Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No one’s seen or heard of him before he began appearing in the streets of Sumeru City. No family, no friends, no history. There’s not a soul who can tell you a thing about him other than what they glean from the interactions they have. He’s easy to pick out in a crowd, but finding him in the first place is the real trick. He’s nigh untraceable, flitting from place to place and only leaving an impression as a mark that he’d been anywhere at all. He’s like a ghost, blown in by the wind and swept away just as easily, and he is the bane of Wanderer’s existence.

It starts in the strangest of ways.

“Are you Hat Guy?”

Wanderer, who had been minding his own business trying to finish a paper, turns to the sudden voice, his face twisted up in disgusted annoyance. A strange boy had appeared, a desert dweller by the look of him, standing over him with his green eyes glued to the wide brimmed hat sitting on Wanderer's head.

“Last I checked, judging someone by their appearance is superficial.”

“So you aren’t?” He stands on his tiptoes, eyes dancing over the details and a wide smile on his face.

What is this guy, an idiot? Doesn’t he know how to take a hint? Clicking his tongue, Wanderer packs up his materials and stands. The boy at the very least has the sense to take a few steps back and his eyes are no longer glued to the hat, instead regarding Wanderer with a look that feels like it sees right through him. It’s disgustingly chilling.

“It’s an interesting looking hat,” the desert boy says. “Not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

Without another word, Wanderer disappears, not intending to entertain that freak any longer. From his new vantage point, he can see the boy looking around bewildered, that same idiotic smile plastered on his face.

From there it only gets worse. Wanderer is running errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali, the green-eyed desert boy is making his rounds around Treasure Street, helping the elderly and doing his kindly deeds for busy shop keeps, and somehow Wanderer will feel that piercing gaze on him only to turn and find the tail end of it turning away as the boy continues on his way. Or Wanderer will be making his way through the winding lanes leading up to the Akademiya, and catch sight of the boy gazing up at the meandering scholars and, almost certainly, at him before striking up a conversation with someone passing by. Or when Wanderer settles down at Puspa Café with a cup of their darkest roast and paperwork that needs reviewing for a rebuttal to another Vahumana scholar’s proposal, and he’ll see that wild mane of hair wading through the passing crowds and only to just barely catch those haunting emerald eyes lingering on him before they turn to someone who has started up an over-eager conversation with the desert dweller.

He’s amiable and charismatic, his smile is infectious and his words flow like warm honey, he seems to make friends wherever he goes, and Wanderer doesn’t trust him one bit. The only reason anyone would be so friendly is to get something out of others. He’s seen this charade before, did the song and dance once long ago, and he isn’t fooled for a second. That being said, not being fooled doesn’t stop his gaze from lingering or curiousity from gnawing at him, and eventually he finds himself in the Sanctuary of Surasthana with Nahida smiling gently over a pile of paperwork, a knowing look in her eye.

“You rarely come here on your own, Wanderer. To what to I owe the pleasure?” She pauses in her scribbling to devote her full attention to him.

He holds back an eye roll, though just barely, and levels her with unamused stare. “There’s someone new in the city. No matter who I ask or how much I try to find about him, I get the same answer: nothing.”

“So he’s a bit like you,” she comments happily, as if there’s nothing wrong with that. “Maybe if you try asking him about himself, you’ll find you have more things in common.”

Wanderer doesn’t try to hold back the derisive scoff he makes at this. “Seriously? I doubt it. For one, if anyone else tried to erase themselves from Irminsul, I’m sure you’d try to get me to be friends with them. Two, we have nothing in common. He’s a busybody errand-boy who strikes up meaningless conversation with anyone who will give him the time of day.”

At this, Nahida’s smile widens, pinching her eyes in a way the unassuming would call cute, but Wanderer knows as threatening. “Just as the desert and the rainforest seem to be very different from each other, they still hold similarities. Both are important parts of Sumeru, filled with history and culture, both have people who care for them dearly, and their own mysteries to uncover. And if you’ll remember, you run errands for me too, don’t you?”

He clicks his tongue and tugs at the brim of his hat. What a mistake it was to think the God of Wisdom would have any to impart to him. She’s always been cryptic and vague with her analogies, never giving him a straight answer when it’s all he needs from her.

Seeing that he has no intention of making a rebuttal, Nahida sighs and hops off her seat, walking towards Wanderer. “I think this could be a good opportunity for you to make friends with someone who isn’t the Traveller. If you really don’t want to ask him outright, maybe you could observe him for a while until you make your decision.”

He shoots her a scowl. “You know, for a God of Wisdom, you sure don’t learn anything. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t need friends, and I won’t be making any.” He doesn’t wait for her response before storming out of the sanctuary, the weight of her knowing eyes settling heavy on his back.

For all his talk in the sanctuary, it doesn’t take long before he’s heeding her words. First, he searches for all the information he can find about the green-eyed boy, what precious little he does find is vague and rife with subjective details, utterly useless to his needs. He even contemplates asking the people he sees around his target most for more information, but overhearing a particularly awful “joke” is enough to turn him off the idea immediately. He’s left to surreptitiously survey his quarry, and though the tables seem to have turned, it’s a task easier said than done. The desert dweller is sharp, perhaps a trait honed by years of surviving in the unforgiving sands. He acts as though nothing has changed, but it’s obvious in the way his eyes begin to dart around more often and the way he listens more intently when Wanderer draws near.

How interesting. It seems this guy is much more than just a chatty errand-boy. He listens and asks questions that get him more information than the usual shallow talk, he switches gears when he sees he’s not getting anywhere with a particular line of questioning and keeps his wits about him. It doesn’t take much watching to understand that any conversation this guy has is anything but meaningless, the way he wrings everyone for as much information as he can while keeping anything about himself shrouded in playful mystery almost impressive and all too familiar. Wanderer could do without the overly friendly mask, the bright smile and warm demeanor sickeningly sweet, but he supposes to each their own ends of retrieving information. It’s a miserable play to watch, but our actor plays his part with mesmerizing efficiency.

Wanderer’s suspicions only grow the more he watches, the shadow pretending to be human filling him with an unease he hasn’t known in quite some time. It’s the moment when he thinks he’s been perfectly hidden, surveying the stranger from afar, and those piercing eyes land on him, staring for seconds that seem to stretch for an eternity, only to flit away again that Wanderer decides he’s had enough of the cat-and-mouse. He would confront him and put an end to all the mystery, and finally put this curiosity and unease to rest.

It takes a few days, the strange boy seemingly busied with his own tasks and Wanderer trying to catch up on some work he’d neglected in favor of satisfying his curiosity. Thankfully, this puts him in the prime position to confront his quarry. He exits the Akademiya halls in time to see that dark hair streaked with ash gray roving the streets outside and takes this opportunity to strike. In a flash, he’s perched in a tree just as the boy comes rounding the corner, a lunchbox in hand.

“The errand-boy's come running all the way to the Akademiya. Quite the busy little bee, aren't you?" Wanderer calls from the treetop with an arrogant grin.

The boy doesn’t even seem surprised when he raises his eyes to him, as if he’d expected something like this. Something like a chill runs through Wanderer as the boy flashes a sly smile and raises the lunchbox for him to examine. “I'm just here for lunch — someone gave me this. Want some?"

A play at opening up a line of dialogue with him, surely to question him and squeeze him of answers like everyone else. But Wanderer isn't anyone else, and the obvious attempt seizes him with disgust. He drops the act, his grin replaced by a distrusting glare. "I'd say you're no errand-boy at all. You've got a more important role."

The boy’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement and his smile widens. "I'd say that you're no student either. You've got a more important role."

Ah. Caught in the game again. For all his watching, Wanderer never expected that he’d be the one getting investigated. He barely spends time around others, careful to avoid groups unless absolutely necessary, so there shouldn’t be anyone who knows much of anything about him. Perhaps that is where he slipped up, not that he’d be changing that habit any time soon— or ever for that matter. He clicks his tongue and pulls on the brim of his hat before disappearing in the blink of an eye, done with this round of their game.

How infuriating, how absolutely humiliating that he is being beat by a mere human, one who shouldn’t have any information on him given his status in Irminsul — or rather, lack thereof. Despite trying to move on from his past, one of the things Wanderer could never shake is his disdain of losing. He could ask to look through the tree’s branches of memory for any sign of this boy, but Nahida is sure to reject that idea on the basis of unprofessional conduct and improper use of Irminsul. The only way to beat this stranger at his own game would be to play. It seems he’d have to go back to watching, picking up clues wherever he could find them.

The days turn into weeks turn into months that pass as usual. Wanderer completes his duties at the Akademiya, works on rebuttal essays and then proposals of his own that feel less like hypotheses and more like autobiographies, and between errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali, he keeps an eye out for the boy with the striking green eyes, finding little information on him in the process. Everything begins to slip back to normalcy, their game slowly retreating to the back of his mind as the boy seems to fixate on him less and probes the masses more, which Wanderer couldn't care less about. The less attention on him, the better. All is well on the sunny spring afternoon when Wanderer is tucked into a corner of Puspa Café, sipping at a beautifully brewed and deliciously bitter coffee, enjoying his spare time in his own company when that familiar, grating voice comes lilting over the music of the café.

Wanderer narrows his eyes over his cup, careful not to make it too obvious he’s watching as the boy comes in with a scholar who has begun regaling him with the details of a project he’d worked on and been lauded for. The boy listens earnestly, eyes only parting from the scholar to briefly glance around his surroundings until they land on Wanderer. They stare at each other, daring the other to look away first, and the boy’s smile widens as the seconds pass until the student asks him for his order. He snaps back to their conversation, ordering a simple drink: coffee with a splash of cream, no sugar. Interesting. Wanderer took him for the type to have a bit of coffee in his cream and sugar, but the boy takes long, deep swallows between interjections in the student’s ramblings. He’s nearly fool enough to think himself in the clear when the scholar takes a look at the clock and laments his lateness, thanking the boy for his help before departing.

Exactly as he expected, the moment he’s out the door, the desert dweller comes sauntering up to Wanderer’s table. “Mind if I join you?”

“I do, but I guess you’ll just do whatever you want regardless, won’t you?” Wanderer says over his cup, glaring at the boy who just smiles wider in return.

“All that watching paid off, huh? You know me so well already,” he quips, sliding into his seat and leaning against the seat back with the same knowing look Wanderer's seen on Nahida. Positively revolting.

“Don't play your games with me. You and I both know you like to keep as much of yourself hidden as possible,” he shoots back, taking a long sip of his drink and eyeing the boy.

He laughs into his cup and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and lowering his voice to a hushed, gravelly murmur. “Something we have in common, I see. You know, you’re a tricky one to track. No matter who I talk to or where I look, I can’t seem to find anything about you.”

He’s animated when he speaks, his head tilting and eyebrows moving to excentuate his words, even his voice pitching a playful tone that lilts hypnotically. Another trick at seeming open and honest. Wanderer is stuck between finding it repulsive and thinking it praiseworthy. Instead, he leans back and sets his cup down. “Good. In fact, it would be for the best if you stopped looking.”

This only makes his eyes light up as he leans a little further in, lowering his cup to both hands. “Oh, don’t say that, you’re making me even more curious. I mean, c’mon, a guy no one’s heard of suddenly enrolled as a Vahumana student with a recommendation from the Archon herself who writes essays so amazingly detailed and perfectly structured even veteran scholars find them impossible to refute? The curiosity is killing me, you gotta tell me how you do it.”

Wanderer’s lip twitches in irritation and he’s keen to end the conversation here, but the opportunity to pry some answers from the man himself proves too irresistible. “Then die. Flattery won’t get you anywhere. I just do what I need to, unlike you, who seems to have a finger in as many pies as you can manage. You have a real knack for getting into other people’s business, don’t you?”

The boy winces and lets out a half-hearted chuckle, holding a hand to his chest. “You wound me. How about this: Since I know you’ve been looking into me, I’ll tell you something about myself in exchange for a little something about you?”

He quirks an eyebrow, as if the deal sounds reasonable and anyone would be a fool to refuse. It’s a gambit with more loss than gain for Wanderer, no promise of the exchange of information being equal or worth revealing anything to his opponent. He hasn't taken a single sip of his coffee since sitting, making his intent here all the more obvious. Wanderer looks down at his cup, the sight of the drink suddenly filling him with distaste.

“Looks like my free time is up.” He rises from the table, those piercing eyes following his every move, and starts toward the door.

“My offer remains open. Until next time, Hat Guy,” the boy calls after him. He doesn’t look back. Another ridiculous loss this round. Next time, he wouldn’t let victory get away from him.

Chapter Text

Things settle into a routine, both Wanderer and the strange boy going about their business and increasingly less surreptitious in the surveillance of the other. It’s a careful dance, close enough to try and grasp just a little bit more about the other without getting so close that anything beyond acquaintanceship forms. Wanderer is vaguely familiar with the boy’s routines, but couldn’t tell you his name or birthplace or even how many actual friends he has. He suspects very little beyond the places he frequents and the papers he publishes are known to his dance partner, and he revels in smug satisfaction at keeping it that way. After that humiliating loss the last round of their game, he’s careful not to give him another foothold, instead focusing on finding one of his own, but next to nothing crops up in his search for one.

This game is beginning to look futile, but Wanderer refuses to admit defeat, especially not without leveling the score. However, it seems it must be put on hold when Nahida calls for Wanderer one day.

“As I’m sure you know, the Akademiya has been making efforts to re-establish relations with the Temple of Silence,” she begins.

He does not know. He feels like he should and it’s irritating having to even think that, but between keeping up with his studies and not caring for the monotony of the Akademiya's inner-workings, it seems this bit of information has slipped through the cracks.

“Since you’re caught up with your studies and the few individuals I can trust with this task are otherwise preoccupied, I need you to meet with a liaison from the temple,” Nahida says, ignoring the way Wanderer clicks his tongue at this. “You two will be transporting potential sources of forbidden knowledge to seal at the temple. From there, I will also need you to make copies of the approved material to bring back to the Akademiya for research.”

“This better be worth it,” he snaps. “It’ll take, at minimum, four days to get there and back, nevermind however long it’ll take to make the copies you want, and I’m not exactly swimming in free time.”

Nahida nods. “I understand completely, and I do apologize for the inconvenience, but try to think of it as a break from your studies and an improvement for the Akademiya. Like a bird that picks the parasitic bugs from a spinocrocodile’s scales, the Akademiya needs the Temple of Silence to remove forbidden knowledge so that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Wanderer scoffs at her analogy; fitting and grotesque as it is, it hardly paints his own importance in this endeavor. “And who exactly is this liaison? Where will we be meeting?”

Nahida giggles, and Wanderer grimaces. “You know him already, though I’m sure even if I told you his name, you wouldn't know until you see him. You’ll pick up the material from the Scribe, Alhaitham, before meeting the liaison at the city’s south gate tomorrow morning. He’ll be your guide to the Temple of Silence.”

“Great, plain and simple,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his words. The only good part about this trip is that it would only need to involve two people, one of which was a member of an organization based around silence and secrecy. It isn’t likely he’ll have to entertain any useless conversation to fill the void. Still, Nahida’s words fill him with apprehension. He knows the liaison but not by name, which could be anybody. He doesn't often see the point in memorizing names or faces, their owners to be little more than dust in due time and he, as he always has been. Perhaps this would be one of the few names he would at least attempt to commit to memory, given the supposed importance of the owner’s role.

That night, he works on a paper before setting it aside to tidy up his living space, not keen on coming back to papers strewn about and books piled up. It isn’t much to clean, he prefers his space well-kept and only takes out what he needs in the moment, putting it back when it no longer holds use to him. The books he’d need to reference upon his return are left in a neat stack at the corner of the desk and the relevant study material is carefully tucked away in a drawer. He lies down on the neatly made bed and finds he can’t get himself to even pretend to sleep.

Morning comes in with as little ceremony as the material prepped for sealing is handed to him, the Scribe offering little words beyond some instruction and a stale well-wishing to the trip ahead. They’re kept in an unassuming satchel which Wanderer slings across his body before heading to the southern gate of Sumeru City to wait on the liaison. The whole way over, he racks his memory for anyone at the Akademiya he’s noticed have more contact than usual with the Archon, anyone he might have seen around more often recently, someone who’s mentioned working with the classified texts held by the Akademiya, but even as he settles off to the side of the main road no one comes clearly to mind. He leans against the marble wall with a huff and looks at the scenery stretching out into the distance. It’s all winding river and lush green canopy, the same as it’s ever been. He listens to the sounds around him, the twittering of birds, the idle talk from the market nearby, the rustling of leaves, the murmuring of the guards on duty. He doesn’t hear the approaching steps until they’re entirely too close for comfort, even at more than arm’s length.

Whipping around to the sound, Wanderer grimaces at the all too familiar face beaming back at him.

“You ready to go?” The desert boy calls to him with a warm smile, arm raised in greeting.

Confusion blindsides Wanderer, making him squint as his face twists up into a full sneer. “What the hell are you on about?”

The boy stops in his tracks, taken aback by his question. He blinks comically a few times before his eyebrows come down in a worried pinch. “Didn’t Lesser Lord Kusanali tell you? We’re running an errand together this time. By the way, name’s Sethos. Pleasure to be working with you, Hat Guy.”

Wanderer blanches, then scoffs, then bursts into hysterical laughter. Unbelievable. “You can’t be serious. You, the liaison? Well, I guess that makes sense, given how little anyone knows about you or your organization.”

Instantly, Sethos’ mouth pulls into an aghast grimace, and he crowds Wanderer with a nervous smile, voice dropping to a whisper. “Hey, hey, not so loud. I didn’t exactly come here without all the bells and whistles just for everyone to find out. A low-profile helps me do my job. C’mon, let’s talk while we walk.”

He waves Wanderer further down the path, not waiting for him to agree before he’s taken up a happy trot down the dirt path. Wanderer clicks his tongue and follows, catching up quickly and leveling him with a sideways glance.

“And what about your job could possibly prompt an interest in me?” He’ll admit, he isn’t exactly the paragon of openness, often keeping to himself, but his recommendation from the Archon alone should clear him of any suspicion.

Sethos laughs openly at this, head thrown back and adam’s apple bobbing. “Oh, no, that wasn’t about my job,” he finally says when his laughter subsides, turning a sly smile on Wanderer. “I just think you're interesting. I can’t help but become curious about things or people I know nothing about, and then it’s only obvious my next step would be to learn everything I can. But you, you’ve been a tough nut to crack. It’s been fun looking into you because I can’t seem to get a single straight answer. This is the longest I’ve ever spent looking into somebody, can you blame me for getting attached?”

Wanderer makes a face of disgust and puts some space between them, which Sethos quickly closes. “I can. Interest is hardly motivation enough to put in the effort you have, and yet you still insist on looking into me? You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“Ha! Funny you should say that, I’ve had a few people tell me I’m like a wild animal,” Sethos says, staring at the path ahead with a small smile. “Not that I disagree.”

He trails off and though he still hasn’t supplied reason enough for Wanderer, he has no intention of filling the quiet for him and giving him something else to work with so they continue in silence, with only the sounds of the forest between them.

The walk is neither a breeze nor straining, the weather neither cool nor hot, and Wanderer is neither pleased nor irritated with this turn of events. So far, when Sethos has spoken, it’s been about himself, giving him small insights into the strange boy, but now that he’s quiet, blessedly quiet, all the curiosity that spurred Wanderer on in the first place has come surging back. A few questions answered and suddenly his mind begins conjuring more, but he’d rather meet a grisly end at the fangs and claws of a Rishboland tiger than ask even a single question and give him an opening. He’s going back and forth over whether or not to bite the bullet when they come to the end of the path, stopped by a river with a dock and a continuing path on the opposite bank.

“We need to cross here,” Sethos says, stooping down to remove his boots.

“Hmph. Don’t ask me to carry you,” Wanderer says, adjusting the satchel and pulling at the brim of his hat.

Sethos laughs, standing as he tosses his shoes to the other bank. “Why would I ask you—”

His words are cut short as Wanderer takes to the air, flying over to the other side and landing with a irritated scowl as Sethos gapes in awe.

“Hurry up,” he snaps, waiting for the Sethos to cross and nearly hoping his errand ends early when the desert dweller drowns.

A challenging grin spreads across Sethos’ face. “Useful trick, but it’s not as fun as going for a quick swim, is it?”

Before Wanderer can ask what he means, Sethos dives into the water and surfaces halfway across, easily swimming to the other bank. He shakes the water from his head before squeezing out the excess from his ponytail and clothes.

Wanderer watches, something between disdain and astonishment etched into his scowl. “Your idea of ‘fun’ is absurd.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Sethos says absently as he puts his boots back on. “I did grow up in the desert with little to no contact with the outside world, and you gotta keep entertained somehow.”

He makes no further remarks and asks no questions as they continue, not even when Wanderer floats across a small pond and flies up to the ledge where a ladder hangs. Sethos walks through the mud unphased and climbs up the wooden planks without complaint. He’s surprisingly athletic, his otherwise small frame doing well to hide his toned muscles until they’re actually in use. It’s an almost nice change of pace to observe him up close like this. Sethos smiles when he catches Wanderer’s lingering stare, making him pull down the brim of his hat and head further down the path, stopping at a fork in the road. The path ahead leads to Pardis Dhyai, but instead of heading to the Amurta research site, Sethos takes an alternate route leading to Apam Woods.

“We’re headed to Caravan Ribat. This way’s faster, but a little more dangerous,” he explains as if he can sense Wanderer's confusion. Wanderer lets him take the lead, watching him from the rear.

They pass Pardis Dhyai, following along a rock wall covered in moss and vines down a dirt path. As they round the corner, Wanderer grips the back of Sethos’ shirt, forcing him to a stop. Bumbling about at some shoddy camp is a group of the biggest nuisances he’s known in all his years: the Fatui.

“Not these imbeciles,” he whispers with a groan. He’d forgotten he’d left them stationed out here while he attempted to take Haypasia as his first disciple, and they’d have no recollection of him or the exact events leading to their being there besides some makeshift memory Irminsul created to bridge the gap.

Sethos perks up, looking between Wanderer and the group ahead in interest. “You run into the Fatui often?”

“I try not to. It would be a waste of time to fight them, just keep moving,” Wanderer orders, zooming forward only to find Sethos is somehow keeping pace. They rush through the camp, the idiotic soldiers jumping to alert as they’re passed, too slow and useless to even catch the two. The moment the coast is clear of the Tsaritsa’s pawns, as if fate itself was intent on making this trip as annoying as possible, they stumble into three ruin serpents that latch onto their intrusion.

“Nope,” Sethos helpfully supplies, already sprinting on.

Wanderer attempts to follow through the air only to find his energy lacking. He falls to the ground and immediately breaks into a sprint. Sethos is gaining distance but a burst of light appears just in front of Wanderer, and he lets out a grunt of pain, singed by the intense heat. He tries to get around only for the serpent to spring up from the ground, blocking his path. A moment later, it falls limp to the ground, an arrow sticking out of its burning red sensor. He barely has the time to process what’s happened when a hand grabs his and pulls him from the rusted heap with a shout of “come on”.

Sethos guides him through the wooded path, even as a sudden downpour comes raining down, until they are well outside the roaming area of the ruin serpents. They come to a collapsed bridge and Sethos bursts into laughter, bending over with his hands on his knees.

“Whew, I haven’t run like that in a while! That was fun, wasn’t it?” He raises a fist to Wanderer, bright smile lighting up his face and easing that intense look his eyes normally hold. This might be the first time Wanderer has seen anything even remotely genuine on his face, he realizes. It’s… not terrible.

“This is the part where you fist bump me, Hat Guy,” he says with a breathless chuckle.

The name shakes Wanderer from his daze and he rolls his eyes with a sneer. “You call that fun? You’re more insane than I thought.”

“And you still haven’t fist bumped me. You’re more uptight than I thought.” He sighs and stands upright, stretching his back and groaning. “Never mind, man. Moment’s gone.”

He takes a moment, looking at the collapsed bridge through the heavy rain and at the scenery around them before digging through his bag. Sethos pulls out a pouch of dried fruits and nuts, holding it out to Wanderer after he scoops out a handful. “Here, eat. We need to keep our energy up. It only gets tougher from here.”

“I don’t need to eat,” Wanderer huffs, trying to figure out the best place and position to stand to get the least amount of rain on him and the satchel carrying their very important, not at all forgotten cargo.

With an exasperated sigh, Sethos pushes the bag towards him. “Yes, you do. We’ve already expended a lot of energy— don’t think I didn’t see you stumble back there. If you wanna make it through the desert, you gotta eat.”

“I don’t need to eat,” Wanderer repeats forcefully, sending him a venomous glare as irritation bubbles up at Sethos’ incessancy.

Sethos squints, then tucks into another palmful of the snack, shrugging. “Fine, fine. I won’t push it if you really don’t want any, but the offer stands if you get hungry later.”

Wanderer scoffs at the notion of feeling hunger. It’s as unfamiliar as fatigue or cold to him, like a mountaintop stone that knows nothing of the ocean. The idea sends a shiver through him; perhaps he’s spent too much time around Kusanali and her metaphors.

Sethos notices the shiver and quickly tucks the pouch away. “We should get going. Are you okay to climb?”

“Ha, as if I’d ever do something so ridiculous in this rain,” Wanderer quips. He can withstand a little rain, it won’t kill him, and so he forgoes his hat to fly across the gap, donning it again just as quickly as he lands. “Now how do you plan to get across? And, again, don’t expect me to carry you.”

Sethos backs away from the bridge, eyes flitting around as his mind works. He looks almost serious, a stark shift from his usually confident and friendly demeanor, but it doesn’t last long before his eyes light up and that stupid smile cracks over his face.

“No worries, I’ll climb over. It’s a nice chance to stretch my muscles and get a little exercise in,” he says as if they hadn’t been trekking through the rainforest for the better part of the day, as if he isn’t at risk of falling to a miserable death if he steps or grabs onto something even slightly too slippery.

Wanderer watches his every movement with tense disdain, waiting for the moment he’ll have to dive to save the idiot from an untimely demise. But the moment never comes. Sethos climbs over a twisting trunk onto a grassy incline and stays away from the ledge as he crosses over to meet Wanderer with a bright smile and sopping wet hair.

Wanderer ignores the way the faintest, illogical feeling of relief pulses through him. He squints and huffs a dry laugh. “You look like an idiot.”

“I dunno,” Sethos says with a shrug, looking all too please with himself. “I feel like that was pretty impressive with the moss and the rain. Let’s see you try it.”

“Tch. Not the climbing. You. Your hair is sticking to you like you got dunked in a river.” He turns toward the path they’ll follow from here, or really the only path available, eyes lingering on the drenched boy.

“It’s all good. It hardly ever rains in the desert, so I enjoy it while I can,” Sethos says, tone turning wistful as he raises his face to the droplets before heading down the path. “We’re almost to Caravan Ribat.”

The rain turns the dirt path to mud, which Sethos takes in stride as it cakes to the soles of his boots but Wanderer regards with disgust as it makes its way past his sole and gets on the fabric around his ankles. It doesn’t help that the path starts uphill and the bag evidently isn’t waterproof so he can’t even fly without risking the material that started this whole mess. He lets out a heavy sigh and Sethos glances over his shoulder at him.

“Want me to carry you? I don’t mind.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can handle mud. It doesn’t mean it isn’t irritating though.” He sighs through his teeth, almost sounding like a hiss, as he takes another step and feels mud seep into his shoe.

“You can fly ahead if you wanna get out of the rain,” Sethos offers, dropping his pace to walk beside him.

“Unfortunately,” Wanderer says snidely, “my hat is the only thing keeping this bag and whatever’s in it dry. Even an idiot can piece together that me flying will only spell disaster.”

Sethos thinks a moment, staring ahead before he takes off, leaving Wanderer to fend off the elements by himself. He almost curses him as he watches him through the downpour until he returns with a giant leaf, pried from one of the many megaflora around them. “Give me the bag, you go ahead,” he says, hand outstretched as if he’d really leave the satchel with him.

Wanderer looks at the leaf, then at Sethos, expression none too pleased. “What, exactly, is a leaf supposed to do?”

“If I wrap it around the bag, it’ll keep the rain off it. C’mon, even an idiot could piece that together,” he says jokingly, sly smile not helping how utterly infuriating the jab is.

“If that’s the case, it seems to me you need the leaf more than the bag does,” he shoots back before picking up the pace, ignoring the squelch that comes with every step. He hurries past Sethos who doesn’t let too much space get between them before he’s caught up again, holding the leaf over his head with a teasing smile.

Wanderer doesn’t comment on it, looking resolutely forward.

Sethos looks forward, fighting down the smile and losing.

The Rishboland tiger looks at them, having dropped from its perch and snarling at its intruders.

“Oh, for the love of—” Wanderer finishes his expletive with a frustrated growl, tearing the beast apart with a raging gale of wind and picking up the pace as the growl of another sounds from the rear. Sethos stuffs down his awe and hurries to catch up. He isn’t holding the leaf over his head or smiling when he returns to Wanderer’s side.

“How much longer until Caravan Ribat,” Wanderer snaps, less a question and more a demand.

“Maybe an hour, two max,” Sethos says hesitantly, casting nervous glances sideways.

Wanderer clicks his tongue and slows his pace. “No use wasting energy if it’s still that long. At least we’ll get there before nightfall.”

But, of course, fate had other plans.

Coming up another Archons-forsaken hill, a group of Eremites sits idly, a pair sparring while the others laze about. Sethos grabs Wanderer’s arm, pulling him away from the group and around the path as far as they can get. It’s pointless, of course. Wanderer could have done the miserly group in with a few strikes, but even beyond that, another, larger group waits further up the incline.

“Well, well. What have we here?” The apparent leader calls as he pushes off the rock he’s leaned against.

“Easy now,” Sethos starts, his friendly charm and honeyed words coming back as if they had never left. “Me and my friend are just delivering medicine to my grandfather. If you just let us pass, we’ll be out of your way.”

“Your friend doesn’t look like he’s from around here,” the leader says, shaking his head. “Travelers coming through the desert all have one thing in common: mora. Say, you seem like a friendly kid. Why don’t you get your friend to be real friendly with us and share a little?”

Sethos laughs awkwardly, discreetly calculating his way out of the situation. “Did I mention my friend is an envoy of the Archon? I wouldn’t want to give her a reason to send the Corps of Thirty this way, so why not let us through?”

“Oh yeah? And I’m the leader of Thutmose,” the leader says sarcastically, bursting into laughter. His lackeys follow suit and he levels the pair with a cold sneer. “Give it up. It’s all of us and two of you. Be smart, boy.”

Sethos swallows thickly, smile never wavering, and Wanderer decides that’s enough. With a click of his tongue, he shoves the satchel to his back. “I can’t stand the sight of worms who don’t know their place.”

The leader doesn’t get the chance to retort before a wind blade slices him across the chest. It’s not deep enough to kill him immediately, otherwise he’d never hear the end of it from Nahida, but enough to get him to shut up. He drops another before the rest gather their wits and Sethos runs into the fray, shocking a group with a surge of Electro energy and loosing a quick succession of arrows. It’s enough to knock a few of them off balance, and Wanderer takes the opportunity to take to the air, swirling the rain and residual Electro energy in forceful winds that tear at the Eremites that get trapped in them. Hitting them with another round of arrows, Sethos releases another burst of Electro before unleashing the energy accumulated in his Vision. Each arrow becomes a streaking bolt of lightning, and Wanderer uses his momentum to deal even more damage to the mercenaries. It only takes a few strikes to get the group unconscious and Sethos takes hold of Wanderer’s hand, running past them as the first group takes notice.

As they pass under an overhead at the very edge of Apam Woods, the rain suddenly and miraculously lightens up before dissipating entirely. Sethos is huffing with effort, but his smile is giddy and awe-filled. His hair is still sticking stupidly to his face.

As they come to a slow, he turns to Wanderer and cocks his head to the side. “That was fucking awesome.”

Shock catches him first at the curse word. He never expected the oh-so-helpful errand-boy to have a potty mouth, but the shock almost instantly gives way to an incredulous laugh. “If you think that was awesome, I can’t imagine how poorly that would have gone with just you.”

“Don’t joke, man,” Sethos laughs, bumping Wanderer’s shoulder, which he finds he strangely doesn’t mind. “That was like Archon-level action there.”

“Not even close. As awful a combatant Kusanali is, even she wouldn’t have taken that long on a group of nobodies.” He checks the satchel. It’s damp, but not enough to soak all the way through and damage the material inside, thank goodness.

Any rebuttal Sethos might have made is replaced by a groan of relief as the gate of Caravan Ribat comes into view, the light of the setting sun just behind it. “Oh, finally!”

The two pick up their pace, ignoring curious glances they get from the townspeople. Sethos goes over their needs for the next stretch of their travel: food, water, medicine, tarp, rope, and a fire starter kit. Wanderer makes no mention of at least half the list being useless to him, but at the very least, it cuts down Sethos’ needs for the trip back. Collecting everything they need goes smoothly, and they shell out a smaller sum of mora than anticipated thanks to Sethos’ smooth talking. They find an inn close to the gate leading out to the desert. Sethos insists on sharing a room to save on mora, and while Wanderer isn’t in a place to refuse with no mora on his person, he isn’t happy about having to explain his situation once they get settled into the cramped space. There’s only one bed, barely big enough to fit one adult, let alone two.

“Don’t forget to change out of your clothes before you catch a cold,” Sethos says, stripping off his tunic and setting it near the fireplace to dry. Wanderer almost laughs at the idea of catching a cold.

“I don’t get sick,” he says, pulling off his outer layers and grateful for the bodysuit he wore beneath his robes.

“Sure, but you can never be too careful. We spent like four hours in the freezing rain.” Wanderer wonders absently if the rain truly was freezing before he catches Sethos pulling off his pants from the corner of his eye. Turning away, he sets his hat to the side and gets to work cleaning the muck from his shoes.

“You can take the bed. I don’t sleep.”

Sethos freezes as he pulls a set of sleeping clothes on and turns to Wanderer, face blank. “What? Of course, you need sleep. We’ve been hiking through the forest all day.”

He’s going to push this like he pushed eating, Wanderer just knows it. Better to bite the bullet now and get it over with to avoid any further confusion. “Except for the fact that I’m not human.”

Sethos scoffs with disbelief. “Yeah, there are plenty of nonhuman races all over Teyvat, but you look pretty human to me, Hat Guy.”

Wanderer shoots him a warning glare that probably could have had more heat behind it had the other man not been half naked and fussing with the mud caked to the soles of his boots. “I can’t think of a worse insult. Thanks.”

Rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically, Sethos shrugs. “Alright, whatever you say, man. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

They fall into a quiet working rhythm, preparing their things for tomorrow before Sethos leaves the room, coming back a while later with two plates of whatever the kitchen was serving. Wanderer manages a few bites but it’s not to his tastes, and Sethos holds no complaint as he scarfs down both their portions. He settles in to sleep not long after. Wanderer sits beside a dim lamp working on a small report he’d brought with him to fill his idle time.

“Goodnight, Hat Guy.”

“Go to sleep.”

Chapter Text

Sethos sleeps through most of the night, though it’s a restless mess of tossing and turning as he pants and groans through whatever nightmare plagues him. He calls out in his sleep but his words are too slurred to understand and his hands hold the covers in a vice-like grip. Wanderer is almost annoyed enough to force him awake until he sees the tears spilling down Sethos’ cheeks. How pathetic and human, hardly worth the effort. Wanderer is already dressed and ready to go when Sethos rises, up before the sun and hair even wilder than usual. He brushes and rebraids it in silence, taking care of his hygiene before he gets dressed. Another surprising twist to him: not much of a morning person upon his initial rising. It unfortunately wears off as soon as he’s dressed, suddenly bursting with energy as he eats his fill from the rations he’s packed. He makes no small matter over how impressed he is Wanderer can be okay after barely eating and sleeping, and Wanderer begins to feel like maybe he should have just played along. They already planned to leave first thing in the morning to cover as much ground as possible, and no matter how many times Wanderer reminds Sethos that he isn’t human and doesn’t need to worry about overheating, Sethos still insists on going over the necessary precautions before they set off.

“It’s pretty easy to get to the temple from here, actually,” Sethos says, drawing a cloak around himself as they set out on the sandy road. “Well, ignoring the creatures and people trying to kill you on the way, and the technology used to keep the temple hidden… Other than that, it’ll take us like six hours, so it's easy-peasy!”

Right. “Easy-peasy”. Wanderer can almost laugh. He elects instead to tug at the satchel strap and let Sethos lead the way. And Sethos isn’t wrong, the main traveling route from Caravan Ribat is exactly the course they stay, avoiding mercenaries and fighting off scorpions and fungi for the first half. Sethos is quiet for the most part, keeping a vigilant watch ahead and supplying Wanderer with short tips on how best to traverse particular areas. It’s like watching a completely different person take over Sethos’ body, his usual friendly and boisterous personality replaced by a cool, calculating survivalist. It’s impressive how quickly he shifts, and how unphased he is by change as they make their way through the desert.

“I think I prefer this version of you. Serious, calm, pragmatic,” Wanderer lets slip as he watches the dunes around them for signs of trouble. “It’s infinitely better than if you had been talking the whole time.”

He turns in time to see those striking eyes, wide and locked on him before a giddy grin stretches across Sethos’ face and he drops his pace to walk side by side with Wanderer. Oh no.

“Oh yeah? Well, since I’ve shown you this secret little side of mine, maybe you can return the favor and tell me something about yourself? Your past, maybe…” He wiggles his eyebrows as he pushes his face toward Wanderer's, receiving a hand pushing it away in return.

“You won’t find anything about my past. This life of mine started in Sumeru, and what you’ve seen of it is all there is to it,” Wanderer says in tired irritation, an air of something like regret laced underneath his words.

Sethos purses his lips and tosses his head to the side, unconvinced. “No way that's all there is. You act like you’ve lived a hundred lifetimes, and you don’t exactly dress like someone who’s lived in Sumeru all their life.”

Wanderer rolls his eyes. As if he’d ever willingly give the upper hand to his opponent. If he could already piece together such pertinent information about Wanderer, then there would be no point in answering any of his ridiculous questions; and if he couldn't, then it’s another hand in Wanderer's cards that he could play if the need ever arises.

Sethos squints at him in suspicion and looks forward, holding his chin in thought as he walks, which looks incredibly stupid. “Let’s see… from the information I’ve gathered, I’d say you’re a nonhuman from Inazuma, probably not a yokai though. It’s in your clothing, your mannerisms, the way you speak, or at least what I could piece together from conversations and books. Not to mention the fact that most of your papers are written about Inazuman politics.”

Wanderer scowls. A severe misstep in his planning.

“By the way, I’ve heard the Electro Archon made a puppet so lifelike, it served as ruler of Inazuma in her place,” Sethos chimes suddenly, turning to Wanderer like he’d suddenly start spilling every detail he’d withheld. “I didn’t know Inazuma’s technology was so advanced! Maybe I should look into taking a trip there.”

“Don’t waste your time,” he grumbles, scowl deepening. “Only the Archon is capable of making something like that, and even then, she could only do it successfully once.”

There’s a pause as Sethos considers his words.

“Was there… another attempt?”

Disdain crosses Wanderer’s face as his mind instinctively conjures images of the rushing tides around Tatarasuna, the rolling hills of grass, his “mother’s” face. He pushes them down.

“There was… she threw it away. All because it cried.” The memories he tries to push down come flowing before he can stop them, frustration and longing bubbling up with them. “Ha. How ridiculous. Abandoned by a god…”

Picking up his pace, Wanderer storms ahead and, thankfully, Sethos doesn’t ask. He doesn’t realize he has no idea where they’re headed until they reach the Statue of the Seven outside Aaru Village, the sun rising into the sky just over the small desert settlement. A Dendro crystalfly floats by, and rather annoyingly, Wanderer is reminded of Nahida. It would be a good opportunity to make friends, she said. Good opportunity, his foot.

“It’s this way,” Sethos says quietly, taking a sharp left. “It gets pretty dangerous at this part, so keep your head on a swivel.”

Wanderer makes a noise of acknowledgment and follows closely behind as Sethos guides him further down the path. The open path is eventually swallowed by canyon walls, towering so high the sun’s light does not reach them. So much for Sethos’ fretting about heat exhaustion. The wind blows sand in a focused current through the valley, turning everything hazy. Even still, the squeaks and chitters ahead are a clear indicator of fungi.

“Trouble up ahead,” Sethos whispers. “Even when we try getting rid of these guys, they’re a persistent bunch. We could probably run through to avoid a fight and get to the temple faster… or we could have a little fun.”

He turns a playful smirk on Wanderer who rolls his eyes. Him and his idea of “fun”.

“First person to get to the other side with the most kills wins, loser has to tell something about themselves the winner doesn’t know?”

Now his interest is piqued. He regards Sethos for a moment, weighing his options. The odds are in his favor, all things considered. A competitive smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Prepare to taste defeat.”

Sethos smiles back, dashing ahead and firing arrows at the gathered troupe of Pyro fungi. Not one to be outdone, Wanderer sends slicing scythes of wind at them, cutting down one without much trouble and injuring another. Sethos takes the opportunity to loose an arrow at the wounded fungi before running up and releasing a short burst of Electro, killing it and shocking the last fungi standing. Wrong move. Swirling the Electro in a concentrated gale of wind, the final fungi falls to Wanderer.

“That’s a win for me,” he says with cocky smile.

“Not quite.” Sethos jabs a thumb over his shoulder. A cluster of scorpions disturbed by the noise climb from the sand, shaking the grains from their chitin and hissing.

Before Wanderer can fly ahead to attack, Sethos imbues his arrows with Electro, firing bolts of pure lightning at them that sink through their exoskeletons like a hot knife through butter. It’s all Wanderer can do to get in an attack to drop at least one before the rest fall to Sethos.

“Now, we’re tied,” he chirps, all too pleased with himself as he continues on. Wanderer tries to scowl but the corners of his mouth still pull ever so slightly into a smile.

As they continue down their path, the light of a torch further along is easily visible through the cover of the windblown sand, and by its movement, it’s being carried by someone on patrol.

“Hilichurls ahead.” Sethos’ voice is cool and low, as even as the arrow he nocks.

Oh no he doesn't. Taking to the air, Wanderer zooms ahead as the arrow flashes with Electro energy and streaks past him, splitting the hilichurls mask and dropping it instantly. Wanderer can almost hear the sly comment Sethos would make as he flies past the lifeless body to find three more hilichurls idling. He doesn’t give them the chance to react before he’s laying waste to them. Sethos is at the scene only a moment later, already charging an arrow with Electro, but with Wanderer fighting to win, he has to take a quick shot that doesn’t deal as much damage as he’d like. The energy imbued in the arrow only serves to aid in Wanderer’s victory as the wind vortexes he creates crackle with swirling lightning.

He lands, huffing with effort, and turns to Sethos with a self-righteous sneer. “What was that about ‘not quite’?”

Sethos raises his palms in defeat, bowing his head, though probably just to hide his smile at Wanderer’s overeager win. “Alright, alright, you win. I won’t be a sore loser about it but you have to admit, you clutched at the end there because of my Vision.”

With a bark of laughter, Wanderer spreads his arms and puffs his chest in a proud display. “In your dreams. You may not be able to admit who the better combatant is, but the answer has always been clear.”

This earns a chuckle from Sethos who brushes past him with a shake of his head. “Who knew you could be a sore winner?”

The smile drops from Wanderer’s face as he huffs indignantly, shoving at Sethos’ shoulder as he catches up. “Whatever. Now, spill.”

It takes him a moment to contain his laughter, but a soft smile eventually settles on Sethos’ face as he finds the words.

“Okay, so… you know that doll you were talking about earlier? Well, they’re not the only one to be abandoned by a god. Ah- scratch that, it’s less that I was abandoned and more a result of my own failings. I was raised to be a vessel of Hermanubis’ power… and I lost it all in one fateful fight.” The smile slowly fades from his face as he speaks and a hollow look that reaches even his eyes fills its place.

“I honestly still can’t tell if I’m upset or relieved about it. Everything I was built up to be, snatched away in an instant, and only handed back to me because Cyno already lived as the General Mahamatra… I try not to think about it much, no point in dwelling on it, and I’m glad I can still be the leader of the Temple of Silence like Grandfather wanted but… sometimes… I wonder what my life could’ve been like if that wasn’t the case. That’s why I’m glad for my time in the city. There, I can be just an ordinary guy, anybody's friend, nobody at all.” Despite Sethos’ efforts to put the smile back on his face, it is so clearly steeped in sadness. It’s a kind of regret and longing Wanderer is familiar with. What if it had all gone differently?

They walk side by side in silence, contemplating their own dilemmas as the sand drifts calm. The valley opens to rolling dunes, stray puffs of cloud scattered through the bright sky. Sethos stops at the edge of the valley wall, shielded from the harsh sun, and takes a deep breath as he gazes across his home. Wanderer watches the way the muscles of his back move as he breathes deep and flexes them, relieving himself of some unseen weight.

“Alright, that’s enough of all that,” Sethos suddenly says, loud and cheerful as he’s ever been. “We’re almost at the temple and it’s not even midday!”

He turns to Wanderer with a raised fist and an excited smile. “We did good!”

Wanderer gives a weak frown, and pushes Sethos’ fist back down. “If we’re almost there, let’s hurry up and get this over with.”

The entrance is much closer than Wanderer expected. After dispatching another troupe of fungi, Sethos leads him down a sloping dune to an archway in the rock. Ahead, a busy, glittering oasis rests until Sethos makes a motion under his cloak and a towering gate flooded with blue light fills the arch. He wonders vaguely if it required some kind of mechanism the desert is known for as he is guided through the light and into a massive entrance hall.

The Temple of Silence well exceeds the grandeur of its name. Beyond the entry hall stands an imposing pillar, fashioned to be a bookcase and filled with ancient texts hidden from the world. There are people milling about, but the moment one catches sight of Sethos, they swarm to greet him, some also greeting Wanderer in passing. Sethos’ smile is much kinder with these people as he greets and hugs those that receive him with a warm welcome. Like this, it’s not difficult to envision him as the head of this temple, all his charisma transferring to something more serious and mature. It’s admirable, seeing him command the hearts and minds of people with such respect and love. It’s something akin to how Wanderer might have liked to be had he achieved godhood, though he’d have done it with much less love and more fear.

“Has anyone seen Djer? I need his help handling some material from the Akademiya,” Sethos says, his voice as solemn as it is light.

“He’s probably in the square, like always,” an older man answers, patting Sethos’ shoulder before pulling him into a hug. “Good to see your safe return. Who’s your friend?”

“Ahaha, he’s an envoy of the Archon. He’s been a big help this whole trip, so everybody be nice to Hat Guy.”

Somehow, no one questions the ridiculous name and before long they return to their activities. Sethos nods toward a hall beyond the bookcase and Wanderer follows his lead into another massive library of texts. People here also greet their leader, though much more briefly before returning to whatever text they were absorbed in before his arrival, and he guides Wanderer to a secluded room in the corner of the temple.

“This’ll be our room while your here,” he says, setting down his pack and tidying up some scrolls that were left scattered over a desk.

“‘Our room’? Wow, I don’t know what kind of hospitality I expected from a secret organization, but it surely wasn’t this bad,” Wanderer says, looking around the room with a grimace. The furnishings aren’t bad at all, but it’s a mess of scrolls, books and parchment left to collect dust in the absence of the room’s tenant.

“Hey, go easy on us,” Sethos says with an easy smile, taking the jab in stride. “As you saw, there are quite a few people here and not so much space for lodging. We didn’t exactly plan for guests when the temple was built, so I figured, rather than sleeping in the bay where everyone else is, you’d prefer my room.”

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Wanderer drops the satchel onto a table near the doorway. He wasn’t wrong, a private room with immediate access to any texts he’d need and away from any noise was leagues better than spending time around overly friendly strangers. “Fine. Bring the texts Kusanali wants copied here, I’ll work on them while you handle the material.”

