?
"....Go to the manager, if you really want to know. He'll tell you. I can promise you I'm not planning anything malicious," you sneer.
"But I don't think you'll believe me." You snatch the paper back from his hands, quick like a fire sprite.
And you disappear. He doesn't let himself watch you leave, and immediately walks over to the two men you pointed out. But he noticed the way you held your arm.
They don't see him until he's only a few meters away, and even then it's more so they notice the crowd staring and parting around him. He can see their faces pale as he stalks closer.
They both bow their heads and sputter and look at the ground through introductions. He gets straight to the point.
"Are you the manager of the theater?"
"Yes! As well as Playwrite. It's a rather small troupe so you'll see people wear several hats. I also do composing, choreography, stage design, and action direction.
"My son here, before he left me with so much work, often helped with costume design, action and stage direction."
Well someone likes to talk about themselves. "The bard from Monstadt. What affiliation do they have with your theater?" The manager shakes his head.
"Oh, them? Nothing malicious." Huh. You said the same thing. "The bard has taken an apprenticeship at the theater."
"Apprenticeship?"
"Monstadt is the land of wine and freedom, bards and wind. As a manager and connoisseur of the arts, I'm intrigued by what they have to offer. Normally I would be skeptical of a new member, it's best to be taught younger, but they seem to have some experience under their belt already."
"With all the fuss they kicked up in Sumeru I can imagine what experience they gained elsewhere."
Najaf clears his throat, both looking uncomfortable at the reminder that their newest member was essentially a wanted criminal.
"Does an apprenticeship at the Zubayr theater include the form that allows them to use their vision? What do the arts have to do with that?" He pales, but his son is more bold.
"It has plenty to do with the arts!" He yells. People turn to look like they haven't been eavesdropping, and he flushes, coughing into his hand.
"Pardon me. I'm not as particularly enthused as my father is on this matter, but I feel inclined to speak."
"Oh, by all means, go ahead." He falters for a second, but plows on with gusto.
"Visions have only been given to those who have been acknowledged by the Gods and Celestia. Their wills, their ambitions are forces of nature that shape the world and push civilizations. The bard has dedicated their life to music and the arts. That alone speaks volumes to how great their passion is."
"If that is what is enough to grant a vision I guess mine is due to a great passion for justice?"
"Exactly!" He meant it as a jibe but he goes on.
"The theater has always promoted the idea that we use our bodies as a means for our craft. Just as you have an immense passion for upholding justice, the bard has an immense passion for art, music and the like.
"Isn't it amazing how two seemingly opposing ideologies are both acknowledged as worthy by Celestia? How you use your Visions to exact your ambition is only determined by yourself."
"...You said you were studying law?"
"Yes! I'm studying in Liyue. I managed to land an internship with the General secretary of the Liyue Qixing."
"Is that right?"
"Yes. I'm on break now."
"Are you aware of the process of acquiring this specific form in Sumeru?" He blinks in shock, then confusion.
"What? No–"
"First you have to go to the office for Weapon and Vision Licensing and submit a form. This form is only for expressing your desire to wield your weapon or vision. If you're a citizen of Sumeru you have to have your vision cataloged on your citizenship ID. Which is a whole other matter."
Both looked like they wanted to walk away but he kept on, not releasing them from his tirade.
"It's very tedious, so I guess you can imagine how hard it would be if you were a foreigner instead. You have to estimate your time of stay and have the Akademiya verify your nationality with your country of origin, which takes weeks, and is another form entirely. Then the fees. Four hundred mora for citizens and five hundred twenty for foreigners. The rest is pretty much the same.
"You need proof of citizenship, proof of residence, proof of any military and or government service, all criminal records, a letter of necessity to prove why you need this permit, and recently, a photo to identify, with the new contraption from Fontaine. A Kamera." Cyno crossed his arms and stared down the two men.
"The whole process can take up to six to nine months for ordinary folks. I am not including the additional forms, like three letters minimum of reference stating that you are a person of moral character. Nor the interview, nor the vision inspection, or the signature needed by a sage or another high authority."
"That is a long…and tedious process."
"It is." Cyno nods. "So tell me how a foreigner, heavily disliked by the sages, manages to acquire this form after merely a few weeks? A foreigner constantly being chased by me, of all people? How?"
"I…I don't know." They looked at one another, father and son, mirror faces of fear and confusion. The son wrung his hands and stepped forward.