“On it!” He flashes Wanderer a smile that some might find charming and darts out of the room, leaving him to get a better look at the space he’ll be in for the next few days. There is ornamental pottery and dishes all throughout the room, probably priceless antiques by the look of them. Some vases have plants that seem to thrive even without consistent watering, and there are several bookcases filled with scrolls and books bound by many kinds of covers. The table near the door has four seats despite the room being private and several bowls of fruit set out. They look fresh, so either someone has been using Sethos’ quarters while he was away, or his loving followers are just that quick. Judging by the layer of dust on every other surface, he’ll have to assume it’s the latter. At the center of it all is a wide, flat stone bed that looks about as comfortable as it sounds, two pillows haphazardly thrown at the head and a thin blanket laid across it, worn soft from years of use. As Wanderer rubs a corner of the blanket between his fingers, Sethos calls from the doorway.

“We can get more if you get cold easily. I prefer it cold when I sleep, but I won’t mind a few more blankets if you need them.” He’s carefully balancing a hefty stack of books and some scrolls as he crosses the room to set them on the desk.

“I don’t—”

“‘Don’t sleep’. Yeah, yeah, I get it. I was just trying to be hospitable.” He gives a wry smile that Wanderer returns with an unamused stare. “Gimme another minute to get you something to write with.”

He’s gone in an instant and Wanderer takes to scanning over the books and scrolls he brought in, trying to figure out the best place to start. Before long, Sethos returns with a thick stack of papers, and several inkwells and quills. “Anything else before I disappear for… probably the better part of the day?”

“No. This is fine,” Wanderer says, taking off his hat and resting it gingerly on the stone bed. He clears the desk of all but the scroll he intends to start with, the stack of paper, and the writing utensils, and seats himself at the desk.

Sethos grabs the satchel from the table and pauses at the doorway, turning back to Wanderer as he spreads the scroll out across the desk. “If you need anything, ask for Khensa. She’s the lady we passed on the way here with the yellow dress, and one of the more capable members.”

Without looking up from his work, Wanderer flatly says, “will do.”

It wasn’t a name or description he’d have to remember, it wasn’t likely he’d need anything.

Chapter Text

By the time Wanderer finishes with half of the scrolls that need copying, his back is stiff and his joints ache with the kind of dull pain earned from sitting in one position for far too long. It might also be the sand. He sets the quill in the inkwell and sits up, looking to the doorway. When Sethos said he’d be gone for the better part of the day, he honestly hadn’t expected it to take this long. It must have been seven or so hours since he sat down to copy the documents, and Sethos left around the same time. Surely sealing forbidden knowledge couldn’t take that long. Up until they arrived at the temple, he had seemed like he wanted to stick as close as possible to Wanderer, prying secrets and hidden pasts from him through carefully crafted conversation. Now, he is nowhere to be seen, leaving Wanderer alone in an unfamiliar place with nothing but books to keep him company. With a bitter grimace, he sets back to work transcribing the scrolls. Sethos can supply an excuse for his absence when he returns, and depending on how benevolent Wanderer is feeling by then, he might even avoid whatever punishment he thinks up while he works.

There is only a single scroll left to copy when Sethos returns with two plates of food and a jug.

“Dinner is served,” he says with a dramatic flair as he sets them on the table.

It’s been twelve hours. Wanderer would be surprised if anyone besides the pair is actually up at this hour. Not that it matters. He has no need for food, sleep, or company, and the drive to finish as quickly as possible keeps his hands from idling. He does not acknowledge his host’s presence.

“I know you don’t eat, but you’ve been at it so long, I figured you could take a break,” Sethos continues, an awkward tone slowly slipping in.

Wanderer dips his quill and copies another line.

“Uh… Hat Guy?”

Without pause from his work, Wanderer asks “how long does it take to seal forbidden knowledge?”

There’s a stretch of quiet before Sethos answers. “On average, if the weather is good, about two hours for the ceremony. There were eight pieces of the twelve we brought that needed sealing, and it didn’t take as long after the first until a sandstorm started up. After that, I had to attend to some business as the temple leader. Sorry for not sending someone to keep you informed. I’ll be gone for part of tomorrow, too.”

He sounds genuinely apologetic, and it’s pathetic enough to get Wanderer to set his quill back into the inkwell and rise from his seat. The look on Sethos’ face is almost amusing, so full of hope and tinged with worry. Wanderer rolls his shoulders and stretches his back, knocking any stiffness from his body before he walks to the table and sits himself in front of a plate.

“What is it?”

The stupid grin Sethos wears makes him regret straying from his task, but he doesn’t leave the table.

“Just something I whipped up. Basically everyone else is asleep right now, but I do pretty well in the kitchen, if I do say so myself,” he says, heading to a cupboard and pulling out two cups.

It’s a decent meal, certainly nothing Wanderer expected from a chatty errand-boy who gets half his meals from the people he helps. Sethos admits he doesn’t use recipes and often wings it, so he couldn’t say how to recreate it even if he wanted to. The wine he brought with him is a fine vintage, bitter and dry, and it somehow pairs well with the taste of the spices and meat. Wanderer makes no comment on the meal but Sethos is over the moon at seeing him finish a plate. He promises to make something for dinner tomorrow as well when Wanderer shoots down the idea of breakfast. Once Wanderer returns to the desk, Sethos clears the table, returning a while later with extra blankets which he leaves on at the foot of the bed, and turns in for the night.

“Good night, Hat Guy.”

“Go to sleep.”

Later in the night, Sethos is as restless as the last. Wanderer does his best to ignore the shifting of the blanket and the quiet cries he makes, until a word comes clearly through the nightmare: “Grandfather”.

He pauses in his writing, setting the quill down and turning to look at Sethos’ sleeping form. He’s shivering and his cheeks are streaked with tears. It almost reminds him of a boy he knew long ago. Rising from his seat, he grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and unfurls it over Sethos. His grip on the worn blanket remains tight, but at the very least, he stops shivering. Wanderer returns to his work, the sounds of Sethos’ nightmare not gone, but quieter.

Sethos rises some time after the start of the first book Wanderer transcribes, silent and groggy. He goes through the motions of his morning routine before leaving the room. Wanderer almost begins to think he’s gone for the day until he comes back with a plate of food and a cup of something that smells delicious. Stopping his work, Wanderer turns as Sethos heads to the door.

“What’s that?”

“Uh, just a fried egg and some fruit,” Sethos answers, his surprise written all over his face.

Wanderer scowls. “Not the plate, the cup. What’s in it?”

“Oh. It’s tea Elder Betresa made. I told her you were up all night working and she insisted on making you a cup,” he says, turning back to face Wanderer. “You don’t have to drink it, but I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you tried a little.”

With a nod, he stands from the desk and heads to the table. The food looks less than appetizing, but the herbal scent from tea seems to ease aches he wasn’t aware of. He takes a sip, looks at the liquid, then brings the cup back with him to the desk. “Tell her it’s a fine tea. She did well… and I would like her to bring a pot later.”

Sethos laughs out loud, the deep bellied sound echoing off the stone walls. “She’s not your servant, but I’ll pass the word along. Be nice to her, she’s a sweet old lady.”

Wanderer doesn't get the chance to respond before he’s out the door.

Elder Betresa comes in a while later, and Wanderer pauses in his work to let her speak, responding as necessary. He is nice to her, and she says so as she leaves.

By lunch, he is almost done with the first book. Sethos makes his reappearance with praise for Wanderer’s good behavior, a plate of pita chips and dip, and a tea kettle. He gladly eats on his own when Wanderer refuses all but the tea, talking about the difficulties of the sealing ceremony between mouthfuls. Once his plate is finished, he leaves, mentioning a meeting he’ll be in before he goes.

About halfway through the second book, he returns, bemoaning the troubles of temple leadership. He perches himself on the desk corner and picks up the book Wanderer is copying.

“Put that back,” he says bluntly as he writes out a line.

“Oops, sorry.” Sethos sets the book down and reaches for a piece of drying parchment.

“Don’t touch that.”

“Oh. Okay…”

He fiddles restlessly with his hair, then the quills, then rifles through the books Wanderer has yet to copy. Nothing piques his interest apparently, so he returns to the first book, the one Wanderer is in the midst of transcribing, and rests his head on the desk as he lifts up the page to read the back, and it’s the last straw.

Slamming a hand down on the desk, Wanderer snaps his head to Sethos. “Do you not know how to keep to yourself? Go outside and play in the dirt if you’re so bored.”

The initial slam causes Sethos to jerk back, and the shock on his face gives way to a buzzing, lopsided grin before he swallows and nods, backing off without another word. It’s a strange reaction, and it lingers in Wanderer's mind as he continues copying each line and letter of the book.

It’s almost sunset, judging by the golden light filtering in through the high windows, and Wanderer has finally finished the second book. He closes it with a sigh and sets the parchment aside to dry. Only three more to go, easily done before the end of tomorrow, and then he could go back to the city. Thinking about returning to his clean room with not a thing out of place and his books neatly order and his bed perfectly made, he shudders to think he’d almost started to grow used to the scrolls left everywhere and blankets haphazardly folded and regular interruptions thought the day. As if summoned by mere thought, the interruption arrives with a boisterous announcement of his arrival.

“Hat Guy! Come with me real quick,” Sethos calls from the doorway.

He should’ve known peace never lasts. “What is it?”

“It’s important! Just come with me, you’ll see when we get there!”

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Wanderer dons his hat and follows Sethos out of the room. Some members of the temple seem shocked when they see him, as if they’d forgotten he was there or expected him to have withered away in the span of two days, but Sethos leads him without pause through the library past the pillar of books and straight to the entry of the Temple of Silence. It’s only once they get outside and Wanderer sees nothing out of the ordinary that he decides to ask properly what this is all about.

“The sun’s setting but it’s still warm out, so this is the perfect time to draw in the sand,” Sethos says excitedly, pulling him out toward the oasis by the hand. “Besides, being outside is way better than being cooped up indoors all day.”

“You said it was important,” Wanderer grits out.

“Taking a break is important. Even if you don’t need food or sleep, that doesn’t mean your mind can go without a break every now and then. C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He’s beaming at Wanderer like a kid, any hint of deception or trickery nowhere to be found. Upon further review, it doesn’t just look “not terrible”, it might even look good in the golden light that shines on him.

Wanderer clicks his tongue and lets himself be dragged to an area with flat enough sand. Sethos sets to work drawing sweeping lines and figures that don’t make sense in the sand until he’s pushing Wanderer up a sand dune to look at it from above.

“It’s you,” he says cheerily.

Surely enough, crude as it is, from the hat to the flat expression to the poorly drawn hair, Wanderer can tell it is meant to be him. He summons a gust of wind that wipes the drawing from existence and Sethos protests by shoving him down the dune. His mistake is following close behind to draw something else, because Wanderer wastes no time wrestling him to the ground with a string of Inazuman curse words and throwing sand in his face. It turns into an all out war as they throw sand at each other, Sethos laughing and Wanderer cursing, until they both tumble into the icy oasis water trying to get the other to submit. Sethos swims out and Wanderer lifts himself sopping wet into the air, which only makes Sethos laugh harder.

“You look like a drowned cat!”

He gets a face full of Hydro infused wind in retort.

Chasing a swimming Sethos over the pool of water is a miscalculation that sends Wanderer into the drink, and as soon as his head breaches the surface, Sethos is swiping hair out of his face and water away from his eyes with a light chuckle.

“You all good?” His eyes scan Wanderer’s face for any sign of distress and though he’s clearly pissed, he isn’t drowning or in pain.

“Fuck you,” he spits and Sethos’ smile grows a little wider.

“Race you back to shore.” The traitorous rat shoves Wanderer away from dry land as he swims back at full speed, rejoicing in his rigged victory by the time the other is pulling himself from the water.

“You fucking prideless cheat, I should drown you,” Wanderer growls grabbing at the collar of Sethos’ shirt. He doesn’t resist, only raising his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. It was wrong of me, but in my defense, it is incredibly fascinating to see you react so strongly.”

“Eat shit and die.” Wanderer begins pulling him back towards the water and Sethos digs his heels in, halting all movement. How is he so stupidly strong?

“Hey, can you blame me? You barely ever show anything beyond mildly pissed and bored. It’s like watching a doll come to life.” He’s panting with exhaustion but his bright smile remains, even in the dwindling light.

Their conversation from yesterday comes to mind, Sethos’ vulnerability, his regret, their stories all too similar. Wanderer lets go of his collar and wipes at a drip of water rolling down his chin, eyes not meeting Sethos’.

“Funny you should say that,” he says dryly.

Sethos stares at Wanderer, the silence stretching between them only filled with the gentle breeze through the palm fronds as realization dawns.

“No… You’re kidding.”

Rolling his eyes, Wanderer goes to retrieve his forgotten hat from the sand. “Believe me or don’t, I don’t care.”

Sethos huffs with disbelief. “That explains… not a lot, but a lot at the same time.”

Telling him that that doesn’t make sense doesn’t set Sethos off the topic. Instead, he launches into a barrage of questions that Wanderer either dodges or flat out refuses to answer as he’s chased around the open area. When Sethos corners him by the temple entrance, he’s a laughing mess with his head ducked against Wanderer’s back, and Wanderer can feel a smile trying to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“The sun’s set. You need to go inside before you catch a cold.”

Sethos rubs his head against him as he shakes it, still laughing lightly. “Not yet. Just give it a minute.”

“I won’t take care of you if you get sick. I’m only here to copy those texts,” he says, trying to sound more irritated than he feels.

“I know, just… just a little longer,” comes the soft reply.

The laughter slowly subsides and they stay there a minute, Sethos’ head bowed to Wanderer until he takes a deep breath and steps away. Looking at him now, there’s no trace of the boy who draws in the sand and laughs when he gets chased in the water. All that shows is the confident temple leader who is trying to figure out how he’ll explain why they’re soaked to the bone.

While Wanderer heads straight to their room to let his clothes dry, Sethos fails to come up with a good enough excuse, and comes back much later with towels and dinner. They dry themselves and eat, and it’s as good as yesterday's meal. Wanderer finds he can stand to entertain a bit of conversation with Sethos. Eventually, they turn in for the night, Sethos on the uncomfortable looking bed and Wanderer at his desk.

“Good night, Hat Guy.”

Wanderer sighs, still scrawling lines of ancient text.

“Good night.”

At night, when Sethos’ nightmares return, Wanderer seats himself on the side of the bed, parchment in his lap, and pets his hair. He calms some and his hand reaches up to take Wanderer’s. He doesn’t pull away, and Sethos is much quieter that night.

Wanderer manages to get halfway through the third book before Sethos wakes, but the moment Wanderer removes himself from his hold, his eyes flutter open. He rises as quietly as he has any time before and Wanderer makes no comment as he moves back to his desk. Sethos doesn’t bring breakfast when he comes back from his morning ritual, but he does leave a tray with a teapot and cup on the corner of the desk before letting Wanderer know he’ll be tending to temple affairs for the day and he’ll send someone with updates if he can’t come himself.

By the time he’s moving on to the next book, someone comes knocking at the doorframe.

“Excuse me? Sir Hat Guy?” A gentle sounding woman.

Wanderer sighs at the name and turns. She’s a older woman, dignified and proper in her yellow dress. “Yes?”

“Lord Sethos asked me to inform you that he’ll be speaking with the elders until noon. He intends to bring you lunch when he’s done,” she says.

He nods. “Alright.”

She leaves with a bow of her head and Wanderer returns to his parchment. He puts a face to the name Khensa.

Sethos arrives with a platter and jug as Wanderer curses an author for including so many needlessly complex diagrams. He’s all too eager to step away from the aggravating book when he’s called and he rants about the dilemma to Sethos who listens intently. They sip tea, which Sethos finds too bitter and adds honey while Wanderer drinks it straight, and eat charcoal-baked ajilenakh nuts as they talk about their days.

“Once I’ve finished copying this book, the rest should take less than a day. We’ll be able to head back tomorrow afternoon,” Wanderer says, pouring himself another cup.

“Tomorrow? Then I guess you’ll be heading back on your own,” Sethos says sheepishly. “The elders want me to stick around to help plan an expedition into the desert and it’s looking like we won’t be finished by tomorrow.”

Wanderer takes a moment to sip his tea, eyeing Sethos as he dips his food into a cup of jam. “Are you going on the expedition?”

Sethos shakes his head and takes a bite, finishing his mouthful before he speaks. “The people needed are already planned out, and they know I need to go back to the Akademiya to follow up with Nahida. No need to wait on me, by the way. I’m sure you’d like to get back to your own home soon.”

“I’ll let you know when I finish making the copies,” Wanderer says. He drinks his tea and Sethos launches into a story about an interesting expedition he’d been on. He’s called away before he can finish.

The diagrams take longer than expected and even as the day draws to a close, Wanderer still has a good portion left to copy before he can move on to the next book. He’s almost grateful when Sethos arrives with dinner and leaves his desk before the plates can even be set down.

“Woah, I know my cooking’s alright, but that good?” He’s grinning which only makes Wanderer’s frown deepen.

“It’s not your cooking, it’s that damn book,” he snaps, already pouring himself a cup of wine.

“The diagrams?”

“Yes, the fucking diagrams.”

Sethos’ offer to help is shot down without pause, Wanderer intent on getting the copy perfect and doing it himself. His attempt at cheering Wanderer up, however, is met with little resistance as he continues his story from before. He tells a few more tales over dinner and it’s well into the night when they clear the table. When Sethos comes back, he makes his confusion known with an exaggerated expression upon seeing Wanderer sitting on the bed, his hat resting on the chair by the desk.

“Is it really so confusing to see me take a break when you were the one who said to take them?” He tries not to make a big deal of it, removing his robes and laying the thickest blanket on his side.

“Not gonna try to get through the last bit tonight?” Sethos undresses as he usually does, only this time, Wanderer’s back isn’t turned to him.

He turns away, busying himself with folding his clothes neatly. “I’m sick of looking at that piece of garbage.”

“Hey, that ‘piece of garbage’ is an important historical text with fringe ideas even the Archon wants,” Sethos jokes as he dresses in sleepwear. He climbs under the blanket and huffs a laugh. “So much for not needing sleep, huh?”

Wanderer lays on the thick blanket and it does little to improve the sheer discomfort of sleeping on a solid slab of rock. “I’ll smother you.”

“Sure, sure. Good night, Hat Guy.”

“… Good night.”

What Wanderer does can hardly be called sleep, but he pretends well enough, and when Sethos clings to him, he’s blissfully quiet. The night passes without a trace of bad dreams.

This morning is different in that, for once, Sethos rises with the sun. He sits up with his hair slightly less wild than usual, and when he sees Wanderer lying beside him, a small, sleepy smile pulls at the corner of his mouth before he leaves the bed. Wanderer rises once he leaves the room, dressing quickly and returning to the Archons-forsaken book. It’s surprisingly more bearable this time around. Sethos brings tea and a bowl of dried nuts before leaving for his expedition planning.

It doesn't take Wanderer long to finish the book and move on to the next, even when he pauses for a short break with Sethos. When they finish eating, Sethos mentions going outside to draw again and Wanderer shoots him a heated glare. He returns to his desk and Sethos returns to temple matters.

The second to last book goes smoothly enough. Had it not been for Wanderer running out of ink, he might be well on his way to finishing sooner than he expected. He spends some time organizing the copied pages and scrolls, setting them aside until he can find something decidedly waterproof to carry them in for the trip back, then looks around the room. With his head buried in the books in Sethos’ absence, he never realized how huge and empty it felt. He leaves the room in search of Khensa. Without Sethos to guide him, the temple somehow feels impossibly large. It’s not that he doesn’t remember his way around, it’s a fairly straightforward path, but he does notice much more now that he’s not being shepherded through the people. For one, there is a stately throne at the back of the room, flanked on either side by tall bookshelves and backed by an imposing statue, its head resembling a dog-like creature and its stone eyes as piercing as Sethos’. Two, there are halls throughout the area. He’s half tempted to wander around and see if Sethos was telling the truth about there being limited living spaces, but he catches sight of Khensa organizing a shelf of books and remembers why he left the room at all.

He walks over and stops to her side, doing his best not to startle her so as not to cause any unnecessary commotion. She looks to him at the sound of his jingling hat and smiles.

“Sir Hat Guy, to what do I owe the honor?”

“I need ink,” he says flatly.

A flash of disappointed confusion crosses her face, an admirable attempt at keeping her smile even, until her eyes snap to look past him as hands clap to his shoulders.

“I think, what he meant to say,” Sethos says languidly, “was ‘Lady Khensa, could you please bring me a few more inkwells’.”

Wanderer frowns at him as she bows her head and leaves with a quiet laugh.

“What did I tell you about being nice, mister,” Sethos chastises jokingly, leaning to look him in the face with a pout. He wraps an arm around Wanderer’s shoulders and guides him back to their room, the statue watching as they go. “You know, if you got bored, you could've asked for a tour. There’s not actually much for me to do beyond personal affairs now, but I figured you wanted some space while you worked.”

“I just need an inkwell,” he grumbles, letting himself be led back to their space and taking a seat at the table when Sethos removes himself to pick a zaytun peach from a bowl.

He takes a squelching bite. “You didn’t think to ask me while I was in here?”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind, no. I thought the oh-so-important temple leader had other things to tend to.”

His chewing slows and he bursts into giggles, ducking his mouth behind his arm. “Dude, are you jealous? Am I not spending enough time with my lonely little scholar?”

Baring his teeth, Wanderer sneers at him. “Don’t make me laugh. Getting ink isn’t nearly as important as fixing the shoddy organization of this run-down temple.”

“Maybe, but it also doesn’t take as long,” Sethos hums before taking another bite as Khensa comes in with a stack of inkwells cradled in her hands. He accepts with a gracious nod, the peach held between his teeth, and takes them over to the desk. “Should I stick around to keep you company? Maybe tell you some stories while you work?”

“Get lost.”

“Alright, but don’t wander off while I’m away.” Sethos passes Wanderer with a sly smile as he heads for the door. “I’ll be back by dinner.”

It’s hardly Wanderer’s fault that the end of this book goes much slower than before. He’s more careful about how much ink he’s using, even if they provided enough to finish and rewrite the entire text, but it would be a waste to use more than absolutely necessary. The golden evening light is already shining through the windows when Sethos returns, though his hands are strangely empty and his smile gone.

Wanderer spares him a brief glance, turning back to carefully scratching symbols onto parchment. “Not eating tonight?”

“I got kicked out of the kitchen for using too many spices,” he says sheepishly, laying down on the bed. “It’s easy to get carried away when they’re so available in the city, but here, we only have so much to last us until we can get more. But don’t worry, someone’s bringing us dinner later.”

If Wanderer's face says anything about his disappointment, his mouth surely does not. They sit in comfortable quiet as he works until Sethos speaks again.

“You still working on that? I would’ve thought you’d be done by now and ready to head home.”

“It would be a waste to use more ink than necessary. I’m being careful with your resources, unlike somebody.”

Sethos chuckles at that, rolling on the bed until he’s on his stomach, faced towards Wanderer. “So when do you think you’ll be done?”

“Who knows,” he sighs sarcastically, dipping his quill into the ink. “Maybe sooner rather than later, if I stopped getting bothered.”

Sethos props himself on his elbows and shuffles forward to tug at the fabric hanging down Wanderer’s back. “In that case, let me bother you some more so we can head back together.”

He stops writing to look over his shoulder at Sethos, a weak annoyance written on his face. “What are you, a kid?”

“Yup! And this kid wants to hang out with his buddy some more, so stick around.”

Wanderer pauses, eyes squinting as he processes the words. “‘Buddy’?”

Sethos blinks dumbly then sits up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and scooting closer to him. “Yeah, I mean, we are friends now… aren’t we?”

Nahida’s words ring through his head and he huffs dryly, turning back to his work. “How ridiculous...”

Sethos doesn’t bother him again until someone enters with their dinner, a young man who greets Sethos and eyes Wanderer with hesitance. Sethos helps him set the plates and jug down, and wishes him a good night before calling Wanderer over to eat. It’s not as good as the last few meals, and Wanderer leaves much of the meal untouched, even the wine barely suited to his tastes. They talk about Wanderer’s last paper, or more so Wanderer berates the scholar his paper is in response to while Sethos listens with rapt attention, and when the table is cleared, Sethos is neither surprised nor fussing when Wanderer prepares for sleep with him. Sethos lays his blanket over them both as they settle in and say their goodnights.

It takes longer than he’d like to slip into a meditative state, what with Sethos’ tossing and turning beside him. Even when his mind flows freely, it turns through thoughts of an imposing figure standing over him, piercing eyes that judge, an aching solitude, rushing waves, burning fire, crashing lightning, blood— so much blood—, the fire.

His eyes snap open as Sethos sucks in a sharp, shaky breath, his hold on Wanderer tight. Turning his head, in the dim candlelight, he sees those bright green eyes, rimmed with red and spilling tears.

Sethos quickly wipes at his face and smiles at him. “Can’t sleep?”

Another nightmare, worse than the last.

“No.”

“Let’s get some air,” he whispers, shucking off the blanket and pulling on his boots.

Wanderer makes a sound of agreement, pulling a blanket over himself for the sake of modesty. Sethos dons a thick shirt and cloak, and leads him out into the cold desert air.

“Come on, I know a good spot we can see the stars from,” he says, climbing up a sand dune with practiced efficiency.

Taking to the air, Wanderer follows him to a cliff where he sits in the sand and turns his face to the stars. Wanderer crouches beside him, not wanting to get more sand on him than necessary.

“You know, when I was younger, sometimes Grandfather would bring a book about astrology on our trips and he’d show me each constellation. Like there,”— he points vaguely into the sky and Wanderer tries to follow—“that’s the Winged Serpent. He made sure I knew that one because it’s what had blessed me.”

He laughs lightly and Wanderer tries to piece the dots of light into something that might resemble such a creature. He doesn’t see it.

“And over there is the Golden Wolf, that one’s Cyno’s. And— this next one’s kinda hard to tell, so I won’t blame you if you don’t see it, but—” he cranes his neck to a constellation and points—“that ring over there is the Wanderer.”

Sethos’ eyes seem to shine in the moonlight. They turn from the heavens to devote their attention to Wanderer. He wonders vaguely if they’ve always been so bright.

“Dude, you’re not even looking.”

Wanderer blinks and turns his head to where Sethos points. There, far above in the heavens, six stars form a ring. The Wanderer. “I see it.”

“Wow, really? I never got why they called it that. I’d probably just call it the wheel or the scarab or something.”

Wanderer pushes Sethos over and he laughs, pushing him right back. They look at the stars until Sethos yawns, and head back inside to try and get some rest. The rest of the night is peaceful and Wanderer thinks of rings of stars dancing in bright green eyes until the sun rises.

Their routine is the same as always. Sethos gets himself ready, Wanderer works on his copies, they share a cup of tea before Sethos disappears for the day and Wanderer is left alone. He finishes the final copy before midday and spends his free time organizing the materials he didn’t use before working on the paper he’d brought along with him. Sethos returns with good news of an all-clear for his duties at the temple, and Wanderer informs him that the only thing left for him to do is find something waterproof for the copies. He offers to take Wanderer on a tour while they look, but he declines, wanting to get things packed and ready for them to go.

By late afternoon, Sethos is saying his farewells, and the temple members send him off with heartfelt well wishes and hugs. Elder Betresa and Lady Khensa do the same for Wanderer, though few others offer him so much as a word of farewell. Going together, they step from the massive temple halls into the setting desert sun.

Chapter Text

The trip back through the desert goes by faster than it did the first time, things much smoother now that Wanderer has an idea of what to expect, though Sethos is much chattier this time around. They get to Caravan Ribat well after the sun has set and find an inn to rest at before the next stretch of their journey. Sethos is shameless about taking Wanderer’s portion of food, but the wine is good and they drink and talk before turning in for the night. The rainforest is blessedly dry as they pass through and, beyond some wild animals defending their territory and mercenaries who pick fights they can’t win, this stretch is also quite simple. At the river, Wanderer flies across and watches as Sethos plunges himself into the cold water with a smile. He is still more wet than dry by the time they get back to the city gates, the heat of the day leaving with the setting sun. Despite their late return, the lamp-lit streets are still buzzing with people, and they wade through the crowd side by side.

“You’re not going to see Kusanali like that, are you?” Wanderer eyes the boy, his clothes very much damp and hair a mess of air-dried strays and curls.

“Nah, I’m gonna get changed and meet up with some friends to let them know I’m alive first,” Sethos says happily, eyes wandering the lively streets as he waves to people in passing. “Feel free to take those copies to her on your own time, I probably won’t be seeing her until much later.”

For some reason, the idea of splitting at the last stretch doesn’t sit right with Wanderer, but he’d bite his own tongue out before admitting to such a thing. He makes a gruff sound of acknowledgment and nods. “Fine by me.”

He’d see him later, somewhere around the city. That had been their routine until a week ago, so it would be their routine now that they were back. They part ways with Sethos giving a loud and enthusiastic “see ya around” while waving his friend off and Wanderer giving a dismissive wave over his shoulder as he hurries back to the Akademiya.

“How was your trip?”

Nahida is smiling when Wanderer enters the Sanctuary of Surasthana, and he just knows that she knows that Sethos called him his friend.

“Fine. Here are those documents you wanted,” he says, holding out the satchel and trying to keep his expression as impassive as possible.

She takes the bag and sets it aside. “Did you have any trouble along the way?”

“Not a thing. We got there, he sealed your forbidden knowledge, I made the copies, we left.”

“That’s good,” she says with a nod. “I was a little worried when I checked on you and found you had run into some ruin serpents, but I’m glad Sethos was able to get you to the temple safely. Did you enjoy your stay?”

Wanderer can’t help the way his lip twitches at her probing. “I sat at a desk and copied the material you wanted. It was as pleasant as it sounds.”

She cocks her head to the side in confusion. “That’s all? Aw, I was hoping you’d keep my words in mind and try to make a friend. You did seem interested in knowing more about him after all.”

“Only because he was following me. Do you not find behavior like that suspicious?” He crosses his arms and levels her with an unconvinced look.

“Oh, no, it certainly is, but Cyno, Tighnari, and the Traveler have all vouched for him, and from what I’ve heard from others, he’s been a big help to the people of Sumeru City,” Nahida explains. “Though Sethos may act strangely, it is only because he has many sides to him. They’re all still him. Kinda like how a Nilotpala Lotus has use beyond its beauty, but you can still find it beautiful in the day or at night.”

It’s a comparison that falls flat for Wanderer despite the memories of a survivalist who smiles in golden light and speaks softly of the stars, but he doesn’t push the issue. “Whatever.”

She just smiles knowingly, in that unnerving way of hers. “Well, now that you’re back, you’re free to return to your academic studies whenever you'd like, but I’ve allotted for you to have tomorrow free so that you can settle back in and prepare as you need.”

“Like I need it. You’re really pushing the ‘benevolent Archon of Wisdom’ narrative.” He turns to leave before he can see her smile spread wider.

When Wanderer gets to his room, it is as pristine as it’s ever been. Not a thing out of place, no scrolls laying wherever, no books stacked in messy piles, no poorly organized cupboards collecting dust. He drags his hand over the desk as he walks further into the empty space and sets his bag in its place beside it. It’s quieter than he remembers it being, and he hates it. With a huff of irritation, he sits at the desk and pulls out the material he’d put aside for his return and sets to work on his proposal, intent on filling his spare time with something, anything to keep his hands and mind from idling.

With his day free thanks to a meddling Archon, Wanderer is left to fill it with tasks he creates for himself. He studies at the House of Daena, sitting at a desk with a tall stack of thick books until another Vahumana scholar approaches him with a joint proposal. He shoots her down instantly, not bothering to entertain her. With his mood ruined, he puts the books away before taking his business elsewhere. Elsewhere, as it happens to be, is Puspa Café. Other students are often too distracted by the noise or too paranoid about someone stealing their work to bring their studies here so it’s the perfect space for Wanderer. He’s developed something of an agreement with the owner, Enteka, in which he purchases multiple cups of her brew and tries new brews at her offering in exchange for her urging other patrons not to disturb the Akademiya student hard at work. It works well for them and he is on his third cup before something begins to feel… off.

He looks up at the ringing of the door chime, half expecting a familiar voice to follow, but it’s just a regular citizen who orders something sweet before taking their drink outside. He frowns and ducks his head back to his books, finishing as quickly as he can before he leaves to visit the market.

Eating isn’t something Wanderer does often, but when he does crave something, he prefers to make it himself to avoid the threat of human interaction. Most often it is tea, and there is a trader who sells leaves from all over Teyvat who gives him a special discount for his discernment and appreciation of fine, bitter teas. There are swathes of people wandering the streets and visiting the many stalls, and for all their chatter, none of it is layered with wit or subterfuge. He buys the leaves without much conversation and heads back toward the Akademiya.

The day drags. Time drips like thick sap, slow and stubborn, even as Wanderer works to keep himself busy and goes about his day as he normally would. Despite sounding so confident when he told Wanderer he’d see him around, there’s is neither hide nor hair to be found of Sethos. Wanderer clicks his tongue in absentminded frustration as he goes over the essay he’d picked up to occupy himself. He hadn’t seen the lying bastard at all since they split ways. No matter, it wasn’t as if Wanderer would die without him. They’d only been in each other’s company for a week and before then, there had been plenty of days he went without seeing a glimpse of him. He had just grown too used the expectation of his appearance, a guaranteed event every day of the last week, and nearly as frequent the months prior. He would adjust, or better yet, things would go back to the way they were before he began appearing.

Another day passes and still no sign of him. Had Wanderer bothered to memorize the names or faces of the people Sethos called “friends”, he might have some idea as to where he is but thanks to ill-timed eavesdropping, he thought it wouldn’t be a loss not to. He goes about his academic studies, filling his time with research and paperwork.

Several days pass and Sethos is nowhere to be seen. Wanderer thinks he’s being subtle when he mentions it to Nahida while receiving an errand from her, but she sees right through him, only to say she had met with him the night they returned and hasn’t seen him since, not even through the forest. Apparently, Sethos’ “brother” is a vigilant character and would’ve filed a missing persons report if he thought it necessary, but no such report has been made. Ignoring the new information of Sethos’ sibling, Wanderer heaves a frustrated sigh. At least he didn’t have to worry about the idiot’s safety, but there is something beneath the relief that claws him still. If nothing was wrong, if he meant it when he said he’d see him around, if nothing changed, then where was he?

He hates to admit or even think it, but it’s obvious in the way he reports his errand done ruder than usual, in the way he can’t be bothered to neatly stack his books after he throws them onto the desk, in his huffing and puffing and grumbling throughout the rest of the day, he is frustrated and angry. Angry that Sethos hasn’t followed through on his word, frustrated that he is even angry in the first place, upset that there is some part of him that looked forward to it. When did he grow so soft that it only took a week for him to grow attached to someone? Before, he held nothing but hatred and disdain for humans, but this one, this strange boy with a past he still doesn’t fully understand, has managed to undo any lingering traces that he harbored in this new life. He curses loudly and throws his tea down the sink, oversteeped in his stewing and ruined. He’ll go to Puspa’s, where he can’t possibly mess it up.

The barista helping Enteka today makes his coffee, which he isn’t pleased about, but it passes well enough. The inside is full of chattering people and clinking cups, and the smell of coffee is somehow stronger today so he sits outside in the cool breeze and reads a book that Nahida had recommended with his eyebrows knitted and face scrunched in irritation. It is a story about a trio who had been torn apart by fates outside their control, full of mysteries, and duty, and heartbreak. How repulsive. As he turns the page, someone sits across from him. Trying his best not to break the fine porcelain cup, Wanderer clenches his teeth and worries the corner of the page he had turned, hoping they would get the message and disperse.

“Not even a “hi, Sethos’ when I finally get back?”

His eyes shoot up, glower still etched into his face, and his lip raises in disgust. “What are you doing here?”

Sethos laughs with his head thrown back before leaning forward and offering one of his charming smiles, chin resting in his palm. Wanderer thinks about how easily he could’ve slit his throat in the moment and sips his coffee with a scowl.

“Just spending some time with my favorite traveling partner. I took a request that had me out in the desert for a week, but I gotta say, it’s not as fun when you aren’t around.” He fusses with the napkin Wanderer had forgot he brought out with him, folding and unfolding it between glances at him.

Wanderer rolls his eyes at the excuse and the poor attempt at flattery, returning his gaze to the book and finding he can’t remember his last spot. “Well, get used to it because we have no reason to hang around each other. My curiosity’s satisfied and I’m not going to tell you anything else about me, so we’ll go our separate ways”

With a melodramatic gape, Sethos stops fussing with the napkin. “What do you mean? After everything we’ve been through on that trip, and you say we aren’t friends anymore?”

He pulls his mouth downward in an exaggerated pout and gives Wanderer the biggest, saddest eyes he can manage. Wanderer pulls his lips back, bearing all his teeth in an exaggerated sneer of disgust and squints to make sure he’s just seeing some awful hallucination. It’s very real, and it only furthers his look of disgust. As if on cue by some trigger she’d placed in his head without his knowing, Nahida’s words flit through Wanderer's mind. I was hoping you’d keep my words in mind and try to make a friend. You did seem interested in knowing more about him after all… Damn her. He did still hold some level of interest despite his claims of satisfied curiosity, and this past week had been more than enough evidence to show he didn’t exactly hate Sethos’ presence. He clicks his tongue, leans back with crossed arms and closes his eyes, sighing through his nose.

“Fine. If you're that desperate for friends, I suppose I could entertain it for a while,” he grumbles, trying not to look at Sethos as the pout slowly morphs into a wide smile.

“Awesome,” Sethos says, loud and giddy, “because Cyno was actually talking about taking me on a tour of the Akademiya and I was hoping you’d come. He’s a real funny guy, you should meet him sometime.”

“I’ll consider it, but I make no promises for my schedule. Kusanali likes to keep me busy.”

Sethos raises an eye brow, looking Wanderer up and down and giving emphasized attention to his book and coffee. “So busy you can sit down for a cup of coffee?”

Wanderer mutters an Inazuman insult under his breath and turns the page, though he isn’t actually reading anymore. “Yes.”

“Hey, rude,” Sethos scoffs. “There you go again with the name calling.”

Instantly, Wanderer’s eyes flick up to Sethos, distrust barely disguised by an attempt to remain impassive. “What?”

Blinking as if he didn’t see anything wrong with what he said, Sethos cants his head to the side before realization bursts across his features. “Oh! That trip I was talking about earlier? Yeah, one of the guys I was traveling with is a merchant who’s been all over Teyvat, and he was talking about how Inazuma has been his favorite place. He taught me a lot about it, all kinds of stuff about the culture and history there…”

As his voice trails off, something in Wanderer seizes. There wouldn’t be information on the Raiden Shogun’s first creation, he had made sure of that when he erased himself from Irminsul. Sethos would think he lied and he would have nothing that wouldn’t directly contradict the information stored in the tree of memories to back his claim.

“By the way,” —here it comes— “you said some pretty nasty things. I mean, ‘bald idiot’? ‘Shitheel’? ‘Motherless bastard’?? Can’t say I exactly liked being called that.” Sethos shakes his head admonishingly and Wanderer stills. That was what he was building up to?

“I could’ve said something worse. You pushed me down a hill and then tried to keep me from swimming back to shore,” he says, not even trying to hold back his scowl.

Sethos breaks into a quiet laugh, his whole body shaking and every perfect tooth showing in his smile at the memory. “Alright, my bad. Maybe I deserved it, but don’t be surprised when I start calling you names in Deshreti.”

“Don’t be surprised if I understand you,” Wanderer retorts quickly. “The Akademiya has a wide collection of books regarding other languages, Deshreti shouldn’t be too hard to learn.”

That wide, toothy smile softens to something fond. “We’ll see. I’ll have to test you on that tour.”

“If I go,” he corrects, sipping his coffee and pretending to read. The plot at this point is meaningless to him, too many important details lost to his skimming.

“Even if you don’t, I’ll catch up with you. At the Akademiya, on the street, here at the café.”

Wanderer shoots him an unconvinced look. The last time he said something like that, he disappeared from the city shortly after.

Understanding the look instantly, Sethos raises his hands in a plea for mercy. “Hey, I’m not planning on taking any more commissions anytime soon. This last one was just to make back some expenses from our trip and afford rent.”

His doubt shifts to confusion. “Rent?”

“Yeah, I’m not just sleeping out on the street like some vagrant,” Sethos says with a tone of joking offense. “I got a house in the city some time ago, I can show you if you want. It’s a real nice spot near the port, small but quiet, and not too far from the markets. And it’s got a balcony with a great view.”

“I’ll pass,” Wanderer says, tipping his cup to find it empty. “If I need to find you, I’m sure you’ll be running around on one of your errands.”

Sethos nods into a shrug. “That works too, I guess, but my offer still stands. Speaking of errands, I had a lot of people telling me they saw you a lot more often while I was gone…”

Their conversation slips into a familiar rhythm, and before Wanderer realizes the afternoon has passed into evening, they’re saying their goodbyes.

Chapter Text

In the few days after their meeting at Puspa Café, there is no shortage to Sethos sightings, almost as if he was intentionally putting himself in Wanderer’s path to make sure he knew he hadn’t gone off anywhere. He smiles and waves every time they meet eyes, and every time, Wanderer scoffs and disappears to somewhere else. Eventually, they cross paths, Sethos finding Wanderer as they embark on their own errands. He explains they’ve ironed out the details and permissions with Nahida to visit the Akademiya for a tour tomorrow.

“So will you have time to join us tomorrow?” The hope is written all over his face and Wanderer regards him coolly, looking for any hint of a ploy. There is none.

“I’ll be at the Akademiya, but not for any tour. I’m scheduled for a debate tomorrow morning that could last until afternoon.”

Sethos nods. “That’s fine, we’re going to be there around lunch anyway, so maybe I’ll catch you around?”

Wanderer hates the way he can feel the relief flood him, and nods. “You’ll probably see me in the House of Daena if you’re allowed in, but try not to bother me while I’m studying.”

“No promises there,” Sethos says with a teasing grin. “You know I like bothering you.”

He just rolls his eyes and keeps walking, trying to get back to his errand. “Don’t bother me.”

Sethos just laughs and waves him off, returning to his own errand. “See you tomorrow.”

His debate goes smoothly, his opponent crushed by his delivery of substantial and pertinent information that sufficiently backed his stance while destroying the foundations of the other. He tries not to think about how Sethos might have enjoyed watching, and tries harder to be grateful for the fact that he wasn’t there to distract Wanderer. As soon as it’s done, he’s packing up his things and making himself scarce, intent on avoiding any interruptions on his way to the House of Daena. He picks a table off to the side but not hidden away like he normally preferred, and gets to work compiling any texts and reports he needs to finish his own. The lingering sense of anticipation works as a mild distraction as he writes and annotates, but the true disturbance comes when Sethos and some guy in a big-eared hat come waltzing through trailed by a small group of students who seem familiar with the former. He’s smiling and chatting, listening to their stories and questions before responding as needed, and irritation begins to boil in Wanderer. All that talk about wanting him on the tour and seeing him later, and he’s busy buddying it up with the first students he finds. He scoffs and dips his head down to focus on his work. If Sethos had better things to do, then so did he.

For all his efforts to remain focused on the task at hand, Wanderer’s irritation only grows at the quiet laughter and joking that moves through the space, slowly getting closer to him. He's on the verge of abandoning all attempts at ignoring the problem when Sethos leans over his shoulder, tilting his head just enough to get those bright green eyes to peek under the brim of his hat.

“Whatcha working on, Hat Guy?”

He shoves his elbow back, pushing Sethos away from him with a scoff. “Nothing. Didn’t I tell you not to bother me?”

“And I’m pretty sure I said no promises,” Sethos says, sliding into a seat across from him with a sly smile. “How’d your debate go?”

“How do you think? It was a devastating defeat for my opponent, nothing new.” He flips between pages to find the reference he needs and sets a paper in the centerfold to mark the spot.

“Oh, sweet! I wish I could’ve watched, but we got here like thirty minutes ago and Cyno has been taking his time telling me about everything and slipping in his jokes. It’s been fun so far!” Sethos leans forward, resting his chin in his palm, and flicking at the paper’s edge.

Wanderer slaps at his hand and keeps writing. “Don’t you have a tour to get back to, all those people to entertain?”

“Mmm yeah probably, but I wanna bother you just a little while longer. Plus, I know you’re happy to see me even if you don’t say it,” he says, voice quiet but the teasing lilt loud and clear. “Don’t think I didn’t see you looking over when we first got in here.”

Wanderer frowns down at his paper and glares at him. “I was trying to see what all that noise was about. I should've figured it’d be you disturbing the peace.”

Someone calls to Sethos from behind Wanderer, and those stunning eyes, all soft with familiarity, snap up, alert and friendly.

“Speaking of peace, looks like I gotta go,” he says, slowly pushing his chair out. He looks back to Wanderer and smiles. “See you later?”

“I hope not.”

Sethos just huffs a laugh, patting his shoulder as he leaves the table and Wanderer to his report. The feeling lingers long after the sound of Sethos’ group leaves the area.

It isn’t until later in the day, after Wanderer couldn’t focus enough to make real progress on his report, after he decides instead to head to a lecture hall only to find the scheduled session cancelled, that he catches sight of Sethos again. This time Hat Ears is busy talking to someone else, a guy with actual ears and a tail that Wanderer’s seen around Sethos before, and Sethos is making conversation with the scholars crowding him. He expected they’d be long gone by now, but it seems Sethos has adoring fans to attend to. He tells a joke and a young man laughs loudly, leaning against him and shaking his head.

“Sethos, you are too funny, man. Seriously, I’m confused how you’re still single? Nobody catch your eye, yet?”

“Uhh, not quite. I’m a little too busy to be getting into relationships, gotta help the kind ladies and gentlemen of Sumeru City with their errands, or else who will?”

The group sings his praises, how kind and charismatic he is, what would they do without him, he’s so helpful, and it’s so obvious that a few of them are trying to make advances.

Wanderer sneers at the disgusting display and tries to hurry on his way, only for him to hear Sethos halt his conversation with the excuse of catching up to his friend. He can hear him follow down the halls and when it’s clear he has no intention of giving up, Wanderer tucks into a corner of the hall behind a pillar. Sethos comes wheeling around shortly after.

“Hat Guy! I thought I saw you,” he says, voice taking on a smooth rumble at the end that would’ve made Wanderer’s skin prickle if it were capable of it.

“Well, aren't you Mr Popular,” Wanderer says sardonically, crossing his arms and eyeing Sethos who ought to look a little more ashamed right now, but is only breathing slightly harder than usual and grinning as always.

“Who, me?” His eyebrows pinch together in amused confusion and he crosses his arms, head cocked to the side. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t tell you the amount of people who’ve approached me because I talk to you,” Sethos says, incredulous at the idea that Wanderer isn’t aware of his own popularity. “Most of them were asking me to put in a good word, and not just for academic matters…”

Wanderer’s head jerks back in surprise and confusion fills his expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sethos flushes, eyes darting away as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly with an awkward laugh. Is he… embarrassed?

“Well,” he drawls, trying to find his words, “it’s no stretch of the imagination to say you’re attractive, and a lot of people are attracted to you. Honestly, I don’t blame them, you’ve got…”—his eyes, so bashful, so achingly sincere, meet Wanderer’s—“an allure. I’m starting to see why you keep your distance, otherwise you’d have to beat the suitors off with a stick.” Just like that, all the vulnerable embarrassment washes away, hidden behind a joking laugh and that oh so cocksure attitude.

He doesn't blame them? He thinks Wanderer has allure? He thinks he’s attractive?? The overload of information leaves Wanderer speechless and blinking in disbelief. Of course, the feeling is mutual. Sethos is in no way unattractive in his eyes, except perhaps in his overly-friendly and highly secretive personality. All that hyperactivity has left his body well-toned and sun-kissed, his clothing only accentuating that, and his features are nicely structured, making things like his smile and eyes all the nicer. He would be surprised if anyone had anything contrary to say about the objective fact of Sethos’ attractiveness. He shakes his head to gather himself and frowns.

“I don’t even talk to those people, let alone spend time around them,” he tries to reason more to himself than Sethos. Then realization sets in, and his frown shifts to a scowl as he points an accusing finger at the man. “And if anyone would be beating suitors off with a stick, it’s you. Don’t tell me you didn’t see the way they were all over you?”

Shock, or confusion, crosses Sethos’ face as he takes a step back from the pointed finger, and eventually a lopsided grin takes its place. “What? No way, we were just chatting. People chat about those kinds of things, their personal lives, the people they like, relationships… Are you… jealous?”

For the first time since the start of their conversation, he hears himself. He absolutely did sound jealous, but that wasn’t the intent at all. What he felt… he's not entirely sure what it is, but he knows it’s not jealousy. A heat fills Wanderer’s face and he clenches his jaw, turning away and pulling on the brim of his hat with a scoff. “As if. What you do with your free time or your relationships is none of my concern.”

He can hear the quiet chuckle coming from Sethos, but what he doesn’t expect is being crowded against the wall as Sethos tries to duck his head to see under his hat and Wanderer persistently evades.

“No, no, I’m pretty sure you’re jealous. Aw, you care about the relationships I get into, how cute,” Sethos teases, excited and patronizing.

Wanderer snaps his head to him with a snarl. “I don’t care, and I’m not cute—”

All words leave him at the sight of those beautiful eyes basking in the afternoon light, so full of tender affection, just like they were under the stars. They’re nothing like that carefully calculated, amiable look he keeps in the presence of others. This is a look only for Wanderer. Pulling himself from his pause with a thick swallow, he gives a frustrated huff and shoves at Sethos’ chest to get him to back up and give himself some space.

“Do whatever you want, we’re barely even friends.”

Wrong wording. Sethos instantly perks up, stepping back into his space. “We’re friends? Did I just hear you right, you said we’re friends?”

“Barely! I said barely,” Wanderer snaps, trying to dodge Sethos’ advances.

“‘Barely’ doesn’t mean not, so you definitely just admitted we’re friends,” he says eagerly, laughing and trying to block Wanderer’s path as he moves to leave. “You know what this means. Now, you have to come over to my place. That’s what friends do, they hang out and have drinks and meals together. I can show you the balcony and my book collection and the plants I’ve been gifted, it’ll be fun!”

It crosses Wanderer’s mind to fly away from the mess he’s gotten himself into, but as much as he hates to admit it, he isn’t entirely opposed to the idea. They’ve had drinks and meals together before, and Sethos is a good cook. He stops and Sethos holds his guard, arms stretched to his side to keep him there.

He grimaces and heaves an irritated sigh, looking anywhere but that stupid, eager smile. “Only if you cook.”

Immediately, Sethos stands upright, clenching his fist with a hushed “yes!”. He claps his hands together, smiling wide as ever, and nods enthusiastically. “Whatever you want, I can at least try to make it. Do you have something to write with? I can give you the address now.”

Wanderer mumbles complaints under his breath as he fishes out a piece of paper and a pencil, shoving them into Sethos’ hands. “I’ll be busy the next few days. Don’t expect me to come then.”

Sethos nods as he scribbles on the paper, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth just a bit. “No worries. I’ve gotta clean and stock up the pantry. We can figure out a day that works for us both later. By the way, do you have any requests in particular? Food, drinks, decorations?”

Frowning in disdain and disbelief, Wanderer shakes his head. “‘Decorations’? Just make your house presentable, this isn’t a party. Tea, coffee, or wine for drinks, and whatever you feel like making for food.”

With a nod, Sethos hands the paper and pencil back and Wanderer takes them, looking over the sheet. It’s a crude drawing of a map to the address with a poorly drawn Sethos standing on the balcony waving to an even more poorly drawn Wanderer. And he was offering to help draw diagrams that Wanderer was agonizing over to get perfect. He crumples up the paper and pulls out another, ripping a small slip from it.

“Just the address this time.”

Sethos clicks his tongue and pouts, but does as he’s told. His handwriting is smooth and clean, nothing like the drawing, and Wanderer folds the paper and tucks it in with his books.

“So I’ll see you later?” Sethos smiles fondly and Wanderer rolls his eyes.

“No shit. How else are we supposed to set a date?”

A sudden cough comes from Sethos as he pounds a chest with a fist, covering his mouth with the other. His eyes are wide with surprise. He clears his throat and slides his palms down the sides of his pants as if they’re sweaty. “Sorry, ‘date’??”

Wanderer grimaces in confusion. “A day to meet up? What the fuck is up with you?”

Raising his brows and closing his eyes, Sethos nods slowly. “Right, right. My bad, I got confused for a second there. Right, we’ll set a- a date, later. Uh, ahaha, later then!”

He darts off before Wanderer can tell him to get his head checked, probably back to his many admirers. Still, despite the strange note their conversation ended on, Wanderer can’t help the feeling of hopeful anticipation that settles over him. Maybe he could convince Nahida to give him a day off so he could get ready properly and give Sethos a day he knew he would be free.

He catches brief glances of Sethos a while later as he walks through the lanes winding about the Akademiya, but every time they meet eyes, Sethos immediately looks away. He definitely needs his head checked.

Chapter Text

Everything goes poorly. To shit, really. Wanderer had expected to only be busy maybe the week following Sethos’ tour of the Akademiya, but of course nothing ever goes as planned. The proposal he eventually finishes does well, so well in fact, that he’s invited to go to many panels, instruction courses, and debates regarding his paper. He barely has time for Nahida’s errands, let alone his own activities, but they are opportunities it would only be foolish to pass up, so he goes to each and every one of them. It’s a boring event every time, the day dragging until finally they’re released, and whenever he goes to find Sethos, the man is in the middle of a conversation or difficult errand. Wanderer figures there’s always next time, when there will be more space to talk and hopefully somewhere decidedly less public than the middle of the market street, so he lets him be. After almost a month, there finally comes a day when there is no academic event to attend, and so he goes to find Sethos once more, finding instead the two guys that had been there on the day of the tour, the ones with the ears.

Against his better judgment, he risks being subjected to a godsawful attempt at humor to ask them for his whereabouts. If anyone knew where he’d gone, it would likely be them, rather than some random person off the street. The one with the tail notices him first, eyes widening and elbowing the other who looks up and squints. He ignores it in favor of keeping their exchange short, so as to avoid any unfortunate “jokes”.

“Have you seen the green-eyed guy? The chatty one who runs errands? I need to speak with him.”

The one with the tail looks to the other with a questioning look and shrugs before turning back to Wanderer, suspicion written all over his face. “Can I ask what you need to speak with him about?”

“It’s private,” Wanderer bites out, crossing his arms.

The desert-dweller crosses his arms in turn and frowns, probably thinking himself intimidating. Laughable. “He’s out on a commission right now. If you need us to pass along a message, we can do that.”

Clicking his tongue and scowling, Wanderer shakes his head. It figures they would be useless the one time he deigned to speak with them. “Then it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

He waves them off dismissively and hears the tail guy mutter something under his breath about how rude he is. Like he could care less. The only thing Wanderer had even bothered them for in the first place was Sethos and they had nothing useful to say, not even a guess as to when he was supposed to be back. He can only hope this commission runs shorter than the last.

Waiting on Sethos’ return to get things sorted out is a largely pointless idea. Wanderer only has a small part to play in this meeting, making himself available, and he’d rather have it settled before Sethos gets back to the city. The sooner he can get his schedule open, the smoother their planning can go and their dinner plans can commence. Wanderer heads to the Sanctuary of Surasthana to speak with Nahida. She’s discussing something with one of the few sages that weren’t removed from the Akademiya when he arrives, and she waves him away to wait patiently in the corner somewhere so she can finish speaking with him. The sage is so clearly confused by the exchange, but manages to keep himself in line long enough to wrap up their conversation. When he finally leaves, Nahida walks over to where Wanderer has sat himself, in a corner of the sanctuary behind a pillar where the sage wouldn’t have to worry about being distracted and he wouldn’t have to worry about being bored to death by their detail talk.

She sits down beside him and tilts her head as he rubs a thumb over the edges of his Vision absentmindedly. “You wanted to see me, Wanderer?”

For some reason, hearing the name puts him at ease. It’s much better than the other one she forced upon him, the one everyone at the Akademiya and, most unfortunately, Sethos uses. He lets his hand drop from his Vision and looks at her. “I’d like to request a day off to attend to personal matters.”

She looks a bit taken aback, either by his request or by his unusual use of manners, but the shock fades after a few blinks. She smiles softly, and for once it isn’t off-putting. “That can be arranged. You’ve never asked for time off before so I’d like to accommodate you to the best of my abilities. What day should I write your notice of absence for?”

He thinks for a moment. There was no guarantee Sethos would be back in the next few days, and from what he’d gathered, he must have left earlier that day, a couple of days ago at most, judging by his friend’s wording. He shrugs, waving his hand in a noncommittal gesture. “A week from now should be fine.”

Nahida nods, committing the information to memory. “If you don’t mind my asking… is this about Sethos?”

And there goes the moment of peace. Wanderer sighs through his nose in frustration and rises to stand. “It doesn’t matter what it’s about. All I need is one day. Is that doable, oh mighty Archon?”

Nahida’s smile disappears in a cloud of disappointment, frowning a bit as if she expected this. She shakes her head and stands as well, dusting herself off. “Consider it done. I hope whatever it is you’re attending to goes well.”

He expected her to push or make a sly comment or some stupid metaphor, but no. Nothing. Just acceptance, and a touch of resignation. He frowns and pulls at the brim of his hat before storming to the exit. Just before the door, Wanderer pauses. He turns his head to his shoulder, but can’t seem to force himself to look at Nahida. He just barely musters a quiet “thank you” before leaving.

He makes time to visit the market while Sethos is away. It has been a very, very long time since Wanderer has done anything regarding “friends”, but he distinctly remembers that it was polite and customary to bring a gift to someone’s house when visiting, to show your gratitude for their hospitality. He feels it should be something heartfelt, but with no heart, the best he’s hoping for is something practical. Something with meaning or remembrance of Sethos in its essence. He feels he shouldn’t be putting nearly this much thought or effort into a housewarming gift, but nevertheless, he finds himself dutifully perusing the vendor stalls looking for something that fits the bill. Something meaningful… something personal. He stands over a case of jewelry, glaring down at the pieces. Nothing that fits right, and all of it far too expensive to be a simple gift for a meeting with a friend. The vendor begins to ask if he’s having trouble finding what he wants, but Wanderer walks off before he can finish. Something practical… something versatile. He picks through trinkets and bits, and everything seems so… asinine. Useless and ugly. Nothing that reminds him of Sethos or seems like something he could use. The woman tending the stall keeps casting furtive glances his way, but seems too nervous to ask anything. It’s for the best. He sighs in frustration and moves on to the next stall. Something beautiful… something heartfelt. He goes through many stalls, the crowds shrinking and growing as he spends enough time in the market for the sun to pass overhead and near the horizon, turning the sky a honeyed gold in its wake. The longer he looks, the more frustrated he gets, nothing sticking out or seeming like a proper gift to be giving anybody. Suddenly he hears a creaky, withered voice calling to him.

“Excuse me, boy in the large, fancy hat?”

He turns to the voice with as flat, not-at-all-upset a face as he can manage. A hunched old lady waves him over, and he comes to her stall obediently.

“I’ve been watching you walk around this market all day. Is this a gift for someone special?”

The question catches him off guard. Would he be spending this much time on just anyone? Why was it so important to get something “just right”? Was Sethos’ reaction and acceptance of his gift something he wanted, no, needed to see? He nods seriously. “Yes, it is. I’m looking for something beautiful and practical, something heartfelt.”

She nods sagely, fully understanding his dilemma. “Tell me a bit about this person. Perhaps I can point you in the right direction.”

And Wanderer begins to list off all the qualities that come to mind when he thinks of Sethos. Chatty, busybody, odd, reliable, playful, serious, active, terrible artist, good cook, awful sense of humor, messy, optimistic, smiles— always smiling—, like the sun. “And he has the most beautiful, piercing eyes…”

A sweet smile has settled on the old woman’s face, full of fondness. “It seems like you like him quite a bit. Let’s see if we can’t get you a gift to convey these feelings.” She thinks a moment then rummages through some boxes behind her stall. After a moment, she turns around with a golden compass and a brooch in the shape of a lotus flower. He picks up the compass and inspects the details carved into the back. A sun and moon sit intertwined with symbols carved around them in a language Wanderer does not know. Nevertheless, its masterful craftsmanship is clear and it’s a useful gift, fitting his needs perfectly.

“I’ll take the compass. How much do I owe you?”

“Then consider the other one a gift, and we’ll call it fifty mora.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling out her payment. “Sounds like a bad business model. Try not to do this too often, or I won’t have a stall to come back to.”

She has a surprisingly hearty laugh, and shakes her head. “No, no. I haven’t done something like this in a very long time. It’s just, I have something of a soft spot for young love, and I’d like to help you with yours.”

Wanderer does well to keep the confusion off his face as he pays her. This was a gift for a friend, maybe somewhat important considering the last time he’s done something like this, but love? Her imagination was making her take leaps to places he’s never seen before. He smiles good-naturedly and bows his head to her. “Thank you. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Would you like me to wrap it for you?” She seems eager to please and Wanderer has no reason to turn down her offer, already planning to wrap it himself.

He nods. “In green, if you would.”

The compass and brooch are wrapped in a lovely green paper— not nearly as vibrant as Sethos’ eyes, but it will do— and placed in a small bag with a floral design. He thanks her and she sends him off with a wish for his good luck. Now, all that is left is setting the date.

It’s only three days before Sethos returns to the city, but a long three days nonetheless. Their paths cross late in the afternoon, earlier than either expects, after Wanderer wraps up his studies at the House of Daena. As he walks through the winding streets outside the Akademiya, he sees Sethos talking with a woman outside her house. It seems to be the usual grateful wrap-up of his errands, the time he spends trying to wring out another detail or two before he moves on. Wanderer watches him work with mild interest; the novelty wore off soon after he began watching Sethos, but it’s still fascinating to see his process and how easily people bend to him. She gestures inside and Sethos nods eagerly before she goes in, leaving him to idle in the street. Finally, a chance to speak in semi-private. Wanderer heads over briskly, his mind only focused on telling Sethos the day of his approved absence.

The clinking metal of Wanderer’s hat alerts Sethos to him first, and his eyes immediately shoot to the sound, wide with horror. Wanderer’s face screws up in offense at the expression and his pace slows. Why invite him over if he didn’t want to see him? The woman comes out with a bottle of wine which she hands off to Sethos with a few last words of thanks. He nods quickly and thanks her in turn, his anxiety clear even behind the sweet smile he tries to force, before scurrying over to where Wanderer has stopped with the bottle tucked under his arm.

Before Wanderer can open his mouth to ask, Sethos rushes to get his words out, looking overly serious for the scenario. “It’s not what it looks like.”

This ought to be good. Wanderer raises a brow, his expression otherwise flat as he crosses his arms. “So you didn’t tell that lady you were planning a dinner, and she didn’t decide to gift you a bottle of wine for being so helpful?”

Sethos exhales a slow sigh, his eyes closed in self-disappointment. “Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like then,” he says, breaking into a soft chuckle. “Why are you out and about, by the way? I was expecting you to be knee-deep in lectures, Mr Proposal.”

Trying to disguise the beginnings of a smile as a sneer, Wanderer cocks his head to the side. “That finished up a few days ago. You’d have known if you didn’t leave for a commission.”

Mirroring Wanderer’s head tilt, Sethos hikes a hand onto his hip. “A commission I needed to take to have some spending money for this dinner—”

“— That you invited me to. Anything else you want to add?”

He swipes his tongue over his teeth, looking away and shaking his head before looking back to Wanderer. “…. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a real mouth on you?”

“What type of wine is it?” He nods to the bottle still tucked under Sethos’ arm. It’s a dark green glass, obscuring the color of the contents.

Sethos scoffs, bubbling into a laugh as he shakes his head and checks the label. “Red. Any objections, smarty-pants?”

“No, it’s fine. You never reject a gift so you’d just waste more mora on getting a different wine,” he says, holding out his hand for the bottle.

“I knew being stalked would pay off one day, you practically know me inside and out,” Sethos says, handing the bottle over.

Wanderer scoffs and rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reads over the label. It’s well-aged and has a decent alcohol content with flavor notes Wanderer is sure will pair well with whatever Sethos cooks. “Look who’s talking. I bet you already know I have a day off in the next couple days.”

“You do?” he asks a little too eagerly before clearing his throat and trying to restrain himself. “I mean, you do? That’s perfect, I’ve got almost everything set up so it works out. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then?”

Pushing the bottle back into Sethos’ hands, Wanderer leans into his space and fixes him with an accusing sneer. “Maybe sooner if you manage to stay in the city for longer than a day.”

There goes that wide-eyed look again, that thick swallow and enthusiastic nod. Wanderer doesn’t question it, he already thinks Sethos needs to seek professional help for whatever’s wrong with his head. He pats the bottle and steps back, giving Sethos space to take a breath. “Does three days from now work for you?”

Stuck between a nod and a shake, Sethos moves his head in circles. “Yeah, whenever you want me. I’m basically free any day.”

“Three days, it is. I’ll see you then.”

“See ya…”

As they part ways, Wanderer has to tamp down the faint fluttering of excitement in his hollow chest, something he’d never tell anyone about but begrudgingly accepts. So what he was a little excited?

The day of their dinner, Wanderer does his best to keep himself occupied until it’s time to get himself cleaned up. The clock mocks his efforts by going as slowly as it possibly can, but eventually afternoon arrives. He battles between dressing up despite saying it wasn’t an important event, just dinner, and going in his usual attire, which feels more and more underdressed by the minute. He settles for something in between, remembering the lotus brooch the old woman had gifted him, and stands in the mirror to pin it just above his Vision holder, staring in assessment until he decides it’s fine.

He heads to the address. The evening is cool, the streets are busy, and it’s surprisingly harder to find than Sethos’s drawing suggests, though part of the issue is the wrinkled paper making certain words illegible. Stopping at where he thinks the right place is, Wanderer looks around at the buildings, all unassuming and plain. He squints at the garbled lettering on the picture and picks the house with the most similar looking address line. Giving a few knocks, he waits for the sound of someone running down the stairs to stop and the door to fly open to reveal Sethos, his eyes wide and breathing heavy for some reason. The only thing different about his clothing is that he doesn’t have that orange scarf on, leaving his broad shoulders exposed, but his hair is done differently, an elaborate braid pulling his hair up into a high ponytail and the front pinned away from his face by a gold clip, curling around the side and framing it handsomely.

“You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here, no thanks to your shitty map,” Wanderer says, shoving the wrinkled paper to his chest.

Sethos looks between the paper and Wanderer, a lopsided smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You kept it?”

“And now you get to throw it away.”

He expects Sethos to be a little more wounded by the comment, but he laughs lightly and steps away from the doorway, gesturing Wanderer inside. “Alright, come on in. I just finished getting dinner ready, table’s set and everythi— uh, what’s this?” He’s looking down at the brooch with a puzzled smile.

“A gift,” Wanderer says, brushing past Sethos. “It came free with yours.”

“With mine? I got a gift?” he asks jokingly, closing the door behind him. His smile slides off his face when he turns around to see Wanderer pulling the wrapped gift from its bag. “Wait, you actually got me a gift?”

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it, it’s just something I picked up at the market,” Wanderer says, already scowling as Sethos gently takes it, eyes wide with wonder. He unwraps it slowly, as if savoring the moment, and his fingers drag over the engraving on the back, reading and rereading the words until the smile slowly returns to his face. Wanderer tries to keep the prideful look off his face when Sethos’ gaze softens. He’ll have to thank that old woman the next time he sees her.

Sethos’ eyes meet Wanderer’s. “Do you know what this says?”

He looks away, lip twitching in irritation at not knowing when Sethos apparently does. What if it says something ridiculous? “It’s not in a language I know.”

“Uh oh, we gotta get you into supplementary Deshreti lessons,” Sethos says with a laugh, eyes and fingers back to dragging over the compass. “I love it. Thank you, Lotus.”

It’s in Deshreti? Wanderer shoots him a grimacing mixture of confusion and disgust. “‘Lotus’?”

Sethos pockets the compass with a sly smile. “Your brooch, it’s a lotus. It’s a pretty nickname, right?”

“Pretty awful, yeah,” he says, already working on unpinning it from his clothes.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sethos reaches to stop him, stopping himself short when Wanderer moves away from his touch. “Leave it on. I’ll stop calling you that if you let me take you on a tour of my place.”

Wanderer grumbles and glares, but his hands drop from the clasp and he lets himself be led through the house. The entryway leads into a living room that connects to the kitchen and dining area. Looking around, the Temple of Silence has a clear influence on Sethos’ taste in decor, with bookcases and ornamental plates and hanging scrolls lining the walls, but something about it feels distinctly Sethos, a perfect blend of his life in the desert and his life in the rainforest. He’s led upstairs, this floor having its own shelves full of trinkets and three doors. The one to the right is a study of sorts, a desk piled with half-built mechanisms and tools sat next to a window and a cabinet of more mechanical trinkets. The one opposite the stairs seems to be a green room, shelves upon shelves of plants and the equipment to take care of them scattered about.

“That last one is my bedroom,” Sethos explains as they breeze past it, heading back downstairs. “I’m gonna go make our plates, but if you wanna make yourself at home, feel free to look around.”

Wanderer follows him back downstairs and takes up browsing the titles on the shelves. Sethos has an interesting collection that spans many different topics, from plant care to mythology to travel guides. There are even some books on the history of Inazuma and guides to learning the language. He scoffs, not thinking he’d actually try to pick it up. He pulls a language guide from the shelf to assess its accuracy when Sethos calls him to the kitchen. Sliding the book back in its place, he goes to the kitchen to see a glass of wine being poured for him. Sethos holds out the glass and Wanderer takes it with a nod of thanks.

“I had to buy new cups and plates for this, most of the ones I have are mismatched hand-me-downs from the people I’ve helped,” he says with an embarrassed smile.

Wanderer scoffs into his cup before taking a sip. It’s good, tangy and full. “You didn’t have to do that. The food would’ve tasted the same regardless.”

“Sure, but I felt like it would be a nice touch,” he says, shrugging. He pushes off the counter and waves Wanderer along. “C’mon, table’s over here.”

They come into the dining room, it’s small with just enough space to fit the table and four chairs with some room to walk around. The table is set with two plates filled with a little of the main items, separated by candles and a floral centerpiece, and trays and dishes of various foods. There are two kinds of meat, salad, pita chips and dip, a plate of flatbreads, and several sauces for dipping. Sethos coughs nervously and rubs his free hand down the side of his pants before pulling out a chair. “For you.”

Wanderer sits and takes off his hat, handing it off to Sethos, who places it gently on the seat beside him before darting over to his side of the table and taking his seat.

“There’s no need to be so nervous. We’ve had dinner before,” Wanderer says, already picking up a fork and digging in.

“I know, but this is the first time we’ve had dinner here,” Sethos says, doing the same with a small smile. “I dunno, I feel like I should be treating this like a special occasion.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just dinner, not a meeting with the Archon. Speaking of which, how did you manage to convince her to let you of all people tour the Akademiya?”

“Wow, harsh. We worked it out as a business thing. I need to take a look around at the state of things to determine how ready the Akademiya is for the Temple of Silence. There are a couple of things I feel need work, but overall, it’s not bad. I think our members will have a harder time adjusting to here than the other way around.”

Their conversation flows easily, and soon any trace of Sethos’ nervousness is gone with the wind. It's surprisingly comfortable, reminiscent of their time at the temple, and Wanderer can feel himself already lamenting the time he departs to his too-quiet, too-empty room. They eat and drink and talk, and the day winds down, the setting rays of sunlight bathing the house in warm light. The realization that Sethos made way too much food comes too late. By the time Wanderer states he’s no longer hungry, there’s still more than half left.

“Leftovers for the next couple days,” Sethos says with a soft smile, and stands to take their plates to the sink. “Do you think you have some more room for coffee? I asked Enteka for fresh beans today and she’s taught me a thing or two about brewing a good cup.”

Wanderer wants to say no, wants to wrap things up so he isn’t hit by that inevitable sense of loss when he leaves this place, but he nods and stands from the table. “Sure. But I’m telling you now, if it’s bad, I’m leaving.”

With a small huff of laughter, a tender smile blooms across Sethos’ face. “Alright, I’ll do my best.”

Wanderer goes back to browsing the shelves. The Inazuman language book is decent, the structure and vocabulary rudimentary enough to get someone around, but not detailed enough to hold a conversation for very long. He looks around and finds a chest of some sort filled with cards he’s seen in the hands of other students, but with the thin layer of dust on the casing, he can only assume it hasn’t been used in a while. There are trinkets on the shelves, probably gifts from his errands, and they seem to be crammed in without rhyme or reason. Wanderer laughs quietly at the idea of Sethos frantically shoving them onto the shelves to tidy his space before Wanderer arrived.

At that moment, the smell of coffee wafts in from the kitchen. He walks over as Sethos finishes pouring the second cup and adds a splash of creamer.

“Right on time, I was just about to call for you,” he says, handing the first cup to Wanderer.

Black, just as he likes it. He takes a sip and it is rich and balanced and perfectly bitter. He gives a satisfactory hum into the cup and licks his lips. “Back to the dining room?”

Sethos seems to snap out of a daze, eyes lifting to meet Wanderer's. “Huh? Ah, no, I was thinking we could enjoy this on the balcony.”

“Lead the way.”

“Right. Um, just a heads up, it’s through my bedroom…”

“Hurry up and lead the way before I change my mind.”

“Moving.”

He guides him up the steps to the second level, opening the door and gesturing Wanderer in with his cup. Inside, there are many similarities to his room in the temple; the bookshelves and desk covered in papers and books, the potted plants and wall decor, the bed at the center of it all, not as big and definitely softer looking than the stone bed, but equally as messy. Sethos rushes past it with a nervous laugh, and opens the curtains on the opposite end of the room and the door behind them. The balcony has two comfortable looking chairs, separated by a coffee table with a decorative square cloth and a vase of flowers on it, and several jars of fireflies sitting around the edges under garlands of flowers woven together in wide swoops. As they step out into the cool evening breeze, Wanderer raises an eyebrow at Sethos.

“Too much?” His smile is anything but bashful. “I know you said there was no need to decorate, but it’s your first time over. I wanted to make a good first impression.”

With an incredulous scoff into his cup, Wanderer takes his seat. “‘First time’ implies that I’ll be over again.”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you you’re welcome whenever you want?” Sethos asks, taking his seat with a sly smile. “You’re welcome to visit whenever you want. Be warned though, it might not be as nice after this time.”

Wanderer huffs a laugh through his nose and ignores the way Sethos perks up at that. “Don’t say that, I'll come in and replace that godsawful Inazuman language guide when you aren't looking.”

“Is it that bad?”

He shakes his head, looking out at the winding rivers and lush canopies of Sumeru. “It’s decent, but you're not going to have any luck understanding me if you use it, bastard.” A smirk sweeps over his face at the Inazuman insult he tacks on, knowing full well that Sethos doesn’t understand it yet.

“Oh ho ho, is that what we’re doing now? Alright then, show me how much Deshreti you know—” he says something that Wanderer doesn’t understand, a teasing smile on his face. Definitely a rude name.

“I don’t know that one. What was it?”

“Ya qamar,” he repeats softly. “It means meanie pants.”

Wanderer shoots him a half-hearted glare. “It does not.”

Sethos’ attempt at keeping the smile off his face is a pointless fight that he is losing badly. “No, it totally does. At least I didn’t call you ‘motherless bastard’.”

Heaving a sigh, Wanderer rolls his eyes. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

Sethos shakes his head solemnly. “Never. That was hurtful, Lotus.”

“What happened to not using that?” he asks, brows pinching together, though the rest of his face doesn’t convey any irritation.

“I didn’t say how long I wouldn’t use it,” Sethos quips back, sipping his drink wryly. “Plus, I like it better than ‘Hat Guy’.”

They go back and forth, exchanging insults in their respective languages until their conversation flows back to its usual amicability, the moon making its way into the sky. Puspa café is nice, the blends are strong and bitter, masterfully brewed and the view is pleasant, but this is nicer. It’s quiet nearly to the point of serenity, and unsurprisingly Sethos is as good a coffee brewer as Enteka, having wormed his way into her good graces and gotten all the trade secrets from her in the seemingly meaningless conversations they’ve had. Not to mention, with the balcony above the streets and the plants potted all around the railing, it was private—a definite bonus to the secretive head of the Temple of Silence. Wanderer doesn’t even need to try to steer his thoughts away from his eventual departure, staying present in the enjoyment of good coffee and Sethos’ presence.

Eventually, their cups run dry and Sethos continues their conversation as he guides Wanderer back to the kitchen. The pot has gone lukewarm, and Sethos is adamant about not reheating the contents, relaying Enteka’s warning of a burned and over-bitter batch, but he easily relents when Wanderer says he prefers it bitter. Wanderer is the only one to refill his cup but Sethos leans against the counter and listens intently to him speak on his philosophy of sweetness and bitterness between sips. It’s only when Wanderer's cup is empty once more that he decides it’s time to bring things to a close. He retrieves his hat from its place at the table and Sethos walks him to the door.

“I feel like I should be walking you home, I don't wanna leave you to the night streets by yourself,” he says with an awkward chuckle as he closes the door behind them.

“As if I'd need your protection. It's more likely that I'd be protecting you,” Wanderer says, crossing his arms, watching the way Sethos lingers. The fascinating last-minute squeeze of details, being put into action on him. He’s curious to see what Sethos tries to pry from him.

“True, but it would put me at ease to know you made it back home safely.” He scuffs his boot against the ground, head tilting slightly to make his eyes seem wide and sincere as he looks up at Wanderer through his lashes.

“You’re just trying to figure out where I live, aren’t you?”

He startles, but his expression is confused, rather than caught. “What? No. No, I really do want to make sure you get home safe, honest. If it makes you uncomfortable though, I’ll just… see you tomorrow?”

Wanderer’s mind stutters to a halt. He expected Sethos to have some ulterior motive for his suggestion, but he’s being genuine, as though he hadn’t fought beside Wanderer on their trip to the temple, hadn’t seen his combat up close and personal, as if he truly just wants to see him home. His mind scrambles to fill the silence that has started to stretch between them, defaulting to his typical response with a nod, if a bit robotic in its delivery. “See you tomorrow then.”

He turns to leave and Sethos waits by the door, expression achingly wistful, until he disappears from sight. That night, even when Wanderer lays down to sleep, he cannot get that look, those eyes, out of his head. He spends the rest of the night tossing and turning restlessly.

Chapter Text

“Woah, you look like you didn't sleep a wink,” Sethos supplies helpfully, looking like he got the best sleep of his life. The first thing he says to him when they meet again, and it’s a comment on how awful Wanderer looks. Wonderful. He does not try to keep his scowl from deepening.

“Well, not that you usually sleep,” he continues, keeping pace as Wanderer stalks down the street toward the city’s southern gate. “But like, sheesh, dude. This is why you don’t drink coffee before bed.”

“You drank some too—”

“And you had two cups to my one. Anything else you want to add?”

Wanderer comes to an immediate halt, whirling on the cause of his exhausted state with a heated glare. Sethos stops with him, a shit-eating grin on his shitty face. “You have a real mouth on you. Why don’t you do us both a favor and shut it?”

The way Sethos’ smile grows is not lost on him, even when he turns to continue his march to the city gates. He doesn't think he’s regretted running an errand for Kusanali more than in this moment. If he had just minded his business, he’d be halfway through his paper by now, but no, he just had to butt into her and Hat Ears’ conversation. It was hardly his fault she thought passing a mission regarding the Temple of Silence off to him was a good idea, they at least know who Wanderer is and he isn’t some Akademiya cop. Sure, she did explain that Hat Ears had been to the temple before, even had history there, but from the way it was explained, he had left after wresting the last of Sethos’ power from him and only handing the administrative mess back. And of course, Sethos had popped his head in as soon as Wanderer was going to relent to leaving the errand to the Mahamatra, just to advocate for Wanderer taking on the trouble. Kusanali had smiled in that unsettling way of hers and agreed instantly, despite arguing against it just moments before. The only positive to the whole interaction is that Wanderer was finally able to put a face to Sethos’ supposed “brother”, but his name was staying “Hat Ears” as far as he was concerned. He wouldn't be the only one with a stupid hat name if he could help it.

“By the way,” Sethos says, cutting into Wanderer’s stewing as they pass under the city’s southern gate, “you do know this is a diplomatic trip, right? This is technically going to be the temple’s first impression of the Akademiya liaison. Last time I introduced you as an envoy of the Archon, but now you're representing the whole of the Akademiya so… maybe cool it with the death glare?”

Wanderer levels him with said death glare before pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a growling sigh. “Look. I just did this to pay back my debt to Buer. I’ll act like a ‘proper’ liaison when I need to.”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone refer to Lesser Lord Kusanali in such a disrespectful way before. You’re pissed, aren't you?” His smile pulls at the edges, barely staving off a full-on grimace.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve seen someone make such a difficult deduction before,” Wanderer says, eyes widening until he snaps a glare at Sethos. “You’re annoying, aren’t you?”

“Alright, man,” Sethos says as he shakes his head, smile dropping from his face. “I’m not sure what you’re so upset about, you’re the one who volunteered.”

“Then maybe you should mind your business.” Wanderer pulls his hat down with a scoff. He knows he’s being unreasonable, knows his anger is misplaced, but he’d sooner throw himself from the highest branches of the Divine Tree than admit to his embarrassment. Not only is Sethos seeing him look so disheveled and exhausted, but he also heard him volunteer to go on this mission just because Sethos is involved. He comes to a halt as Sethos hurries to cut Wanderer off, blocking his path.

“It is my business if you’re gonna be like this the whole trip,” he says seriously. For once, he isn’t smiling, his face pulled into a concerned frown. Something in Wanderer aches at the sight but he keeps the glare resolutely on his face. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m actually being annoying, it’s… honestly hard to tell with you, but if something's bothering you, I’m here to listen if you wanna talk.”

His expression shifts to genuine concern, as he reaches out to Wanderer, hand hovering only a few inches from his arm. For some reason, this only serves to make Wanderer angrier, and his face twists up even more.

“Yeah, because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You listen to people spill all their problems and secrets to you and you take it back to your little temple to make sure no one’s got a thing to do with forbidden knowledge, isn’t that right, Sethos?” he spits, venom and frustration in his words as he steps into Sethos’ space, daring him to back down.

The look on his face is unreadable, the only indicator of him being upset is the small pinch between his eyebrows and the tension at the corners of his mouth. He lets out a dry scoff. “Okay, brushing past the fact that you finally said my name, what’s gotten into you, Lotus? Was it… something I did last night? I tried to make it nice for you, and I thought you were enjoying it but…”

Wanderer is fucking this up, he’s ruining everything, and with the first friend he’d made who isn’t tied in some awful way to the past he tried so hard to be rid of. Why is he like this? Wanderer closes his eyes, willing his anger to subdue itself, to no avail, and sighs heavily. “No. It’s nothing about last night. Just… give me some time. I’ll be back to normal eventually.”

Sethos just nods and takes a step back, face as mild as he can keep it. “Alright. I’ll give you some space then.”

Wanderer nods back as they begin to walk again, but now Sethos’ strides are much longer and faster than before, as if he’d been slowing himself down every time they’d walked together. Wanderer struggles to keep up and eventually, the gap between them widens to the point that Sethos disappears around a bend. Even when the path straightens out again, he’s nowhere in sight, gone ahead and leaving Wanderer behind by himself. Abandoned again. He only has himself to blame, but that platitude does little to ease his quickly mounting anger, teeth gritting and fists clenching to relieve some of the destructive energy he so badly wants to unleash. That destructive energy, however, is exactly what got him into this mess, and he curses quietly as he keeps his pace up until he reaches the river bank. Still no Sethos, he must be halfway to Caravan Ribat by now. Wanderer takes to the air, crossing the river with his eyes glued to the shifting water even as he lands on the dock on the opposite bank. He needs to release this anger quickly, or else it won’t be resolved even when he meets back up with Sethos. Taking off his hat, he sets it down on the dock before wading waist-deep into the cold water.

Release. He needs release.

He takes a deep breath as he bends down, submerging his face underwater, and he screams. He screams, blood-curdling and full of fury, all of his pent-up rage and frustration released in a long stream of muted screeching under the rolling waves. When he runs out of air, he raises his head just enough to take in another deep breath before going back under and screaming again. He thrashes and punches the water violently, the sprays of droplets landing on his back and head until he stands upright, chest heaving as he sucks in panting breaths. He’s about to go back under when a familiar, lilting voice sounds from behind.

“Told ya going for a swim was fun.”

His head whips around to see Sethos lounging in a tree with a half-eaten apple, which he tosses into the bushes as he sits up and jumps down. “I bet you feel a lot better now, don’t you?”

Immediately, all the rage that he’d just gotten rid of comes flooding back. He’s desperately fighting back the urge to say something awful when Sethos takes a running jump into the water, sufficiently dousing Wanderer in the process. When he surfaces with a wide smile, Wanderer grabs hold of his stupid scarf and tries pulling him back down, but Sethos is taller than him and only bends a little toward the water’s surface with a laugh. Wanderer curses him and Sethos shoots back insults of his own as they wrestle in the water, trying to dunk the other first until they both fall. Their struggle devolves into splashing each other, and Wanderer is shameless in his use of his Anemo abilities to spray Sethos. It isn’t until Sethos is pulling himself sopping wet and laughing onto the dock that Wanderer realizes all his anger has disappeared. He’s huffing with effort and smiling wide as he joins Sethos back on dry land.

“At this rate, it’ll take us three days to get to the temple,” Sethos jokes, wringing out his scarf.

“We can tell Kusanali it was your fault,” Wanderer jokes back, calling a gust of wind to dry them off.

“No way, man, she likes you better. She’ll go easier on us if we say you were making friends at the temple.”

He lets out a groan of disgust at the thought. “She wouldn’t buy that for a second.”

Sethos lets out a bark of laughter but nods in agreement. “Alright, we’ll say it was my fault.”

They take some time to get as dry as possible before Sethos stands, holding out a hand to help Wanderer up. He takes it with a small smile that widens ever so slightly when Sethos stoops down to pick up his hat, dusting it off before handing it over to him. As they set off, back on track to Caravan Ribat, Sethos stays by his side, telling stories of his trips through the forest. Wanderer listens carefully to the dynamic shifts, from hushed moments of tension to loud declarations of action, and watches as Sethos gestures and acts out each story with a smile on his face. The journey to the desert settlement is a breeze, the Fatui are slow, the ruin serpents avoided, and the Eremites back down easily. Finding an inn to rest at is the biggest of their issues, the one they booked last time is full, but Sethos is charming and friendly, and someone points them to an inn with vacancies. The routine is familiar, setting their things up to ease tomorrow’s start, settling in for dinner which Sethos eats for the both of them when Wanderer finds issue with what they’re served, and getting themselves ready for sleep before turning in for the night. Wanderer even manages to get through the night without a single trace of a nightmare, though the same cannot be said for Sethos who tosses and turns, whimpering and groaning as his bad dreams plague him.

Wanderer’s eyes open before Sethos wakes, but he waits for him to rise before he gets up, content to just lounge in bed until the next grueling stretch of their travels. He waits and waits, but Sethos remains unconscious, huffing shallow breaths and wincing in pain. Sitting up, Wanderer shakes him by the shoulder gently, trying not to startle him too badly, and his eyes snap open, wild and panicked. He swallows as his gaze settles on Wanderer before he drags a hand over his face and sits up with a groan.

“Bad dream?” Wanderer asks, though he’s not sure how to comfort him in the case that he decides to be honest.

Sethos nods as he sits himself at the edge of the bed, back turned to Wanderer. It is littered with scars, both big and small, light and raised. He’d never noticed before. “It’s fine. I’m sure you already know they’re a pretty common occurrence for me.”

What could he possibly say to that? Of course, he knows, he helped deal with a few, but he had never seen the dreams affect Sethos like this before. Sethos, who had always risen before the sun, now waking late, gets up from the bed and stretches, moving on to his morning routine. Wanderer watches him until he enters the bathroom, getting up and preparing for the day. What could he have possibly done to comfort him? If it had anything to do with those scars, would his words have even mattered? The damage was already done, and he doesn’t have any context to guide him through the kind of words that can ease whatever causes nightmares this frequently. Sethos steps from the bathroom and dresses himself, putting on his pack without digging out anything to eat before they set out.

“You know, if you keep staring like that, I might start to think you like looking at my body, Lotus,” he says, voice low and joking.

Wanderer scoffs, grabbing his own bag and heading for the door. “Guess I don’t have to worry about you if you can make jokes like that.”

“Aw, you were worried about me? That’s so cute, Lotus, but not exactly necessary,” he teases, closing the door behind them as they leave the room. He rushes to catch up, sticking to Wanderer’s side as they leave the inn. “I guess I’m just nervous about this trip, we’ll have to meet with the elders and they’re… a little tricky to get along with. Getting them to agree with my decision to reconnect with the Akademiya was like pulling teeth and some are still opposed to the idea, so you’re going to be an unwelcome addition for them.” His voice is hushed as they walk through the empty streets, careful not to wake anyone or let their conversation be overheard, and the smooth rumble it takes is distracting enough to make Wanderer consciously focus on listening.

“As if that should’ve been an issue,” he scoffs, keeping his voice quiet to match Sethos. “You’re the leader of the temple, aren’t you? If you think that merging with the Akademiya is a good idea, who are they to oppose?”

Sethos breathes a laugh through his nose, smiling as if the idea is an amusing jest. “My elders is who. Believe it or not, I value their opinions, and even though I know the direction I want to take the temple, I'm still gonna keep their input in mind.”

The concept of respecting one’s elders is foreign to Wanderer. For one, Ei had been a poor excuse of a mother, his resentment of her quickly blossomed into hatred with the passing years, and after some time, there were few people alive who were older than him, save the gods he despised. He knows to be polite with the older humans he interacts with, they’re often kind and incapable of deceiving anyone so he has no issue playing the kind young man with them, but other than that, he has next to no examples of someone older than him worthy of his respect. Instead of voicing this, he keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on the desert path ahead. It is Sethos’ decision to make, after all.

The stretch to Aaru Village is quiet, both in terms of trouble and conversation. Sethos hardly speaks and Wanderer finds himself at a loss for what to say to fill the void, so they simply walk. The silence comes to an end, however, when they near the village and see two figures ahead, standing near the Statue of the Seven. Sethos immediately calls out excitedly, jogging over to meet them.

“Candace! Dehya! Nice to see you guys!”

The women greet him, one with a regal nod and warm greeting and the other with an equally rowdy greeting as his before lightly punching his shoulder. A sense of discomfort is already creeping up on Wanderer, his place as an outsider only solidified by their good rapport. He stops a few feet away as they continue to talk about the goings-on of the village, watching how casually Sethos speaks with them. It’s irritating, but he does his best not to let his disdain show until Sethos turns around and waves him over. With a groaning sigh, he steps forward, joining the group.

“Candace, Dehya, this is Hat Guy! He’s a pretty popular Vahumana student, and now he’s helping me work out some details to get the temple back in touch with the Akademiya. Lotus, these two are my friends. Candace is the guardian of Aaru Village, and Dehya’s an awesome mercenary who's taking on work from the Homayani’s right now. They’re both incredibly impressive warriors, and friends with Cyno too!”

Wanderer nods in greeting and Candace greets him nicely while Dehya eyes him. She turns to Sethos and jams her thumb in Wanderer’s direction. “This the guy you were telling us called you a ‘motherless bastard’?”

Instantly, he’s glaring at Sethos who is laughing shamelessly. “Yeah, but he’s made up for it. Be nice to him, he’s a good guy under all the glaring, and his bark’s worse than his bite anyway.”

Dehya glances back to Wanderer and shrugs, placated by Sethos’ assessment. He has half the mind to show them that his bite is in fact far worse than his bark until Candace pipes up. “Oh? Then is it safe to assume by the ‘lotus’ nickname, you’ve con—”

“—Ahaha, Candace,” Sethos cuts in loudly, smiling wide and awkward. “What about that meal you were talking about earlier? Aaru mixed rice, you said? Sounds good! We should probably head over soon, he and I are on a bit of a time crunch.”

She eyes him, clearly unimpressed with his attempt to deflect, but lets it go. “Yes, since Dehya had helped me with my patrol, I was going to make her a meal, but a few more guests never hurt.” She turns to Wanderer and smiles sweetly. “Join us, it would be nice to meet the person only Sethos has managed to… befriend.”

The way her eyes shift to Sethos as she lingers on the word “befriend” is unsettling, but other than that, there is no reason to distrust her. She holds neither deceit nor malice in her words or expression, apparently genuine in wanting to host them for a meal at the very least, and with Sethos already asking after their spot at the table, Wanderer has little reason to refuse. He clicks his tongue and crosses his arms.

“Since it’s been decided for me, I suppose there’s no use in struggling,” he grumbles, being sure to throw a nasty look Sethos’ way, then turns to Candace with a much lighter, nicer expression. “Thank you for having us.”

Her smile widens, and she lets out a quiet laugh. “I’m going to like this one. Alright, let’s head back.”

The walk to Candace’s house is quiet, what with morning still on the rise, and she kindly greets the few people they pass on the way. After letting them in, she tells everyone to rest and get comfortable while she goes to the kitchen. Dehya follows despite Candace telling her to stay and play nice, leaving Sethos and Wanderer to their own devices. Sethos isn't shy about recounting how he became friends with the two, both tied to him through his connection to Cy- Hat Ears. He manages to get through another totally unrelated story before the ladies return and Candace leads them to the dining room. The table is already set, and the food smells good, maybe not as good as Sethos’ but it would do. Wanderer takes his seat beside Sethos, eating quietly as he and Dehya trade wild stories of trips through the desert. He's subjected to a couple of… overly-personal questions from Candace, the kind he'd expect on a marriage profile, but Sethos cuts her off, defending his preference for privacy, and she relents with a look of suspicion cast upon Sethos. All things considered, the meal goes well, and by the time they're wrapping up, it is around noon. Candace and Dehya wave them off at the statue, and they continue on to the Temple.

The next stretch is still full of enemies, as persistent as Sethos had mentioned them to be. Again, Sethos challenges Wanderer to a friendly competition, and again, victory falls to Wanderer, who does a decent job of not being a “sore winner” while Sethos tries to think of something he might not know yet.

“Hmm… Did you know I like hiking trips?” Sethos dispatches a Pyro fungus with ease, hopping a bit once he lands from a jump shot before turning a beaming smile on Wanderer. “It doesn’t matter what the weather is, if you pack properly and plan ahead, just being outdoors is so much fun! Plus, you might make a new friend along the way.”

With a grunt, Wanderer unleashes a series of wind blades to take down two more fungi that come over the hill. “I already know that.”

“Then… how about…” Sethos drags the words as he tries to think of something, hand coming to his chin in that ridiculous thinking pose before he perks up and snaps. “Oh! I’m actually trained in a few weapons, and since the polearm was Hermanubis’ chosen weapon, everyone at the Temple of Silence gets trained in it. I’m pretty proficient, better than most, but the bow just feels nicer to me.”

Wanderer lets out a dry sigh. “I know. Hat Ears told me about your fight.”

He seems to deflate at that, frowning as he tries to think of anything else. He comes up with nothing but a shrug. “I'm sorry, Lotus. It seems you really do know me inside and out,” Sethos sighs, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Wanderer watches him for a moment, the way the corners of his smile pull downward with worry, how his shoulders seem to carry a bit of tension, that discerning gaze turning distant. He thinks of the morning, how he had deflected then too. After a moment, his voice comes quietly, as if his words would bring the towering walls around them down if it were any louder. “I don't know anything about your nightmares...”

It catches Sethos by surprise. His gaze turns shrewd and alert as he looks at Wanderer, assessing him. After a moment, they soften again and he huffs a dry laugh. “Very true, you don't, but I’m afraid it's gonna have to stay that way, at least for a while longer. That's not something I’m ready to share just yet,” he says, voice going just as soft as Wanderer’s as he sets back on their path toward the temple.

They trudge down the sand dune in silence. As much as Wanderer is curious, he understands not wanting someone to pry and doesn’t want to give Sethos an opening he could use later. Ahead, the oasis comes into view, a glittering jewel amidst the unchanging gold of the rolling dunes.

“… What's your favorite color?”

“What?” Sethos casts a teasing, sideways glance at Wanderer, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “You don't know my favorite color? Can’t tell even after being in my house?”

Wanderer clicks his tongue and scowls back. “No. Now tell me.”

“Take a guess first.”