"They have been nothing but courteous and helpful though, I can assure you. We've been exchanging letters for a few weeks since before my arrival.
"They expressed their desire to join a troupe and I recommended them to my father, who held an interview and audition. He wouldn't allow someone to join who would potentially damage the theater's reputation."
"Yet that is exactly what he's done."
"What? No he-"
"Helpful indeed. I'd imagine that the notoriety is bringing your theater more guests than usual, yes?" The manager was surely a proud man, his gaze was affronted and ashamed, but he didnt drop his head. His son looked between them, aghast.
"I was skeptical, but after both the interview and audition I was fully convinced," Zubayr says, scratching at his head.
"Talent is more important than hard work when it comes to the arts. It's something I've learned as my years as resident manager of the troupe.
"There's so many things you can just do mindlessly, with no drive or passion, but art is not one of them. Talent will always trump hard work, but I don't turn away those with true passion amd determination." He shrugs.
"And they have both in spades. They're just more of a hard worker. In work, as on stage, one must act with gumption! As long as they have those traits and a sincere wish to perform, then they are welcome to my troupe. That is all."
"And yet your troupe is reputable for having such high standards to join." Cyno could scoff, what a gust of hot sir
"You haven't had many new members for years even, and yet, the bard seemed to join no problem. Do you give a pass to foreigners?"
"Years ago the Sabzeruz festival was only performed by dance troupes from abroad, and on a temporary stage no less," the son speaks.
"So you simply can't just suspect them because of this form and an apprenticeship." Najaf steps forward, in front of his father. Cyno wonders, for a law student, where he gets his logic from.
"I've heard rumors that you've been sent to try and apprehend them any chance you can. On what grounds? For what reason?"
Who is man, so righteously angry, and, why does it just set something off? He crossed his arms and stared down the young man, irritated.
"You're defending them rather adamantly."
"Well….because! They're a foreigner in a land far away from home, and so hostile too. If they weren't being chased down I'm sure they would still send in the form. They still need to be able to defend themselves. From the Eremites, drunks and thieves and crazy folk and the like. Even from you. I don't find that suspicious in the least."
"Well I do. Why would they need to defend themselves from the Eremites? Why would they need to defend themselves from me if they've done nothing wrong?"
"They have the right to defend themselves, not because they are suspicious, but because your actions and your intentions are." He snarled. Cyno's anger rose, a heated thing like a mirage in the desert.
"That's why I'm the matra here. I'm trained to stay suspicious and mark down the littlest thing. I'm the suspicious one here? You might actually make me laugh. I don't doubt the bard's reasons, I doubt the methods. Their intentions. How quick the whole process passed."
He is getting tired of this conversation, and the foolishly prideful man before him, speaking not a word against the allegations he knew he was guilty of but still thinking he wasn't in the wrong somehow.
Most irritable was this one here, so righteously indignant and proud of it too. Where did this arrogance come from? What about you made people so reckless and foolhardy?
He sighed, and pinched his brow. "I assume this is the first time you've met the bard in person?"
"Yes. They are a kinder, more considerate and lovely person than I ever would have thought, from all that I've heard. I can vouch on their behalf wholeheartedly." Cyno sighed, it was right there. The fool was obviously enamored, his testimony was already compromised. Just more work for him.
"I'll be sending matra to interview the rest of your theater in the coming days," they gasped, the typical response.
"I'll also have you fill out a form of absence for these days, as well as I'll be taking the bard to my office to interrogate. If the bard is really apprenticing here as you say." They spluttered and Cyno turned to the son.
"Some advice boy; before studying the law of another land, try memorizing your own first." He saw the red look of shame and anger seep across his face before he turned and walked away from the two.
Anger and indignation flared in his chest. Hot. Irrational. You were up to something, and more importantly, you had help. You were garnering sympathy and endearment among the people. And some very influential people at that. The signature he saw at the bottom of the form said it all.
Al Haitham.
He would need to have a word with him too.
Suddenly the crowd quieted, and music started to play.
He didn't notice Miss Nilou had taken her place on the stage. She wore a soft lavender, a lovely ombre set off by the sun's set.
She was graceful. Her movements were precise and deliberate and she moved with a definite elegance. Cyno could see the years of hard work that she put in and toiled for, the bend of the wrists and the arching ankles, the slow turns on beat. From a criticizing point of view, she was lovely.