He turns his gaze to the hazy sky, taking the time to put actual thought into his answer. Knowing how secretive Sethos is, he wouldn’t be surprised if his favorite color is something that doesn’t show up very often around him, not in his clothes, or his decor, or the many items he keeps crammed onto his shelves, something no one would guess. As much of a rainbow as the inside of Sethos’ house had been, he realizes there was one color in particular that made a rare appearance.

“… Blue.”

Sethos hums in thought, eyes settling on the oasis ahead as he comes to a halt. “Blue… like oasis waters, or the night sky… Yeah, I think blue could be my favorite color.”

Wanderer’s face scrunches in confusion. “You think?”

“I actually don't have a favorite color. I guess nothing’s really caught my attention like that before,” Sethos says wistfully, turning to look at Wanderer. His eyes roam over him for a moment before he tilts his head to the side. “Do you have a favorite color?”

Alright, he had been too quick to judge. He is the last person to berate Sethos for not having a favorite color, being in the same boat and all, but he’s not about to just come out and say that. He scrambles for a bullshit answer, picking the first thing his eyes land on, the color of the palm fronds lining the oasis.

“Green,” he grunts out.

Sethos freezes for a second, eyes pinned on Wanderer until their gazes meet and he looks away with a bashful smile, fumbling under his cloak for whatever reveals the gate to the temple. “Green is a good color. You don’t get much of it in the desert and it’s everywhere in the rainforest. Is that why you prefer the city?”

“I prefer the city because I don’t have to fight something every two minutes,” Wanderer shoots back and Sethos tilts his head with a conceding laugh.

“Fair.”

The brilliant blue light envelopes them as they pass through the gate, stepping from warm sand to cold stone. The people of the temple are milling about, the same as last time, and just like last time, they crowd around Sethos with warm welcomes and fond greetings. Elder Betresa greets Wanderer before she greets Sethos, and it puts a smug grin on his face that Sethos matches as he wraps his arm around his shoulders.

“Everyone, listen up! I know last time I introduced Hat Guy as the Archon’s envoy, but this time he’s visiting us as her official representative of the Akademiya. He’ll be here to help the temple make steps towards reconnecting with the Akademiya, so please be nice and cordial with him.”

There are a few questions that come over the din caused by the announcement, Sethos does well to answer them smoothly but Wanderer isn’t really listening to what’s being said. His focus is on watching the people, their reactions to this change, feeling them out. Most seem open to the idea, trusting Sethos’ judgment, but there are a few who seem opposed to it. Whether it’s due to the Akademiya or Wanderer himself, he doesn’t know or care, their disapproval is an obstacle in and of itself, but after the temple members have satisfied their curiosity, they disperse with no complaint. Sethos lets Wanderer find his way to their room while he checks in with a few elders, the halls at least partially familiar to him now. Avoiding the gaze of some lingering people and the looming statue, Wanderer makes his way to the back corner of the library, only stopping to greet Lady Khensa when he sees her and making sure to use his manners when he asks her to bring some blankets to the room. He’s in the middle of layering them on his half of the bed when Sethos comes in with dinner, setting the plates and jug down with a grin.

“Already preparing for bed? Won’t you humor me a little and have dinner first?”

“I was just getting it set up,” Wanderer says with a tired sigh, smoothing out the top blanket. “The way you were always disappearing last time we were here, I figured we’d have a meeting to attend later.”

“No, no meetings today. We arrived later than I expected and I wanna give the news time to sink in while we prepare.”

Sethos is giving the tableware a suspicious amount of attention, straightening out the plates and utensils, and setting everything up in a specific way that sets Wanderer a little on edge.

“Prepare for what?”

“Meeting the elders. Remember how I said most are hard to get along with? Well, a lot of it has to do with manners and obedience, and let’s be real, you have neither of those things.”

Wanderer bites back an insult on account of Sethos being correct and crosses his arms, watching him set out the cups and do some last-minute touches before spinning on Wanderer with a cheery smile.

“So let’s practice.”

The night runs long. Sethos guides Wanderer through every step of their meeting to come, from how he should enter the room to how he should speak to how he’s meant to answer certain questions. Even something as simple as how he eats is under scrutiny, and he’s all too bitter about being grateful to Beelzebul for adding perfect posture and table manners in his creation. Sethos is a good teacher, patient when Wanderer is frustrated and clear in his explanations when Wanderer is confused. He goes over the history between the temple and the Akademiya, and areas of interest Wanderer should keep in mind when the questions come. Wanderer is a good student, soaking in everything with a perfect memory and only needing a single explanation to bridge any misunderstanding. That being said, he’s glad when they wrap up, the probing questions and nitpicking getting under his skin, working his already frayed nerves. The awful stone bed doesn’t help things either, despite the many blankets piled on to ease the discomfort, leaving Wanderer in a space halfway between “sleep” and the waking world.

Somehow, Sethos is the one to wake Wanderer, pulling him up out of bed and dragging him along for his morning routine. He’s quiet as he always is, but where his mouth fails, his hands make up for, pointing and handing and waving Wanderer through getting himself cleaned and dressed. Wanderer only realizes he’s passively following along when he’s bowing his head in thanks to the woman who hands him his plate of breakfast, when Elder Betresa comes over with her bitter tea and a sweet smile.

“My, I didn't think we’d be seeing you for breakfast, Sir Hat Guy. What a pleasant surprise. Good morning!”

He blinks. His plate has a fried egg and fruit on it. Sethos is waiting for him near the door. He had been so caught up in doing as Sethos commanded, he didn’t even realize he’d followed him to the kitchen. Wanderer smiles at Elder Betresa, the edges tense with irritation, and takes the cup she offers him.

“Good morning,” he says as pleasantly as he can manage, following after the man scooting to the door with a guilty look now that Wanderer is lucid.

He hardly has the chance to give Sethos a piece of his mind before he’s thrust into another cram session of what to expect in these meetings. For as cool and calculated as Wanderer took Sethos, the fact that he feels so nervous about this comes as a surprise. First, it was nightmare-inducing, and now, he’s making it Wanderer’s nightmare. There’s no way the elders are that frightening, unless they had spent years of dedicated effort to instill a fear response in Sethos, which he highly doubts judging by how close-knit everyone seems to be. Still, if it’s worrying him to the point of rehearsing this many times, Wanderer feels staying alert and on his best behavior can’t hurt. At best, things would go so well they’d be able to leave right after, and at worst, he’d scrape by with Sethos’ teachings.

The morning rays streaming through the windows turn bright and hazy as the sun gets ready to reach its peak, and Sethos is smoothing out Wanderer’s robes with a scrutinizing gaze as they prepare to head to the meeting hall.

“Remember, no scoffing, eye-rolling, teeth-baring, or commenting on how stupid someone is even if you think they’re being really stupid,” Sethos says.

Wanderer scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting himself be picked over until Sethos fixes him with an unamused look.

“Fine. I won’t commit any world-ending crimes, ‘Lord Sethos’,” Wanderer drawls out mockingly, only to startle when he’s jerked forward to a very serious-looking Sethos. His eyes, hypnotizing swirls of emerald green flecked with gold, intense and piercing, pin him in place. It’s not the soft, warm look that Wanderer is familiar with but calling it cold and impersonal doesn’t fit either. It’s something else altogether, something that Wanderer can’t quite place, and it makes his stomach clench with anticipation.

He’s snapped from his daze when Sethos pats his chest with a heavy sigh.

“Lotus, for me, please take this seriously.”

Wanderer nods, throat tight.

Satisfied with Wanderer’s appearance, Sethos leads the way to the meeting hall. It’s in a portion of the temple Wanderer had never paid much mind to, and the first thing he notices is how different this section is from the rest of the stone temple. While it is as much a library as every other portion he’s seen, there is a distinctly comfortable feel created by the warmer lighting and green pools of water that sit on the edges of the main floor. Sethos breezes past them to a dark corner at the back, a heavy door only slightly illuminated by a faint green light shining down on a nearby plant. He stops before it and squares his shoulders, the look of temple leader falling over his face. Wanderer cannot help straightening out his own posture, the reality of the situation setting in. In just a moment, he would need to make a good impression, not only for himself, but for the Akademiya as well. Placing his palm on the door, the stone parts for Sethos, opening the way to the meeting hall.

Chapter Text

Glowing braziers filled with artificial flames sit at intervals along the ceiling, illuminating the whole of the room lined with shelves and potted plants. At the center, a table topped by maps, papers, and scrolls sits with several seats placed around it, all but two filled with elderly members of the temple who stand and bow in greeting when Sethos enters the room. He raises a hand in return as he reaches his seat and Wanderer takes the one beside him, standing as instructed. They give their greetings, and Sethos gives the word for all to be seated, setting the meeting in motion. From across the table, Elder Betresa watches with a smile and Wanderer tries to find comfort in it.

“Thank you for being here, everyone,” Sethos begins, a professional air about him as he looks around the table. “Before we begin, I know I’ve already introduced him, but for the sake of making things official, allow me to do so again. This is the Akademiya’s newly appointed representative, a Vahumana student with an excellent record of performance, Hat Guy.”

Wanderer does his best not to cringe at the name, starting to wish he’d cared enough to come up with something on his own, and gives a polite nod to the table. The elders stare back, some nodding and others fixing him with judgmental glares.

“I know some of you were hoping Cyno would take up the mantle, having both ba fragments and a history with the Temple of Silence, but he has his own work to do in the Akademiya and is unable to maintain the position of liaison for long. That being said, Hat Guy is one of the Archon’s most trusted, and has proven himself to be a reliable connection. I have high hopes for his future as our Akademiya liaison. Hat Guy, would you like to say a few words?”

This had been the worst part of their rehearsals, Wanderer’s flat tone and generally unpleasant attitude being the part Sethos had the most grievances with. Despite this, he had emphasized how important it was he say something when prompted, no matter how much Wanderer had lobbied against it. With a deep breath, Wanderer nods.

“It wasn’t my expectation that I become the representative of the Akademiya. In fact, the only reason I am is because Sethos insisted,” he starts, trying not to sound as annoyed as he feels. “That said, I’ll do my best to ensure that whatever path the temple takes, things go smoothly and communication with the Akademiya is clear. I trust in Sethos’ judgment, as I’m sure all of you do as well. I’m just here to help.”

Sethos softens ever so slightly when he praises him, some of that fondness slipping through his mask of leadership, and some of the elders who had been clear on their dislike of him ease their frowns, swayed by their agreement. Things seem to be proceeding smoothly so far, judging by how Elder Betresa’s smile grows. With a satisfied nod, Sethos turns his attention back to the table, launching into the start of the discussion.

“As we all know, this partnership between the Temple of Silence and the Akademiya has been something of a recent development. Understandably, there’s been some hesitation after our split all those years ago, but I’ve addressed your concerns with the Archon. I was able to tour the Akademiya and get a close look into where things went wrong the last time, held several discussions with Lesser Lord Kusanali about the way things would proceed, and I’ve considered all your thoughts on the matter as I’ve gone through everything. With things the way they are now, I believe this is an important step in preserving our ways and history, and the Dendro Archon has been kind enough to meet us on our terms. We’ll be moving into the next phase without issue next month. Does anyone have any questions or comments?”

A withered old woman with her white hair gathered in braids raises a hand, and Sethos nods to her. “What are his qualifications as a liaison? We’ve already established a system with the Akademiya, so there’s no real need to have a representative on their behalf as you, Lord Sethos, do most of the communicating between us.”

Her audacity to ask such a question without even directing it to Wanderer is astounding, but he does well to keep his disdain hidden, a task made easier when Sethos gives him the chance to answer himself.

“I don’t need to have held the title of ‘liaison’ to know how communication works,” Wanderer says lowly, ignoring the subtle stink eye Sethos shoots him. “If being a Vahumana student will teach you anything, it’s that humans are simple creatures. Their patterns remain the same no matter how many centuries pass, so predicting what problems might occur based on how things are run will be simple. If you need a reference for my reliability even with the Archon and your leader vouching for me, the Traveler should be able to speak on my behalf.”

He does not cross his arms in defiant victory, but it is tempting. Sethos rewards him with a smile and a nod, until a familiar-looking man raises his hand to speak. He remembers him, the one who called Wanderer Sethos’ friend before they were even on friendly terms, the one who had questioned his presence before anyone else. It’s little wonder he’d find something to question even now. When Sethos allows him to speak, the man turns to Wanderer, his eyes nearly as piercing as Sethos’.

“Though you have said you had no intention of becoming our liaison and I do not doubt Lord Sethos’ judgment of you, I must ask: what reason do you have to fill this position, beyond his insistence?”

“This is my field of study, analyzing causation and history, so I’m considering it study material to see if the relationship between the Akademiya and the Temple of Silence is something set in stone, or if it truly was a matter of leadership and philosophies,” Wanderer lies smoothly, meeting the man’s gaze.

If he had told them his real goal, getting close to Sethos to learn more about him, to see how he acts in his territory, their distrust of him would only grow. He’d be ejected from his position immediately, but he’d also lose out on a prime opportunity, and so he goes with a simple, believable half-truth. The man nods, satisfied with Wanderer’s answer but another member raises his hand, eyeing Wanderer coolly. He’s hunched and withered, his gray hair streaked with white, and his eyes hiding something malicious behind their feigned curiosity. Sethos motions for him to speak and he clears his throat, turning to Wanderer with a smile that is so clearly meant to mask his intentions.

“You’re not from Sumeru, judging by your attire, and the Temple of Silence is not a place outsiders can simply traipse around,” he says, gesturing as he speaks in a way all too similar to Sethos. “We’d like to set our minds at ease that Lord Sethos has not simply picked a friend from the city to hand some of his duties off to. Tell us a bit about yourself, where you’re from, what you did to receive the Archon’s favor, things like that.”

The quiet hums and murmurs of agreement almost make Wanderer’s eye twitch with aggravation, but a stern look from Sethos shuts them down immediately. This man is even worse at probing than his leader, and Wanderer’s eyes never part from his as he speaks, intent on letting him know that his farce has fallen through. “I was born in Inazuma and spent my formative years there before taking on some business that led me to travel to Sumeru. As fate would have it, that was around the time that the Traveler was also in Sumeru, and I assisted somewhat in their journey.”

The old man raises an eyebrow, leaning forward as if exceedingly curious about the details. “What kind of business would a young man like you take on to bring you so far from home? And how exactly did you assist in the Traveler’s journey?”

Wanderer’s jaw clenches. He isn’t just worse, he’s more persistent too. He considers the pros and cons of following Sethos’ careful teaching while trying to form a halfway decent lie to get him off his back, but as the man stares back, it becomes increasingly clear that not only does he not care that he’s been seen through, he isn’t worried about removing Wanderer, so sure that whatever is said, he’ll find a way to refute it. Wanderer’s grip on his carefully crafted mask begins to slip.

“Abbasi.”

Both eyes tear away from each other to look at Sethos, wide with shock. His smile is gone and the charade of charismatic leader has been replaced with a much more commanding, much more threatening aura. Something in the pit of Wanderer’s stomach seizes at the sight.

“He’s answered your question. Would you really have him go over every last detail when you know as well as anyone here the things I have gone through for the Temple of Silence?”

The man tries to say something, stuttering through a half-baked excuse when Sethos leans forward, looking every bit like a Rishboland tiger about to pounce.

“To insinuate that I would slack off and bring someone here just because they’re a friend, that I would ever do anything so disrespectful to the honor Grandfather has given me and Lord Hermanubis’ legacy… That’s incredibly brave of you. I suggest you think twice before you speak again.”

The room falls silent, Abbasi and Sethos staring each other down, waiting for the other to back down first, and all the others watching in anticipation. The way Sethos’ muscles tense as he holds his position makes Wanderer start to believe he really will jump over the table, even after all the trouble he put him through to ensure this meeting ran smoothly. Abbasi seems to notice this too. He swallows thickly and blinks, turning away with a shameful look, and it is only then that Sethos slowly settles back into his chair. His eyes only part from the pathetic geezer when another elder raises her hand to speak, Sethos giving him one last stern look before nodding to the woman. She asks something regarding a concern she’d held about sending members over to the Akademiya and he answers curtly, though it’s obvious he tries to ease back into the role of charismatic leader when things fall quiet afterward.

The rest of the meeting follows similar beats, only broken when food is brought in after a few hours. The tension between the old man, Abbasi, and Sethos is palpable, the former clearly against the plan and trying to bring others to his side. Wanderer does his best to stick to the script, but Sethos’ rules become harder to follow with every ridiculous line of questioning, and while the elders occasionally stumble upon a halfway valid point, it doesn’t make it any less infuriating being put under a microscope. Sethos and Elder Betresa are quick to come to his aid in the moments he’s sure he’ll snap, but even with them backing him, Wanderer is left feeling raw by the end. He’s going through the motions when they wrap up, a shell of muddled thoughts as Sethos ushers him back to their room, and his body feels like it’s going to come apart the moment he sits on the bed. He thinks he’ll do just that, fall apart and be done with it all, so he collapses backward with a heavy, aggravated sigh. So this is what Sethos has had to deal with every time he disappeared for the day…

Sethos sits beside him with a sigh of his own, albeit much lighter, more relieved than upset. It’s irritating that he escaped better off than Wanderer, even if he has more experience dealing with his elders. “You did good. I thought you were gonna bite Abbasi’s head off when he started asking about your past.”

“You’re one to talk,” Wanderer says, clipped and exhausted.

“I know, but it’s over now, and next time shouldn’t be as bad.” He sounds apologetic, as if he has anything to be sorry for and not those rotting old bags of bones. Though Wanderer’s gaze is stuck firmly on the ceiling, he can feel the weight of Sethos’ eyes settled on him. It’s uncomfortable, and he wants nothing more than to squeeze out of his artificial skin just so he can’t feel it anymore.

“What,” he bites out, trying to rid the air of this strange tension.

“I know you’re upset, Lotus. Is there… anything I can do to help you?”

His voice is quiet, hesitant, just like it was when they’d left the city. Wanderer is raw and irritable, just like he was when they’d set out on the stupid trip to get here. This whole scene reeks of a familiarity that Wanderer wants to avoid. He presses his fingertips into his eyes and drags his hands down his face with a hissing sigh.

“No. Just give me some space,” he whispers, trying to reel in his irritation. He isn’t angry with Sethos, and there is no reason to take his anger out on him. All he can do is wait until his emotions come back from the boiling point.

A silence falls over them, stretching the seconds into an uncomfortable eternity. Sethos is staring at the table now, the empty plates from their breakfast waiting to be cleared away. Normally, he would be watching Wanderer intently, as if some ethereal tidbit about him would piece itself together if he watched long enough, or lying down beside him to see the patterns dotted into the ceiling like stars, but now, he wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t even smiling. Panic begins to rise in Wanderer’s chest. After his lashing out from before and his behavior at the meeting, had this been the last straw? Had Sethos seen his awful personality is all there is to him? He props himself up on his elbows, mouth opening to say something, anything, and in the same moment, Sethos rises from the bed.

“I’ll clear off the table and grab you some books,” he mumbles, quickly moving to stack up the empty plates and cups.

Wanderer’s mind flounders in its attempt to pull something to say from thin air, and by the time he’s calling after Sethos, the man has already darted out of the room. His eyes linger on the empty doorway, irritation at the elders giving way to frustration with himself. He falls back to the stone bed with a groan and squeezes his eyes shut as he forces his emotions down. His thoughts flow as he breathes slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He could fix this. Sethos is personable and adaptable, his outbursts weren’t the end of the world. Taking turns pressing a thumb into each palm and squeezing the excess energy from his fingers, Wanderer wills himself into calmness. Eventually, the quiet sound of footsteps enters the room, soon followed by the soft thud of a stack of books being set down. Wanderer sits up, the words to explain himself and the desire to apologize ready on his tongue, but when his eyes land on the worn tomes piled on the table, the only glimpse of Sethos he catches is his back as he leaves once more without a word. Just like that, all of Wanderer’s hard work to calm himself is undone. The only difference this time is his panic is replaced with anger that rings in his ears. Were his actions really worth treating him like this? Ignoring him like he was scum of the earth when Sethos had overlooked so much already? Cursing under his breath, he grabs the books and dumps them on the desk in the corner, pulling the paper and ink left over from their last visit. He hadn’t been permitted to copy these texts, but as long as they didn’t leave the temple, they shouldn’t find issue with him keeping his hands busy. Better scribing random books than destroying like he was so prone to.

He doesn’t even get through a single book. It is tedious and he messes up several times, either forgetting to remove the excess ink and getting a splattered droplet in turn or carelessly writing words so the lettering is sloppy. He wastes more ink violently crossing out what he’s written and eventually gets so fed up, he tears the paper into crumpled shreds. The room is still empty aside from himself and all the other lifeless objects. He leaves to find someone to speak with but Khensa is not in her usual place, and the members not absorbed in their studies of esoteric texts give Wanderer wary stares. It might be due to his severely unpleasant glare, but he isn’t going to waste his time trying to make nice with strangers. Sethos has not magically reappeared in the room when he returns and the lack of daylight coming through the window only makes it worse. It’s night, and he still has better things to do than grace Wanderer with his presence. The bed is still uncomfortable, no matter how many layers of blankets he lays down, and as much as he tries to let his thoughts flow freely in meditation, they circle in a whirlpool of tumultuous waters. It’s well into the night when he heaves a heavy sigh. Ruminating in silence is getting him nowhere. He takes the old, worn blanket with him when he goes to the entrance of the temple, hoping for a breath of fresh air.

Only when the door slides open to reveal a cave does he realize he’s never left without Sethos. Normally they’d pass through a barrier of blue light and step straight into the desert, but he’s not about to double back for that traitor. His stubbornness is rewarded with the exit, the mouth of the cave coming out on the side of the desert hills, the chill of the night air already doing wonders to ease his anger. The oasis is in sight, and he uses it as his guide to find the cliff where the two sat to stargaze. The stars are distant pin-pricks of light, senseless smatterings against a dark canvas, and none of them piece together to look even remotely like a winged serpent even when Wanderer squints, glaring at them in the vain hope that they would reconfigure to something recognizable. He’s pulled from his star-glaring at the sound of a quiet chuckle, the slight rumble of it soothing something inside of him as much as twisting the knife that sent him out here in the first place.

Sethos comes to stand beside him with a tired smile. “I thought I heard someone leave. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Wanderer says a little too quickly, a little too bitterly.

His face pulls into a scowl as a moment of silence passes between them, heavy with uncertainty. Sethos’ absence is what caused his frustration. Is he really about to send him away again without so much as an attempt at reconciliation? No. This isn’t how he wants things to continue between them, with him always saying something to push Sethos away.

He sighs and tries again, gentler, quieter. “That room is way too big and empty.”

There’s another beat of quiet and Wanderer draws the blanket tighter. Of course that didn’t work. He’d been ignored all day and all he could come up with was a sorry excuse. He expects to hear Sethos walk away, heading back to the temple and leaving Wanderer alone beneath the stars. He doesn’t expect him to sit beside him, leaning back with his head tilted up to the sky.

“You didn’t say that last time.” Sethos is teasing him, but he can’t seem to feel upset when he pulls at the blanket, silently asking to be let into its shroud.

The chill of the night dissipates as Sethos’ body heat warms the space inside the blanket. “That’s because you were there last time.”

Even at night, his smile is as warm as the sun. “Well then, let me keep you company.”

Wanderer doesn’t respond, simply turning his gaze back to the stars. There’s no need to respond, Sethos understands implicitly, filling the quiet with explanations of the constellations he’s learned. By the time they head back to the temple, Wanderer knows the winged serpent constellation and about ten others, though they’re not nearly as important.

Perhaps out of habit, maybe out of the need to make sure it wasn't a pleasant mirage he'd made for himself, Wanderer wakes first, eyes opening to the darkened room and landing on Sethos with his limbs thrown over Wanderer and his hair a mess of curls. His face is pressed into Wanderer's neck, and the spot of cold on his shoulder is a clear indicator of the pool of drool that has been left on him. Irritation should be gnawing at him, he should be shoving Sethos' head off him and grumbling about the mess, but he can't seem to work up the anger. Instead, a feeling of fond amusement bubbles in his chest at the display of just how peaceful a night Sethos had. If anything, this was excellent ammunition for later. Wanderer is plotting his case against him when Sethos’ grip on him tightens before he sits up, blinking slowly and turning to Wanderer with that sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Lotus.” The depth and gravel of Sethos’ morning voice catches Wanderer off-guard, an unpleasant heat washing over his face and his stomach doing a nauseating flip.

“You’re unusually peppy this morning,” he says, trying to hide his reaction as Sethos pulls him up from the bed.

“I slept well,” he says offhandedly. His tone is joking but Wanderer knows it’s true. After Sethos’ breathing had evened out, the only tossing or turning he did was to tangle his limbs around Wanderer and keep him pinned in place.

“I can tell,” he says wryly, making a point to use Sethos’ hand to wipe the drool off his shoulder. The flash of surprise on Sethos’ face almost makes Wanderer grin pridefully, but the confusion followed by a quiet chuckle leaves him with no choice but a soft smile and huff of laughter as Sethos wrenches his hand free and wipes the drool on his pants. Gross.

Their morning passes with Wanderer following Sethos’ mostly silent instructions through his morning routine, and he willingly follows Sethos to the kitchen, standing idly when he isn’t handing over whatever ingredient he’s being asked for while Sethos prepares breakfast. Elder Betresa joins a while into his cooking and the two chat while Wanderer listens, sipping the tea she gives him when it’s ready. Breakfast today is more palatable than the fried egg from yesterday, a twist on the minty bean soup Lambad sells in his tavern, and it pairs well with the tea and conversation.

Now that the worst of their trip is over, Sethos suggests visiting the Square to blow off a little steam. Without having taken a tour of the temple, Wanderer has no clue what “the Square” is meant to reference, but given that the rest of the temple is all library, he expects more books. The area they step into is completely devoid of texts, racks of blades and spears replacing book spines. It’s a pleasant change of pace in Wanderer’s opinion, and he looks around the armory with an air of approval.

“Pick whatever you want. I can use all of them, some better than others, but I’ll put up my best fight,” Sethos says nonchalantly, leaning against a wall as he watches Wanderer.

He nods, picking up random blades and testing their weight and swing. He’s decent with most weapons, having had the chance to test anything that passed through Fatui hands, but a gleaming sapphire sword catches his attention. Normally, he’d avoid them at all cost, he’d done enough damage with a sword in his past life, but this one bears an inscription on its blade similar to what he remembers of the compass. He picks it up, giving it a few test swings. It’s smooth and carries its weight well, and the blade edges have been kept in excellent condition.

Running his fingers along the inscription, Wanderer asks, “What does this say?”

Sethos perks up, pushing off the wall and coming over to look. “Oh, this is a recreation of a mythical blade possessed by a Jinni and wielded by a warrior of Tulaytullah in an era after Al-Ahmar’s death. Its name is Xiphos’ Moonlight, which is inscribed here,” he explains, drawing his finger over the Deshret Script as he reads out the name.

A possessed blade wielded by a warrior of a fallen city. It’s a familiar story, much like that of Kagotsurube Isshin. He lets out a dry, humorless laugh at the thought. Even when he thinks his past can’t reach him, it rears its ugly head in the most unexpected places. “I’ll use this.”

With a smile, Sethos picks a random sword off a rack, nothing truly notable about it. “Alright, then I’ll go with this one.”

He leads the way out into a wide arena encircled by descending rows of seats and headed by an empty throne. Here, Wanderer can almost picture the tension and power that must have occurred during the battle between Sethos and Hat Ears, the noble and imposing aura of the square weighing upon him like the gaze of an expectant crowd. He takes a spot on one end of the field with Sethos on the other side. As they turn to face each other, Wanderer feels a chill run through him. Before him is not the chatty errand-boy or the leader of the Temple of Silence, but the pragmatic survivalist who traverses the desert with ease, a seasoned warrior who wields his weapon with efficiency and precision. A giddy grin stretches across his face and Sethos returns it with a lopsided smile. This would be fun.

Wanderer is the first to strike, rushing Sethos with a gale of wind to push him forward and delivering a piercing strike that glances off Sethos’ sword inches from his face. His reaction time is quick and he retaliates with a clever maneuver that brings his blade up and forces Wanderer back to avoid the slash and the several swipes that come after. Not one to give in quickly, Wanderer uses the momentum of a blocked strike to make an attack that should have forced Sethos back, had he not chosen instead to flip over it, landing just behind Wanderer and catching him once more in this close sword dance. The ringing clang of metal as their swords meet in a storm of blows is only interspersed by the pants and grunts of effort as they dodge each other’s blows with expert movements. It is seeming to be a war of attrition, one that Wanderer is certain he will win, as their evenly matched strikes are parried and returned. Then Sethos steps forward, and instinct kicks in. Wanderer leverages a parry to sweep a leg out, causing Sethos to stumble, and takes his opportunity to strike. Even with Sethos off-balance, he has proven he is no amateur, he should be able to dodge, but the blade thrusts forward and comes back with a noise of pain and lined with red. A drop falls and Wanderer freezes. Blood. Humans bleed, and as otherworldly and novel as Wanderer finds him, Sethos is still very much human.

His thoughts are interrupted by a blade stilling against his neck.

“It’s just a scratch, I’ll live,” Sethos says jokingly, a challenging look in his eye, urging Wanderer to continue. His shoulder has a shallow cut across it. Another scar to add to the roster, Wanderer thinks dryly.

He takes a deep breath. He would just have to be more careful next time. Sethos is fine and he knows his limits better than Wanderer ever could. He would stop the fight if he knew he couldn’t continue. Swiping Sethos’ blade away, he tries to put distance between them, but it’s quickly closed as he’s rushed with another flurry of blows, all parried with a frantic urgency as Wanderer is forced onto his back foot. He tries to strike back but with that glistening line of red constantly in sight, he pulls more strikes than he lands until Sethos manages to topple him with a well-placed low sweep of his own. Wanderer falls flat with the tip of the unremarkable blade resting on his heaving chest and Sethos looking down at him with a saccharine, almost pitying smile, the light above forming a halo behind him. He definitely used Wanderer’s hesitance to his advantage.

“Do you yield?”

He looks from the blade, its edges dulled and its metal lacking in shine, to Sethos eyes, sharp and blazing with energy. His head falls back with a sigh.

“I yield.”

The sword is removed and Sethos pulls Wanderer up to standing with a good-natured laugh. “I know it’s not the sword that makes the swordsman, but you seemed so confident when you picked it out.”

“If I were actually trying to kill you, you’d be dead by now,” Wanderer huffs back, looking at the bloodied blade. They’d need to clean it soon, to prevent rust.

Sethos says something in Deshreti with a dismissive tone, his smile only growing, and waves Wanderer to follow him back to the armory.

“What was that? Hayadi kalbi?”

“Hayaati, qalbi,” Sethos corrects with a chuckle as he goes to a box and pulls out a first aid kit. “Kulu ma turidu.”

“And that means…?”

“It means ‘sure, whatever you want’, which you’d know if you bothered picking up any of those oh-so-accessible books you were talking about,” he says, shooting Wanderer an unimpressed look and settling on the floor. “Meanwhile I can already give directions in Inazuman. Grab a rag from that box over there.”

His Inazuman is choppy and his pronunciation needs a lot of work which Wanderer is quick to correct him on. Sethos repeats the words and it’s much smoother this time, almost enough to pass him as a fluent speaker. He beams with pride when Wanderer nods approvingly before doing as he’s told, and they clean up his pronunciation as Wanderer cleans the blades and Sethos his wound. Sethos even works in a few words in Deshreti for him to learn as they work— greetings, common words, a few curses— and making sure Wanderer’s pronunciation is flawless when he teaches him ‘ana asf, “I’m sorry.” He’s apologized at least fifteen times before Sethos’ serious teacher façade cracks and he breaks into a bright smile with a laugh. It’s a wonder how he’s so brave teasing Wanderer with all these blades around, but he lets it go with a scowl and a grumbled curse. At least he doesn’t drool on other people in his sleep.

Their lesson in the Square ends when Sethos’ stomach growls loudly, cutting through the middle of his sentence and causing a flush of embarrassment to wash over his face as he tries to laugh it off, and if it’s just as quickly replaced by a tender look when Wanderer lets a laugh slip, neither of them comment. Instead, they gather themselves and return the weapons before Sethos guides them back to the kitchen where he animatedly recounts a tale of a boy and a lost herd of Sumpter Beasts as he cooks, pausing only to ask Wanderer to hand him a spice or herb he can’t reach. Wanderer leans against a counter as Sethos cooks, only really half-listening to the rises and falls of his voice and the little laughs that slip in when he loses track of the story to focus on the simmering pot. His attention snaps back when Sethos motions to a pantry, asking him to pick out a wine for them. Wanderer rummages through their stock before grabbing a bottle of white wine as Sethos plates another of his once-in-a-lifetime dishes, and they carry their things back to the room. Dinner is delicious as always, more so without practicing meeting etiquette and enjoying playful jabs and conversation instead. They prepare for sleep once the table is cleared and settle in, Sethos under that thin, old blanket and Wanderer atop a stack of blankets. Sethos doesn’t even wait to pretend to be asleep before winding his limbs around Wanderer, just nuzzling his head into the crook of his neck with a content sigh.

“Good night, Lotus.”

A scoff of disbelief leaves him at the audacity, but the soft smile on Wanderer’s face is a far cry from upset as he turns to rest his cheek on Sethos’ head.

“Good night, Sethos.”

Chapter Text

There are a few more meetings with the elders during their stay at the Temple of Silence, and just as Sethos had assured him, they run much more smoothly than the first. Most of the elders seem to have grown accustomed to, if not fond of, Wanderer. He can only guess that seeing his professional work and the way Sethos acts around him has softened their judgment of him. That said, the few who still have an issue with him are quick to bring up how childish the two are in their downtime, when they go out into the desert to roughhouse in the oasis or clear out the path back to Caravan Ribat over a friendly competition. They tried sparring in the Square but Wanderer had put an end to it the moment he’d realized Sethos’ shoulder was affecting him more than he let on, his strikes and range of motion hampered, and even fighting the weak creatures crawling in the valley had to be put on the back burner when Sethos had barely managed to down two without almost getting hit by a fungus. Toward the end of their stay, things simmer down to stargazing and idly lounging in their room due to Sethos’ injury and the criticisms of certain elders, though Sethos is adamant he be helpful and make their meals at the very least.

Their send-off back to the city is as warm and sweet as it’s ever been, and Wanderer manages to fake a nice smile when more people give him their attention with firm pats and handshakes before they go. Despite Wanderer suggesting they avoid conflict and Sethos insisting he’s made a full recovery, a small scrape with some scorpions leaves Sethos with a painful sting to his side. Once the last of them have been dispatched with a swirling wind vortex, Wanderer pushes Sethos back to the valley wall and forces him to sit.

“Shirt off, let me see it,” he orders, silencing Sethos’ attempt to joke it off with a displeased glare.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, hiking up the bloodied fabric with a wince. The wound is a bright red, the venom already working its way through his body.

Wanderer kneels before him and drops his bag, knowing nothing he’d brought was in preparation for something like this. “Do you have anything in your pack to help with this?”

Sethos nods and shucks his bag off with a hissing breath, passing it off to Wanderer with instructions on where to find what as he pulls his waterskin from his side and cleans the sting. The first aid kit is neatly packed with all the essentials but Wanderer’s lack of experience with human ailments leaves him at a loss for what to do. His eyes roam over the gauze and bottles before he looks at Sethos, trying not to look as helpless as he feels, but Sethos sees through him in an instant, laughing into a wince before he pulls the kit closer.

“Sometimes I forget you’re not human,” he says quietly, picking through the supplies for what he needs. “It’s okay, Lotus, this kind of thing happens from time to time in the desert so I’ve learned to be prepared for it. Nobody’s died from a scorpion sting in a while and I doubt I’ll be the one to break that record.”

He’s joking, trying to smile through the pain and distress, but it only makes Wanderer more anxious. The fact that he thinks it necessary to mask the truth even at a time like this sets him on edge, and his restless hands grip the fabric of his shorts as he watches Sethos clean and patch his wound with an intense stare, searing the process into his memory. Gods forbid this ever happens again, but he’d rather be prepared if there is a next time. Relief washes over him when Sethos holds a roll of gauze out to him, his other hand preoccupied with keeping a cotton pad over the sting site.

“A little help here?”

Finally, something he could do.

Wanderer nods and takes the roll, winding the white fabric around Sethos’ torso, eyes darting to his face at every stuttered breath and groan of pain. There is a thin sheen of sweat over his skin and he makes a point to take deep breaths to remain calm, though they get more ragged with every passing minute. He flinches and squirms every time Wanderer pulls on the gauze to ensure it's secure without being tight, and apologizes weakly when Wanderer looks at him in response. Once he’s satisfied, Wanderer secures the gauze and pulls his shirt back down as Sethos swallows down a medicine ball with some water.

“Is that really all it takes?” Wanderer asks, suspicious of how easily the scorpion sting is dealt with.

“Well, no, but we don’t have the supplies to do more than prevent infection for now,” Sethos says, pushing up from the ground and taking a moment to steady himself against the wall. “I’ll see a doctor in Aaru Village, but we’ll have to move slowly so I don’t make things worse.”

There’s the catch. Wanderer frowns. They should’ve waited until they were sure Sethos could make the trip easily, Sethos should have known his limits and not tried to engage when he could handle a few puny scorpions on his own, and he should have known better than to trust Sethos when he said he was okay to go. He wraps the arm on Sethos’ uninjured side around his shoulders, propping him up and refusing to look at him or else he might show Sethos exactly how pissed he was right now. Why are humans so infuriatingly fragile?

Their pace is much slower and they have to make frequent stops for Sethos and detours to avoid fights. At some point, Wanderer forces Sethos onto his back, it will go by faster if he carries him, and Sethos makes it as aggravating as he can by challenging him to a game of I Spy, except he always says he “spies” something abstract and only points it out when Wanderer has to admit defeat. He can feel Sethos’ heartbeat against his back and his heavy breaths against his shoulder, monitoring them for any sign of deterioration.

The only bright side to the journey so far is that they chose to leave earlier in the day this time, so the sun hangs high above them and casts the shadow of his hat perfectly over the two by the time they reach Aaru Village. With Sethos out of commission and Wanderer scowling in frustration, he’s sure finding a doctor will be near impossible until a villager they pass recognizes Sethos and brings them to the nearest clinic. Even unconscious, his charisma works wonders. It is a tense hour of waiting as the doctor tends to Sethos, but she reports back to Wanderer with a pitying smile that he’ll be just fine with some fluids and rest after the shot of antivenom she administered. She brings out a box of medicine, going over their dosages and how Sethos should take them when they leave, and Wanderer thanks her before she returns to her office. It’s almost evening when Sethos leaves the clinic looking tired, but much better than before. It takes some haggling and compromise between the two, but Wanderer relents to letting Sethos walk as long as they keep their pace slow and stop if he feels tired, which leads to them reaching Caravan Ribat just before nightfall.

He can’t even pretend to sleep, the stress of the day making him an agitated mess, so he keeps watch over Sethos through the night, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he fights through another nightmare.

Sethos rises with the sun and just as brightly, seeming to have bounced back after just one restless night. He takes his medicine as Wanderer instructs, but even without it, he’s a ball of energy as they head through the rainforest.

“I told you it would be okay. You have to be made of sturdy stuff to be indwelt with a Ba Fragment. Plus, I ate a lot of dirt as a kid so my immune system is ironclad,” Sethos spouts proudly, pounding a fist over his heart.

Wanderer grimaces at the mental image and rolls his eyes. “You say you forget I’m not human when you should remember to act like one yourself. Who the hell just gets over a scorpion sting? You should be bedridden.”

“Shouldn’t you be glad you don’t have to carry me anymore? Or did you like holding onto me?” His voice goes low and rumbly as he tilts his head to beam a sly grin at Wanderer who turns away with a scoff, more at the embarrassing swoop his stomach does than at Sethos.

“I’m not carrying you. Now if you don’t want to get left in the dust, I suggest you pick up the pace,” he huffs, flying over the fallen tree bridging the ravine in Apam Woods.

He waits on the other side with crossed arms and a bored look, watching Sethos carefully in case he slips or suddenly starts to feel worse.

Plip.

Sethos looks up at him with wide eyes as it registers, and he only has time to reach a hand out before the torrential downpour descends on them, soaking through their clothes in a matter of seconds. Quickly scrambling over the tree and laughing the whole way, Sethos huddles up against Wanderer under the wide brim of his hat, soaking the few parts of Wanderer’s robes that were left dry.

“My hat isn’t an umbrella,” he grumbles, trying to pry Sethos off him. “And don’t you like the rain? Go splash in a puddle or something.”

“No way, man! You want me to get sick on top of getting stung?”

Wanderer stills, then sighs heavily. He had a point, and unless he wanted to carry Sethos through the city gates, he’d just have to suffer through it.

Their clothes are on the wetter side of damp as the city gates come into view. Sethos had decided they’d dried too much and went for a swim across the river before coming out on the other side looking absolutely wrecked, and only climbed off Wanderer’s back once they had reached the tree bridge leading up to the city. Honestly, Wanderer is surprised he can still walk right now, though part of it is because Sethos refuses to release his hand, gripping it like it’s the only thing anchoring him to consciousness. At least they made it back in one piece, more or less. He’s all but limping through the gates and Wanderer has to push down the hesitance to pull their hands apart when they reach a busier area. Sethos stands swaying in the breeze, trying to convince himself he’s well enough to make the last stretch of the trip to the sanctuary. With a heavy sigh, he turns to Wanderer and makes an expression that could’ve been a smile if it didn’t look so much like a grimace.

“Hey, can you… can you report a mission success to Nahida for us? I’m not feeling too great so I think I’m gonna go home and rest some more.” Sethos sounds worn and it echoes through his appearance. His shoulders sag and his usually bright eyes struggle to keep themselves open. He’s barely even keeping himself upright despite squaring his shoulders to seem more lively than he is.

“Sure, as soon as we get you home.” Wanderer eyes him, not trusting that Sethos won’t fall apart the moment he takes his eyes off him.

“I’ll be okay, Lotus. Promise.” He sticks out his pinky finger and Wanderer glares at it before grabbing his hand, pushing the finger back down, and pulling him through the crowd toward Sethos’ home.

Wading through the crowd without losing his hand is a nearly impossible task, and Sethos is still trying to put on a brave face for the people they pass, smiling and waving when he can and pouting when Wanderer refuses to stop and entertain conversations. The residential streets are as unfamiliar in the day as they were unnavigable in the dark, but there are a few landmarks Wanderer recognizes that lead him to the right street. He has to lean Sethos against the building to frisk him for his keys, eventually finding them tucked in his pack settled next to the compass before he unlocks the door, Sethos’ increasing lack of coordination leaving him slumped against Wanderer’s shoulder. He lugs him upstairs to his room and throws him on the bed unceremoniously, yanking the boots off Sethos’ feet with a huff before going downstairs for a cup of water to take his medicine with. It’s stupidly difficult to figure out the storage scheme of Sethos’ kitchen, plates beside pots and all the utensils sorted in jars, but he eventually finds the cups in a lower cupboard by the pantry. Sethos’ clothes are tossed in a pile at the foot of the bed when Wanderer returns and he is curled under the covers, his damp curls the only part of him sticking out. Wanderer sets the water next to the box of medicine on the nightstand, eyeing the lump under the blanket.

“Take your medicine.”

A muffled noise of refusal comes from under the blankets. Wanderer scowls.

“If you don’t take your medicine, you can’t come crying to me when you get worse. And don’t expect me to stop by to take care of you when that happens.”

A hand emerges from under the blankets and dismissively waves Wanderer off. He scoffs and pushes the cup and box closer to the bed.

“If I come back and you’re dead, I’m bringing you back to life and killing you again.”

Sethos noses his way out from under the covers and gives Wanderer his best smile, though it’s still steeped with pain and fatigue. “Don’t worry, Lotus, I always bounce back.”

Nothing about the way Sethos looks right now instills any kind of confidence in him. He points to the nightstand. “Take your medicine when you wake up. Or else.”

He’s met with a thumbs-up before Sethos ducks back under the covers.

With nothing else to say, and not quite sure what else to do, Wanderer takes his leave, taking the keys with him to lock the front door and in case he needs to do a wellness check later. Knowing Sethos, another set is hidden somewhere in or around the house. Still, as the keys turn in the lock, there’s a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he should stay and monitor him some more. The last time he had left someone who was sick… he pushes the thought down. This could just be the side effects of the antivenom, and the doctor said he would be fine. He tucks the keys away and goes to report to Nahida.

He expects Sethos to make a full recovery by the next day. After all, he had been brimming with energy after receiving a giant scorpion’s venom and all it took was some medicine and sleep. It doesn’t even cross Wanderer’s mind that he could be taken down by a day of hiking, but the day passes and he sees no trace of Sethos, not wandering the streets near the Akademiya, not flitting through the bazaar on an errand, not hanging around Hat Ears or in any of the places he frequents. It’s like a bad case of déjà vu, coming back from spending so much time beside someone only to be left alone; and just like last time, Sethos’ absence leaves Wanderer with an unsettling sense of missing something, like a sheep with no shepherd. He toys with the idea of visiting Sethos’ house to check on him before the realization of what he’s thinking dawns and he quickly shuts the idea down. There is no reason to get anxious, he’s probably staying on the safe side for once and getting some extra rest to make sure he’s actually fully recovered. Not letting his nerves get to him, Wanderer resolutely heads home, his own home, empty and quiet as it’s ever been, and gets as close to “sleep” as he can.

That should have fixed everything, reset the day and the two of them, should have restored everything to normalcy. It should have, and yet, despite getting through most of the day, there is still no sign of Sethos. Wanderer had avoided staying indoors too long to make sure he didn't miss him, picking a spot on the branches of the Divine Tree to have the best view of the city, but there wasn’t a hint of those ash-streaked curls or that honey-sweet voice. In fact, the glimpses of Sethos he did get from the spot he’d chosen were the thoughts that flooded his mind of their stargazing and how Sethos might enjoy this particular vantage point, which only seemed to highlight his absence. Just before evening, when Wanderer is done with his studies and Nahida has no errands for him, he makes his way to Sethos’ home. If he thought he could disappear without a word, he could think again.

Wanderer does well not to acknowledge the prying eyes of nosy neighbors as he unlocks the front door, darting in and closing it just as quickly. His best bet is to check the bedroom first, but as he heads for the stairs, he sees something out of the corner of his eye. Curls of brown and ash splay across the floor. His mouth goes dry as he slowly walks over, trying to convince himself it’s not what he thinks, it’ll be different this time, but there on the ground, curled up like a jumble of flower petals is Sethos, and he’s not moving. Wanderer’s stomach clenches and twists with fear and horror. No. Not again. Before he even realizes his body has moved, Wanderer’s head is pressed to Sethos’ chest, the rhythmic thump echoing in his ear. Faint but labored puffs of air ruffle his hair. He's alive and breathing. Wanderer cannot help the shaky breath of relief that escapes him but Sethos is hot, his skin burning up like he had just come from hours under the desert sun. Moving quickly, he throws him over his shoulder and brings him back upstairs. Bathroom. Where was the bathroom? He never needed one, but surely Sethos bathed somewhere, and where there was a bath, there was water. He lays him on the bed and searches the room, eventually finding it tucked in a corner. Sethos is picked from the bed and promptly laid in the tub, clothes and all, and Wanderer twists the knob to full throttle, watching the cold water submerge the unconscious man.

Only when Sethos has cooled to a reasonable temperature does Wanderer drain the tub and dry him off, stripping him of his clothes and trying not to look too closely at the scars. He brings him back to the bed and covers him with a thin blanket before heading downstairs. Who knows how long he's been unconscious, and he will need to eat something when he wakes up.

Standing at the door of the pantry, Wanderer stares at the ingredients blankly. He never feels the need to eat so he never thought learning to cook would be of any use, and he’s never regretted it more than now. The last time he’d regularly made his own meals, he was helping someone else prepare the food, and the cooking techniques of Inazuma hundreds of years ago aren’t exactly one-to-one with the style of Sumeru cooking today. Perhaps the one dish that remains evergreen throughout the centuries is soup, and he’s heard quite a few humans say it's the best for illnesses.

By some miracle, he finds a cookbook to parse out a recipe, but most of the measurements are in some arbitrary portioning— “a pinch”, “a scoop”, “to taste"— so he seasons as he imagines Sethos might, and in the end, he’s left with a concoction that looks about a strange as it smells. Whatever, he’s sure it’s still edible and Sethos isn't a particularly picky eater. He ladles out a bowl, fills a cup with water, and brings them to Sethos’ room. The moment his hands are free, he's shaking Sethos awake, patting his cheek and calling out to him. It takes a moment but Sethos’ eyes flutter open, unfocused and bleary as his senses come to him. Then his hand grips Wanderer’s wrist and forces him back as Sethos tries to shift away with a groan.

“No. Don’t touch me. I can’t— I can’t do it anymore, just let me die. Please.” His voice is hoarse and reedy, tears building in his eyes as he tries to fight Wanderer off in a delirious haze. “Grandfather. Grandfather, please, I can’t do it.”

A nightmare. Sethos is floating halfway between dream and reality, and Wanderer’s face twists with distress at the realization. What could happen to a man like Sethos to make him plead for death? He takes his face in both hands, smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks and swiping away the stray tears that begin to spill.

“Sethos, it’s me. It’s— it’s Hat Guy,” he says quietly, ignoring the boiling anger that Sethos’ own grandfather would do something to him that would scar and haunt him so deeply.

Sethos struggles for a second before the words register and he stills, eyes roaming over Wanderer’s face as he processes that the nightmare is over.

“Ya qamar,” he whispers with broken relief, his tears flowing freely now as he pulls Wanderer closer.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, smoothing down Sethos’ hair awkwardly. He hasn’t done something like this, comforting someone, in so long, but it seems like it still works as Sethos closes his eyes and relaxes into his touch. Blindly, he reaches toward the nightstand and picks up a bottle of medicine, coaxing Sethos into taking it with some water while he is still pliant. Sethos grimaces when the aftertaste hits him and he tries to squirm away from Wanderer’s hold, but a hand remains firmly on his shoulder.

“I have… food for you,” Wanderer mutters, grabbing the bowl and showing it to him.

Sethos looks at its contents for a moment then tries to sit up, needing Wanderer’s help to sit fully upright. He takes a spoonful and moves his jaw as if trying to sort through the tastes. “Is this medicine too?” He asks, turning a disappointed pout to Wanderer.

Wanderer narrows his eyes, barely staving off a sneer. “It’s soup.”

“Oh…” Sethos looks back at the bowl and takes another spoonful, moving his jaw around again before he speaks. “I see why you never offered to make dinner… I’ll remember to take my medicine and eat my meals from now on…”

Wanderer scowls but doesn't make any further remarks on Sethos’ thoughts on his cooking. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as he sluggishly spoons through the soup. “Why were you passed out downstairs? Didn’t I tell you to take your medicine?”

The spoon stills until Sethos clears his throat and takes another bite, biding his time as he tries to come up with a good excuse. “Uh… well… The effects of the venom and antivenom are pretty similar to something I’ve experienced before so I, uh, I didn’t think I’d need to take it.”

He looks up pathetically, head still bowed over the bowl and vibrant green eyes looking through his lashes, trying to garner pity. Wanderer clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. Of course he didn’t take it. Idiot.

“Clearly, that wasn’t my best idea,” Sethos continues, setting the bowl down in his lap. “I barely made it downstairs before my legs gave out and then I think I’ve been out since yesterday evening.”

That’s almost twenty-four hours. The effects must be taking a greater toll on him than either of them expected, and he should be starving. Wanderer stands, heading for the door. “Eat your soup. We’ll finish talking later.”

Sethos nods obediently, already scooping up another spoonful.

When Wanderer returns from cleaning up the aftermath of his cooking, the empty bowl sits on the dresser and Sethos is lying down, his eyes struggling against sleep.

“If you’re tired, sleep,” Wanderer orders, setting his hat on the desk. “I’m sticking around to make sure you don’t kick the bucket. It would be a bad look for me as the Akademiya liaison if you died.”

That gets an amused snort out of Sethos. He shakes his head and shifts under the blankets, moving around to keep himself awake. “We still have to talk, remember?”

He still wants to talk when he’s in the state he is. Wanderer sighs and comes to sit beside him on the bed. Fine, they’ll talk. “You should’ve taken your medicine. Trying to tough it out was stupid of you.”

“That’s not what I wanna talk about,” Sethos says, a suddenly serious tone pitching his voice low. Wanderer eyes him curiously but lets him elaborate. “You said you wouldn’t come to check up on me, but here you are. Every time I think you’re upset with me, you come back. Why?”

There’s a pause as Wanderer takes a breath. This talk is coming much sooner than he’d have liked, but he should’ve expected Sethos to cut to the chase by using his injury as an excuse. There’s no getting out of it now, Sethos has him caught and he’ll have to let him win this round.

“I don’t dislike you,” he mumbles, staring ahead and trying to ignore Sethos’ heavy gaze. “I find you interesting. Parts of you remind me of… someone I used to know, but the rest is new and… fun to watch. I don’t— I can’t help it. I lash out and push people away but with you… You’re lucky you’re interesting. You can hate me to your heart’s content. Once I figure you out, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Ya— Lotus.” His voice is so quiet, almost reverent. “Look at me?”

Against his better judgment, Wanderer turns his eyes from the trinket-filled shelf across the room to where Sethos lies. Awe and affection fill every inch of his face, as if Wanderer had hung the stars. A shiver runs through him despite the warmth that blossoms in his chest. This is what becoming a god should’ve felt like, yet this is the first time he’s felt anything like this, and he realizes in that moment, this isn’t something he wants to lose.

“I don’t hate you. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of people. I may not get it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to meet you halfway. When you need space, I can give you that. When you want a punching bag, we’ll spar. When everything is too much, I want to be able to give you whatever you need. I like what we have, being with you is fun.”

His words are earnest and full of conviction, and as desperately as Wanderer wants to believe them, there’s that clawing voice at the back of his head reminding him he can’t trust Sethos, not when he’s proven he’ll put on whatever mask he needs to wear to get what he wants. Wanderer can only swallow down the emotions building in his throat and nod.

“If you’re okay being friends with someone like me, it’s not like I can stop you.”

“Oh good, you’ve already learned I’m a stubborn one,” Sethos says with a laugh. His fingers curl into the loose fabric of Wanderer’s robes. Neither moves and quiet descends over the room, the faint bustle of the outside world filtering in from the balcony. The next time Wanderer braves a look back at Sethos, he is asleep, a puddle of drool already forming under his cheek.

Once the scarlet rays of the setting sun start pooling in through the balcony window, Wanderer pries himself from Sethos’ hold and goes downstairs, intent on redeeming himself. If they don’t have the ingredients for the one dish he’s confident in, he’ll go out and find them, and Sethos will beg forgiveness for assuming Wanderer’s ineptitude in the kitchen. To his surprise, Sethos keeps eel meat in stock but not tea leaves, and it’s late enough that his usual stall has closed for the day. He goes to his house to retrieve some of his own, along with some sea grass he keeps in stock in case he gets a craving for an Inazuman dish. Teleporting makes the trip quick and easy, much like the process of making his signature dish. He’s just finishing up the last touches before plating everything when shuffling footsteps come down the stairs.

“Why are you out of bed,” he demands, pouring the tea over the rice.

“I’ve been in bed forever and sleeping like two whole days and I can’t walk around my own house?”

“Not while you’re sick. Go lay down.”

He hears grumbling in retort but a soft poff from the living room.

“In your room,” he clarifies as he picks up the bowls. He walks into the living room to find Sethos wrapped in a thick blanket and lying face down on the couch. As he gets closer, Sethos turns his face and sniffs the air.

“Whatever you're making smells really good, way better than that soup from earlier.”

“Shimi chazuke. It’s tea leaf-seasoned rice.” Wanderer sets a bowl on his cheek, fighting back the desire to make a nasty comment back and relishing the wince Sethos makes at the heat, though his smile shows it's just dramatics.

“Sounds delicious,” he mumbles, his Inazuman made worse by being squished between the couch and bowl.

He wriggles around as the bowl is pulled away until he's turned enough to sit up, though not without a grimace of pain and a groan, and Wanderer waits for him to free his hands from the blanket before handing it over and sitting beside him. Just as he expected, Sethos is singing his praises between every bite, and looking like he doing a bit better already. As the evening passes into night, Wanderer surprisingly does most of the talking through their meal, explaining how things went with Nahida and the view from the Divine Tree and the bustling streets Sethos had missed until those wild curls are bouncing with every head nod to fight off sleep. He corrals Sethos back to bed and before he can debate with himself whether or not to stay, his decision is made for him, fingers curled into his clothes once more.

Sethos rises like the dead, groggy and silent as he takes his medicine and goes through his morning routine. He dresses himself and goes downstairs, perhaps on instinct, and Wanderer follows warily. Breakfast is nothing extravagant, rice and glabrous beans with a small cup of fruit, but the moment the last bite is taken, it's as if Sethos had never fallen ill to begin with. He's practically bouncing off the walls he's so full of energy, going around tidying every room and doing some light stretching when he runs out of things to clean.

“Whew! Being stuck inside is awful, I feel like I gotta run a marathon!”

Wanderer glares at him from his spot on the couch, pausing in his browsing of Flora and Fungi of Teyvat: Liyue. “Don't even think about it. If you overdo it and end up bedridden again, I'll actually let you die this time.”

Sethos stands upright from his bent-over arm stretch, rolling his shoulders and his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I learned my lesson, but that doesn't make staying in bed any fun.”

And Wanderer has learned his lesson about trusting Sethos with his own limits, so he sticks around a while longer, observing him to ensure he doesn't overexert himself. Of course, leaving Sethos’ home doesn’t mean he disappears entirely. Throughout the rest of the day, as if purposely staying within Wanderer’s radar, Sethos makes his appearances, leisurely completing tasks he usually finished at a brisk pace. At least he’s being obedient. Still, Wanderer tries not to be so obvious when he checks in on his recovery progress over the next few days, and as always, Sethos’ piercing eyes see right through him.

Chapter Text

It takes longer than Wanderer expects for Sethos to heal completely, but eventually any trace of the scorpion’s sting vanishes, and even the scar on his shoulder fades to a faint line. Things slip back into their usual routine; Wanderer runs errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali, and a green-eyed errand-boy runs his own not too far away; Sethos escorts scholars back to the Akademiya after helping them through the desert, and a Vahumana student in a wide-brimmed hat makes his way through the winding lanes with his eyes on him; two friends with their own important roles and secrets find themselves meeting outside their favorite café for conversation laced with subterfuge and wit over a rich cup of coffee. Their brushes become infrequent again, as they had been before Wanderer had begun his business with the Temple of Silence, though they never go more than a week without seeing each other, and Sethos is much more consistent about letting him know when he’ll be away for an extended amount of time. Their game continues, not nearly as urgent or subtle now that they know more about each other.

With the move to bring Temple of Silence members to Sumeru City, more meetings come and go; with the temple, with the Akademiya, and perhaps his favorite, with Sethos— which are less about discussing anything of importance than spending time unwinding together, wherever that may be. Since the first meeting with the temple elders, Wanderer has grown accustomed to most of the Temple of Silence members, especially after having finally taken that tour of the temple, much to Sethos’ delight. He’s introduced to everyone they cross and forced into pointless conversation after painfully mundane conversation, educated on every shelf and section, and by the end, feels as hollow as his head feels full, collapsing onto their bed with a groan as Sethos jokingly consoles him.

The mediation between the Temple of Silence and the Akademiya is slow going. The original plan to bring temple members to the city was put on hold while Sethos healed, then blocked by Abbasi and a few other elders he’d swayed, then postponed when Wanderer saw the state of their work area. It takes weeks of cleaning and planning, sorting through the documents left to collect dust, and bringing books and scrolls back to the temple when they’d suspect any trace of Forbidden Knowledge before a group of temple members is allowed to take a short tour through their soon-to-be work area.

Their trips through the desert, which should have gotten shorter as he’d grown more familiar with the route, become a bright spot as they grow longer, frequent stops made for their usual games to pry secrets from one another and breaks in Aaru Village where Candace now routinely waits with lunch if she has the time to spare. Wanderer grows quite fond of her once she spills the beans about the name Sethos had been calling him, the only word he’d deliberately kept Wanderer from learning.

“You want anything to drink, ya qamar?” Sethos asks offhandedly one day, getting up from the table to root through Candace’s pantry.

Candace’s brow scrunches in confusion as she pauses midway through helping Wanderer through a Deshreti language guide before she turns a sly smile on Sethos. “Oh, we’ve upgraded from ‘lotus’ to ‘my moon’, have we?”

“My what?” Wanderer shifts a scandalized look between the two, Candace looking all too pleased and Sethos looking absolutely mortified before laughing with a shrug, his face growing pink.

“Y’know, ‘moon’. Like the Nilotpala lotus? That’s what your hat looks like, so I thought it fit you,” Sethos says sheepishly, staring into him as if mentally willing him to believe his words.

Wanderer is still reeling from the revelation, but Candace just nods with a knowing look. “Of course. That’s why.”

“You call Dehya ‘kitten’, I don’t wanna hear anything from you,” Sethos retorts, pointing an accusing finger at the woman now outright grinning at his fluster.

“Dehya is my wife. I’ll call her whatever name she wants.”

Sethos’ mouth opens to say something back, then closes in a frown of defeat, and with no response to that, he quickly darts away to the kitchen to retrieve the first drink he can find. Wanderer blinks, turning to look at Candace who has returned to skimming over the guide.

“Is that really what that means?” He’s not sure if he means the literal translation or Sethos’ excuse, but Candace has a look in her eye that tells him she knows.

“Yes, though ‘my moon’ is usually a term of endearment here in the desert. I suppose it fits well enough. If you’re the moon, I can definitely see Sethos being the sun.”

He finds himself agreeing with her, his head nodding unconsciously. “How do you say ‘my sun’ then?”

“Ya shamsi,” she says softly, smile widening.

“Ya shamsi,” he repeats, quiet and thoughtful.

There’s a strangled noise at the doorway to the kitchen, and Wanderer’s head whips to see Sethos staring at him with wide eyes and a clenched jaw, hands barely hanging on to the clay jug that he’s brought back with him. “Please don’t say that again,” he whispers, finding his voice once he clears his throat. “In fact, forget I ever called you that in the first place. It means ‘meanie pants’, remember?”

Candace clicks her tongue, an admonishing frown on her face. “Shamsi, you would reject Qamar so heartlessly?”

Sethos says something to her that Wanderer can’t catch and the two go back and forth, Sethos slowly wilting as he moves to the table and sits to make his case to Candace. In the end, he sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Fine. Ya shamsi is fine,” he grumbles, then snaps his head to Wanderer. “But please don’t use it often. I prefer when you call me by my name.”

“Fine by me,” Wanderer says, pretending to read as Sethos relaxes with a sigh. “Ya shamsi.”

The immediate bristle and whining complaint from Sethos only serves to make Wanderer want to tease him more, but he eventually relents despite still holding some reservations as to the actual reason behind his nickname. Candace holds on to the joke the longest, insisting it’s their own “inside joke” and bringing it up every so often on their visits, which always sends Sethos into a fluster.

Though Wanderer isn’t exactly thrilled when Asenath and Duanre start joining their travels to and from the temple, they are not without their benefits. More people means a lighter load, their supplies and cargo evenly distributed among the four, even though Wanderer has no real reason to carry food, water, or medicine. It also means that they were less likely to be attacked by Eremites or the Fatui, and if anyone is foolish enough to try, the fight ends much quicker than if it had just been him and Sethos. Perhaps the best part of their joining is their eagerness to share embarrassing stories from Sethos’ childhood, no matter how much he tries to talk over them or convince them to talk about something else, his humiliation and Wanderer’s conniving grin only egging them on. Besides, he’s more than happy to take his revenge for their accompaniment by commissioning Sethos as his guide for desert “research expeditions”. His excuse to Nahida is that since he’s the liaison, he’s decided to make the falling out between the Akademiya and the Temple of Silence his next paper, but in order to do so, he’ll need a better understanding of the culture of the people of the desert. In actuality, it’s more of a vacation away from the noise of the city and the work in the temple, simply enjoying their time together and the scenic openness of the desert. He’s shown beautiful sights from the heights of the sandstone mesas, listens to the nearly endless echo in the long abandoned halls of labyrinthine ruins, and lets his feet get buried in shifting sand to feel each grain imbued with the sun’s warmth sweep past him, all of Sethos’ favorite places to visit and things to do when he has a chance to explore the desert not immediately surrounding his home. They take to camping around oases, something Wanderer greatly dislikes, but seeing Sethos all smiles and excitement about camping under the stars makes it bearable, especially when he tells stories at the campfire, the flames lighting his face with an ambient warmth and catching on the flecks of amber in his green eyes. If anything, their travels through the desert only give Wanderer a newfound appreciation for the rare spots of green amidst the golden dunes, like emeralds adorning a diadem.

It’s an unfortunate turn of events when their “research expeditions” have to be put on hiatus after Hat Ears finds out and starts tagging along. Once he begins making himself friendly with Wanderer, of course, Tail Guy decides to join in as well. It’s an awkward revelation when Wanderer finally recognizes him as the man who he’d struck with what was meant to be a lethal bolt of lightning. To make matters worse, their presence around Wanderer only leads to more of their friends somehow becoming acquainted with Wanderer, much to his chagrin.

As much as chaos had come into his life since meeting Sethos, it becomes almost monotonous with how often it appears in his day-to-day. If anyone asked, Wanderer would probably complain about it all, but he can’t help the sort of fondness he’s developed towards the changes Sethos has wrought on his life. Nearly never a dull moment, and the moments that are quickly end with the appearance of Sethos or one of his friends, though not today, as Wanderer heads to the Sanctuary of Surasthana to report to Nahida alone. His partner had left a few days prior to assist another student with finding some ancient ruins out in the desert, and he would be returning later today or tomorrow.

“The integration of the Temple of Silence in the Akademiya is proceeding smoothly,” Nahida says with a pleased smile, seated across the table from Wanderer and looking even smaller in a chair meant for someone at least three times her size. “Asenath has been an excellent addition to the department, she’s made a lot of friends in other departments. Like a pleasantly cool wind on a hot day, her presence makes it easier for others to accept this new change.”

Wanderer does not roll his eyes, but he does sigh quietly when he nods. “Sure, but making friends isn’t the point of her being here. Duanre has done most of the administrative work in her place. He balances her out, but she has a job to do here.”

“While that may be true, having too many headstrong people usually leads to conflict; it’s important that we avoid that. Having someone approachable only benefits this program,” Nahida fires back. She has a point, and so far, he hasn’t heard any complaints from Duanre about Asenath’s behavior so he doesn’t feel the need to pursue the issue any further.

“Fine. I’ll check with Sethos if anyone else fits that description and isn’t essential at the Temple,” he says, making a note of it on their meeting minutes for Sethos to reference. “And about switching out the members on a bi-monthly basis?”

Perking up as if she has been waiting for this particular line of dialogue, Nahida nods and scoots forward in her seat. “That’s something I’ve given some thought to. It might work better while the department is still fresh, but with someone like Asenath who has made connections here, it might be better to hold off until the temple has become more established, and perhaps only switching out one every other month will lead to better results.”

“Sounds good, but they’ve been talking about switching Duanre out with Djer. They prefer to keep their elders at the temple, and Djer is knowledgeable about the process of sealing Forbidden Knowledge, which is helpful for determining what materials need sealing,” Wanderer says.

“That’s fine,” Nahida says with a nod, relaxing back into her seat with that uncanny, knowing smile. “I’m sure you’ll be happy with that change, since it means less traveling for you.”

Wanderer raises an unamused look to her before sighing through his nose. Less traveling is fine, but it also means less time picking his favorite traveling companion’s brain and learning all the little secrets that only come out when they’re alone and comfortable. His eyes drop back to the page as he drags his pencil over the questions Sethos had supplied him with, skipping past any that had already been addressed. “Any complaints from the Sages so far?”

Nahida sighs and parts her hands in a relenting gesture. “Mostly about the changes in procedure, but I’ve gone over it many times with Sethos and the others, and it’s as streamlined as possible. I’ve been able to handle every other complaint myself.”

It figures. As with many older humans he’s encountered, the ones at the Akademiya are resistant to change, especially changes that remove even the tiniest bit of power from them. Before they had control over what happened with forbidden texts. Now, they would be subjected to the same rules as everyone else. He never expected them to be happy with the process, but they would have to suck it up and deal like every other member of the Akademiya.

“As for complaints on the temple’s behalf, Abbasi is still against the idea,” he grits out with a frustrated sigh. “Luckily, he’s the only one, at least the only one open about it.”

His feelings toward Abbasi have never been stellar to begin with, and they only continue to sour the more time they spend around each other. The older man clearly holds some kind of grudge against him and Sethos. He hasn’t been much of an issue, and Sethos handles him well whenever he tries to be a nuisance and step out of line, but he surely isn’t making anything easy for them. He’s still trying to get other temple members to his side and pretending to be agreeable when it suits him.

Wanderer looks through his notes before tapping his pencil against a point that had been underlined twice— thank you, Sethos— and circling back to the issue of switching out the temple members. “There’s a slight issue with Djer being brought in that conflicts with the assumed—” his eyes meet hers and she blinks, acting unaware— “lack of travel. The Forbidden Knowledge must be contained at the Temple of Silence, as per Sethos and the elders' instructions. We’ll still be going back and forth, primarily for disposal. And then the talk about payment.”

She giggles quietly, finding his attempted barb amusing as she breezes past it to discuss the second issue. “I’ve sorted that with Sethos and the others. Their pay will be sent to them at the beginning of every month, and they'll receive their remuneration and backpay with their next few payments. As for the supply runs Sethos had asked about, unfortunately, I can’t order the vendors to take their business beyond the Wall of Samiel, but if he’d like, I can make a portion of the temple’s remuneration the supplies he asked for.”

Wanderer notes it down with a nod. “I’ll ask and get back to you.”

“Is there anything else that needs clarifying?”

“No, that’s all the questions I was told to ask.”

“In that case, was there anything else you'd like to discuss, Wanderer?”

“With you? Not particularly,” he scoffs, rising from his seat to collect his things. “If that’s all, I’m going. I need to restock on tea before the stall closes.”

Inviting herself along, Nahida hops from her seat and waits for Wanderer to begin walking to the sanctuary’s entrance. That gentle smile she always wears is on her face, as unsettling as he’s always found it, but they say nothing until they reach the door. She sends him off with a farewell and a wave that he does not return. His mind is elsewhere. Sethos would be back later today or early tomorrow.

One year and seven months. That’s how long it’s been since their very first meeting, when Sethos had come up to him asking if he was “Hat Guy”. One year and two months since they had officially put the name “friends” to their relationship. The weeks slipped into months, and before he knew it, more than a year had flown by in the blink of an eye. With every passing day, that voice in the back of Wanderer’s head telling him he can’t trust Sethos grows a little quieter, a little less frequent, though it hasn’t gone away entirely. He knows Sethos still has his secrets— he does too— but this is part of their game, their dance, toeing the line and waiting for the other to cave first. It’s fun. It has probably been the best year Wanderer has had in a very, very long time.

As he walks through the bazaar, heading for his favorite tea stall, an arm slings over his shoulders, pulling him into a sturdy chest.

“Heya, Lotus. Ya miss me?”

At the beginning of their friendship, he might have pushed the arm off and sped off. Now, he rolls his eyes and shifts a sidelong look to Sethos. “You missed the meeting but have time to bother me?”

His hat tips a little to the side as Sethos ducks under the brim and knocks his head to Wanderer’s. “Gotta have my priorities straight, and I’d say you’re a pretty high priority.”

“You’d think a leader would have more consideration for his followers,” Wanderer mutters, slapping the minutes of his meeting with Nahida to that broad chest.

Though their little conversation that led to his first visit to Sethos’ house had fallen to the wayside, bits and pieces still linger in Wanderer’s mind. For one, he’s caught Sethos several times staring a little harder than usual when he’s doing something he thinks is perfectly mundane, and even after eventually getting past his fluster over getting caught, Sethos’ cheeks and ears would still grow rosy when he started giving Wanderer compliments outright. At first, he found it strange, though not totally out of place. Sethos found him attractive, as most people have in his many centuries, but at some point, he’d started preening under that heavy gaze. And then Wanderer started catching himself staring, usually when Sethos was doing something athletic or smiling, sometimes when he was focused on studying some text he’d pulled from the towering shelves, or peacefully asleep and not tangled around Wanderer. He never let himself get caught admiring Sethos’ form, playing it off well when their eyes would meet, but his embarrassment at stooping to a human’s level only grew with his appreciation of his toned figure.

“Looks good,” comes that smooth voice, snapping Wanderer from his thoughts. “Sounds like everything’s running as smoothly as it can right now. I’ll draw up a list of names for Nahida later and ask what everyone wants to do about the supplies on our next visit.”

As the tea stall comes into view, Wanderer pulls away from Sethos, righting his hat and fixing his hair. “Make sure you actually get it to her instead of sending me in your place.”

“Or you could deliver it with me,” Sethos suggests, tucking away the notes as they come to a stop in front of the baskets of dried tea leaves.

The vendor greets them with a fond smile, having grown used to seeing the two together instead of Wanderer on his own. He nods back absentmindedly, his attention devoted to scrutinizing the batch of the week. Sethos squats down and picks up a few leaves, sniffing them before picking some from the next basket until he finds something he likes or thinks Wanderer might. They go back and forth, eventually setting aside three teas to decide between and letting the vendor explain the finer points of each one.

“I suggest the harra fruit black tea. Rich, smoky, and bitter, just as you like it. And it goes well with more hearty dishes, like any fine wine would. This sakura blossom white tea has been imported from Inazuma and pairs well with lighter flavors. It’s not as strong as your usual picks, but it suits more elegant events. And lastly, but certainly not least, our lumidouce bell green tea comes from our neighbors up north in Fontaine, it’s the most aromatic of our available teas. I think it goes well with just about anything, but of course, it depends on the palette.”

“The black and green tea sound the most appealing. Take your pick, since you’ll be drinking it too,” Wanderer says to Sethos, eyeing the leaves and weighing his choices.

Sethos thinks for a moment, worrying his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “In that case, I’ll take them all. I wanna try more of the things you like, and I’ve been wanting to get a taste of Inazuma outside of shimi chazuke.”

He flashes a playful smirk at Wanderer, earning a frown in return but no protest. It’s not his fault that Sethos makes it nearly impossible to refuse when he smiles like that. The vendor, for his part, does well to hide his amusement at the exchange as he packs up the teas for them. Sethos is forced to pay since he’s the one who wanted all three, but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he swings the bag, the pair walking side by side to Wanderer’s house. A pot of the Sakura blossom tea is put on while Sethos makes dinner, trying his hand at fish which he rarely gets to work with, and Wanderer instructs him on the proper way to prepare it between pulling spices and seasoning from his cabinets. His typically empty pantry is fuller than it’s ever been since Sethos started making regular appearances at his house, but he can’t complain when he gets a delicious meal with every visit. Tonight is no different. Sethos follows instructions well, and the fish comes out perfectly, albeit with its own Sumeran twist. The tea is bitter on Wanderer’s lips, not in the way he likes, but Sethos is singing its praises between sips and bites and conversation so much that he can’t help but feel a bit prideful about it coming from his old homeland. Their conversation flows like honey, smooth and natural, from the happenings in the temple to the news of the Akademiya to random tidbits they pick up from people in the city streets until the sun is barely hanging onto the horizon, their plates are clean, and their cups, empty.

“Thanks for dinner, Lotus,” Sethos says, that boyish smile on his face as he pulls on his boots by the door.

Wanderer rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. “You’re the one who cooked.”

“And it would’ve come out terribly without your help,” he fires back, standing upright and hiking his hands onto his hips and tilting his head to the side. “Anything else you wanna add?”

Pushing off the wall, Wanderer takes his time sidling up to Sethos until their eye-to-eye. “Next time, just say ‘thanks for having me. ’”

His smile only grows as he does his best to hold back his chuckle. “My place next time?”

“We’ll see. Now go home, I have to clean.”

“See you around, ya qamar.”

“… Go home. Shamsi.”

That’s the gist of their routine: chance meetings turning into quality time spent together, whether that be at Sethos’ home, Wanderer’s place, or any of the places he gets dragged to so they can hang out with Sethos’ friends. Sometimes he even stops by the Akademiya to catch Wanderer in the midst of studying, plopping down to bother him or give random insights into the subject he’s devoting his paper to this time. Wanderer isn’t shy about abusing the temple head’s wealth of knowledge, probing him for his thoughts on certain subjects that most people hold conforming views about. Sometimes their debates would get so impassioned that other students would need to shush them, at which point, Wanderer would pack up his things to take the conversation elsewhere. He’s known Sethos long enough that the objective fact of his intelligence is never in question, but that doesn’t stop him from being impressed and a little surprised when he comes up with an idea even Wanderer has not entertained.

It’s a few days after the meeting that one such discussion crops up, and before they can get loud enough to be shushed, Sethos is luring Wanderer back to his home with the promise of fresh coffee and dinner. Their debate ends long before Wanderer has even half the mind to leave, so instead he makes Sethos help him through a section of his language guide, certain sounds trickier than he’d like to admit.

“Wanna go to Lambad’s tomorrow night?” Sethos suddenly pipes up as Wanderer returns from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee.

His eyes narrow with distrust over the cup lip. They never go to Lambad’s for just the two of them. “Is this about one of your friends?”

“Can’t get anything past you,” he sighs with a languid grin, stretching himself out over the length of the couch. Wanderer moves his legs and sits back in his spot, flipping the Guide to Deshret Script to the page he last remembers as Sethos’ legs come back to settle in his lap.

“Yeah, Tighnari and Cyno were gonna go on a date, and Kaveh overheard. He invited himself and Alhaitham, saying it would be a cute double date, but you know how awkward those two can make things, so Tighnari invited me and told me to bring you.”

A shiver runs up Wanderer’s spine at the thought of such an outing, a pained grimace to match making itself at home on his face. “Ugh, then definitely not. I don’t want to be a part of the most uncomfortable double date Sumeru has ever seen. If we wanted to have a nice night, we could do that here.”

He can feel that wide-eyed, piercing stare from the other side of the couch as Sethos’ head pops up. “Here? Really?”

“We’ve done it before, I don’t see why we can’t do it again,” Wanderer mutters before taking a sip and flipping the page, adamant on not looking at those puppy eyes lest he let himself be swayed into going.

His head falls back to the couch, and Wanderer is almost fool enough to think himself in the clear until that low, rumbling voice comes quietly. “In that case, wanna have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Another shiver shoots through Wanderer, but the sensation this time has his mind stalling. He was just spitting rhetoric, he didn’t expect Sethos to take him seriously. Still, his eyes slide from the foreign characters to those familiar, vibrant green eyes when Sethos lifts his head to look at him again. His throat feels dry for some reason, and he licks his lips before hoarsely mumbling, “Maybe ask me when we don’t have to go to the temple the day after.”

There’s a pause as Sethos blinks, letting the words settle in his mind. His blank stare turns into a huffed-out laugh, and he lays his head back as a chuckle overtakes him. “No fair, you set me up, Lotus.”

There Wanderer goes again, staring at the stretch of his neck and bob of his Adam’s apple as Sethos carries on with something about an excuse to Tail Guy. Like this, his jawline is even more prominent, and it strikes Wanderer rather suddenly that he isn't just handsome, he looks like he too had been handmade by the gods. His eyes snap back to the Deshret Script guide in embarrassment, but he can’t seem to focus on the words in front of him, much less the barely familiar characters. He isn’t sure of how much time has passed when he finally decides to end his torture and announce his departure, but Sethos is none the wiser to his embarrassment, not when he guides him to the front door with a hand on the small of his back and a charming smile as his send off.

It’s all Wanderer can think about the day he prepares for their trip, all that comes to mind every time his eyes so much as linger longer than a second on Sethos, and he’s nothing but grateful to his disdain for Abbasi and his tricks for providing a moment’s distraction during the meeting, otherwise he’d have made a fool out of himself with the amount of staring he would’ve done. There seem to be more elders willing to be openly on Abbasi’s side than last time, but after some smooth talking from their leader, the tables turn in their favor. For once, the “benevolent Archon of Wisdom” act makes some use for itself, as the conversation turns to what supplies should replace monetary payment. He doesn't rush them as they slowly piece through what they want, but the moment things wrap up, Sethos is corralling Wanderer to the temple entrance. People barely have a moment's notice to send him off properly as he gives half-hearted farewells and wraps Wanderer in a cloak.

As soon as they step into the desert’s golden evening light, Wanderer shoots Sethos a look of suspicion. “What's all this about?”

“I just really wanna hurry up and get back,” Sethos huffs out as he all but runs up the sand dune, Wanderer trailing after him in leisurely flight.

Wanderer doesn't question it, but he does force Sethos to rest when they reach Caravan Ribat well after nightfall. Despite his insistence that he can keep going, the dark circles starting to form under his eyes say otherwise, and Wanderer knows he’s been awake for close to twenty hours. It takes less arguing than Wanderer expects, but eventually Sethos is in a bed and fast asleep. He tosses and turns some through the night, but Wanderer isn't sure if it’s the nightmares or anticipation for tomorrow that keep him restless.

Neither the Eremites, nor the rain, nor any amount of rough terrain hinders Sethos’ breakneck pace back to Sumeru City, and he only slows to make sure Wanderer is still with him. He avoids fights more than he did when he was still healing, which would have been annoying if not for the fact that his excitement has started to spread to Wanderer, curiosity at what could possibly have him so eager to return spurring him into taking the bait for the race back to the city gates. The wager is that whoever wins gets to make a request of the loser, and Wanderer has a few things in mind that he wants to order Sethos to do, like making them dinner for a full month or teaching comprehensive lessons in Deshreti until Wanderer is fluent. They're neck and neck as they near the city gate, but just as Wanderer starts to pull ahead, summoning all the strength his Vision can muster, all the wind carrying him forward suddenly vanishes with his depleted energy, sending him tumbling to the ground. As if that was all the motivation he needed to pull out all the stops, Sethos surges forward, rushing through the marble gate only to collapse to the sun-dappled ground in a breathless laugh. Wanderer, who had tried his best to catch back up, slows to a walk the moment his opponent crosses the finish line and lets out a frustrated sigh between pants of effort. The guard on duty eyes them with a mix of confusion and amusement.

As the shadow of Wanderer’s hat falls across Sethos’ face, his eyes flutter open, so achingly tender, so familiar and sweet, as Wanderer squats down over him with a frown.

“Join me for dinner?” It takes him off guard. Wanderer’s first reaction is to scoff in disbelief before falling to his knees, laughing quietly at the ridiculous request, something he would've done wager or no.

“Really? Asking as soon as we get back?” Wanderer laughs out, holding onto his hat so it doesn't ruin the moment by knocking Sethos in his teeth when his head bows lower.

“As many times and as often as you’ll let me ask.” Archons, those pearly white teeth in that perfect smile, so sickeningly sweet, it makes something in Wanderer lurch— ache, even.

Maybe it’s the energy wearing off now that they aren't running, maybe the sun’s heat is finally getting to him with how warm his face feels, but his eyelids flutter low as his laugh slips into a sigh. “I have some free time in three days,” he says softly.

Sethos’ hands, calloused and warmed by the sun, come up to rest on Wanderer’s knees, slipping just under the loose hem of his shorts and swiping his thumbs over the slight grooves in his joints. His smile is radiant even in the shade, the shadow of Wanderer’s hat casting a halo of darkness on him. “I’ll see you then.”

Chapter Text

They promise to see each other in three days. In three days, Wanderer would pay his end of their wager and have dinner with his favorite travelling companion, his partner, Sethos. When he finds his way home, he doesn’t sleep, choosing instead to work on the outline of his next paper as he looks over the Sumeran jungle, honey gold in the evening sunlight. The winding rivers and lush canopies stretch out before him, rolling hills like the dunes of Lower Setekh, humid air a shadow of the desert’s evening warmth. He watches the gradual shift in hue as warm honey burns into scarlet red until deep blue pools over the world, mind swirling with thoughts of shifting rays of sunlight, flares of scorching heat, humming electricity, ebbing and flowing waves, piercing eyes… Sleep isn’t a necessity to him; he doesn’t get tired, and the lectures he has to attend tomorrow are child's play to keep up with. When he grows tired of reminiscing and writing, he takes to his desk, opening a well-worn book and mumbling words in a language he’s on the cusp of grasping, trying to perfect his pronunciation for their dinner.

The lectures drag the day out, the same dull talk about events the people present can only speculate on, and questions and analyses being posed that can only make sense through a lens of ignorance. It isn’t until well into the afternoon that he’s free to leave, and Wanderer quickly heads for Treasure Street, intending to wrap up some studies at the café and knowing that if he didn’t see Sethos along the way, he would find him there. He reaches the storefront without seeing hide or hair of Sethos, and an air of disappointment takes the man’s place. Wanderer almost resigns himself to finishing his studies regardless, until, amid the crowd, an oasis in a sea of sand, he sees a familiar smile and stunning green eyes. A smile pulls at his own mouth, something that would look more like a sneer to anyone outside of the two. Sethos is in the middle of taking on an errand for one of the older shopkeepers; boxes of supplies need delivering to someone across the city, and her usual deliveryman hasn’t shown up. He waits until the woman heads inside and Sethos is looking at the boxes, trying to figure out the best way to get them moved, before he comes over. Nothing is said about Wanderer easily taking his spot beside him, but the two launch into idle talk about the menu for their evening, Wanderer shouldering his book bag and Sethos picking up the delivery. He makes it look easy, even as his biceps and forearms flex to hold the boxes steady. Just as their conversation begins to wrap up, a gratingly flat voice calls out to them. Hat Ears appears from the swathes of people with a challenge to a duel of cards. This isn't the first time he's done this, but Sethos is more practiced in smoothly declining than Wanderer.

“Sorry, Cyno, me and Lotus are gonna go grocery shopping after I deliver these. Got a big night coming up, so I'm having him pick all the ingredients, that way he can't complain if anything tastes weird,” he says with feigned apology, which almost breaks into a smile when Wanderer scowls at him.

A look of surprise flashes across Hat Ears’ face before quickly washing away with an understanding nod.

“Alright. I hope everything goes well,” he says, a sort of encouraging tone in his voice.

He pats Sethos’ shoulder as he goes, and Wanderer’s brow scrunches in confusion. Before he can ask what that was about, Sethos pipes up, as if he could already sense the question coming.

“Y'know, I was gonna invite you to a restaurant Cyno recommended, but when I thought about it, I like cooking for you and I feel I’ve gotten to know you a little better, your likes and dislikes,” he says. “That, and I haven’t seen you enjoy anyone else’s cooking.”

“If I wanted to go out to eat, I would’ve just done that,” Wanderer grumbles. “Your cooking at least is different…”

He follows him to the end of the street, past the Adventurer’s Guild, not too far from where he means to be. “And don’t fuss over the ingredients. I’m not as picky as you think I am.”

He means for that to sound a little more biting than it does, but he makes up for it with a scowl when Sethos chuckles and nods placatingly. “Sure thing, ya qamari. I’ll see you around.”

The sun sets, the moon rises, and Wanderer writes his paper, filling the events covered by the lecture with his hypothesis for the reason for their occurrence. His pen scrawls until he hits a snag in his thought process, an inconsistency that needs ironing out. None of the books on his shelves will be of any use, and the brain he usually picks is out of service until the sun rises again, so he goes to the House of Daena. At this hour, it is near empty, only the students too absorbed in their studies to bother him remaining. Looking over the Akademiya’s extensive collection, not nearly as impressive as the temple’s, Wanderer pulls books with cultural and historical relevance to his paper. After a few trips between the shelves and a table far from any other soul in the archive, he eventually settles to read through the leather- and paper-bound texts, taking notes as he goes. People trickle in as he works. The flow of students waxes and wanes with the day, and it's only when he finishes the section he had been struggling with that he overhears someone whining about not finishing in time for dinner like they planned. Sure enough, the clock shows it's already evening. As satisfying as it is to focus on work, spending any more time here can only invite unwanted attention. With a heavy sigh, he stands and stretches the stiffness from his back before returning the books to their shelves.

By the time he’s wrapping up, it’s almost night, the sun nearing the horizon and casting the world in a warm, red glow. The better part of him knows it’s in his best interests to go home, there’s nothing else to do, and sticking around the Akademiya will only lead to someone trying to get in close with him, which he’s never been a fan of. Another part, more irrational and indulgent, wants to see if he can find Sethos— as if he hasn’t seen more than enough of him recently. He’s supposed to be busy, but seeing Sethos is like a soothing balm, instant relief from his troubles, and this paper has proven to be more trouble than he expected. So he wanders the streets of Sumeru city, trying to look busy and pick out groceries to stock his pantry with. He winds his way through the market area, searching the sparse crowd until he sees the one he came for. Sethos stands in front of a stall with his lips pursed in thought as he turns an item over in his hands. He doesn’t even have to call out to him to get his attention, Sethos’ ears perking up almost on instinct at the distinct ringing of bells on Wanderer’s hat. For a second, his eyes light up when they fall on Wanderer, only for his face to crumple into puzzled frustration the next second. Wanderer can feel his face do the same, indignation at Sethos’ reaction taking root as he comes closer, only growing when Sethos frowns and raises a finger to him.

“Aht-aht. Go away,” he says admonishingly, and it’s bewildering enough to have Wanderer stopping in his tracks, blinking in astonished offense.

Sethos puts the item down before walking over to Wanderer, turning him around, and trying to move him forward. His heels dig in, he’s not leaving without a proper explanation for Sethos not wanting to see him. That smooth voice is equal parts sweet cooing and frustrated chiding when he leans down to Wanderer’s ear and says, “I’m trying to get your surprise together, but it won’t be much of a surprise if you see it now.”

Knowing Sethos, this could be anything from food to some ridiculously egregious setup, like the fireflies that had kept them company the first time Wanderer had visited his home. He gives Sethos a suspicious squint, but Sethos returns it with a scolding frown, pushing him forward and refusing to be convinced to let him join.

“Fine,” Wanderer huffs, rolling his eyes before throwing a warning glare over his shoulder, “but if I hate it, I’m leaving.”

“I promise you won’t, Lotus,” Sethos says, his frown softening into a smile as the nickname leaves his lips.

Three days. Three long days have passed, and today Wanderer does not go to the Akademiya to study, or to Treasure Street to find a gift, or to the places Sethos normally visits to find him. When he rises in the morning, he first spends his time brushing up on his Deshreti, his personal goal of cracking the meaning of the compass inscription egging him on. He doesn’t set his study guide down until the syllables roll smoothly from his tongue and the sun no longer peeks through his window. There’s still time to waste, so he takes to cleaning his house in an attempt to wittle away the hours. His space is already mostly clean, just as he likes to keep it, so it doesn’t take long to finish. With everything neatly in its place, however, it’s easier to sort through his pantry. His tea collection began growing when Sethos showed a sudden interest in it months ago, and he kept some in stock for his visits, but there is one in particular he remembers Sethos asking for regularly, saying it reminded him of trishiraite. A black tea with a mix of spices and fruits that gave it a warm yet vibrant taste, and a new box of it at that, one he’d been saving for a later occasion, until they switched to drinking something different with every visit. Setting it aside, he pulls out the ingredients for biryani. It only makes sense that he contribute to their dinner, he was the one who’d lost after all, and he’d been practicing his cooking in an effort to show that he knew how to make more than just shimi chazuke.

It’s a time-consuming dish, even without the few hiccups he has along the way, but when it’s finally done and he’s had a taste test, he gives a satisfied nod and packs it into a container. The sun has long since reached its peak and is already starting its descent back towards the horizon, a reassuring signal that it’s almost time to head towards Sethos’ home. He may as well start getting ready now, having exhausted most other time-wasters. It’s only dinner, they’ve had dinner before and he’s never dressed up for it, so he doesn’t dress up now either, though the thought does gnaw at the back of his mind every time. The only real change he makes, now like every other time, is putting on his lotus brooch, carefully placing it above his Vision holder.

He is looking over its details in the mirror, adjusting it, when Nahida’s voice forces its way into his mind. It's an uncomfortable sensation every time, the sound filling his head but his ears ringing with silence, and this time is no exception, especially with the urgency that tinges her voice.

Wanderer, come to the Sanctuary of Surasthana now. It's urgent.

She rarely has reason to call on him in such a fashion, and he owes her a debt that does not allow him to be selfish when she commands his presence like this. He gets to the sanctuary as quickly as he can, finding the Archon waiting for him with a furrowed brow and an uneasy frown.

“This had better be important, I have plans for this evening,” he grumbles, trying not to let her unusual behavior put him off.

“Cancel your plans,” she says quickly, a deep seriousness in her gaze. “There have been reports of Eremites meeting with the Fatui in several locations across Sumeru, each with a device created to collect the energy of Withering Zones. I don't need to explain to you why that's bad.”

She doesn’t. Anything to do with the Fatui is already bad news on its own, but a plot of this scale, it’s possible their plan could spell disaster for Sumeru, or worse. It doesn’t help that he recalls a certain doctor being interested in the effects of the Withering Zone’s miasma.

“I’ve already sent Cyno and the Corps of Thirty to deal with the mechanisms and any Fatui they find, but there’s something I need you to do.”

He winces, knowing the chances of him being able to wriggle out of this are slim to none. “Are you sure it has to be me?”

Her resolute nod is exactly what he didn’t want to see. “You have knowledge of how the Fatui operate, and more specifically, where they operate from. I need you to find their main base and deal with the problem at its source so this doesn’t happen again.”

A hissing sigh escapes Wanderer as he pinches the bridge of his nose. This isn’t going to be a simple task. Setting aside the fact that he erased himself from Irminsul, and thusly his history as a Fatui Harbinger, he hadn’t exactly been involved in any projects set in Sumeru outside of the major plot to his deification. Plus, there had been so many foot soldiers stationed all around the nation that pinpointing which camp is currently leading this whole operation would be like finding a needle in a haystack, never mind if they had set up a new base specifically for this project. It’s basically guaranteed that this will take much longer than he hopes, and there’s no time to notify Sethos of the change in plans.

“I need more information to go off of if I’m going to do this quickly,” he grits out.

A map of Sumeru is brought in, and as Nahida marks down the eight locations of the devices, frustration settles heavy on Wanderer. He recognizes the layout.

“I thought we were heading directly to the Akademiya,” Scaramouche hisses out as the group of Fatui hikes through the rainforest.

“Patience, dear Balladeer,” Dottore coos over his shoulder with a wry smile, moving through the forest underbrush with the fluidity of a snake and making Scaramouche’s stomach churn. “I only want to check in on a pet project of mine. It won't take long.”

Scaramouche isn't shy about sending a venomous glare his way as the Doctor laughs sardonically at his ire. One of the meaningless pawns they’d brought as “protection”— more like an entourage— calls to them from the front, signalling their arrival at the base of operations for this so-called “pet project”.

It's a cave. Granted, they’re in the middle of the rainforest, and a proper encampment is unlikely with the level of stealth needed, but this is literally a cave with a few boxes and tents littered about to give the illusion of importance. The Fatui inside cower in fear and awe as the two Harbingers enter, raking their judging eyes over the space, the organization, them.

“Report,” Dottore orders, making the apparent leader jerk his head up from its bow.

“Lord Harbingers, we’ve found someone with equipment capable of collecting the energy of the Withering, and have made preparations for their distribution at eight locations throughout Sumeru’s forest,” he says, waving for someone to display a map of the areas where they plan to station these devices. Eight points sit along the edges of Sumeru’s forest, and Scaramouche has already made up his mind: regardless of if or when Dottore plans to stop by these research camps, he’s not coming along. “Once the devices are in place, it’s only a matter of time before we get results.”

A cold laugh leaves the Doctor as he looks over the map, a sound devoid of humor as his gaze remains on the weathered paper. “‘Only a matter of time’, hm? The last person who told me that couldn’t even provide one meaningful result.”

It's so unbearably pathetic the way the agent clams up, Scaramouche can only sneer with disgust. These are the people they’re entrusting such a project to? Spineless, whimpering halfwits who can't even be confident in their own work? How absolutely laughable and expected of humans.