Cyno was not biased against the arts. Not dance, not music, not painting or weaving or performing. Everyone is a master of their own craft, expert of their own passion. Who is he to say that art holds no value simply because he couldn't see it? Or that Miss Nilou was somehow beneath him for pursuing performance instead of something more erudite?
Even you. He saw the form, and while he was preoccupied with his suspicions, he did read it over. Every note of reference and interest his eyes flew over and picked up, bits of trivia like digging and finding gold.
You had a life, before you came here. A full one. He wonders what brought you so far from home.
Miss Nilou's vision glowed, and the humid air around her shimmered an aqua blue in waves and folds. Her hair, bright like cherries flew behind her, a calm smile on her lips as she danced for the awestruck crowd. She ended with a twirl and kneeled, palms held outwards towards the crowd. The crowd clapped and cheered their awe.
But the music hadn't stopped playing. People looked at one another in confusion as she rose to her feet, standing still, her hands above her head.
The elemental energy had faded, and the sun was fully set now, but it was that in between time of twilight, where the world was dunked into this ultramarine blue. Like Celestia took their hand and sunk Teyvat into the depths of the ocean. It was dark. He could barely see.
The lanterns suddenly burst into flame, one by one. The crowd shouted and looked at each one as it was lit, huddling like animals, but Cyno was looking at the stage to see where the flames came from.
He was looking at you.
You wore red, how obvious. There at least was a veil covering the lower half of your face, and the Pyro vision at your hip burned the same heat while you lit the lanterns. Gold at your ears and waist and throat, bangles on your wrists, delicate beads at your ankles. The music picked up speed, and you both started to dance.
It slipped his mind to ask who you were apprenticing under. Of course it would be Miss Nilou.
He didn't recognize the dance. Miss Nilou danced with a levity, she spun on the tips of her toes and extended her arms and legs, spinning circles around you. You swirled and clapped your hands, stomped your feet, setting the tempo with the click-clack of your shoes, following her arc around the stage.
Like ocean waves, or flickering flames, where one ebbed the other flowed. Miss Nilou covered your weak spots, where you overextended or fell short, as the more experienced performer, while you grinned beneath your sheer veil and lifted your chin high.
He didn't understand what Zubayr meant when he said you were just moreover a hard worker. Yes, you were not as polished or refined, but you were beautiful.
Stop. Why does he keep thinking these things?
He really should stop thinking of these things.
Bubbles shone in the air before you vaporized them into a shimmering mist with the flames at your fingertips. It was so humid. He couldn't breathe.
He still had a job to do, and tore his gaze away, towards the crowd, cataloging their reactions. Some cheered and screamed, others stomped their feet and clapped their hands to the beat. Others stared at the spectacle, awestruck or proud, like the manager, staring at his star of the theater.
His son was staring at the stage too. Proud yes, but something else. His grin was too…dopey, eyes half lidded and face red while he clapped along. It hit him a second later what he was looking at. That he was looking at you. He was staring at you like that, like a fool in love.
"..."
And a fool he was, the idiot. It was just as he suspected. You didn't reciprocate. You were just using him as a sort of shield, protection. You'd never give him the time of day. Of course you were just playing with him.
He just watched you dance. He's never really seen you dance before. Tail ends of a jig did not count. It was obvious to a keen eye that Miss Nilou was the senior of you both but you made up for your inexperience with confidence. She leapt and landed daintily, smiling, her leg an arch lifted high.
Your fingers snapped sparks and your feet were a whirlwind, setting the beat higher and higher, your loose hair curling around your ears with all the humidity. There was a sort of confidence there, a fierce joy. He noticed it in the smile half hidden behind your veil. He noticed a bruise on your bicep.
A bruise on your bicep.
Right…there. Barely covered by your sleeve. How? When? Was that him? Was that from when he grabbed you? Did he do that?
His chest twisted like someone pressed a brand to it.
He didn't mean to.
Your hair, again. It whirls around while you spin, following Miss Nilou while she flows around the perimeter of the stage. And when you both finally reach the front, Miss Nilou drops into a bow. You however stomp your foot with a shout, your hands crossed above your head like wings. You're both breathing heavily, but smiling, triumphant.
He feels a lurch in his stomach then, for some reason.
The crowd is silent for about three seconds, before they erupt into screams and applause. Miss Nilou rises, and you take her hand to bow.