“I trust you won't fail me,” Dottore says warmly, turning back to the group of kneeling Fatui with a sharp-toothed smile. A threat disguised as hopeful praise. “After all, once we learn how to harness the Withering in a more controlled form, researching its effects will be immensely valuable to my work with the Eleazar patients. And I cannot stress enough how upset I would be if we couldn’t obtain results.”

The entrance is more overgrown than he last remembers it, making the base seem abandoned and uninteresting to potential passersby who managed to see through its cover. Its rusty metal gate breaks easily under a few wind blades, and the tunnel leading to the main cave is as dark and dank as ever. Wanderer’s face falls into a grimace as he marches further inside, not bothering to hide his footfalls as low-rung Fatui begin to emerge, summoned by the noise. One after the other, they fall like dominoes, felled by his scythes of air and their own use of Elemental energy. It isn’t long before he comes into that cave of a base, as pathetic as he remembers it, to find the agent he’d seen before. He still cowers before Wanderer, only now, he masks his fear with contempt and arrogance.

“Why is someone always getting in the way of my research?” The Fatuus sighs dramatically, twirling his dagger around like an idiot. He probably thinks himself threatening. With a theatrical gesture, raising his hand out to Wanderer as if he were offering him the world, he says, “Is it mora you’re after? How about I pay you some and you get lost?”

He only has one mission: to ensure that their plan fails here. He isn’t interested in pointless back and forth, he has elsewhere to be. It’s no surprise the agent is slippery, it’s what he was trained to do to prevent information leaks, but none of his tricks are enough to save him from the vortex Wanderer summons, trapping him in its center and tearing at him with Pyro-infused gales. When the wind dies down, Wanderer stalks towards the collapsed agent and yanks him up by his collar. Lucky for him, their shoddy organization leaves much of their supplies out in the open, and he makes use of the rope left on a crate to tie the agent up. Given that he’s the leader and Wanderer isn’t entirely sure every foot soldier who rushed him would be waking up again, he doesn’t bother rounding up the rest. Searching the camp for all the documents detailing their plan and keeping record of their progress is a simple task, setting them ablaze even easier. He only leaves the cave once he sees every page lit by the flames, taking the Fatuus with him so he doesn’t choke to death on the smoke before being questioned. The moment he sets foot outside the cave, he calls to Nahida, knowing she’d be keeping watch through the forest.

“Get Rukh Shah and the Mahamatra here. I need to head back.” He has half the mind to leave right then— he’s already running late— until her voice echoes through his head.

I’ve notified them of your location. Please wait there until they arrive so we don’t lose track of any Fatui on the scene.

With a click of his tongue, he throws the unconscious agent to the ground and settles against the hillside, impatience eating at him as he watches the sun sink towards the horizon.

The moment he hears footsteps approaching, he’s on alert, perking up and searching the trees for the source. Hat Ears is the first to come into view, moving with purpose and his face set in a determined frown. It’s almost laughable how relief washes over Wanderer at the sight of someone who understands his urgency, even more so the way he meets Hat Ears halfway to hand over his responsibilities with a quick explanation of the events inside the base camp. He doesn’t acknowledge the concerned stares he gets from the Corps, only heeding Hat Ears’ dutiful nod before he rushes back to Sumeru City. He’s running late— very late.

He still has to grab his gifts from his house before he can go to Sethos’ home. The biryani has gone cold waiting on him so he leaves it, taking only the tea before departing.

The lights are off when he arrives and a chill runs through him at the thought that this might have something to do with that surprise. He knocks and waits. A minute passes with no answer. He knocks again— maybe Sethos hadn’t heard. After a few more moments of silence, he tries the door only to find it locked. Brandishing the key Sethos had given him “for emergencies”, he goes inside. Dinner has definitely been made, the aroma lingers in the house, but when he reaches the dining room, the table is clear. There is no sign of a planned evening, or Sethos. He's not in the kitchen or living room, or any of the rooms upstairs. Wanderer is just short of turning the whole house upside-down and inside-out before his panicked searching gives in to the realization that comes like an echoing bell toll.

Sethos isn’t here.

He’s back at the sanctuary before he even realizes the rising frustration that sends him there in the first place. Nahida only has to make eye contact before his question comes spewing out of him with an urgency that feels foreign and uncomfortable. “Have you seen Sethos?”

She doesn't react, like she had expected this and was simply waiting for Wanderer. “Yes, he came looking for you some time after you left. I told him you were running an errand for me, and he left looking upset.”

He's upset. The anger Wanderer feels is secondary to the ache that comes with knowing Sethos is upset somewhere and it's his fault. He has to find him, he has to fix this. They were supposed to have dinner.

He knows it's an abuse of her power, but he doesn’t stop to think or regret. “Can you look for him?”

She knows this is important to him, he hasn't been this upset or panicked since he lost the gnosis, and her face falls in resignation before settling into focus as she searches the forest for him. The stretch of silence is strained with tension until she raises her head, a solemn expression etched across her face. “He’s near the Statue of the Seven in Vissudha field, overlooking the nearby ruins. He still looks upset, I don’t recommend you going—”

The ruins. That’s more than enough. He bolts through the doors without another word, intent on making things right.

The night wind is chilling, especially up on the land bridge, but it settles as a cool breeze against Wanderer’s skin as he steps from the statue. Spiralling husks of what used to be trees rising from the ruins of Old Vanarana loom in the distance, and just beyond them, the smallest glimpse of the desert. From here, Deshret’s Mausoleum might have been visible, if not for the mountain blocking it from view. Standing near the edge of the bridge, staring out across it all in contemplative silence, is Sethos. A huff of relief leaves Wanderer as he walks over; he doesn’t look hurt, that’s good. The soft crunch of grass beneath his steps almost echoes in the space between them as he comes closer.

Sethos doesn’t turn around, he already knows who’s approaching him, the soft bell chimes ringing through the night. “Go back to the city, I’ll return when I’m done here.”

Something about the coldness in his voice pricks at Wanderer’s skin, a thorn that promises to burrow deep if any further pressure is applied. He swallows down his frustration, his anxiety, pushing past them so he doesn’t push Sethos away instead. “Why are you all the way out here? Do you know how worried I was when I couldn’t find you?”

There’s a sharp suck of breath as Sethos suddenly stands bolt upright, then a dry huff of incredulous laughter before he turns to him, a wild look in his hauntingly green eyes. “Do you know how long I waited? You said you would show, and you didn’t. I didn’t hear a single word from you, couldn’t find anyone who would tell me where you were, and I was just supposed to sit there, hoping you’d show??”

His voice rises as he gestures angrily, and he stays firmly in place.

Wanderer scoffs, a strained smile his flimsy attempt at keeping himself in check. “That’s rich coming from you. With the number of times you disappeared without a word before you finally started telling me when you were leaving, you should be glad this hasn’t happened sooner. Consider it payback.”

Sethos’ mouth opens only to snap closed as he holds himself back from saying something, balling up his fists and stretching out his fingers in time with a deep breath instead. His eyes are squeezed shut, his head tilted to the sky as if it might impart some of its endless patience to him. Maybe it’s the moonlight, maybe the chaos of the day is making his mind play tricks on him, but when he finally looks at Wanderer, his eyes have never looked so conflicted. He only manages a small glance at them before Sethos turns away, his back seeming to carry a weight only he knows.

“… Go back to the city, Hat Guy. I'll come back when I’m ready.”

The thorn digs deeper, the emotions he had barely managed to push down begin to bubble.

“It was an emergency,” Wanderer urges, frustration fraying the edges of his words, turning them sharp. “Kusanali needed me to handle— something.”

How pathetic, he couldn’t even be honest, couldn’t let his ugly past slip the one time it might actually benefit him.

“Then you should probably go back and finish wrapping up if you haven’t already.” There’s that same cold tone, as hollow and detached as when he’d recounted his lost pride in the valley’s shade, back when they had been so close, yet so distant. Now, the tides have turned, but the view is still the same, an uncrossable divide between them. He doesn’t even bother turning his head to throw the words over his shoulder, choosing to look out on the ruins and verdant forest turned silver under the moonbeams.

Why won’t he look at him? Why is he being so obstinate? Why won’t he devote his gaze to the right ‘moon’? He wants to reach out, to close the gap between them and force Sethos to set his gaze upon him, grace him with the attention he had preened under and looked forward to these three long days. Instead, Wanderer’s jaw clenches as he struggles to find the right response, but he’s powerless to stop the bitter, hurtful words he’s so used to spitting. “You don’t have to act like a pissy little brat just because I wasn’t there exactly on the dot for something so unimportant—”

“Fuck you,” Sethos all but spits, jerking his head toward Wanderer but still not looking at him. “It is important. To me.”

“It’s dinner,” Wanderer says, disbelief steeping his words, his voice rising as the thorn buries itself deeper. “We always have dinner. What makes this any different?”

“You don’t get to be upset that I’m angry with you for once,” Sethos snaps, whirling on him, unable to keep down this wave of anger.

Perhaps Wanderer should feel a little more remorseful when he turns to face him fully, but all he can manage is relief that, finally, Sethos has given him what he wanted, the attention he desired, no matter how sullied by bitterness it may be.

“Every time you’re upset, I let you have your space and wait for you to come back, even when I really wanna spend time with you, and the one fucking time I finally decide what I want— the one time I decide to let myself be selfish— when I want to be around you, beside you, with you—” The anger punctuating the words cuts deep, sending a squeeze in Wanderer’s chest, an unsettling twist in his gut— “you disappear and brush me off. Of course, that fucking hurts. Of course, that’s gonna piss me off, I thought you for—”

Sethos cuts himself off, all the impassioned anger that filled his face falls to impassive apathy as he steps back, removing himself from this exchange of grievances. His eyes fall to the swaying blades of grass with a sullen shake of his head.

“Never mind,” he says, voice just above a whisper, husky and raw. The divide that seemed to be closing widens to an even greater distance. “Go back to the city. I’ll be back later.”

Wanderer’s face contorts in a mix of confusion and despair, all those rising emotions in his chest caving in on themselves and the thorn. Forgot? He thought he’d forgotten? When it was all Wanderer had been looking forward to these past three days? The idea that something so mundane, so normal to Wanderer could ever be something he’d simply forget to do is baffling. Sethos is his first real friend in centuries, as if he’d ever fuck this up so badly.

“I wanted to be there,” Wanderer calls across the divide, voice pained and reedy; a plea. “I didn’t have time to let you know, it was—”

“—An emergency. I know.”

The broken rasp of his voice rings through the air and reverberates through Wanderer, chilling him deeper than the night wind.

He isn’t used to groveling, to apologizing. The words feel awkward as they stumble from his tongue, but beneath his clumsy words is the desperate need to set things right. “Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow. I’ll free up my schedule, we can have dinner, lunch, whatever you want.”

An exasperated sigh, tired and worn, leaves Sethos before he raises his gaze to him, a hollow poignancy dulling its usual sharpness. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He’s never been good with other people or emotions, but right now, in this moment beneath the gentle moon, he hopes that his conviction is as clear as day.

“… I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

There’s nothing else to be said. Sethos is firm in his stance: He’s not coming back until he’s good and ready. Wanderer can only head back to the city feeling frustrated and bitter, and with nowhere else to put his feelings, he goes back to the sanctuary to settle his grievances with Kusanali.

The sanctuary doors close behind him as quickly as they open, and he doesn’t even bother reaching the center where the Archon stands before his tirade bursts forth. “Why did you tell him it was only an errand? You should have told him it was an emergency, a mission, the truth, anything that didn’t sound like I just forgot our plans.”

“I understand you’re upset, but this was a matter far beyond you or me, and far greater than a dinner. It could have cost us the whole of Teyvat if left to fester,” she answers calmly as he storms up to her.

She may sound caring and wise, but all he sees in her face is pity. The stakes are nowhere near as high, the importance vastly different from before, but standing before Lesser Lord Kusanali, suddenly he's back at the Grand Narukami Shrine, small and helpless in the face of indifference disguised as benevolence.

“I don’t care,” he snarls, “anything would’ve been better than what you said—”

“Did you even tell him the truth?” Her calmness falls to a frown, probably upset he’s setting the blame where it belongs: on her. “I know you’ve done your best to leave your past where it lies, and I assumed Sethos never learned the truth because of that, but you wanted me to be the one to tell him?”

Her words cut deep, only to show he’s as hollow as they come. She’s not wrong, and he hates it. Nevertheless, if not her, then the only one left to shoulder these awful feelings is Wanderer himself. He bares his teeth, scrambling to find the words to shift the blame back to her.

“Even so, you were the one who said I should make friends, knowing my situation; you were the one who encouraged this relationship between us; you were the one who sent me out on this mission, knowing I was supposed to meet with him. And now, he thinks I forgot, that I messed up.”

As the words come forth, they settle as truth to Wanderer. Yes, it is Buer’s fault. A thin, hysterical laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Some god of wisdom you are, you couldn’t even see this coming when all the pieces had been laid out for you.”

“Wanderer—”

He does not let her finish, he’s done hearing her out. The only thing on his mind is awaiting Sethos’ return, and he’ll do that anywhere but here. He doesn’t wait to hear whatever she tries to say when she calls out as he wrenches the door open once more.

When Sethos comes back, it’s as if his outburst never happened, as if he’d never spilled his guts out to Wanderer about how upset, how angry he was. He goes back to being bright, and charismatic, and friendly, all smiles and jokes, and it sets Wanderer on edge.

Chapter Text

“You wanted to see me?” Sethos asks from the doorway, twirling his copy of the key to Wanderer’s house around his finger, as easy-going as he’s ever been.

After Sethos had returned, Wanderer couldn’t bear to face him right away. Every glimpse of him, even from a distance, brought turmoil and guilt to the surface, but he couldn’t avoid him forever. It took some time to sort through his thoughts and decide his next move, but he eventually employed Hat Ears as his envoy, telling him to send Sethos his way when he saw him. The truth would have to come out sooner or later, and Sethos deserved to hear it, no matter how much Wanderer wanted to avoid it. He didn’t expect him to show up at his doorstep so quickly, and in such a good mood after the way things were left, but Sethos was always good at putting on a sweet mask to get whatever he wanted out of people.

“We need to talk,” Wanderer says flatly, not looking up from the doll he sews together, a craft he’d picked up to busy himself when he was feeling restless.

He does not wince or frown at the heavy sigh that comes, they both know what this is about. He only stops sewing when he feels Sethos’ presence settle beside him on the couch.

“Sorry for running off,” Sethos mumbles, resting his head against Wanderer’s shoulder. “And yelling at you. I try not to let anyone see me like that, it’s… a bad habit from growing up at the temple.”

He sets the unfinished doll aside, needle still dangling from the thread winding in and out of its side, and his eyes settle ahead on nothing in particular. Well, this feels familiar. A sense of déjà vu comes with the memory of a talk, vulnerable and tense, between one sickly Sethos and a bitter Wanderer. They’d grown closer after, and there’s something small and illogical in him that hopes this time will be no different. “I’m not upset about that, you had every right. I didn’t give you any warning, and I was five hours late.”

“You weren’t totally wrong, though,” Sethos sighs. “It was probably like any other time to you, but I was really looking forward to it and I thought…”

“I didn’t forget.”

“I know.”

Awkward silence falls over them, the words too close to their last meeting. Though he tried to give himself some time, Wanderer still struggles to put his thoughts together into the right words, ones that aren’t as cutting as he’s so prone to. Sethos beats him to the punch, voice coming out low and hesitant.

“I’m not used to settling grievances face to face,” he starts slowly, painting the backdrop of their conflict. “It’s a bad look when the temple leader’s grandson goes picking fights, so I just got used to getting over it as quickly as possible. I’m grateful, actually, that you showed up and explained things. I was thinking myself in a downward spiral until you said it was an emergency, but by then, I was already so worked up, I couldn’t get myself to calm down as quickly as I would’ve liked.”

“As if I’m not guilty of the same,” Wanderer grumbles, and warmth blooms in his chest at the huff of laughter this draws from Sethos.

“You know, it’s kinda scary what you do to me,” he says, soft and wistful. “Nobody’s ever been the one to make me upset and cheer me up all in the same night, and here you are, cheering me up again. I’ve never had anything like this… It’s interesting.”

Wanderer can’t blame him; Sethos has a similar effect on him, and it’s terrifying. It’s been a long time since Wanderer cast aside the strings that moved him, but just a little pull from Sethos, and he’s dancing in his palm. It’s even scarier that Wanderer doesn’t mind it much.

“I ended up staying a couple more hours because I felt bad for getting you upset too,” Sethos continues. “You were trying so hard to make things right, and I felt like trying to hold onto something so good, so sweet was… more than I deserved in that moment. Plus, I know you like your space when you’re upset so I didn’t wanna aggravate you any more than I already did.”

“Do you think I would’ve offered if I didn’t want to have dinner with you?” Wanderer shoots back, not holding back the frustration that tinges his voice. He almost regrets it until Sethos’ laughter rings through the air, back to their usual routine.

“Fair point, but after an errand that held you up so much, I still think holding off was a good idea,” he says, playfully bumping his elbow against Wanderer’s.

Right. The errand, the real reason Wanderer wanted to talk. “That errand… the truth is—”

“You don’t have to say,” Sethos cuts in quickly. His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants nervously. “Everyone’s entitled to their secrets, Gods know I have my own.”

Frustration churns deep within Wanderer. Sethos has another thing coming if he thinks he’ll get the space to wiggle away from this, not when he wants him to know the truth. “The Fatui were planning to harvest the energy of the Withering Zones. Kusanali asked for my help because I—” he takes a breath to steel his nerves— “used to be a Fatui Harbinger. Before I erased myself from Irminsul.”

A beat of silence turns into a stretch, and each second sends Wanderer’s mind scrambling frantically. Did he mess up? Was he wrong to trust Sethos with this? How does he even begin to explain, to spill his guts, paint the whole sordid picture of his rise and fall from divinity? How does he make things right when he’s upturned the whole world with one sentence? What could he even say— Sethos’ curls pull from his shoulder. Brilliant green meets gentle blue as Sethos stares in shock.

“That’s why I could never find anything about you?”

He sounds more affronted than outraged, like the main issue he has is that his search for information was in vain, rather than the more obvious problem of Wanderer having a history as a major part of the Fatui. He’s not sure what he was expecting when he decided to tell the truth, but this surely was not it.

“… It’s why I owe Kusanali. I would’ve been wandering without even the memory of myself if she hadn’t restored them to me.”

Sethos takes a moment to let the information settle in with stunned blinks before shaking his head, trying to sort through this bombshell. “Wait, wait, wait. Is that why she was your benefactor in your Akademiya recommendation? Because she knows your situation and no one else could vouch for you?”

“You’re getting off-topic,” Wanderer grumbles sheepishly, averting his eyes at the prying questions. “I only wanted you to know the truth, you deserved that at least.”

Sethos’ gaze drops to the floor, and he works his jaw as his eyes dart around the blank expanse, like he’s stringing together every bit of information that didn’t make sense before. After a moment of sorting through his thoughts, he suddenly lifts his head, turning an earnest gaze to Wanderer, determined to right the balance of their game. “Alright, then you deserve the truth, too. Whatever it is you wanna know, I’ll tell you.”

“Everyone’s entitled to their secrets, you don’t need to tell me,” Wanderer all but sighs, throwing Sethos’ words back at him. This isn’t about their game, there are more important things at stake. However, Sethos isn’t having it, returning his sentiment with an unamused frown and turning to face him fully.

“My nightmares,” he says quickly. “You've asked about them before, and I don't really like dwelling on them, but they’re because of the Ba Fragment trials.”

Wanderer can feel the apprehension slip onto his face, try as he might to keep his expression neutral. In his mind, the fragment was to Sethos as the gnosis was to him, a sore subject and the source of lost pride. He never broached the topic, Sethos never talked about his nightmares, and that was how things were. He never thought to connect the two.

“My memory of it all is kinda hazy to be honest— it happened when I was really young— but I remember we lost a lot of people, and when Grandfather told me I was one of the next candidates, I was scared. I remember how overwhelming the power of the fragment was, but I toughed it out, for his sake. And how pain unlike anything I’ve ever known coursed through my body for days after the implantation before I had to start training. It’s… not something I think on fondly, but it did give me a purpose, at least for a while.”

It’s like something clicks into place in Wanderer’s head— the way he talked about losing the fragment, his harsh words to Abbasi, his delirious panic when he was sick. Sethos’ trust in his grandfather had led him down a path filled with suffering, and the people of the temple had stood by—encouraged it— while he endured for their sake. Phantom heat licks at his palms, scorches his arms, threatens to choke him. Ah, that’s what this is. Rage.

“… Do you want me to fucking kill those people for you?” He asks plainly, body taut and ready, at Sethos’ command. All it would take is one word.

Sethos sputters at his words. “Wh- No! That’s my family! Besides, Cyno went through the same thing. I don’t see you getting this upset on his behalf.”

“That’s because he’s not you,” Wanderer answers, still wound tight.

His attempt at deflecting is obvious, the way Sethos turns his head to the side with a shy smile, sheepishly rubbing his neck, sending a visceral feeling through Wanderer. “Aw, Lotus, you’re making me blush.”

“Sethos,” he says lowly, a warning.

“Alright, alright,” Sethos concedes, raising his palms in defeat with a sly grin. “We’ve made up, got our secrets out on the table, and speaking of tables, when should I set ours? You really wanted to ask me about when we could reschedule dinner, right?”

He’s changing the subject, but it shifts the focus back to something long overdue, so Wanderer doesn’t call him out on it. Besides, when Sethos smiles like this, it’s hard not to take the bait and follow his lead. “Tonight, if you’re available.”

He grimaces. “Tonight's gonna be tough, I gotta remake some dishes and set up the dining room… is tomorrow okay?”

“Tomorrow's fine,” Wanderer says with a nod. Any day would be fine, he’d prepare a meal for them right this very moment if Sethos asked, but he’ll take what he can get.

A relieved smile washes over Sethos’ face and he nods.

“Cool, cool, cool,” he says, voice trailing off as Wanderer can practically see the gears turning in his head, mapping out the best way to prepare his home for him.

Like this, in the quiet and calm of Wanderer’s home, the divide is nothing more than a small crack now, easily stepped over or patched, at least to Wanderer. He’s not human, he has no way of knowing how a human is meant to feel in this moment, but a part of him hopes Sethos feels the same. He hopes this moment isn’t just another part of the mask he’s chosen to wear.

“I still have that surprise, if you were wondering,” Sethos says, breaking through his thoughts.

He frowns, picking the forgotten doll up and fussing with the loosened stitches. “I wasn’t.”

He wasn’t, but he can’t help but feel glad about it regardless.

Their conversation slips into its usual rhythm, comfortable and smooth as Sethos laughs off his bristly comments. He feels no need to steer it any other direction, at least not until Sethos gets up, asking about what tea he should put on. A quick reminder that he has another kitchen he should be working in is enough to get him to relent with an easy smile. Sethos doesn’t have to ask Wanderer to walk him to the door, and the half-sewn doll is put down once more as they take their conversation to the entrance.

“See ya tomorrow, moon,” Sethos says quietly, a fondness lacing his voice that does not help the twist in Wanderer’s gut at the nickname now in his native tongue. How awful that it could sound so good in Inazuman as well, and even more awful that he feels he could easily get used to it.

“See you tomorrow, sun,” he says, his Deshreti making the small smile on Sethos’ face split into a wide grin, bright enough to put the sunlight haloing him to shame.

He works on his writing as much as possible for the rest of the day and through the night, flipping between the pages of his notes and his paper so that he wouldn’t need to revise anything later, and rather belatedly realizing he should’ve kept Sethos around a while longer to pick his brain. He exceeds his goal for the next two days, getting ahead on his progress so that he can take his time tomorrow.

Long past morning’s arrival, once the twittering of birds had been overwhelmed by the chatter of people, Wanderer finishes the section of his paper with a stifled groan as he stretches himself out, joints stiff from sitting still all day and night. He gets himself ready to head to the market, going through the morning routine he’d picked up from too much time at Sethos’ side, and makes a list of the things he would need. He’d run through most of his ingredients for biryani, the last batch having gone to waste, so meat, spices, and padisarah. Maybe he’ll pick up a bottle of wine to pair with it, though Sethos more than likely already has that covered. With nothing else coming to mind, he leaves the house with a bag slung over his shoulder. The midday sun warms the streets, the people converse amongst themselves, and as Wanderer picks out the items on his list, all he can think about is what the night holds.

The biryani doesn’t take as long without any hiccups this time, and it comes out better than the last batch, he notes with a proud nod. Just as before, he packs it into a container, taking out the box of tea and settling both into a bag before he goes to retrieve his lotus brooch. The box that holds it sits on a shelf, surrounded by little gifts he’d received from Sethos over the course of their year together, each its own testament to the growth of their relationship. The wooden lid is smooth and cool under his fingertips as he lifts it, but as soon as it leaves the box, horror spills out. Somehow, between the fighting and running around, it had slipped his notice that one of the lotus petals had fallen out, leaving a dull, empty outline in its place. Another petal bears a scuff that won’t come out no matter how much he wipes and rubs, and he scowls at the stubborn mark. With a sigh, he places the brooch back in its box. He’d rather not wear it than show up with a damaged piece, no matter how much sentimental value it held. No matter, he had other clothes in his wardrobe that could offset the missing brooch, and maybe Sethos won't notice its absence in the face of Wanderer wearing something even remotely formal to their dinner for once.

Sifting through his clothes and picking something suitable takes more time than he anticipates, given how limited his wardrobe is. Nothing looks quite right, but he eventually settles on an Inazuman-style set after looking himself over in the mirror until he’s satisfied. The colorful ombre of the hakama and the lotus pattern of the haori bring enough attention away from where the brooch usually sits that he’s confident Sethos will be too distracted to see it’s missing. Now, all that’s left is going to Sethos’ home. It’s still a bit early for him to head over just yet, but he knows Sethos, knows how eager he was to have this dinner, so being a little early can’t hurt. At least he could make up for the other day, even if just a little.

With the hazy warmth of afternoon lighting the city, he makes his way to Sethos.

The streets bustle with afternoon foot traffic, something Wanderer has never been fond of, but the view from above turns every spot of color into a moving brush of paint, each one coming together to form the city he now calls home. Even the flocking birds and blossoming flowers that dot the stony lanes have their place in this ever-shifting painting. The golden glow that heralds evening is beginning to tinge the sky when he lands at Sethos’ front door, and as he passes a curtained window, for the first time, he feels as though he should check himself over once more. He’d flown over before and gotten teased for his disheveled appearance without care, but today is different. Today, he leans in towards the glass and fusses with some stray hairs that need a little discipline to sit right. He checks his clothes, no wrinkles or rumples, and the biryani and tea sit peacefully undisturbed in their bag. Good. Satisfied, he knocks at the door, ignoring the quiet whisper of anxiety that events might repeat themselves until they’re silenced completely by the muffled call that comes a moment later.

“Coming!”

It used to be that Sethos would nearly fall over himself to answer the door, always yanking it open with a panicked fluster that faded the moment Wanderer stepped inside. At some point, he’d become much smoother about his greetings, warm smiles and graceful gestures welcoming him in instead. Now is a little different. The smile and gesture are still there, but Wanderer stands stockstill outside the door, taking Sethos in.

“You’re a little early, I wasn’t expecting you for at least another thirty minutes, but it’s all good. I was so excited that I just finished setting everything up,” he says with a light chuckle, as if everything were fine and normal, and yet here he was dressed up. A sleeveless tunic with an open chest and low-cut undershirt cinches at the waist by a colorful sash and does well to flatter his form, showing off all the best parts. Even his usually wild curls are braided on the sides and gathered into a high ponytail that skims his broad shoulders, adorned with gold cuffs and rings. And, oh, the jewelry. One piece in particular, a golden choker with a tassel similar to the one he normally wears, draws all of Wanderer’s attention to his neck and collar bones. He has to focus on not letting his eyes roam lower as his throat goes dry and a sense of being wildly underdressed begins to weigh on him.

“You gonna keep standing out here until it gets dark, or are you gonna come inside and have dinner with me?” He’s joking, but Wanderer is grateful for the interruption, the words snapping him from his trance as he finally steps past the threshold, warmth and the smell of dinner immediately enveloping him.

“It smells good,” Wanderer manages to get out, hoarse as his voice might be.

Sethos beams at him proudly, helping him out of his coat and placing his hat on a hanger. “I was just about to say the same thing! Whatever you brought, I can’t wait to try some.”

“It’s biryani, since you seem to think I only know one dish,” he grumbles, opening the bag and reaching past his gift to hand over the dish to Sethos, who only meets him with an unconvinced look and a raised eyebrow. He clicks his tongue right back and moves to step past the man until the dish is shoved back into his hands. He barely has time to make a face before Sethos halts him with a splayed-open palm thrown out.

“Wait right there! I forgot to set something up,” he all but yells as he darts upstairs.

Obediently, Wanderer waits by the entrance. If he tilts his head to see further inside and catch a small glimpse of the decorations no doubt awaiting him, Sethos would never know, his heavy footfalls down the stairs snapping Wanderer back to attention.

“You ready for your surprise? I have a gift for you,” he says playfully, peeking his head around the staircase wall with a sneaky smile.

“Careful, you’ve put a lot of pressure on yourself with this surprise. If it doesn’t meet my expectations, I’ll leave before you can even try the biryani.”

Sethos comes down the stairs with a jewelry box in hand, laughing at Wanderer’s jab and fixing him with a teasing smirk. “You had expectations?”

Wordlessly, Wanderer holds the dish out to Sethos, waiting for him to take it and hand over his gift, which he snatches up with a scowl. The top is removed with little ceremony, but once his eyes land on what’s inside, everything comes to a standstill. Sitting on smooth velvet are two gold bangles, one with a sapphire encircled by a moon, the other, a ruby in a sun, and each inscribed with Deshret script. The weight is light, though the material seems durable, and the inscription seems to glow as it shifts under the light.

Just as the moon eclipses the sun, it reads. Nothing else. He’s about to set the sun bangle down when Sethos takes it and slips it over his hand, touch lingering on his wrist. His eyes roam over it fondly, and heat crawls up Wanderer’s neck. He should pull his hand away…

“It looks even better than I imagined,” he hums, soft and fond. “I guess it was a good thing you forgot the brooch today, otherwise this gift would probably feel a little redundant, huh?”

Ah, caught despite his efforts to distract.

“I didn’t forget it. It’s broken,” Wanderer grumbles, snatching his hand back and looking over the bangle’s details.

“What? How?”

“Probably during that errand. A petal fell out, and another one got scuffed. It’s fine, though. I like this better.” The ruby is as red as the setting sun, as the sands of Lower Setekh, like fresh blood. Much more alluring than the cool blue of the lotus petals. “What does the other one say?”

Taking the moon bangle and slipping it on himself, Sethos lifts his hand to read it aloud. “I hope you always find your way back to me. The words from the compass you gave me,” he says, voice wistful, almost sweet.

Is that what it said? At the time, he didn’t understand the script and hadn’t bothered memorizing it for later, but looking back, it explains Sethos’ teasing and the first time he’d called him qamar. Who knew that something meant to be a housewarming gift between friends would come with such an embarrassingly romantic inscription? The growing heat on the back of Wanderer’s neck flares to his ears, and he takes the dish from Sethos with a huff.

“We’ve been standing in the doorway long enough, I thought we were here for dinner.”

Like flipping a switch, Sethos is back to his bright, charismatic self, guiding Wanderer to the dining room as if he didn’t already know where to go. The aroma wafting through the house grows stronger as they get closer until they step into the room. The table is filled to the brim with dishes and table pieces, flowers and candles separating plates. It's a surprisingly elaborate spread compared to the meals Sethos has made before, with a mix of dishes Wanderer likes, and some he’s never tried before, sitting beside a bottle of nice vintage wine. It looks delicious, and he looks around for somewhere to place his own dish, despite knowing it can barely compete against Sethos’ own cooking.

“I got it,” the man mumbles, rearranging the table until there’s enough space. He doesn’t let Wanderer set the dish down, picking it from his hands and placing it gently among the rest of the spread before pulling out his chair for him. Wanderer takes his seat quietly, eyeing Sethos as he finishes tidying the space until he’s taking his own seat.

“Why are you being so… nice tonight? Wasn’t I the one who messed up?”

Sethos huffs a laugh, as if Wanderer were joking.

“Because I want to, and because I messed up too,” he says as he starts to fill his plate, eyes meeting Wanderer’s in invitation for him to follow suit and piercing straight through him. “But we’re not here to point fingers, we’re here to have dinner.”

Wanderer glowers at having his own words used against him, but silently follows Sethos’ command, taking small portions from a few dishes until his plate is full. Something he had learned in their year of friendship is that Sethos’ dishes are the antithesis of eternity, each a once-in-a-lifetime combination of spices, herbs, and ingredients that change with his mood and experiences. Perhaps that’s why Wanderer enjoys them so much, each one packed with something he can only describe as “Sethos”. The only constant is that greens make very rare appearances, and even when he does manage to use them, he picks them from his plate to drop them onto Wanderer’s, as he does now. Sethos, for his part, plays the role of host well, instructing Wanderer on the best way to enjoy the dishes, and filling and refilling their cups when they grow dry.

He almost expects something to be different tonight, something to have shifted since their fight and talk, but everything is as usual. Conversation is smooth, partly due to Sethos gently guiding it away from anything to do with the other night and Wanderer having the good grace not to broach the topic. He doesn’t mind, in any case; tonight is meant to be a favor to Sethos, his reward for their race, and he’s messed up enough as is. So they talk, trails of conversation rambling through their day-to-day, Wanderer’s near complete grasp on Deshreti, things they— Sethos, mostly— are looking forward to, the topic of Wanderer’s current paper and his gripes with the professor’s take on it, and all over the delicious food Sethos prepared. He ignores the way half the biryani disappears over the course of their conversation, so long as Sethos makes no mention of how much of the Aaru mixed rice has gone missing. Wanderer is willing to look past the way Sethos’ voice goes low and his eyes linger when he takes long drinks from his cup, if Sethos is willing to pretend he doesn’t notice his eyes dropping to that golden choker and maybe a little lower every so often. It must be the wine, the deep red swallowing up all sense between the two of them like the horizon engulfing the moon. Like the moon eclipsing the sun.

“Do you wanna switch to coffee?” Sethos suddenly pipes up as he stands from his seat, as if reading his mind. By the way his eyes seem to look through Wanderer, he may very well have.

“I actually brought you a gift,” Wanderer says, remembering the tea still settled in his bag.

“Aw, you didn’t have to, Lotus— not that I’m saying no, you can grab it now while I clear off some of these dishes.”

It’s definitely the wine, otherwise, there would be no teasing smile pulling at Wanderer’s mouth at how quickly Sethos corrects himself, no red flush over the poor man’s cheeks. Still, he goes to retrieve the tea and Sethos clears the table in time to meet him in the kitchen.

“Oh, I remember this one. I can’t believe they’re still selling it, I would’ve thought it went out of season by now,” he hums, examining the box and popping the lid to take a deep smell of its aroma.

“I had some in stock, just in case,” Wanderer says, setting a kettle on the stove and rooting through Sethos’ confusing cabinet layout for cups.

Their conversation carries through the water boiling and the tea steeping, slow drips of honey-sweet normalcy until Sethos lifts his mug with an inviting smile. “Shall we take this to the balcony?”

“Should I be expecting another surprise?” Wanderer asks over his cup, raising a suspicious brow.

Sethos laughs, deep-bellied and playful, heading towards the stairs with a cock of his head. “You’ll have to join me to find out.”

And join him, he does.

It’s not the overly elaborate firefly setup he expects, but it’s certainly not plain either. He’s not sure if the wind should take credit or if Sethos had taken the time to litter flower petals over the balcony, but it’s a small sea of vibrant colors, even under the darkened sky. The table between the two chairs holds a bowl of water, and skimming the top are two Nilotpala lotus candles. Wanderer sends a sidelong look in Sethos’ direction, silently asking what all this was about.

“Hey! Hey. Don’t judge. I had to ask around quite a few people since I’d run out of ideas on how to decorate this thing,” Sethos says, setting his mug on the table with a shiver. “This one sounded like the best, unless you would’ve preferred a canopy covered in lights and some music.”

Wanderer grimaces, taking his seat. How conspicuous. “No, this is fine.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sethos fires back. “Be right back, did you want a blanket?”

Wanderer shakes his head and Sethos disappears inside. The cool breeze is not enough to ward off the warmth that permeates Wanderer, both the tea in his mug and the view doing well to ease the lingering troubles in his mind. Tree-capped mountains stretching high into the starry canvas above, moonlight dancing on the river tides below, and here on this balcony, surrounded by all the colors of Sumeru. He’s glad he had not messed up with Sethos, had not ruined their friendship to the point he could not experience a peace he has not known in such a long time.

When Sethos returns, he’s bundled up in a thick blanket. Wanderer does not lament the loss of his exposed shoulders, instead sipping quietly at his tea. Sethos takes his seat, folding up a leg and taking up his mug as he leans back with a sigh.

“I know I was avoiding it, but you still seem like something’s on your mind. Thinking about our argument?”

“Yes.” He’s not ashamed to admit he’s still worried about it, not to Sethos. “That was the first time I’ve ever seen you upset.”

“Well, I did say I try not to let people see me like that. It’s easier to let go than to worry about what-ifs and maybes,” he sighs, watching the dancing lights of gathering fireflies.

“You yelled at me,” Wanderer mumbles, almost petulant. “I… you’re my first friend in well over four hundred years, and human hearts are fickle. I didn’t want that to be how it ended.”

Sethos pauses mid-sip, tilting his head to the side in thought before turning in his seat to fully face Wanderer. “After all the times you’ve gotten upset with me? As if. Besides, friendships are made of stronger stuff than that, fickleness or no, and I’d say what we have is a lot stronger than any old friendship.”

It’s true. Wanderer’s heart had been hardened over centuries of strife and subterfuge, it does not open easily to just anyone, and yet, with Sethos, an odd sense of… safety had started to form somewhere along the line. Something like trust.

There’s a beat of silence as Wanderer’s face scrunches in confused frustration. He does not think about the tides or the fire. He does not wonder why he would trust Sethos. “Even after all these years, I still don’t get humans and their emotions,” he muses aloud.

A laugh rings out in the night, Sethos’ head thrown back and shoulders shaking. “You make it sound like you’ve never experienced emotions before.”

“I haven’t,” he grumbles, trying to hide in his cup by taking a long drink. “At least, not like you.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Sethos cock his head to the side, can practically feel the unconvinced expression settled on his face as he leans in towards Wanderer, settling his chin on the heel of his palm.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never experienced any human emotions? Not happiness? Anger? Confusion, relief, betrayal… love?” Sethos’ eyes linger on him. Wanderer turns away, scowl softening into something aching with nostalgia and regret.

“I have... maybe even too much.”

He can feel the weight of Sethos’ gaze settled on him, leaving a heated blanket of something like embarrassment over Wanderer. Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable, this was all too much and far too vulnerable, what was he doing, he’s not supposed to trust Sethos—

“Lucky them.”

His mind goes blank. He turns to face Sethos and why, why are his eyes so fond, so sweet?

His throat feels tight as he gets the word out. “What?”

He takes a breath, as if to steel himself, but does not waver. “I said ‘lucky them’. To be loved by you… I’m a little jealous.”

I have something of a soft spot for young love, and I’d like to help you with yours. That’s what the old woman had said, but he never thought for a moment that her words held any weight. And where were the signs? Before, Sethos had celebrated their friendship, but nothing he did ever— no. The looks, the touching, the names. Something in Wanderer aches and he doesn’t like the way the world spins, not letting him ground himself. It’s too much, all at once, and he can’t seem to get control of a single second. He stands abruptly. The sound of his mug hitting the balcony vaguely registers. His head swims, not knowing what to do or say, but knowing he has to go— now.

“I have to go. Thank you, for dinner,” Wanderer says stiffly, tacking on the last portion out of formality. “I’ll… see you later.”

Why did he say that? He moves for the door as Sethos stands, saying something to get him to wait, something that sounds like the beginning of an apology, before Wanderer runs down the steps to retrieve his hat. He can hear the sound of Sethos’ voice following, but he’s bolting for the door before he can be convinced to stay, disappearing with the wind the moment his foot hits the front doorstep.

Anyone would be lucky to be loved by him?? What a joke, all that happens to the people Wanderer holds dear is a painful end. A feeling flutters in the hollow of his chest, either anxiety or something far more sinister. Something he hasn’t felt since Tatarasuna, since Niwa. Wanderer hates this feeling, and yet he can’t seem to get it to settle. Why did it have to be Sethos?

Chapter Text

The smell of ozone floats on the sea breeze, carried to where Wanderer stands on the shore, feet buried under a layer of sand by the waves. The sky rumbles with the sound of approaching thunder, rolling clouds streaking with flashes of lightning. A storm is coming, and quickly. He turns to tell… someone. He was sure someone was here with him, but when he looks around, there is no one else on the beach. He tries to move, but the water holds his legs in place, the waves lapping higher with every ebb and flow. Trying to pull his feet from the water proves fruitless and his movements are stopped by a pair of hands wrapping around his torso. Be calm, Lotus, I have a gift for you, says a familiar voice, lilting and smooth. He turns to the sound, so close to his ear, with an eager smile that vanishes at the sight of an eyeless mask, framed by blue curls and a wicked grin.

No.

Not him.

The hands open him up, pulling and twisting his insides and placing something within. He looks down, and it is something withered and charred, and his stomach tightens painfully at the realization of what it is. Panic and searing heat fill him, fueling his renewed efforts to escape the rising water, but as he thrashes and fights, more hands come to hold him still. His screams and cries fall on deaf ears as the hands pull at his insides— to see inside you, know you a little better, the voice says—but he does not relent, struggling against them as much as he can. The water is rising, the lightning strikes, the heat is burning him from within, and he feels the heart pulse, sickening and feeble. He’s going to throw up. The tears flowing from him meet with the seawater as it swallows him whole.

Wanderer wakes to a darkness that swallows the empty room, his chest heaving with panting breaths and hot tears streaking his cheeks. His first real dream and it was a fucking nightmare. Marvelous. He wipes his face frustratedly and focuses on his breathing until he can get himself to calm. In through the nose, filling the belly then the chest, out through the mouth, relaxing as the air leaves him. Slowly in through the nose, pressing cold fingertips to his closed eyes to blot out the swirling memories of his nightmare, slowly out through the mouth as he counts down the things he can feel, hear, and taste. He cycles through the exercise until he’s back to baseline, with even breaths and mind as calm as he can get it, then sits up and rakes a hand through his hair.

What a mess. Things were never supposed to turn out like this. He was supposed to get a leg up on this mysterious boy from the desert, enough to beat him at his own game and satisfy Wanderer’s own curiosity, and then things would be done and he wouldn’t have to worry about him ever again. He sighs heavily, standing from the bed to make his way to the kitchen.

The cold floor is soothing, giving him something else to ground himself to amid the chaos his mind tries to make. It’s a fine mess indeed, probably the worst bout of trouble he’s made for himself, save perhaps his attempt at deification. He fills a glass with water and drinks it down, then fills it again and pours it over his head. His mind runs with thoughts of a brightly smiling boy, all too happy to plunge himself into a river, of a teasing grin as water is wiped from his eyes. Scrubbing a hand down his face does little to wipe the thoughts away as he sets the glass aside. That sickening twist is starting up again, and he can’t place the feeling. Apprehension? Suspicion? Nothing quite sticks right. He dries his hair with the nearby hand towel and goes back to the room.

Back to bed is out of the question, so he settles at the desk, flicking on an artificial light and pulling paper from the drawer. He ignores the shelf full of gifts and the ruby bangle that mocks him from behind. No words come to mind, but those awful diagrams and that even worse crumpled doodle make themselves at home at the edges of Wanderer’s mind as he tries to think of a subject to write on without wondering how much someone might have to say on the topic. He feels sick. His stomach is twisting in knots; he has no heart, and yet his chest feels tight; his mind is hazy, unable to focus on one thing for long, at least nothing of his choosing. He can’t get sick, but the fact that he feels this way at all points to something far more concerning. He puts the paper away. Could Sethos have poisoned him? No, considering he’s immune to poison, but he did have ample opportunities to try. Perhaps it’s a bad reaction to a Ley Line disturbance, one he passed without knowing— except, Kusanali is nothing if not precise about keeping the Ley Lines near her city in order.

Still, he refuses to idle in this darkened silence without something to distract his mind, not with so many hours between now and his first class of the day. He finds his sewing kit and fabric and sets to work crafting a doll, holding no one in particular in mind as he chooses from his selection based purely on what satisfies the storm rolling around his head. By the time he ties off the thread to the emerald green eyes, a hissing sigh leaves him. Even his subconscious wants to taunt him with the source of his troubles.

He finishes the body before the start of his first class, with enough time to go through his morning routine and reach the lecture room with a few minutes to spare. The professor drones on, the students ask their questions, and when it’s over, he moves on to the next class mindlessly.

The next few classes almost seem to blur together. He only realizes he’s been going through the motions when he hears a voice, charismatic and lilting, through the noise of the crowd and his whole body stills. Radiant and charming, smile beaming like the desert sun, Sethos stands amid the masses that flow through the bazaar, chatting animatedly to an Akademiya student who looks all too engrossed in what he has to say. Wanderer’s body moves before his mind can return to function, bolting from the scene before Sethos can turn to see him.

There is something deeply wrong with Wanderer. There has to be, otherwise there would be no ache in his chest, no heat in his face. Even the visceral jealousy and desperate need to possess clawing him from the inside are all wrong, but no matter how quickly he moves through the crowd, he cannot escape them.

He doesn’t know where he goes, but he knows it is far enough away from Sethos that only the echoes of him still linger with Wanderer, far enough from the places they would frequent that there is no chance of seeing him again. His feet stop at the edge of a drop-off behind the Exchange, a pool of water just a few feet below, the noise of people doing business melting into the ambient sound of the rainforest. His chest is still heaving when he sits with his legs dangling from the edge, reflecting in the water's surface, so he straightens himself and takes deep breaths until that sickening feeling washes away.

From here, the swirling walls of the Cinnabar Cliffs stand straight ahead, reaching towards the heavens despite the calamity resting deep beneath them. A pang of pathetic jealousy strikes him as he watches the clouds pass above the mountainous cliffs; a catastrophic event had changed the very landscape, warped even the Ley Lines in and around it, and yet, its majesty still gave it a chance to be something good, a chance he isn't sure he has, not with how bitter he’s become, not good enough for Sethos’ affection. His eyes roam over the rainforest until they settle on fluorescent blue, the glowing fungus trees of Mawtiyima peaking through the green. It’s a surprisingly comforting combination, the colors complementing each other well. For the briefest moment, he can see why blue would be Sethos’ favorite color, that is, until he realizes where his thoughts are leading him and he tears his eyes away, desperate to avoid anything to do with him. It seems fate has other plans, however, as his gaze settles on the city’s southern gate, where they’d set out on their first mission together, closer than he expects.

It had been well over a year since then, but he can still recall the trip clearly: his aggravation towards finding out the “liaison” was the chatty errand-boy; how awful he was, and how kind Sethos had been; how, every time he thought he was being left, Sethos came right back. He remembers thinking it all part of some act, amicability for the sake of getting close enough to hurt Wanderer, and he had kept his guard up, barbed and ready, but the hurt never came. He, on the other hand, had spent that trip and many more after lashing out and pushing him away. There had already been so many times Sethos could've left him alone, so many chances for Sethos to have abandoned him, how could he be sure that next time would not be the last straw? Still, when he thinks of that sweet smile and those discerning eyes, of that low voice speaking of the desert’s ancient history and hands gesturing wildly during a true tall tale, he feels that twisting feeling in his gut. Anxiety? Fear? Neither seems to fit right, and there is one name tugging at the edges of his mind that he cannot put to the feeling, refuses to.

He only returns to the city when night has long since fallen over the busy streets, quieting them and giving his mind room to twist itself in knots.

Focusing enough to finish his tasks is a monumental feat in and of itself, and Wanderer can only be grateful that Kusanali has apparently taken notice of his shift in demeanor and lightened his load, delegating his errands to others while he struggles through a section of his paper. He begins avoiding the Akademiya when Asenath hunts him down, saying Sethos had been looking for him there. Even the quiet peace of their spot on the Divine Tree is dispelled when he takes his coursework up to the branch only to find Sethos gazing out at the scenery below, the mere sight of him making Wanderer’s stomach swoop low and sending him to the edges of the city where he would not be found in any short amount of time. It only takes a short amount of time for Wanderer to give up hope on making any real progress anyway, and when he reaches his home, he puts his fitful hands to work sewing clothes for the doll.

He finishes it deep into the night, the moon hanging heavy above the forest’s canopy, and he is torn between tearing it apart and holding it close. It resembles Sethos all too closely, and his conflicted mind cannot decide how he should feel. They had been friends this whole time, nothing in particular standing out to Wanderer as a clear indicator of Sethos’ feelings towards him until that night, when it all had been put into perspective. He does not like that he can’t ignore it, hates even more that he doesn’t mind the thought of Sethos’ liking him in such a way. If they could just pretend none of this ever happened, they could go back to the way things were, simple and fun, their game never ending.

He hates that he does not know how he feels. Not knowing means he doesn’t know how to proceed, and he’s stuck once more in a standstill, frozen in a moment of time he’d rather not relive.

The doll ends up on the shelf beside the bangle, and Wanderer’s eyes linger on the trinkets for a long moment until he lets out a deep sigh between gritted teeth. He needs help.

Of the two people he can confide in, Nahida is last by a wide margin, but the Traveler is having the time of their life dealing with Arlecchino, or so he last heard. That leaves him with no other option, apart from bottling it up and dealing with it himself, and that’s going just swell right now. Fine. He’ll seek counsel from the Archon of Wisdom and maybe, just maybe, she’ll actually give him advice and not some riddle to dissect until enlightenment settles upon him.

The guards outside the sanctuary see Wanderer often enough that his coming and going itself is not a surprise, but their eyes linger on his disheveled state at this late hour. He has neither the time nor the energy to respond as he’d like, with a malicious glare and a few choice words, and breezes past them like a ghost. The sanctuary is quiet inside, and the ambient lighting keeps it dark enough to be easy on the eyes without straining to see. Nahida sits at the center meditating. Like Wanderer, she has no real need for sleep, and instead, visits the dreams of her people to check on how things are going. He settles at the edge of her space, leaning against a column and waiting for her to come back to the waking world. In the meantime, he breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, and ignores that twisting feeling in his gut.

Her eyes flutter open as Wanderer’s begin to slide shut, his meditative state egged on by boredom and a need to escape the drowning unease. He lets himself sit in darkness for a few seconds before sitting upright and stretching his back, only opening his eyes when he finally relaxes. Nahida is watching him carefully, and his eyes immediately drop to the floor at the memory of their last talk. Coming to her was a bad idea, but it’s too late to back out now, she already knows something is wrong by him being here.

“I’m sick,” he says quietly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he feels.

She sighs softly, nodding as if she saw this coming. “While I’ll admit you being here without me calling for you is strange behavior, you and I both know you can’t get sick. Is it about Sethos?”

Wanderer clicks his tongue. If she’s dropping all pretense, then he’ll be forthright about his issue. He could abide by her rules.

“Yes. The other night, we had dinner. It was fine… it was nice. I didn’t expect him to put in so much effort after our argument, but… he said he was jealous of the people I’ve loved. He made it seem like he had feelings for me, but before then, he was happy just being friends with me. Since then, I’ve had this feeling, something sick and churning. It makes my stomach knot up and my chest tight. I can’t focus and he keeps seeping into my thoughts. How do I get rid of it?”

Though she had been listening intently, her serious expression breaks as a quiet laugh shakes her at his question. “I don’t think this is something you just get rid of. It sounds to me that you’re experiencing conflicting emotions about Sethos; part of it is directed at him, and the other directed at how you feel. Let me ask you this: before you learned how Sethos felt, how did you feel about him?”

She waits patiently as Wanderer sorts through the muck and mire of his emotional turmoil. Before, he was irritating, if mildly interesting. He was new and unknowable, charismatic and curious, and then Wanderer started to learn about him, how similar they were, just as Nahida thought. He was bright as the sun and shrouded in mystery that only got more tantalizing as the veil was lifted, he had an infectious smile that even Wanderer could not resist at times, his words captured attention with little effort, he was impossibly clever with how he wormed his way to the truth, and he was perfectly divine. Something in the hollow of Wanderer’s chest lurches at the realization that he would find no issue with staying by Sethos’ side if only to hear him speak of stars and smile radiantly and look at him so tenderly with those eyes that saw into the deepest parts of him. He swallows thickly at the revelation.

“I didn’t hate him.”

“That’s how you didn’t feel about him, but as long as you have your answer. Now, what about your feelings for him makes you feel sick?”

That’s an easy one. The answer presents itself in the form of swirling images of a charred heart, ragged dolls, flashing thunderclouds, and rising tides. He had loved humans once, wanted to be one, and then he was betrayed time and time again, lied to and left behind by everyone he’d let close. The apparent inevitability of the tragedy that so closely followed him was not something he could shake, no matter how many times his name or appearance changed. Even now, even if he could set aside this unease, even if Sethos could completely convince him of his total honesty and devotion, eventually he too would leave, pulled away by the falling sands of time. And Wanderer would be as he always had been, beyond the influence of time’s passage, on the outside looking in. It’s like watching history repeat itself, helpless to change its course despite knowing the tragedy waiting for them at the end.

“Everything. It’s—” he lets out a hissing sigh, gritting through the next few words reluctantly— “too close to what I’ve been through before. I know, in the end, even if things play out differently, it will come to the same close it always does.”

Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to the Archon. Her gaze falls just short of him, lost in thought as she frowns and cups her chin in one hand. Maybe this would be it, the one time she sorts through the mystery herself and presents him with the simple answer. Maybe this time, something human would come easily to him. Her eyes meet his, bright green and perceptive, but nothing like Sethos’.

“Wanderer, why do you cling to the mistakes of your past lives?”

The question blindsides him. He’s struck first with confusion, then frustration, then a hollow ache that reverberates through him. It’s a riddle with a clear answer, one she’s asked and answered for him before. To right his wrongs, to pay his penance, to live differently. After all, how could one avoid the wrong path if they do not know it? His past haunts him, not only because of the deep scars it’s left, but also so that he never forgets he always has a choice to do better. The problem, however, was in the doing. Centuries of hatred and malice have a way of twisting you into something unrecognizable, and undoing the damage is a long, slow process, hardly linear. Even when he’s tried to do right, there is still some part of the old him lurking in the depths that holds him back. For Sethos, he’s tried to be better. For Sethos, he wants to do better, but that ugliness hiding inside of him brings a fear that, one day, he’ll go right back to his old ways and ruin it all once again.

He can feel Nahida’s eyes on him, waiting patiently for the answer she knows he’s come to. It’s not something he wants to put into words, bearing far too much of his already fragile self. She understands implicitly, whether by the power of Dendro or by how often she’s seen Wanderer at his lowest, and shuffles closer until her hand rests on his.

“You don’t have to let your past life completely dictate your current one, and you don’t have to do it perfectly, just better. Different,” she says gently, her voice carrying a quiet encouragement that leaves a weight in Wanderer’s chest. It feels like sadness or regret, the way he almost wants to cry, but a small voice in the back of his head calls it relief.

Her fingers, so small, so grounding, curl over his. “You can be trapped in a cycle where you never let anyone close and never trust, or you could heal, you could live a life that’s full of joy, and friendship, and love.”

Love. The whole cause of this mess, the reason for any of this at all. Because Ei loved Makoto enough to carve her likeness into a doll; because Wanderer loved humans enough to live among them; because, as much as he tried to lie to himself, as much as he wanted the truth to be anything but this, there was something deep within him that called out for Sethos, and it sounded a lot like—

“I’m sorry,” Nahida says in a sudden panic, her hand withdrawing from Wanderer’s. He almost misses the warmth. “I don’t mean to overstep, but I felt I should make up for my insensitivity from the last time we talked.”

She’s frowning, brows pinched together with worry at his contemplative silence. His face starts to scrunch in confusion— she was right, the priority was dealing with the Fatui, and he was being petulant— until she continues with a look of repentance. “I may be the God of Wisdom with all Teyvat’s knowledge at my fingertips, but there’s still much I don’t understand about emotions and empathy. Even Cyno said I might have been a little harsh on you…”

“No,” Wanderer cuts in, voice sounding rough when he finally finds it. “It’s fine. I appreciate your input. An… objective and logical perspective is what I need right now. Someone outside of the situation.”

Someone whose view is not tinged by his own memories and feelings, he wants to say.

“Still,” he says, clearing his throat when the word cracks with all the weight of the emotions building up inside of him, “I don’t know what ‘right’ or ‘better’ looks like anymore. After all that time thinking I was betrayed… I don’t know where to start with him.”

Anger, grief, and hatred have had their way with Wanderer’s memory of what love could look like, feel like, warped and twisted it until all he remembers are the worst parts of it. He remembers he loved Niwa, he remembers even more clearly the perceived betrayal that sent him spiralling down a path of bloodshed and agony. He remembers the boy loved him and that he cared deeply for the boy, but even more than that, he remembers the aching loneliness that kept him company for many years after, many times longer than they were family. If all that’s left are these corrupted memories, what if they follow him into the present, like mud caked onto the soles of his shoes?

He unconsciously thumbs at the nearly invisible grooves at the joints of his fingers, face falling into a scowl at his own helplessness.

“I think you should see where things lead you before you start assuming the worst,” Nahida says with a small giggle, cutting through the thick fog of his doubt. “Personally, I think Sethos has been good for you, and, if you really want a fresh start, maybe learning to love again wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

He doesn’t want to agree, wants to stew in this turmoil for a while longer, let himself feel justified in his reaction to Sethos… but that helps no one and fixes nothing, and more than that, there is a part of him that loudly agrees. At the very least, he considers her words.

He goes home. The guards watch tentatively as he leaves looking hollower than he came in, the sky announces the sun’s arrival with golden beams that cut around the mountainscapes, the birds follow suit with twittering songs that cut through the morning tranquility, and he goes back to his too quiet, too neat, too empty home.

With his mind working through the puzzle he has made for himself— no thanks to Nahida for increasing its complexity— his body feels restless. Luckily, she had at least assented to letting him go to the desert, finally making good on his excuse to write about the falling out between the Temple and the Akademiya now that anywhere in the city is quickly becoming off limits. He’d learned enough about the Temple firsthand and picked up desert culture through the stories Sethos had regaled him with, but if it meant getting away from the source of his troubles long enough to get some actual work done, he’d gladly spend some time alone in the unforgiving sands. Against his better judgment, he gathers some reference and writing material before he heads out, and his punishment comes in the form of the General Mahamatra, who inquires about how he intends to survive a trip into the desert so lightly packed.

“I won’t be gone so long that I’ll need to pack anything, and in the unlikely case that I do need something, I won’t be far from Aaru Village,” he bites out, trying his best to keep the details vague while he stuffs his books and papers into a bag, Hat Ears watching with an scrutinizing glare.

“Don’t underestimate the desert. You might think you’re used to it from all your trips with Sethos—” Ugh, why did he have to go and make that sick feeling start up again by mentioning him— “but even the most experienced desert-dwellers will fall to the desert’s wrath if they get too lax.”

“If you don’t see me in three days, feel free to send a search party,” he says offhandedly, sarcasm dripping from his words as he shoulders past the Mahamatra.

The first day goes smoothly, his outline and first draft come together nicely as he sits in the shade of an archway in the sandstone. It was a place Sethos had shown him, a place he’d go to be alone when everything felt too much, a cliff above Aaru Village that had the perfect view of King Deshret’s Mausoleum and the unending sandstorm raging on Mt Damavand. He hadn’t meant to come here, but by the time he realized where he’d settled, he was already halfway through his outline, and there would be no sense in messing up his workflow to move elsewhere. And, for what it’s worth, Sethos had a point when he explained why he liked this place. The massive monuments, testaments to the desert’s long history, dwarf everything around them, making it all seem small and insignificant. Are his problems really so big and important in the face of these massive, age-old relics? No, between reaching the very top of the mausoleum or center of Mt Damavand’s sandstorm, neither finishing this paper nor overcoming his fears seems quite so insurmountable a task. So he keeps writing, and with each word, he considers what he truly wants and how he truly feels, slowly undoing the knots of his mind.

Somewhere between the second and third edit of his paper, in the midst of his nonstop scrawling and self-reflection, the end of the third day comes and goes. The only reason he stops is a hitch in his writing that none of the books he’d brought with him or the information he can recall covers, and at this point, his introspection has run aground, the idea of physical affection turning a once fluttering feeling into something much more viscerally unpleasant. As he gathers his things, his thoughts drift like the sand at his feet, barely catching the sound of sand crunching underfoot until it’s too late. Wanderer whirls on the approaching person, preparing to unleash a blade of wind at them until a hand latches onto his wrist, the golden bangle hanging around it catching the light, and that oh so familiar, oh so smooth voice speaks.

“Got you now.”

Sethos. What was he doing here? How could he have— Cyno. He hadn’t actually thought he’d take him seriously and send a search party, or maybe he was intervening for Sethos’ sake, but in any case, Wanderer is not prepared to meet him just yet. His mind thrashes, thoughts scattering and pulling him every which way until he can only remain frozen still. He could break away, flee like every time before, he certainly wants to, but the sight of the scar on Sethos’ shoulder is a harsh reminder that he is very much human, and he will not risk injuring him for the sake of his senseless fears, that much he is certain of.

“Sorry for holding onto you, but I can’t risk you running away before I’ve said my piece,” Sethos says with an apologetic smile that makes that churning feeling start up again. “Look, I’m sorry for springing that on you. I thought I was being pretty clear with my signals, but you looked like you were taken totally by surprise.”

“Surprised” is an understatement, but its laughability is largely diminished by the spiralling thoughts currently ravaging Wanderer's mind as he fights adamantly to avoid naming what he’s feeling now. His eyes are so piercing, so beautiful; his hands so strong, yet gentle; Sethos himself, divine.

“I can understand if my timing wasn’t the best,” Sethos says, cutting through his clashing thoughts, “but one thing I’m not apologizing for is how I feel about you. I like you. A lot— And if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that, but I just wanted you to know.”

His grip, once firm, starts to loosen, threatening to leave Wanderer entirely. He has just enough presence of mind not to reach out and force it to remain, but with those doleful eyes waiting for his response, he finds himself short-circuiting. Words. He needs to say words. Something, anything at all, he just needs to give him a response.

“Why do you keep sticking to me?” Anything but that, actually. The way Sethos shrinks back, hurt and confused, sends words tumbling from Wanderer before he can set them right.

“You've had plenty of chances to leave. I know I'm the furthest thing from pleasant to be around, but you keep staying anyways, and it's making me sick—” Not that either, Archons above— “Whenever I see you, my stomach feels like it's in knots, my chest feels tight, and I'm feeling things I haven't felt in centuries. You even find a way to infiltrate my thoughts when you're not around. Why… why don’t you hate me? Why can’t I ignore you?”

His eyes drop, if only to give himself a moment of peace away from Sethos’ gaze to collect himself enough to say what he truly means, and find his hand has wrapped around Sethos’ wrist anyways, his fingers curled just above the bangle. There's a pregnant pause, the soft whistle of wind sweeping over the desert bluff the only sound between them as Sethos remains silent until a quiet laugh starts to bubble up, turning into his deep-bellied laugh, the one that shakes his whole body and makes his head tilt back so his throat is exposed. He looks so beautiful like this, and Wanderer finds he doesn’t have to fight back the desire to feel offended at being laughed at, far more interested in watching Sethos’ smile morph from something wide and bright to warm and sweet.

“Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, Lotus,” Sethos says, low and playful as his other hand comes to Wanderer’s elbow, urging him closer. “I like you a lot, qamari. It might not be the same for you, but when humans like someone, they want to spend all their time with them. I'm sorry for making you ‘sick’—” Gods, the way he laughs out the word should not be so charming— “but would it be wrong of me to say I'm glad I have an effect on you?”

Wanderer tries to scowl, but it feels much weaker than he’d like. That was the problem; Sethos had too much of an effect on him, but Nahida’s words ring in his head, and he can’t help but lean into them. Maybe learning to love again wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “You seem to be enjoying my suffering a little too much.”

“Consider it payback for leaving me alone after I confessed—”

“A confession made while we were having dinner as friends—”

“No no no, it was a date, remember? I asked you to join Tighnari’s double date.”

“I— !” He didn’t know he was asking him as a date. Wanderer had thrown out the idea of dinner alone together to avoid being caught up in that mess, but he’s not just going to out himself like that. He heaves an aggravated sigh, face scrunching into a proper scowl before he looks back up to Sethos, who waits with a playful grin and a fond look in his eyes. “I'm warning you now, I'm still… coming to terms with it. Emotions have never been my strong suit…”

Sethos raises a brow, head tilting to the side. “You sure? You seem to feel them just fine to me.”

“Let me finish,” he snaps before taking a breath to calm himself. “I consulted Kusanali, and she thinks I should see where things go. I… think I agree. I can't promise I won’t hurt you in the process, but I want to try and make things work.”

“That's fine,” Sethos says quickly, nodding all too enthusiastically. “I've stayed this long, haven't I? And if you'll remember, you have to be made of strong stuff to be indwelt with a Ba Fragment. Whatever you have to throw at me, I can take it.”

He won’t pretend that his doubts and fears aren’t still swirling beneath the surface, but seeing the hope shining in Sethos makes him feel like he can see this through. “If you're sure, then we can try.”

Sethos tilts his head back with a sigh, face turned to the sky as if it might impart some of its endless patience to him, but when he looks back down, his cheeks have taken on a pinkish hue and his eyes, so full of fondness and yearning, pin Wanderer in place. “I really wanna kiss you right now. Can I?”

As much as Wanderer wants to ignore the unpleasant feeling at the thought of physical affection, as much as a part of him wants to adamantly agree, he cannot help but pull back and cast furtive glances around the cliff, as if someone might have materialized from the sands to bear witness. He feels a bit silly to find they are obviously and blissfully alone, and heat washes over his face as he turns back and hesitantly nods.

The feeling of his hat being swept off his head and a sound of relief and excitement are the last things he's aware of, but nothing else matters when his face is cradled in those warm, calloused hands and his lips meet with Sethos’, over and over, chaste and tender, awkward and slowly growing more desperate as that need to possess claws its way from under Wanderer’s synthetic skin to cling to his favorite travelling companion, his partner, his Sethos.

When he pulls away, Wanderer’s attempt to give chase is stopped by a hearty laugh as Sethos looks up to the sky again. He is never more beautiful than when he is truly happy, especially when he turns his gaze, pinched at the corners by his full cheeks, to Wanderer and presses their foreheads together.

“Is this real? I'm not dreaming, right?” Sethos asks with a breathless laugh.

“Want me to punch you to find out?”

“Nah,” Sethos says, voice going low as his gaze drifts over Wanderer’s features, “if this is really a dream, I want it to last a little longer.”

The “sickness” that had plagued Wanderer since Sethos’ confession only grows stronger as a tender kiss is placed on his forehead, but now, with the way his chest squeezes and heat washes over his face, he has no issue with finally giving it a proper name. Love.

“Ya qamari,” Sethos breathes out adoringly, thumbs sweeping over Wanderer’s heated cheeks. Oh my moon. That churning feeling turns itself into a shiver that sweeps through Wanderer, the name never sounding so perfect until now.

“Ya shamsi,” he whispers back, fingers wrapping around Sethos’ wrist once more. Oh my sun. His sun, his Sethos.

“Let’s go home.” When Sethos says it, home could be anywhere in the world, and Wanderer would be content. He nods, and Sethos twines their fingers together as they finish gathering up the last of Wanderer’s things.

Under the light of the late afternoon sun, the sand turns a blushing gold, lighting their way back home.

Chapter Text

Their hands remain interlocked the whole way to Aaru Village, only parting when they need to fight or a story bit needs both hands to be properly told, and while Wanderer tries to enjoy it, he can’t tell if the heat burning up his arm is from self-consciousness or the memory of a pain long past. He tries not to think about it. It’s when the sand-dusted houses come into view that his nerves get the better of him, an uneasiness digging in and loosening his hold on Sethos. Alone is one thing, but around other people? Strangers, no less? These emotions are something he only trusts with Sethos, and the thought of someone else knowing he could feel affection makes his face twist up in a grimace. As if reading his thoughts, Sethos quietly releases his hand, sticking beside him as if nothing had changed.

“What do you say to stopping by Candace’s and telling her the good news?” Sethos asks, casting him a sheepish sideways glance.

“I’ll pass, thanks. We need to hurry back to Caravan Ribat anyway, or else it’ll take more than a day to get back to the city, and you—” he gives Sethos a once-over and settles a skeptical look on him— “clearly did not pack to spend a night outside.”

The comment rolls off Sethos easily, he takes it in stride with a huff of laughter. “Sure, but it’ll just be real quick. She’s been rooting for this since she first heard about you, so I know she’ll be super happy to hear, and she can keep a secret if you don’t want anyone else knowing.”

He’s looking at Wanderer with an encouraging smile, but Wanderer has stopped in his tracks, his expression carved into stunned bewilderment.

“What do you mean ‘since she first heard about me’?”

That stops Sethos in his tracks too, the tips of his ears going pink as his hands begin to fidget with his bangle and the panic on his face gives way to embarrassment.

“Well, around the time I had realized I liked you,” he drawls out slowly, trying to find the easiest way to word his explanation, “I ran into Candace, and she seemed like a good person to confide in. So the first time she heard about you was when I told her I like you…”

He finishes looking like a kicked puppy, but it does nothing to distract Wanderer from the surge of questions that he now has.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long have you liked me?” The first time he’d met Candace, they had only been friends for maybe two months, which would mean that for possibly their entire friendship, Sethos had harbored these feelings for him, and he never noticed. For a full year.

“If I’m being honest, I’ve always thought you were beautiful,—” Wanderer rolls his eyes at the cliché line— “but I only really put a name to it on that first tour of the Akademiya, when I invited you to my place?”

That long? He’s felt like this for that long?? And Wanderer was so utterly oblivious, all because he was so convinced that Sethos, too, only saw them as friends. Had he been so scared off of affection that he could not notice the signs from that early on?

Wanderer pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, embarrassment and disappointment filling his head with every little interaction he should have seen for what it was. This had to be some kind of joke.

Sethos panics, reaching for him only to stop short, worry etched into his features. “I’m sorry, my moon,” he apologizes quickly, head tilted to see under the brim of Wanderer’s hat. “Really, I promise I didn’t become friends with you just for this, and I did try to convince myself otherwise, but you’re so— you’re just so pretty and interesting and fun to be around, I couldn’t.”

Maybe this whole relationship and learning to love again thing is such a bad idea; another wave of embarrassment crashes over Wanderer with the way he softens almost instantly at Sethos’ words. He ignores it in favor of raising his head so Sethos can stand up straight again, taking hold of his warm hands. “I’m not upset about that. I’m… upset I didn’t notice sooner.”

“I’m glad you didn’t notice sooner,” Sethos mumbles as he brings his hands up to pepper his knuckles with kisses. “You would've squashed my poor little feelings and crushed my first love.”

That catches Wanderer’s attention immediately. “First?”

He barely notices that Sethos is pulling him along as he nods, peering into his brilliant green eyes like his thoughts would come pouring out if Wanderer looked hard enough. “Mhm. But I’ll have to tell you later. If we keep talking here, we’ll never make it to Caravan Ribat.”

Despite the short back and forth over whether or not to tell Candace, they find her near the entrance of Aaru Village, apparently out for her usual perimeter check. The sight of her sends a nervousness through Wanderer that feels strange and unfamiliar. He barely has time to brace himself for her reaction before Sethos is scooping his hand up with a wide smile that instantly spreads to Candace. Her joy is palpable as she meets them at the arch, and her hands rest over her heart with an endearing smile when she sees their intertwined hands.

“Please tell me this is what I think it is,” She says almost pleadingly, looking between the two.

“It is,” Sethos says with a proud nod. “We’re officially dating.”

That’s strange. The reality of their relationship being said aloud to someone should have been an uncomfortable event, and yet, every ounce of worry in Wanderer feels like it’s been replaced with a giddy warmth. Maybe it’s the someone in specific that makes this a welcome event, but knowing without a doubt that he is Sethos’ and Sethos is his is enough to have a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, though he fights to keep it down.

“Oh my sweet Sethos,” she coos, pulling them both into a squeezing hug. “Congratulations, you two. I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear this. May there be many years of happiness and good fortune ahead for you.”

“You make it sound like we’re getting married,” Wanderer grumbles, and she pulls away with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.

“If anything other than marriage is at the end of this relationship, you will be seeing me first, and I promise you will not like what you see,” she threatens half-jokingly. “Sethos is a good man, you treat him well.”

He cannot help but avoid her gaze. Hurting Sethos is exactly what he’s worried about, and between his past and his unstable temper, it seems more an inevitability than a worst-case scenario that may never come to pass. The cracks that formed in his past life have left marks, subtle and indelible, in this new one, and even if he tries to avoid it, it looms over him like a rising tidal wave waiting for the perfect moment to come crashing down. The mood takes a nosedive into somberness with his silence, and Sethos is the first to try to revive it.

“Let him be, Candace. I think it’s a little early to be thinking about marriage anyway,” he chides with a lazy grin, releasing his hand to wrap an arm around Wanderer and pull him close. Despite letting himself be pressed into Sethos’ side, that unbearable heat flares where they touch, and Wanderer does his best not to wriggle out of his hold.

She looks between the two with a frown desperately trying to disguise itself as a smile before heaving a sigh. “You’re right. I apologize. Your relationship is yours to navigate,” she says, regarding Wanderer with a mix of care and concern. “That said, I won’t stop cheering you on from the sidelines. Truly, I do wish you well.”

He nods stiffly, trying to move past his pessimism like they do and only half-succeeding.

“… How about we celebrate with dinner?” she offers, gesturing them back towards the village.

“Oh, no, sorry, Candace,” Sethos says with a wince, gently guiding Wanderer in the opposite direction. “We were just stopping by to tell you the news before we head back to the city. Thank you, though, for everything.”

There’s a moment of quiet, a silent conversation exchanged between the two desert-dwellers, until Candace bids them farewell. The moment they’re out of sight, Sethos’ arm drops from Wanderer’s shoulders with an embarrassed cough. The evening chill feels deeper than usual. Wanderer does not let his mind scramble to find where he messed up.

“Sorry about that. It’s probably because she and Dehya worked out so easily that she thinks it should be that way for everybody,” Sethos says, face scrunched with disappointment. “But look at Kaveh and Alhaitham, they’re still together even though they’re always arguing— At least, that’s what Cyno said so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Wanderer raises a sidelong look to Sethos. An out to this unease. “Cyno, huh? Anyone else you ‘confided in’ that I should know about?”

That teases a smile out of his partner, and their back and forth slips into easy familiarity as they make their way to Caravan Ribat, Wanderer’s hand slipping into Sethos’ somewhere along the way and dispelling the chill.

“We should probably find an inn, huh?” Sethos says as they reach the desert post, looking up at the thin clouds, fiery red in the light of the setting sun. “Unless you want to camp in the forest. We haven’t done that before.”

“We’re not spending mora on supplies just to camp in the forest.”

Even without a clear view of it from the corner of his eye, Wanderer can practically feel the begging pout on Sethos’ face. He heaves a heavy sigh, already regretting his next words.

“… If you really want to, we can plan for it another day.”

He has to pull the brim of his hat down to hide the smile that starts to form at Sethos’ quiet “yes!” before the man trots ahead to find the nearest available inn.

It’s not long before they’re going through their evening routine in the comfort of an inn that feels like a second home, as often as they visit, room and dinner secured with a little charm from Sethos. It’s almost the same as usual, but there’s an undeniable layer of awkwardness that comes with inexperience in this new territory. It’s not something easily ignored either, any slight brush of their fingers or a gaze lingering a little too long sending them both into a fluster. Once things wind down and Sethos heads for bed, Wanderer takes a seat at the desk, intent on busying his hands and mind with the parts of his paper he can work on. He doesn’t get further than finding the right page before he feels a heavy gaze on his back.

“Qamari,” Sethos’ voice comes, low and rumbling, making Wanderer’s throat go dry and his stomach swoop low. “You don’t wanna sleep together tonight?”

His mind stalls. Heat burns across his face as he whips around to Sethos, eyes wide and slack-jawed with mortification. It’s like Sethos only realizes his words when he sees Wanderer’s expression, floundering with a heavy blush spreading over his own cheeks.

“I mean- Not—” he claps a hand over his eyes with an exasperated groan— “I told you. This is my first relationship. There’s no way I’d ask you to… do that…”

His hand slides to his mouth, eyes pleading for merciful understanding, golden flecks standing out from pools of green in the lamplight. “Sleep, like actual sleep. Like we always do.”

With every second that Sethos practically begs him to bed, Wanderer’s face slowly crumples into a scowl. He sighs, eyes squeezed shut as he lets resignation take him.

“Fine,” he grumbles, putting his work away while Sethos’ face bursts into a bright smile and he scrambles under the covers. “I probably wouldn’t get much work done anyway.”

They settle together, Sethos wrapped around Wanderer with his head tucked into the crook of his neck, and Wanderer gently stroking the curls atop his head without making it too obvious he’s getting the hair out of his face. It isn’t long after they say their goodnights that Sethos’ breathing evens out, but Wanderer waits a while longer to pull away just enough to see his face, admiring every feature in the dark of the room and letting the weight of how badly he does not want to mess this up settle heavy in his chest.

The way back is the same as always, save for the nearly egregious amount of hand-holding and loving looks. Sethos even goes so far as to press sweet kisses to the back of his hand when he’s in the middle of explaining the premise of a report he’d read recently, throwing Wanderer completely off track. Just as they had done at Aaru Village, they part the moment the city gate comes into view, staying close and acting as if nothing had changed. It’s for the best, Wanderer decides despite the aching desire to keep Sethos’ hand in his, as they pass under the marble arch only to see Hat Ears not too far away and looking far too serious. His expression lightens the moment he recognizes them, and he nods to the pair.

“Oh good, you’re back. I was about to go searching for you two myself.”

“Easy, Cyno,” Sethos says with a chuckle. “Lotus was actually heading back when I found him, so no need to worry about him getting lost in the desert anymore.”

“Any good news I should hear about then?” Hat Ears asks, raising an eyebrow at Wanderer.

It seems probing is a family trait. Wanderer frowns when he says, “No, I’m only back because I ran into an issue that the books I brought didn’t cover. My paper still isn’t done.”

Hat Ears’ eyes shift to Sethos, who shrugs. “It wasn’t anything I could help with, so we had to come back.”

“Alright then,” Hat Ears concedes, though his suspicion is clearly unsated. “Now I know, if one goes missing, send the other to make them reap-pair.”

The frown turns into a full-blown grimace as Sethos laughs at his brother’s “joke”, and most disturbingly, the sound almost makes Wanderer want to laugh along. This relationship was definitely a mistake, but not one so severe that Wanderer regrets it, not when Sethos is smiling so brightly.

“‘Reap-pair’! Oh, that’s a good one, Cy. We’ll try not to disap-pair on you, but I gotta get Lotus back home now.” Sethos leaves no room for refusal, pressing a hand to Wanderer’s back while ignoring the aghast stare being sent his way and ushering him further down the street.

It’s merciful relief when they reach Wanderer’s home with no other interruptions, but a creeping disappointment when Sethos lingers at the door.

“I thought you said you wanted to spend all your time with me,” Wanderer says quietly, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Oh, I do, believe me, I do,” Sethos says, voice nearly reverent as his gaze drifts over Wanderer. “But you seemed like you wanted to work on your paper, and I don’t wanna distract you.”

They stand so close, only the threshold separating them by mere inches.

“I should be done within the week, at least for the first half. The second half will have to come once we’ve made progress with the Temple’s integration.”

“Let me know when you’re done. We can go on a date to celebrate.” The word “date” wavers on his lips, as if he were nervous about making such a proposal.

Wanderer nods, then looks over Sethos’ shoulder to make sure they’re as alone as he thinks, and presses a chaste kiss to his partner’s cheek, ignoring the way his face flares with embarrassment. “Get home safe, Sethos.”

Sethos stalls for a second, eyes wide and watching Wanderer intently when he pulls back, but then they soften and a gentle kiss is placed on his forehead. “Make sure you don’t forget your bangle, Lotus. They’re a pair, after all.”

That earns a groan and gets Sethos pushed out of the doorway. Wanderer will have to talk to him about these “jokes” later.

Getting used to the physical affection is harder than Wanderer expects, like wearing clothes that don’t fit quite right. Perhaps he should’ve expected his unwillingness to give in to vulnerability. His walls had been up for so long that putting them down feels like begging to be hurt, but they create an obvious barrier when Sethos is so genuine with his affections. Despite the gnawing want to reciprocate, every affectionate gesture feels like being exposed, especially in public, where anyone might see. Wanderer doesn’t especially mind the hand-holding that Sethos loves, until someone comes traipsing up and he yanks his hand away with a scowl. Chaste kisses pepper every inch of his face and hands in the comfort of privacy, but on the street, surrounded by bustling crowds, Wanderer is careful to stand far enough away that Sethos can’t sneak one. Cuddling at home is different when one of them is asleep, but when Sethos pulls him close like he normally would, suddenly it feels like the world is watching, and the shame of enjoying the contact seeps from Wanderer until he pries himself from his hold.

It takes weeks of consistent effort and encouragement from Sethos before Wanderer begins softening to the idea of even slight touches in public. He’s almost fool enough to allow himself more until one evening, at Lambad’s tavern, surrounded by Sethos’ friends, he comes to a rude awakening of just how unprepared he is for more.

Somehow, they’d gotten onto the topic of cultural hairstyles in the desert when Sethos brushes his fingers through the back of Wanderer’s hair with a fond smile, saying something about how he’d love to braid his hair one day, Wanderer unconsciously leaning into his touch. Immediately, the table goes eerily silent, all eyes on them. It makes his skin prickle, and he slaps the hand away with a scoff.

“My hair won’t ever be long enough to braid. I cut it for a reason.” He does not miss the rueful smile Sethos gives him in return.

“I can’t imagine you with long hair,” Tail pipes up, thankfully dispelling the apparent trance everyone else had been in.

“I don’t know, I think he’d look good. He certainly has the features for it,” the blonde one chimes in, scrutinizing Wanderer’s appearance, probably picturing an awful length of hair.

The rest of the table offers their own nonsense opinions on Wanderer’s hair— a style and length that will never change— and eventually, their talk drifts to a subject entirely separate from the original point. It’s a relief they’re all too busy arguing the aesthetics of furniture to notice Sethos’ gaze lingering on Wanderer and his hand slipping under the table to link fingers with him, or the way Wanderer’s eyes shift to him in silent apology, thumb sweeping soothing arcs over his hand.

Aside from the small touches, everything stays almost exactly the same, only recolored under this new light. Wanderer still finds Sethos helping people on the street in exchange for their talk, but now, when their eyes meet and he flashes that charming smile, a fluttering warmth fills Wanderer to the point he cannot help but smile back. When they find a quiet corner in the House of Daena, Sethos still surprises Wanderer with fringe ideas, except now his focus is partially devoted to admiring the fine features that sit before him. Even the time they spend around Sethos’ friends is as draining as it always has been, but even more so now that they have a secret to keep from the nosiest group of people alive.

To anyone else, it might seem like nothing had changed. To Wanderer, everything had shifted. With every passing day and glance, every touch and sweet word, the worries that had twisted his mind in knots fade to something distant, replaced by an affection that runs deep within his hollow chest. He still can’t call it love, not aloud at least, but when Sethos puts so much into caring for him, the desire to hold onto what they have and cherish it only grows. For him, he would try.

Vulnerability does not come easily to Wanderer, it takes time and effort from both him and Sethos before he can begin letting his guard down properly, but the pay-off is immense. The time they spend alone together is filled with tentative touches from Wanderer, dragging his nails against the back of his neck while they read together, or resting a hand on his bicep while Sethos cooks, or letting his hands linger when he fixes Sethos’ scarf. Slowly, but surely, Wanderer becomes more open and gentle, less aware of the heat that burns where they touch. He becomes more confident in his affections for Sethos. Too confident.

It happens one afternoon, when Wanderer is curled up in Sethos’ lap on the couch, a book pulled from one of the shelves between them. Wanderer had been sneaking glances since they settled and Sethos’ growing smile showed he knew. Only when their eyes meet does Sethos let out a quiet chuckle, shifting a little to look at Wanderer properly.

“See anything you like?”

That smooth rumble always sends Wanderer’s stomach into nervous flips, the quirked eyebrow and sly smile doing nothing to help, but he fights down the desire to push his face away with a biting retort. Instead, he reaches a hand up, sweeping the hair from Sethos’ face and cupping his jaw, letting his eyes roam those fine features he’s grown so exceedingly fond of.

“Of course. It’s hard not to appreciate someone so handsome and intelligent, especially when they’re mine,” he mutters, placing a kiss on his exposed forehead.

He expects Sethos to laugh, he expects a teasing reply, for his lips to be chased with a kiss, to be pulled into a crushing hug. He expects many things that Sethos has done before, but he does not expect the way he stiffens, a mix of fear and mistrust in his eyes, mouth tense at the corners. It’s gone just as quickly as he notices, though not completely hidden by the confused smile that sweeps over Sethos’ face.

“What’s up with you? You’re never this affectionate,” he says with an awkward laugh.

Wanderer’s eye twitches. Suppressing the sudden rush of anger is nearly impossible. He had gone against his better judgment, opened up and was vulnerable with Sethos— affectionate with him— and this is the response he gets? He barely manages to keep his tone tempered. “What’s wrong with me being affectionate? This is what you’re supposed to do in a relationship, isn’t it?”

His smile falls and his hand comes to rest on Wanderer’s elbow placatingly. “Well, it’s different for everyone, but you aren’t usually so… soft.”

Not usually so— Wanderer scoffs, trying to pull away as Sethos sets the book aside and tries to move with him, not letting him go far as his rising anger turns his tone derisive. “You think I can’t be soft? What, because I’m not human? Because I can’t feel things like you?”

“That’s not what I meant, Lotus—”

“Forget it,” he snaps, yanking his arm away from Sethos and standing from the couch. “Forget I said or did anything. In fact, forget we’re even together, since you think me being ‘soft’ is so off-putting.”

The dismay on Sethos’ face leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the way he freezes up fills Wanderer with vindication. His loss for words means that nothing he said was wrong.

“No.”

The simple word, shaking and quiet in the otherwise silent room, sends Wanderer reeling.

“‘No?’”

“No,” he repeats, firmer now, brow furrowing. “I’m not gonna forget any of it, and especially not that we're in a relationship. You said you wanted to try, but it doesn't feel like you are trying to make this work.”

Wanderer’s jaw clenches, mouth going dry at the realization that Sethos is right. He could give in now, accept defeat and settle into an awkward silence as they try to pretend this didn’t happen… but Wanderer is headstrong, he hates to lose, and the whirlpool of anger still swirling inside of him has no intention of calming anytime soon.

“I just tried, and you didn’t like it,” he sneers, teeth bared like a cornered animal. “Clearly, this won’t work out if this is your reaction to me trying.”

Sethos winces at that, apparently not liking being called on his bullshit. He takes a deep breath before speaking, slow and quiet, careful with his words, unlike Wanderer. “I’m not used to this kind of thing. That’s why I reacted like that. You’ve seen how they are in the temple. You think any of them are this… gentle… with me? To them, I was the vessel of Hermanubis’ power, and now I’m their leader. With you, I wanna be just Sethos, but I’m still figuring out what that looks like, and I need you to work with me here.”

Immediately, all that anger starts to peter out. Back here again, at the vast divide between them, Sethos reaching out and Wanderer wanting to ruminate in his shit. His eyes drop to the floor, scrunching with a bitter scowl.

“I’m trying.”

There’s a beat of silence, the two of them trying to figure out where to go from here, how to reach the other without falling into that deep crevice.

“… Do you need space right now?” Sethos asks, voice hushed. Hurt.

“No—yes. No.” Wanderer groans in frustration, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know.”

“Alright. It’s alright, Qamari,” Sethos says, calm and slow, only serving to help the pit of guilt form in Wanderer’s stomach. “I’m sorry for reacting like that. I’ll stay here. Do what you feel you need to do, I’ll be right here when you need me.”

He’s supposed to be trying, but here he is lashing out and making Sethos apologize for something he doesn’t need to apologize for. He’d known opening up would lead to getting hurt, why is he so surprised, so angry? Even still, he cannot regret the moments of vulnerability they had before, the tenderness and love that bloomed in their private moments. All he knows is that he cannot stay here, not while he feels like this, not when he could still hurt Sethos. So he leaves.

The rest of the day passes in a haze. He only realizes that it’s long after nightfall when he hears soft steps on the branch of the Divine Tree and suddenly the constellation he had been staring at snaps into focus.

“I thought I might find you here,” Sethos says, a shadow of his usual cheer and bravado.

Wanderer cannot bring himself to look at Sethos, their argument still taking its toll on him, even as he settles against him, head resting against his back. He’s reminded of their first trip to the temple, when Sethos had done the same after shoving him down a hill and racing him back to the shore, when things would remain good no matter how angry Wanderer got.

“Why’d you come to find me?” He winces at the words, sharp on their own, but his voice is too full of ache to leave room for misplaced irritation. A part of him still hopes they send Sethos away; he deserves to be abandoned again.

“I missed you. It’s lonely without you.”

The quiet response floats in the air, a pin-prick light of hope that shatters Wanderer inside. Sethos wants to be with him, and he’s only thinking of how to hurt them both.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he whispers, scared of ruining the tentative peace that has formed. “I shouldn’t have said that, and you didn’t need to apologize. Don’t forget about us, I— I really do want this.”

“It’s okay, Lotus,” Sethos murmurs, rubbing his head against the spot where Wanderer’s origins had been branded. A tingle of energy courses through him from the mark, as if reacting to Sethos. “We’re still figuring things out. It’s normal for there to be bumps along the road. As long as we can talk things out, I think we’ll be alright.”

Wanderer hopes so. He really does. Without looking, he reaches back, lacing his fingers with Sethos’. A firm, comforting squeeze is his only response, but somehow it convinces him completely.

He licks his lips, his voice a little hoarse when he tries to speak up to ask, “What’s that constellation that looks like a pot with its lid off?”

Sethos’ head pulls from his back, his chin coming to rest on Wanderer’s shoulder as he looks up at the sky. “Vulpes Zerda. Fennec Fox. I used to think it was a two-headed snake.”

He cannot help the huff of laughter that pulls from him, not that he would even try if he could, not when Sethos leans into him and picks out constellations from the smattering of stars, explaining each as Wanderer finds them. From here, the Winged Serpent and the Wanderer are visible, hanging above like nothing had changed.

Chapter Text

Talking becomes their new game. Before, they’d harbor secrets, trying to keep as much information about themselves away from the other; now, no incident passes without a sit-down talk. Wanderer neither hates nor enjoys them, he understands their necessity, but Sethos seems to almost look forward to them, probably eager to stretch his frail wings of autonomy now that he no longer needs to worry about the relations within the Temple. He’s usually the first to pull Wanderer into a soul-bearing conversation, probably out of habit with how often he does the same to strangers on the street. It doesn’t solve everything, and to say it gets easier with time is a gross overstatement, but it does help, if just a little. Still, it gets to a point that Wanderer’s pride cannot allow him to be on the “losing” end any longer. Any slight change in Sethos’ behavior, and he is finding a reason to talk. He isn’t sure when Sethos starts to catch on, but he’s lucky his partner is so amicably adaptable. At first, he laughs when it happens, but when that sets Wanderer on edge, he switches to smiling sweetly and accepting his defeat. His period of gracious loss ends rather quickly, though, when he eventually begins launching straight into the conversation at the slightest of probing.

“You’ve been stealing glances all afternoon. What is it?” Wanderer huffs, not looking up from Stargazing: A Constellation Guide, the book he’d “borrowed” from Sethos’ home.

“I wanna tell my friends about us,” Sethos replies, equally engrossed in restringing his bow and quickly tacking on, “If you’re comfortable with it, that is.”

Though Wanderer does well to hide his surprise, he’s glad Sethos is too busy going over the maintenance of his bow to notice the way he freezes up for a moment, eyes no longer following along the lines of text. Slowly, he drags his eyes from the page to Sethos, watching him work as his mind stumbles through this shocking turn. With Candace, things had gone as well as they could have. He didn’t mind her knowing, but her playful jab had done more than enough damage to convince Wanderer no one else needed to know, to cast their judgment and suspicions upon him. Since then, he hadn’t given a second thought to even talking about telling them, content to spend the rest of their days acting as friends like always, and their time alone, wrapped in each other. At least, that’s how he felt before Sethos brought up wanting to tell them.

After so many talks, it became clear to Wanderer that any relationship is going to have give and take. There are things he’d rather Sethos not do— leaving the city for days to weeks on end, or pushing himself past his limits just to best Wanderer in a minor challenge— just as there are things Sethos has expressed disdain for— the “disappearing act” he pulls when he’s upset, or refusing to take breaks and eat when he’s focused on his papers. They’ve learned to meet in the middle, compromise putting most of their problems to rest. It isn’t as if Wanderer is totally opposed to the idea of telling Sethos’ friends, neutral at best, if a bit averse to their potential reactions. If this is something Sethos truly wants, then he would compromise here, too, without resistance. It should be fine. Should be.

“Alright.”

Vivid green snaps to him as Sethos’ hands still on his bow, piercing through his carefully crafted mask of indifference, searching for any tell that might give away hesitance or distaste. He would find none as Wanderer resumes browsing the book, not really reading as he waits for Sethos’ response.

“For real?”

“Yes,” he responds calmly, turning the page. “I won’t say I’m completely comfortable with the idea of letting those people into my personal life, but if you want to, I’m not so opposed that I would stop you.”

Sethos watches him for a moment, gauging the truth of his words. A part of Wanderer is upset that he still does not take his words at face value, another pleased that he still has the ability to keep Sethos on his toes, even when telling the truth.

When he’s satisfied, Sethos sets his bow down gently. “Ya qamari, have I ever told you that you are so stunningly beautiful, you put the moon and all the stars to shame?”

“Several times, actually.” Wanderer finally looks up from the book, giving up any attempt to hold onto the indifferent act with a sly smile. “You should say it more often.”

Sethos’ smile is leagues apart from Wanderer’s, bright and boyish as he grins ear to ear. “Can I kiss you, qamari?”

“Do whatever you like,” Wanderer grumbles despite the smile that still tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking back to the blurring lines of text to avoid Sethos’ gaze. “You’ll know if I don’t like it.”

Just as quickly as their talk had begun, Sethos scrambles over the couch to pepper Wanderer in kisses, the book quickly forgotten under the shining sun of Sethos’ love.

For as much as Sethos’ friends love to meet up and worm their way into his and Wanderer’s business, getting them together for dinner is a more challenging feat than Wanderer would’ve ever guessed. Hat Ears, being the General Mahamatra, has academic dishonesty matters to attend to, and Tail is rarely in the city, as is typical for most Forest Watchers, let alone the Chief Officer. Blondie seems to have buried himself in commission work for the foreseeable future, and the Akademiya Scribe is the only one not drowning in excess work. Even Candace and Dehya are busy handling their own business in the desert, not that he’d expected them to make the trip for something advertised to be as simple as dinner, and he had the sneaking suspicion Candace had already let it slip to her wife.

It’s of little consequence to Wanderer, who relishes the precious extra time of privacy afforded to him and makes good use of it to properly enjoy his boyfriend while he’s still able.

“You’re looking extra beautiful today, Lotus,” Sethos coos from the balcony door, watching Wanderer scrub his robes against a washboard.

Perhaps it’s the fact that Wanderer had changed into some of Sethos’ pants to get the job done, leaving his top half bare under the pleasant warmth of the afternoon sun, that brings Sethos to make such a comment, but nothing about Wanderer’s appearance has drastically changed, except for being slightly disheveled from helping with chores.

“I look the same as always, Sethos,” he sighs, dunking the clothes under the sudsy water.

“Yeah,” Sethos hums, pushing off the doorway and slowly sidling up, “and that’s what makes you extra beautiful.”