\
Cyno spares one last glance, and walks away. He's seen all he needs to.
The air is cooler the farther he walks, kissing his brow and sweat from his skin. He takes off his headdress and runs a hand through his hair, it's a bit tangled. His feet ache. He's used to walking barefoot.
The night darkens as he passes the open streets and turns the empty corners, everyone is at the party, or home.
It's cold at night.
"Hey!" He hears your voice and jolts. Your footsteps are light, but the anklets there jingle as you approach.
"Hey…Why am I the one chasing you down now?" He doesn't turn, but he knows it's you.
You're huffing, out of breath. He hears the swish of your fabric when you shuffle.
"I thought you were supposed to…watch over the party."
"I was to watch over you. Seeing as you've already gotten on stage and performed, and the adoration from your newfound fans, I'd say I have enough to report on."
"Oh, so you only came to build a case against me?" Your voice is thick with sarcasm.
"...No." And he wont elaborate. He puts his headdress on. A lock is tangled and he nearly snags it. He ignores it.
"You have clearance for your vision and an apprenticeship with Miss Nilou. The theater wouldn't have pulled something so risky if they felt it jeopardized their future, especially when they are already on tense terms with the Akademiya. A point to you, I guess." He turns, and you're crouched with your hands on your knees, still breathing heavily.
"...You vixen."
"Vixen? Me?"
"You seduced the Grand Scribe to get you that form and sign it."
You shoot up, hands on your hips.
"I did not. The Grand Scribe oh so graciously directed me through the process. I already carry all my papers so it went by in a breeze."
"Little liar. Also, your three letters of reference were from the manager, Miss Nilou, and his son. You seduced him too."
You huff, red as your clothing. "No! The manager suggested I become acquainted with him by letter before we met. We've shared letters discussing Monstadt law versus Liyue and Sumeru. Nothing more or else. He's not even my type."
Then what is? Shut up.
He sighs. "I don't believe you. I'll have to check to make sure." He looks you up and down, and you look offended when he scoffs. You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow, as if daring him to speak aloud.
You really do look lovely.
Shut up.
"You did a good job with the boy, anyways. He was defending you quite adamantly. He's probably smitten. He was staring at you like a blind man seeing the moon for the first time. A successful seduction."
"Stop it. And you're what, a year older or so? He's not a boy." He gives you a look, like you should know better. He doesn't remark on how you didn't deny or refute what he said.
"A boy, still."
"Hm. Well, how about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you want me to seduce you?" You could hear a pin drop, the hitch of his last breath, before he forces the anger to the forefront, drowning out the tiny, eager voice in his head before it damns him.
"...Do not try to endear yourself to me. Do not try to seduce me either. It won't work."
"Are you sure about that?" If he was less composed his mouth would drop from your audacity, but he stays silent and you chuckle.
"You seemed pretty responsive to my advances last time..."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"When I took your virginity, Cyno." He chokes, and you burst out into laughter. When he recovers you're still laughing, and he glares at you with all the anger he could muster.
"That's not what happened and you know it." He hisses.
"Yeah, yeah, it was just a kiss I know…. You were acting like it was more though."
"No, I wasn't, stop laughing."
"Okay, fine, I'll stop…" you giggle some more when his glare doesn't drop.
"No, no, seriously, I'm just playing with you! I'm sorry, I know I go overboard sometimes." You look at him.
"But honestly, you need it! You're so uptight."
"I told you multiple times, we are not friends. I am the General Mahamatra."
"And I don't really like him. I would like to be friends with Cyno, with the allegedly terrible jokes."
"Allegedly terrible–"
You roll your eyes. "It's like primary school all over again, asking to sit at someone's table. Would you like to be friends, Cyno? You can tell me your jokes and I'll share my music with you. Is that a good enough trade?"
He's angry at himself for how tempting that sounds. It's stupid. He wants to joke with you, he wants to hear your music and your laughter and watch you perform. Who the hell are you? Why did you have to come here of all places and try to ruin him? You make him doubt so many things.
His eyes fall to your bicep. The bruise is faint, but will darken as the hemoglobin is chemically broken down. If you don't see a healer, it could take weeks. You follow his eyes and catch him looking, and move to fix your sleeve. You drop your gaze.
"Ah, yeah, I forgot, I already messed up one time, who knows what you'll do to me next!" You put your hands on your cheeks in mock fear, but Cyno can hear how forced your tone sounds.
I didn't mean to. I'm sorry.
"You're so scary sometimes, you know that? And I was telling the truth too…"
And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You're one of the only ones not scared of me.
"I should back up, right? Right…. I'm probably acting too comfortable around you as a person of interest, right? That's bad business…" You wince, more like a hiss. "Sorry."
Stop it, don't be. Don't be. Are you cold? It gets cold at night.
Stop it now.
You can move closer to me.
Shut. Up.
"Well, anyways, you watched us dance, yeah? Whaddya think?" You lean in, eager. There is none of your thorns or snark from earlier, but Cyno sees the way you grip your wrist behind your back, the tight corners of your grin. Your eyes shine an odd light.
"...I've never seen that kind of dance before. What was it?"
"Nilou danced a sort of Sumeru court-ballet fusion, we worked on it together."
"And you?"
"It's a few moves from Natlan, I learned it from a traveling troupe during my own travels." you say, striking a pose like you're ready to dance again. You give a twirl and smile at him. But the silence and weight between you two is heavy, and he's sure you only see the livid sear of his eyes, just a sliver underneath his hat. You shiver.
"Your form said you were from Monstadt."
"Yeah, thats where I'm from. I mean, I am a bard, you know...." you shrug and sway.
The silence stretches for so long and for once, he just doesn't know what to say. It's not like he could fall back one of his jokes to try and make you laugh, or dispel this tense moment at the least. He's said it so many times, you are not friends.
Even if he would like to be. Even if he wonders about something more than that.
Even if he dreams of your smiles.
"Um, well, anyways, I just wanted to uh….thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming, even if you're not staying."
"....I didn't come for you, I came to work."
"I understand that, but….I don't think that's the whole truth either. My two other…friends didn't show, so I was glad to see one familiar face in the crowd at least. Thanks." You mumble at the end of your sentence, and you won't meet his eyes, shuffling around on your feet.
You're bashful. He's never seen this before either. It's strange.
"...Um. I guess I should get going. People are going to think you kidnapped me!" You laugh and point back, so you wave at him and walk away.
He reaches out to grab your arm, but he remembers before and falters. The silk of your sleeve slips through his fingers, and that is enough to make you turn, a hum on your lips.
What is he going to say to make you stay? Why was he trying to make you stay? The soft blur of your mouth looks feather soft in the fallen twilight. He didn't know he was staring until you hum again, and tug your arm a bit to get his attention.
"...On your form. It said....I didn't know you used to be a knight." Immediately your expression shutters off, and you step back. That wasn't his intention.
"Yeah, um, back in Monstadt. I was a part of the Knights of Favonius. I worked as a lieutenant under the Cavalry Captain and Quartermaster." You shrug, but you take another step back, away.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Huh?"
"I wasn't questioning you," he lets your sleeve go. "You don't have to say anything about it if you don't want to." Why? This could be valuable information. He should be pressing you.
"Oh!" For once you looked shocked, and you force a laugh.
"Oh, yeah, uh, sorry about that. Well, it's not something I keep private exactly, I just don't talk about it much. It was a jib, I did it, I didn't like it so I left."
"That was a very high position though. What made you leave, was the pay not good enough?" It was the lightest jest he could make, but it didn't ease you. Something bitter crawled over your face, even as you smiled.
"Yeah, it…It kinda wasn't." You shuffle for a few odd seconds, awkward, before you just turn and walk away.
"Bard." He doesnt want to see you leave loke this. You turn back before the dark streets could swallow you up.
"...You were good today. On stage." Your eyes widen, and you look so shocked. But slowly, almost inevitably, a smile over takes your face, wide and pulling at your red cheeks, squinting your eyes. He feels that lurch in his belly again.
"I was?"
"You were." You huff a laugh, bright spark in the dark you are.
"You can just say I'm a good dancer."
"And inflate your ego some more? You're not supposed to add oxygen to a fire." You stop walking backwards with a quizzical grin, tilt your head. But then your face lights up in understanding, and you laugh, and flit away.
He hears the crowd cheer as you return, too far away to hear your reply, and he walks off.
The night is cold. He's burning. With curiosity, irritation, surely the only feelings you invoke in him. The only ones he could allow. Nothing more or less.
Even if it is hard to suppress a smile of his own as he walks away. Wide and elated like yours, dopey like the manager's son. What did he call him, an idiot?
Yeah. An idiot he was.