Despite the cool breeze tempering the sun’s rays, Wanderer feels a heat wash over his cheeks as he wrings the fabric out, squeezing a little tighter than necessary. “If you want something, just say it. No need to make these embarrassing comments.”

“We should go on a date,” he chirps without hesitation, squatting down at his side. “Somewhere nice, just the two of us,—” Wanderer rolls his eyes, obviously it would be just the two of them or else it could hardly be considered a date— “before we tell the guys.”

It sounds nice, one last taste of the private life they’re sure to lose after their announcement. They haven’t gone on a date in quite some time too, both of them busied with tasks that seem to eat up all their time until all they have left is the warmth shared between them at night, when Sethos wraps his arms and legs around Wanderer and nuzzles his head into him until sleep takes hold.

After a moment of thought, Wanderer says, “You like the performances at Zubayr Theater. We can watch one and look around the bazaar after.”

“That’s… definitely better than my plan of camping,” Sethos admits with a chuckle, leaning back and raising his face to the sun.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

A moment of quiet passes over them, the bustle of the street below and the twittering of birds filling the comfortable silence for them. Wanderer turns to set his soggy clothes on the balcony rail, and Sethos’ voice breaks through the quiet.

“Huh.”

“Just say it. You know I hate when you talk around things,” Wanderer groans, spreading out the robe before turning back to the tub of water, reaching for the next piece to be washed.

“I never noticed this mark here.”

What ma- A sudden jolt of electricity shoots through Wanderer at the feeling of Sethos’ lips pressing to the synthetic skin on the base of his neck. He lurches forward, hand clapping over the spot as he instinctively tries to escape the sensation, eyes wide with horror when he looks back at Sethos. Cold water drips down his back, a fraction of the chill that runs down his spine.

Sethos, poor, oblivious Sethos, stares in wide-eyed shock at the violent reaction before a wicked grin spreads over his face. “Liked it that mu—”

“Don’t ever do that again,” Wanderer snaps, voice teetering on the edge of yelling. He can feel the heat filling his face, and though he’s not quite sure what emotion spurs it, he knows it is too much.

The smile drops from Sethos’ face immediately, caught off guard by the outburst. He shifts away, unconsciously giving Wanderer space as he nods hesitantly. “My bad. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know, I didn’t tell you for a reason,” he sneers, nails scratching over the mark, willing the sensation away to no avail. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Sethos mumbles, scooting a little further back and drawing his knees up. “I’m sorry.”

He’s doing it again, pushing Sethos away without even knowing why, and the sorry look on the man’s face cuts through Wanderer’s bristled tension. Why does he always do this? It wasn’t as if he hated the act entirely, but the whirlwind of emotions left a confusing mess that Wanderer could not navigate easily.

“Fuck,” he hisses with a regretful sigh, rubbing soothing circles over the now reddened mark. “No. Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Like you said, you didn’t know.”

If he didn’t hate it, why didn’t he exactly like it either? As his hand drags to the side of his neck, the faintly lingering traces of that electric feeling click everything into place. It was bad in that it was a sudden reminder of something he is always trying to forget, but beneath that, in that current of charged energy, there was the faintest pulse of excitement. Taking away the context of the mark, he… thinks he liked Sethos doing that.

“It… wasn’t all bad. I just wasn’t prepared. Warn me next time.”

Sethos perks up at the mention of a “next time”, eyes locked on Wanderer. He licks his lips nervously before asking, “Should I try again now, so you can be sure?”

A brief moment passes as Wanderer weighs his options, but ultimately, he nods, turning away from Sethos and letting his head hang, leaving his back and the mark exposed.

The quiet sound of shuffling fills the balcony as Sethos scoots in close. “Okay, I’m going again.”

Wanderer wants to give a snarky remark— “I know, I just told you to”— but it dies on his lips at the warm breath that coasts over the mark before Sethos places a gentle kiss to it again. The shocking feeling is still the same, not quite Electro but something that feels close to it, that same undercurrent of exhilaration, as well as the repulsion. He shivers at the contact but does not move even when Sethos pulls away, mind swimming as he analyzes every thought and feeling that rushes through him.

“How was that?”

“Fine. It was… alright. I’ll get used to it.” A half lie. He would already be used to it if he could, the act itself something Wanderer is eager to relish. The only thing that stops him from fully enjoying it is a haunting feeling of disgust and shame, as if he weren’t allowed to replace something so painful with something so sweet. He can almost hear Kusanali urging him to push past it, forge his own path without clinging to the past. He almost has to agree. He’ll get used to it.

“Don’t push yourself. If you really don’t like it, just tell me,” Sethos says when Wanderer’s silence draws on too long.

He scoffs, turning to his partner with a weak scowl. “I would’ve already told you if that were the case, but I let you do it again, didn’t I?”

“And you said you’d get used to it, meaning you didn’t really like it either,” Sethos shoots back, head dipped low so those brilliant green eyes peeked through his long lashes.

“Liking and disliking are two separate things,” Wanderer retorts, turning to face Sethos fully now that he was trying to argue. “Just because I didn’t like it doesn’t mean I dislike it.”

“So you admit you didn’t like it.” He wonders if Sethos is aware of the smirk trying to pull at his lips.

“So you’re trying to pick a fight. What, so you can egg me into trying again?”

The smirk drops, Sethos’ face falling flat and impassive, and his cheeks starting to go red.

Unbelievable. Wanderer rolls his eyes with an incredulous laugh. “You’re deplorable.”

“You were blushing so bad, even your neck was turning red. How could I not?”

“And look who’s blushing now.”

A day finally comes when the stars align and fate favors Wanderer for once, when somehow everyone Sethos had invited to their dinner has a day free. Luckily, the day is set for after their date at Zubayr Theater, and Wanderer can do more than look on in the bazaar with mild interest, instead helping Sethos pick dishes and decorations for his home, where they would host the dinner. His biggest, if only, qualm is not being able to do more than slight, inconspicuous touches, public affection still coming with a sense of unease for him. Still, seeing Sethos so eager, so excited to do something, enjoying their time together with a sweet smile and whispered words of affection to Wanderer, it isn’t half bad, and he follows along with a slight smile of his own.

“Does everything look alright?” Sethos asks as he takes a step back from the decorations he has just finished setting up for their announcement dinner. Their guests were set to arrive in an hour or so, and he had been fretting over the presentation of his home all day.

“It looks fine. Who’s going to be looking that hard anyway?” Wanderer groans, barely casting a glance over his shoulder as he strings up some lights at Sethos’ direction.

“Kaveh,” Sethos shoots back, stepping back in to adjust something. “And probably Cyno.”

True. Wanderer steps away from his light stringing to give proper attention to Sethos’ hard work and sighs, giving it a scrutinizing look over. “Move that vase back some and bunch the lights and flowers around it. It creates a focal point so attention is drawn away from less decorated areas.”

Sethos follows his instructions and sighs in relief when he steps back again. “Thanks a bunch, Lotus, for everything,” he says, pulling Wanderer in close by the hip and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“What would you do without me?” Wanderer hums sarcastically, pecking a kiss to Sethos’ shoulder before returning to his task.

“Probably wither away.”

“And forget about the dinner on the stove.”

“Oh shit!”

After a double check, and then a triple check at Sethos’ request, everything is set up perfectly. The living room is bright and inviting, the table not too crowded and seated with enough chairs for everyone, and the food smells as delicious as always. The first to arrive are Hat Ears and Tail, who Sethos greets warmly, performing a practiced handshake with his brother and drawing Tail into a half-hug. Wanderer nods to both before going to the living room to escape the building awkwardness at his distance with them. They’re Sethos’ friends after all, and he had one too many poor interactions with them to ever truly bridge the gap of unfamiliarity. At the very least, he’s able to carry a conversation if needed.

“So what’s the occasion?” Tail asks as Hat Ears makes a beeline for the shelves, probably to look for the cards Sethos specifically asked be moved upstairs, out of sight.

“And where are your Genius Invocation cards? We can play a game before the others arrive,” Hat Ears pipes up.

“Can you please save the card games for after dinner, Cyno?” Tail rolls his eyes as Hat Ears continues to browse the shelves undeterred, then turns to Sethos with a thin smile.

“If I tell you now, it’ll ruin the surprise,” Sethos replies smoothly. “But don’t worry, it’s a good surprise.”

Placated by the promise of eventually, Tail turns their conversation to the everyday happenings, his lectures to new Forest Rangers who can’t seem to keep unidentified mushrooms out of their diet, Sethos’ errands and stories, and Wanderer’s progress on his paper regarding the Temple and Akademiya. Eventually, miraculously, Hat Ears gets drawn in enough by the conversation that he forgets the cards long enough for Blondie and the Scribe to arrive with a warm smile and hug, and a covered dish in hand, respectively. Blondie wastes no time launching into his assessment of the house’s decorations, making a flurry of appreciative comments as he goes around the living room. Wanderer tries not to preen too much under the praise, much of it his handiwork, but he stops with a scowl the moment he catches Sethos’ knowing smile.

There’s a short moment of talk until the Scribe makes a comment to guide everyone into the dining room, apparently ready to get dinner over and done with, and the guests carry their conversation to the table, seating themselves as Wanderer and Sethos play host, passing dishes and drinks and adding to the conversation as they go. It’s cramped with all the plates and cups crammed onto the table, but the company is at least polite enough not to comment even when Sethos and Wanderer sit with their own portions of dinner.

With everyone settled, a nervous anticipation begins to crawl through Wanderer. He does well not to let it show, no matter how badly he wants to fidget with the tablecloth or cast questioning glances to Sethos, though it is a struggle nonetheless. When is he going to make the stupid announcement? The clink of forks and knives on plates dances through the quieted conversation as everyone begins tucking into the food, a few stray praises to Sethos’ inventive cooking thrown in here and there, and as dinner carries on, Wanderer feels himself grow more and more antsy.

Just as he opens his mouth to mention the awaited “surprise”, Sethos clears his throat and pushes his chair back, standing from the table with that knowing smile of his and a glance at his partner.

“Alright,” he drawls, looking over his guests who look back expectantly. “I think I’ve kept you all waiting long enough for that surprise.”

“About time,” the Scribe sighs, receiving an elbow to the side.

Sethos laughs lightly at the comment, unflappable as he continues. “First, I wanna thank you guys for coming. Really, it means a lot to me. You’re all some of the best friends a guy could ask for, and having your support has gotten me far. That’s exactly why I wanted you all to be the first to know.”

Blondie’s hand comes to his heart while Tail smiles fondly, the two looking almost like a pair of proud parents as their own partners listen attentively with flat faces, waiting for the news.

“Unfortunately,” Sethos says with a playful wince, “Candace beat you to it, so now you’re all the second to know, but still…”

“I hope you aren’t second-guessing telling us,” Hat Ears sighs, crossing his arms and ignoring the side-eye Tail gives him. “Tell us the surprise and we’ll be even.”

A series of disappointed faces erupts across the table, not even Wanderer committed to his role of host enough to ignore the horrendous attempt at joking.

“Oh— Enough with the puns, Cyno, he’s trying to make a genuine announcement here,” Tail scolds with flattened ears and narrowed eyes.

Hat Ears’ expression shifts slightly, but he remains quiet, and Sethos graciously moves past the puns without acknowledging them despite the soured mood.

“It’s been a long time coming, and we had to talk it over before deciding to let you all know, but—” he slips his hand into Wanderer’s and smiles at him, so sweet and fond— “Lotus and I are dating.”

There’s a weird pause, aside from Cyno’s dry clap that only makes the awkwardness worse.

Blondie’s brows scrunch together and the corners of his smile pull downward in confusion. “Weren’t… you two… already dating?”

“Yeah, we’ve known for almost a year now,” Tail chimes in, equally as bewildered by the announcement.

The confusion immediately spreads to Sethos. “We only started dating a little over two months ago…”

“… then what the hell was everything before that?”

“Congratulations, you two. It’s clear by everyone’s expectation of it that you make a fine couple,” the Scribe says calmly, folding his arms and nodding in a way that almost feels placating.

“I’m glad all my advice and hard work was useful. I almost thought you two would never get together,” Hat Ears says, almost painfully unaware of how awkward things have turned.

It is all Wanderer can do to hide his irritation and disappointment behind his free hand, sighing loudly and squeezing Sethos’ hand. He told him earlier that he’d expected their reaction to be much more lackluster than Candace’s, and Sethos had bet they would be equally as approving.

At this, Sethos bursts into laughter, leaning into Wanderer and shaking his head. “Well, this didn’t go quite the way I expected, but I’m glad you’re all supportive.”

“Of course we are, why wouldn’t we be?” Blondie responds, almost offended by the thought of otherwise. “You should’ve seen how long it took Alhaitham and me to get together.”

The conversation swiftly changes from talk of how each couple went through their own awkward unions to embarrassingly failed dates to activities that sounded fun until a comfortable atmosphere returns to the dining room. After a round of second and third plates and a few too many glasses of wine, Hat Ears manages to convince Sethos to bring out his Genius Invocation cards, wrangling him, a tipsy Blondie, and Tail into matches where he inevitably emerges victorious. The match between the Scribe and the Mahamatra is without a doubt, the most riveting— as riveting as a childish card game could get anyway— as the Scribe gets Hat Ears on the ropes, down to one last card and with a few shoddy support cards Sethos had in his deck. It’s all for naught, though, and almost disappointing when, somehow, Hat Ears manages to pull through, sending the Scribe’s two standing cards to their doom.

“I am,” Hat Ears slurs, lurching to his feet and throwing his hand into the air to strike a wobbly pose, “the greatest Genius Invocation TCG player of all time!”

The losers of the earlier rounds are not shy about booing him, and Wanderer has half the mind to join them, if not for Sethos clapping and cheering him on. That makes him want to prove Hat Ears wrong.

“Hold on, you haven’t gone up against me,” he says before he’s really thought it through.

A chorus of instigating “ooo”s goes up, and Hat Ears frowns before settling back on the floor. He gathers up the cards, shuffling them with practiced ease and hands the deck over to Wanderer.

“Go ahead and pick your cards. I’m sure I can beat you no matter what you choose.”

Wanderer should back down; he knows nothing about the game outside of the few rounds he’s witnessed and the talk he’s overheard at the Akademiya. He should say he was just joking, but Sethos is watching with giddy anticipation, and his pride won’t let his partner’s faith in him go to waste. He picks a few cards he thinks will have good synergy based on the matches from before, and Hat Ears picks his before splitting the support cards between them.

“It’s my first time playing, by the way,” Wanderer says gruffly, preemptively absolving himself of any slip-ups or unfortunate losses.

“Sethos can help you, since it’s your first time, but I won’t be going easy,” the Mahamatra responds seriously, setting his side up with a look of focus.

It takes a quick explanation of the rules and effects of some cards to start the game, but Wanderer is in too deep to back out now. The chance aspect of the game is what had infuriated him the most, but the dice are kind to him, rolling mostly the elements he needs and setting him up nicely to prepare an onslaught against the Mahamatra in the rounds to come. It’s a more difficult game than Wanderer would have guessed, all his focus going to plotting future rounds and contingency plans should things not play to his whims, but eventually, both sides are down to one standing card and only a few support cards to pull from. When he ends his turn, he’s sure his card will fall to Hat Ears’ next attack, but he ends his round with a frustrated sigh. Wanderer follows suit, thinking ahead to the possibilities of next round, until someone points out the summon he’d brought on field earlier would do enough damage to end Hat Ear’s final card. The room goes silent.

Suddenly, Wanderer is pulled to his feet as Sethos wraps him up in a spinning hug, peppering him with kisses. “My boyfriend beat the greatest Genius Invocation player of all time!!”

Embarrassment floods Wanderer, and he’s already moving to pry himself from Sethos until the cheering registers. Looking around, the group is cheering for his victory, smiling at Wanderer as Sethos is wrapped around him, not a trace of ridicule or revulsion to be found. Even Cyno, who had been frowning at the cards, looking for how he could’ve avoided defeat, stands with his hand outstretched to Wanderer.

“Good match. You were more formidable than I anticipated, but it could just be beginner’s luck.”

Begrudgingly, Wanderer shakes his hand as Sethos jeers his brother from behind.

“That said, I’m glad it’s you that Sethos chose,” he says with a warm smile, tightening his grip on Wanderer’s hand. “Now I have someone new to play Genius Invocation with.”

Oh Archons above, Wanderer should have never let his pride get the best of him. The night winds down, the table cleared and the cards cleaned up before their guests depart. Hat Ears and Tail leave side by side, and the Scribe carries Blondie back home. As they watch from the doorway, a weight settles in Wanderer’s chest, something that feels like regret or shame, all his dodginess and treating his relationship with Sethos like a secret for no reason at all.

“That went well,” Sethos sighs, standing with a proud smile and his hands on his hips.

Wanderer scoffs, a smug grin sweeping across his face. “I still won the bet about their reactions.”

“No way, they were just as supportive as Candace—”

“—And nowhere near as charming about it. Were you there for the awkward silence?”

“It wasn’t silent. Cyno was clapping.”

“And everyone else was confused.”

Sethos opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, then huffs in frustration. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a real mouth on you?”

“Care to put it to better use?”

With the reveal of their relationship, Sethos is much more open about his affection. Wanderer is almost surprised by how little he minds it, but he can’t find it in himself to give it much thought when he’s finally able to hold his partner’s hand without worrying about who might see. He only realizes Nahida is the last to know when Sethos finds them talking and hugs him from behind, pressing a kiss to his temple and making the Archon blink in surprise. She doesn’t seem shocked by the display of affection, but she does offer her congratulations, giving Sethos ammunition to scold Wanderer with later for not telling the one person he thought already knew.

Life gets a little brighter, a little sweeter, and things are finally smoothing themselves out, now that there are no real secrets left to hide. The only drawback is that the more people know, the less time they have to themselves. When they would normally have an afternoon alone together, that time is taken by someone roping them into a conversation— lecture, really— about how they’re doing so well or they look so happy together, as if there is any doubt about their relationship. Worse yet, Wanderer starts needing to make an effort to avoid Hat Ears and the Scribe, who he used to see only on rare occasions. Hat Ears is almost always trying to get him to play Genius Invocation, to “redeem” himself, he says, and the Scribe starts dropping off lists of date ideas Blondie writes for Sethos and Wanderer, although he is resentful of the lists every time, which Wanderer can appreciate.

Sethos’ home loses its title of haven as their attempts to enjoy each other’s presence are interrupted with infuriating frequency, by unexpected guests, by forgotten responsibilities, by poor timing. Every moment of affection cut short leaves a bitter taste in Wanderer’s mouth and a lingering irritation swirling just beneath the surface. All he wants is to bask in the love and attention his partner devotes solely to him, and all he gets is regret that he ever allowed these miscreants to know something so precious and divine existed at all. It gets to the point that Wanderer no longer wants their private moments together, a good thing sure to be ruined in due time. He pulls away. He knows Sethos notices, but his behavior betrays no hidden feelings of resentment or sadness, only understanding, agreement even. Wanderer at least makes up for it in the peaceful quiet of night, when he lies down to sleep beside Sethos, and feather-light kisses are pressed to hands and cheeks and eyelids until he falls asleep and Wanderer is left to let the rushing, bubbling giddiness of being with Sethos wash over him.

Their day-to-day begins to change, little by little, and yet all at once. Acts they had done before now bask in a different light, all rosy and honey gold, and so nearly imperceptible in difference that only the people who know would see it. The looks exchanged between them, teasing at a glance but so much more loving underneath; the passing touches, more frequent than necessary and lingering; the conversations they hold, rife with hidden messages, secrets shared between them; all of it, even despite Wanderer’s withdrawal, becomes a language only they speak.

Things are going so smoothly, perfectly even, until a routine meeting with Nahida, meant to check in on the Temple-Akademiya relations, gets pushed up by an urgent-looking Matra, sent by the Archon herself.

“Thank you both for coming,” Nahida says as they enter the Sanctuary of Surasthana, no trace of her usual smile to be seen.

The last time she was so serious, things went downhill very quickly, and Wanderer does not ignore the apprehension he feels this time.

“Uh oh, I’m not sure I like that look,” Sethos says, attempting to ease the tension with a light joke.

“I received a letter from Duanre.”

Sethos’ smile remains, but the corners pull with barely seen tension as he falls silent.

“He says there has been an increase in Fatui activity around the Temple, and after their attempt to harness the Withering Zones, I fear their next target is where Forbidden Knowledge is taken and sealed—”

“The Temple of Silence,” he mumbles, horror dawning in his voice.

Nahida nods pensively. “The Temple has entered a state of emergency to avoid anyone getting caught by the Fatui or information being stolen. Duanre and the elders request that Sethos and the other temple members return for the time being until the situation is settled, which also puts the Temple integration on hold.”

“But how could they know the Temple’s location? We’ve taken measures to ensure that no one beyond a select few outside the temple knows where it is,” he mutters to himself, brow scrunching as his mind works through every possible liability.

He knows it’s irrational, but a creeping anxiety rises in Wanderer at the thought that Sethos might turn his suspicion upon him, find him at fault for informing the Fatui of the Temple’s location. Yet, when Sethos finally turns his focus back to the matter at hand, no word of accusation is sent Wanderer’s way.

“No. No one who knows would compromise the Temple like that,” Sethos says resolutely, though it’s clear the question this now poses unsettles him. “Looks like we’ll just have to figure it out when we get there.”

He’s slipped back into the role of temple leader, serious, calm, pragmatic. It’s almost chilling to see him like this now, Sethos having separated his lives so wholly and cleanly that the only time Wanderer remembers he can get like this is during meetings with the elders.

There’s a sort of coldness in Sethos’ eyes when he turns to look at Wanderer, all his agitation barely hidden just beneath the surface. “Let’s let Asenath and Djer know before we get our things together. And make sure you have enough energy to fight. I suspect we’ll be doing more of that than we’d like.”

“‘We’?” Wanderer asks, a hint of incredulity in the question. This is a Temple matter. Why would Sethos trust him enough to bring him along?

“Of course, ‘we’, Lotus,” Sethos says, slipping back into his usual teasing self with a huff of laughter. “You’re our Akademiya liaison, after all. We can’t handle this matter without you.”

I can’t do this without you, he means, and Wanderer hears him loud and clear. This isn’t exactly something he wants Sethos to handle alone, either. If the Temple is in trouble, that means Sethos will be gone again until the issue is resolved, and he’ll be under more stress than he already is. If the result is anything like the one time Wanderer has seen him angry, he’d like to avoid it.

“Alright,” Wanderer says with a nod, conveying so much more in the way he holds Sethos’ gaze.

If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do this together.

“Good luck, you two,” Nahida says to the pair as they leave the Sanctuary.

Wanderer was never one to believe in luck or the blessings of gods, but just this once, he doesn’t mind accepting it.

Chapter Text

No one’s seen or heard of him before he began appearing in the streets of Sumeru City, no family, no friends, no history. There’s not a soul who can tell you a thing about him other than what little they glean from the interactions they have. He’s easy to pick out in a crowd, but finding him in the first place is the real trick. He’s nigh untraceable, flitting from place to place and only leaving an impression as a mark that he’d been anywhere at all. He’s like a ghost, blown in by the wind and swept away just as easily, and he is the most interesting person Sethos has ever known.

His work in the city starts as a way to get as much information from as many sources as possible. More ground covered, more information to cross-reference, fewer holes in his understanding of Sumeru City. That is, until this mysterious figure appeared, bearing no resemblance to anyone of Sumeran heritage, and going around the Akademiya like he was a student despite not wearing the same uniform as all the others. Even his clothes look like they come from a different nation altogether, especially his wide-brimmed hat, bearing a lotus upon its top. The lotus, a symbol of spiritual transformation, rebirth through suffering, and enlightenment. It only takes learning that this character is a student of the Vahumana Darshan to know that this fashion choice is not made lightly, more so after getting his hands on one of the reports the stranger had written. Beautifully detailed, if a bit over-poetic in its wording— ironic, for someone called Hat Guy— and most interestingly, based on historic events of Inazuma, a nation on the other side of Teyvat.

Sethos splits his time between researching Inazuma and watching his new “friend”. The clothes and way of writing fit the bill, definitely Inazuman, but coming all that way has to come with a trail of some sort, be it paper or witnesses. The Vahumana scholar starts to notice his gaze, begins dodging it and, eventually, returning it. It’s disappointing that his search for information has yielded so little so far; he doesn’t imagine he’ll have much more time to survey this new friend with how defensive he is, but what better place to gather information than the source? His meeting with Hat Guy at Puspa Cafe is perfectly orchestrated, finding just the right beleaguered scholar in need of a little help and coffee at a time just before Hat Guy usually studies at the cafe. The conversation, however, goes nowhere, Hat Guy putting up his walls faster than Sethos can decipher what it takes to get him to spill. He backs off. No sense in arousing the suspicions of an animal already on edge. It’s fine, it gives him time to look over what he knows and put the pieces together.

An Inazuman come to Sumeru without a trace of travel to study aetiology, bearing the symbol of the lotus. It practically screams wrong to Sethos. To someone less knowledgeable about the deep history of Sumeru, it might make sense; a person passionate about learning and hoping to change the world through what they gain from the Akademiya. To Sethos, it’s a haunting reminder of the god who sought to change the world with knowledge that should have never existed in the first place. It is the Temple of Silence’s duty to seal Forbidden Knowledge and spare the world its devastation, and if Hat Guy is in any way related to it, that explains his lack of history and gives Sethos all the more reason to get close.

An opportune moment presents itself when his efforts to bring the Temple of Silence and the Akademiya back together align with his search for information on Hat Guy. All other candidates for transporting the Akademiya’s dirty laundry are busy, and Hat Guy is close with the Archon. He doesn’t even need to pull any strings or say any sweet words to get her to send her errand-boy. It’s a nice surprise to see that Hat Guy can be, well, surprised. His startle at Sethos’ approach almost gets a laugh out of him. It’s a prime opportunity to get him to spill, the only issue is his usual method doesn’t work on Mister Defensive, who starts asking questions that don’t need answering.

“And what about your job could possibly prompt an interest in me?”

All of it. Everything. The fact that no one in the world knows your origins, that you wear something representing rebirth through suffering hidden where few would think to look, that you keep to yourself despite studying something that largely focuses on people. But without proof, Sethos’ suspicions are just that.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t about my job,” he lies. “I just think you're interesting.”

He babbles something that would probably work on any of those other clueless scholars, and when Hat Guy makes a face, he decides to switch gears. People usually trust someone who is willing to tell their own personal details; openness invites openness, after all. He isn’t thrilled at the aspect of revealing much about himself, but for the safety of Sumeru, of Teyvat, he’ll tell just enough. So Sethos keeps his mouth shut except to let slip stray tidbits about himself and give instructions on the travel route. He could figure Hat Guy out later, when there wasn’t world-ending information being transported.

It doesn’t take long for this approach to work, much to Sethos’ satisfaction. Maybe it’s a thoughtless slip, but it’s enough.

“Not these imbeciles.”

So he hates the Fatui. Maybe a bad history with them, a run-in or dealings with the foreign bunch? Not surprising, given their generally poor reception in Sumeru, but Hat Guy’s reaction leaves a feeling of more behind the scenes. Trying to pry more information fails, but Sethos expects that much, just as much as he expects the Ruin Serpents ahead. He plays the part of hero, then fool, then kind travelling partner, though most of it isn’t truly an act. His target dying before he can understand him wouldn’t be very good, and Sethos is so used to playing the fool that it feels second nature to him. Running through his repertoire of masks to find a crack in Hat Guy’s defenses does the trick, though, just not in a way he expects.

“I don’t need to eat.”

Definitely nonhuman then. During Sethos’ research of Inazuma, he’d learned of mystical nonhumans known as youkai, only found in the far-off nation and capable of feats beyond human capacity. The only thing that leaves Sethos hesitant to accept this is that there are plenty of other nonhuman beings in Teyvat, and his experience with Forbidden Knowledge has made him aware of Abyssal creatures capable of taking human forms. Either way, it makes sense. Hat Guy has a kind of otherworldly beauty to him and no records to be found. It probably wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to say a nonhuman entity managed to make it to Sumeru without documentation.

Hat Guy shivers under the downpour of rain. Huh. Either he isn’t as inhuman as Sethos thinks, or that was a very natural-looking act. Regardless, they need to keep moving. Even if he doesn’t eat, there’s no guarantee that Hat Guy can’t get sick or injured. His Anemo Vision carries him to the other side of the ravine with ease, leaving Sethos to find a way for himself. Simple enough, he’s done this dozens of times now. Even with the added difficulty of rain, he manages to make his way over. He expects the same disdainful look, but Hat Guy’s expression is more terse, concerned. It seems Sethos’ efforts are beginning to take effect. Good.

Though his “friend” is a tough nut to crack, Sethos still runs through a routine to build rapport. Leading the way to make a path for him, asking if he needed to be carried, offering solutions for the rain, all things that most other people would be grateful for, but Hat Guy seems to resent. When he takes his frustrations out on the Rishboland Tigers that drop down to ambush them, Sethos makes a mental note not to push his luck. Those wind blades aren’t something he wants to be on the receiving end of. He only speaks when spoken to until they reach a band of Eremites blocking the path to Caravan Ribat. These guys were difficult to pin. Sometimes they camped here, sometimes they didn’t, but running into them is never a pleasant experience. Sethos offers the first lie that comes to mind, hoping they’d take it and save everyone the trouble of a fight.

“Me and my friend are just delivering medicine to my grandfather. If you just let us pass, we’ll be out of your way.”

Of course, they don’t take it. Foreigners are easy targets to an experienced Eremite bandit, and even Sethos’ second attempt to deescalate falls flat. His mind scrambles for another way out, through words or running, but Hat Guy has other plans. The click of his tongue snaps Sethos from his thoughts.

“I can’t stand the sight of worms who don’t know their place.”

He acts before Sethos does, and his fighting prowess is nothing to sniff at. Thanks to years of training, Sethos is quick on the uptake, and the Eremites are down before long. None of them seem to be dead, thank goodness, despite how quick to anger Hat Guy is. Whether it was for Sethos’ sake or his own, it’s another clue to how human Hat Guy really is.

Sethos isn’t afforded much time to let this revelation sink in before a smaller group of Eremites comes to investigate the commotion. Instinctively, he takes Hat Guy’s hand and yanks him into a run. It’s freezing cold, not a trace of human warmth under the skin.

When the rain lightens up, they’re far enough from the Eremites and close enough to Caravan Ribat to slow down. The adrenaline pumping through Sethos brings a giddiness to him, and the smile on his face almost starts to hurt his cheeks.

“That was fucking awesome.”

Hat Guy looks shocked at Sethos’ words. Fair, he doesn’t curse very often, a bad habit he picked up from the city. Still, he entertains Sethos with more conversation than the two have had since starting on this mission, and Sethos basks in the relief. Like this, there are no secrets to be found, no world-ending knowledge, no hidden agendas. Just two friends talking, something Sethos had longed for since Cyno had been taken from the Temple. It was nice. Something he could get used to, if only there really were no secrets and Forbidden Knowledge.

Once they reach Caravan Ribat, it’s only a matter of collecting supplies and finding shelter. They settle at an inn close to the desert gate, and while Hat Guy isn’t keen on sharing a room with him, Sethos isn’t keen on letting him or the Forbidden Knowledge out of his sight. Sethos’ persistence eventually wins out. The room is a bit small, but it’s enough space for the two of them to handle their own business as they wind down for the day. It’s at least a good chance to surreptitiously get information out of Hat Guy. Sethos pesters him to change out of his clothes so he doesn’t get sick, and Hat Guy lets him know he doesn’t get sick, doesn’t sleep, and definitely isn’t human. It’s almost too easy. He also seems to have some issues with modesty, a concept Sethos still has trouble grasping with how little privacy one is afforded in a secluded Temple in the desert. Maybe that’s just an Inazuman thing, though.

They eat and prepare their things for the next stretch of the trip. Sethos makes one last bid to build rapport before he sleeps.

“Goodnight, Hat Guy.”

“Go to sleep.”

Darkness and an ever-present force that pulses through him, wracking his body with pain. It’s awful, but he can bear it. For Grandfather’s sake, he will. That room, just big enough that, no matter what corner Sethos crawls to, the Ba Fragment’s power never weakens. His nails ache and bleed from how much he’s scratched at the door, but no one answers his pleas for release.

Another nightmare. Nothing new, but still as frightening as they’ve always been. Knowing Hat Guy at least heard his nightly struggle does little to set Sethos at ease. Openness, even unwilling, invites openness. Still, he puts that discomfort towards focusing on the next stretch, the most arduous portion of their travels. They’ve made it maybe a quarter of the way before Hat Guy speaks, surprisingly without Sethos prompting him to.

“I think I prefer this version of you. Serious, calm, pragmatic.”

There are two ways Sethos can play this: play up these aspects and use them to get in close with Hat Guy, or use an over-the-top, obvious attempt at getting information to cover more subtle tactics in the future. One would be easy, but the other allows him to see where his boundaries lie. A wide grin stretches across his face as he drops his pace to dig for more information.

“Oh yeah? Well, since I’ve shown you this secret little side of mine, maybe you can return the favor and tell me something about yourself? Your past, maybe,” he says.

It takes a bit of back-and-forth and Sethos giving away some of the information he’s compiled, but Hat Guy eventually gives in.

“Don’t waste your time. Only the Archon is capable of making something like that, and even then, she could only do it successfully once.” He’s bitter when he speaks, and whether he knows it or not, pain fills his scowl.

He’s definitely connected to the Electro Archon’s puppet somehow, maybe the Electro Archon herself. But this isn’t a recent event. From what he’s learned, the puppet that stands in the Archon’s place has been around for centuries. Though youkai can sometimes live that long, Sethos doesn’t know enough about Hat Guy to single that out as a reasonable connection. However, his words insinuate a more intimate knowledge of this process.

The only way to know for certain is to ask questions. “Was there… another attempt?”

“There was.” His scowl shifts to aching regret. “She threw it away. All because it cried.”

There’s a lull in their conversation as Sethos lets the words sink in, trying to see how it fits with the rest of the puzzle. Hat Guy speaks before he does, and his voice is rife with pain and resentment.

“Ha. How ridiculous. Abandoned by a god…”

He picks up his pace, rushing ahead of Sethos. This is clearly a sore subject, and Sethos knows when not to push things. He drops that line of dialogue and sticks to playing the part of reliable travel guide. They pass by Aaru Village and reach the most annoying portion of this stretch: the monster-infested valley. Fungi, scorpions, and hilichurls have made their homes here, no matter how often the Temple sends out teams to clear the way, but at least Sethos is familiar with this routine. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he proposes a challenge. The one with the least kills has to give up a secret.

His confidence is ill-placed. Some things just can’t beat pure battle experience, after all. Even though it’s his loss, Sethos takes satisfaction in learning a new fact of his own. Hat Guy has had ample experience fighting, despite his enrollment in the Vahumana Darshan. Even without his inhuman nature, he’s more than just any old scholar. That, and he’s a poor sport.

The tale of his rise and fall from eminence has played out in Sethos’ mind more times than he can count. He thought he’d grown used to it by now, but as the words leave him, a bitter taste lingers in his mouth and the somber atmosphere he had tried to dispel returns. Coming to the edge of the valley wall, looking out at the place Sethos knows as home, he lets himself sit in the thought of “what if it had all gone differently?” Just for a moment. They have places to be and Forbidden Knowledge to seal. Snapping both of them from their silent reverie, he leads the way to the Temple.

Home. All the familiar shelves and halls and faces, some more welcome than others. Charmian takes quick stock of Hat Guy, Nasir goes to find Djer, and Sethos leads Hat Guy back to the room he calls his. Quiet, out of the way, and most importantly, close to the main library. Messier than he remembers. To be expected, it’s not necessarily his; the other temple members have access to it, but they’re kind enough to leave it to him when he returns. He tidies up some as they discuss the living arrangement, gathers the supplies Hat Guy will need for his own side-quest the Archon has put him on, and leaves him with instructions on who to ask if he needs anything in the meantime. Now, to deal with the Akademiya’s dirty laundry.

Hours of sealing Forbidden Knowledge under the scorching sun. Sethos is grateful for the sandstorm that appears, even though it’s in the middle of a sealing ritual. They manage to finish without issue, and the cool temple halls are a much-appreciated change of scenery. Until the meetings. Gods-awful meetings, and after that, more busywork tidying up the Temple affairs left to sour while he was away.

He hardly notices the passage of time until his body reminds him with a sudden hunger pain made all the more obvious by a loud growl that accompanies it. And then there’s Hat Guy, who he’d left alone and half-forgotten until now. Knowing he doesn’t eat doesn’t stop Sethos from making an extra portion; sharing is caring, and caring gives Sethos more credibility as his “friend”. Hat Guy doesn’t acknowledge him when he enters, writing away at the desk, but the tension in his shoulders is a dead giveaway that he’s at least frustrated with something. Announcing his presence and setting down the plates receives no response. Neither does trying to play empathetic host.

At a loss, Sethos tries his name. “Uh… Hat Guy?”

“How long does it take to seal forbidden knowledge?”

Beyond irritated, then. It’s nice to know that he was keeping track of how long Sethos had been gone, though; that means he cares enough to take notice of his presence. And probably has some issues with abandonment. That’s a good opening.

Pleading his case and apologizing is enough to have Hat Guy finally step away from his work. When he said he didn’t eat, Sethos thought he actually did not eat, but he tucks into the meal Sethos prepared with refinement, and almost restrained eagerness. Even more surprising is his willingness to entertain Sethos’ conversation, and though it’s mostly to help build this “friendship”, Sethos finds that he does genuinely enjoy their talk. Hat Guy is intelligent, obviously, and his insights into certain topics prove to be fascinating beyond what they allow Sethos to glean about him. It’s a shame time well-spent passes so much faster than time spent doing something as unenjoyable as sealing ceremonies in the desert heat. Dinner is over all too quickly, and Sethos heads to bed while Hat Guy continues his copies.

“Goodnight, Hat Guy.”

“Go to sleep.”

Ah. Still no luck.

That darkened room again, bloodied scratches at the door he’s crumpled in front of. His whole body burns with a fever, but he can’t stop shivering. Trying to call out is pointless, his throat is too sore to speak. Still, he tries, calling out for his Grandfather to release him from this misery. His head splits with a blinding headache as information from ages past fills it, the silhouette of a godlike Sage constantly at the corners of his vision. Many voices whisper, sometimes a cacophony of noise, sometimes eerily converging together into one, none of the words intelligible on their own, but making perfect sense somehow. Suddenly, the chill dissipates and the voices quiet. All that’s left in the dark is the painful headache, and the Sage who speaks to him of rising and falling cities of old.

Hat Guy is still writing when he rises, so he leaves him to his work as he prepares for the day. Breakfast is simple, as it always is in the Temple, but Asenath’s sunny personality is a welcome start to the day. Even talking to Elder Betresa helps soothe his nerves from his nightmare, and he can’t help his smile when she insists upon making her relaxing tea for Hat Guy. He brings a cup and an extra plate back to his guest. The only thing Hat Guy takes interest in is the tea, but it’s something. He’ll ask Elder Betresa to bring in a pot, build his favor with his “friend”.

The rest of the sealing goes well. The sun’s heat hasn’t been baked into the sand yet. With only a few pieces to seal, they finish the last before midday. This leaves his time free until the meetings begin, so he decides to test his theory on Hat Guy’s abandonment issues. Stopping by the kitchen for snacks, he finds Elder Betresa, who lets him know their guest was very well-behaved this morning. Nicer than he’s been to Sethos. A sweet spot for the elderly, it seems. She sends him back to the room with another kettle of tea, and he revels in the ease with which Hat Guy pulls himself away from his work compared to yesterday, and the comfortability of their chat before he has to depart for his meeting with the Elders. Hat Guy’s dislike of being left alone will be easy to exploit with how much the Elders like to keep Sethos busy, and he’s much more malleable when Sethos makes surprise visits.

Meetings are as gruelling as they’ve ever been. Abbasi makes no effort to hide his disdain for the collaboration between the Temple and the Akademiya, Elder Imani still nitpicks the finer details, Elder Idris keeps bringing up useless points and slowing down the conversation. He makes it through like he always does, but it doesn’t wear him down any less. It just gets easier to deal with that weariness once he leaves the meeting room.

He’s grateful to put his attention towards something else, stopping by the room is two birds with one stone. Building rapport with Hat Guy, and talking about something not related to logistics or Temple leadership, though that doesn’t stop him from complaining about it. A burden shared is a burden halved, and all that. Hat Guy pays him nearly no attention, only offering offhand comments as he continues to work. Boredom gnaws at Sethos, and he entertains himself by messing with the things Hat Guy allows him to. Which is nothing. At his wit’s end, he rests his head against the desk and lifts the page to see the back, a book he’s mostly familiar with, maybe not word-for-word but certainly enough to know the broad strokes of it. His meddling meets a quick end, though, when Hat Guy slams his hand on the desk, whirling on Sethos, face burning with anger.

“Do you not know how to keep to yourself? Go outside and play in the dirt if you’re so bored.”

… Did people from Inazuma usually look so attractive when they were enraged? And since when did Hat Guy experience such big emotions? The novelty of his reaction makes Sethos’ initial shock give way to buzzing elation. He backs off, but the interaction lingers in his mind.

He returns just before sunset. That reaction has haunted him through all the menial chores and tasks he assigned himself, eating away at him until a determination to see something similar once more set in. Taking a break is his excuse to lead Hat Guy away from his desk, he’s certain Hat Guy doesn’t need breaks, but he accepts the excuse with ease. A stick in the mud, as expected, Hat Guy watches as Sethos draws in the sand, and when he finally sees it from above, he erases it without a word. An opportunity. Sethos shoves him down the dune with an eager smile, expecting him to lash out, and he does. He wrestles Sethos to the ground, yelling in a language he doesn’t understand, face red with anger and ethereally stunning, until the two of them land in the icy oasis water. Sethos cannot help the loud laughter that comes with seeing Hat Guy drenched, even more so when that too gets a reaction.

He forgets himself as Hat Guy chases him through the water, until his Vision gives out and he falls beneath the surface. Sethos tries not to panic when he swims over to him. He’s grateful he doesn’t because the man is pissed, even when Sethos swipes his hair from his face and checks him over. They race back to shore— or Sethos races back to shore and Hat Guy continues to chase him, but the strength behind his grip when he finally gets ahold of Sethos is far greater than expected given his delicate frame.

“You fucking prideless cheat, I should drown you,” Hat Guy threatens.

It’s almost adorable. He’s clearly not going to, otherwise he would have already done so. Still, Sethos feigns defeat. “Sorry, sorry. It was wrong of me, but in my defense, it is incredibly fascinating to see you react so strongly.”

“Eat shit and die.” Gods, how much cuter could he get? He’s even holding back and letting Sethos dig his heels in to keep from being pulled back in the water.

“Hey, can you blame me? You barely ever show anything beyond mildly pissed and bored. It’s like watching a doll come to life.”

That sparks something in Hat Guy, a look of realization in his eyes before he lets go and looks away.

“Funny you should say that.”

A moment of silence passes. Sethos’ mind connects the dots.

“No… You’re kidding.”

He has so many questions. He isn’t shy about asking, chasing Hat Guy with questions that are dodged and left unanswered until they stop by the Temple gateway, Sethos laughing more than he has in a very long time. A genuine laugh, even rarer. He doesn’t want this moment to end. Peace and joy like this are distant strangers in his life, but Hat Guy makes good points. Sethos will get sick if he doesn’t dry off, and he has books to copy. Still, Sethos lingers in the moment. Just for a while. Then, it’s back to being the Temple leader.

Explaining their drenched clothes doesn’t go over smoothly. The Temple Elders never liked when he indulged in childish acts, even as a child, never mind now that he’s supposed to be a mature adult. There is always that perception that, before all else, he is a weapon, a vessel of Hermanubis’ power. And he will never shake that. He can at least distract himself with dinner and conversation, and for as angry as Hat Guy had been, he’s kind enough to entertain Sethos until he turns in for bed.

Grandfather stands before him, a dark look of disappointment in his eyes as he looms over Sethos’ trembling form. A bow, string snapped, lies between them, and Sethos is too weak to lift his arms to fix it, or beg for forgiveness. Tears flow at his helplessness, and the pain that wracks him, until a hand settles on his head. Above, the night sky is a brilliant smattering of stars, and he is small enough to curl up in Grandfather’s lap again as he reads stories of each constellation.

Hat Guy is beside him when he wakes, fingers gently combing through his hair. That explains why the nightmare turned so pleasant, but leaves Sethos with a few more questions. He pulls away eventually, unfortunately, and Sethos rises shortly after. No sense in lingering. He goes through the motions of the routine they’ve worked out, and then it’s more meetings. He lets the Elders do most of the talking, mind miles away until he needs to step in. This only results in the meeting being drawn out until lunch. When he is blessedly released, he only stops by the kitchen for refreshments before beelining for the room. Hat Guy is still writing. It doesn’t worry Sethos as much now that he knows what he is, but he’s still going to make sure he gets breaks. The Archon’s side-quest is going faster than expected. Hat Guy is confident he’ll be finished by tomorrow. Had it not been for the Elders finding work for Sethos, he would be returning to Sumeru with him. Still, he enjoys this new friend’s presence while he can.

After being called away to help with the most menial of tasks— sorting books— he returns with dinner to find Hat Guy in a huff about one of the books, apparently harder to copy than he anticipated. Sethos does not let his delight in the news show, only offering his help, which is quickly shot down. Time speeds by as they talk over dinner, and Sethos is almost eager to get to sleep. Maybe Hat Guy would spare Sethos another nightmare tonight, too. Only, he is far more undressed than Sethos has ever seen him when he returns. His mind stalls for a second, the fair skin only marked by the faintest lines— tattoos?— and it is… so. much skin not covered by the black bodysuit. He only snaps back to reality when Hat Guy makes a snarky remark. Right. Breaks. Bed. Sleep. He plays it off well, but when he offers a “goodnight” and gets one in response, it’s almost impossible to go to sleep, his chest filling with giddy delight. Until he remembers this is all meant to be an act, a means to an end. If he turns out to be related to Forbidden Knowledge, then all this will be over. But would it be wrong of Sethos if he enjoyed it, just for now?

No nightmares haunt Sethos that night, but neither do any dreams. Or so he thinks upon his rising. When he looks down to where he feels a solid form beside him, the most alluring being he’s ever seen rests beside him, watching him with cold, blue eyes. This had to be a dream. But he would speak to them after his mouth didn’t feel so morning and his hair was a little more tamed. He goes through his morning routine with a smile until cold water hits his face… That should have woken him up, but he’s exactly where he was standing before. His eyes shoot up to the mirror, expression a mix of shock and horror. He had been very much awake, and that was Hat Guy beside him. His mind races, confusion and repulsion and questions filling his head. In the moment, it had felt so right, but now everything just feels wrong, going against everything that had been ingrained in him since he was young. And as much as he would like to dissect this feeling, there were meetings to attend and Temple affairs to handle and a beautiful man in his bed waiting for his return. All Sethos can do now is shove it all down until he has the time to process it later.

He floats through the day, only halfway present for most things, but putting on a decent act. He even manages to make conversation with Hat Guy like usual, and the man makes no mention of this morning, thank the gods. He manages to finish tidying up the last bit of Temple affairs, then works on preemptively fixing things that might take unfavorable turns once he leaves again. The only problem is that this takes him to where Hat Guy is ordering Lady Khensa around, and Sethos can feel the sick twist from this morning again. He ignores it, stepping in to save Lady Khensa the offense and Hat Guy the embarrassment, guiding the latter back to the room while they wait for his resupply of ink. He distracts himself with a zaytun peach— or tries to, anyway. Hat Guy could not be more obvious about his jealousy, bitter about Sethos’ attention being turned anywhere but him, even stalling his work to stay by Sethos a while longer. The disgust and questions make themselves more obvious as joy fills Sethos at this revelation. He shouldn’t take so much pride in this, but he can’t help but tease Hat Guy a little, enjoying the way he avoids his gaze, caught. He leaves when Hat Guy shoos him away, but the unsettling feelings stay with him as he continues his work.

Sethos is kicked from the kitchen. Spices and herbs are a common commodity in the city, but the Temple is hidden in the desert, and restocking is a pain. He returns to the room, hesitant to subject himself to the source of his discomfort. Hat Guy is writing, much slower than before, but still making progress. Their back-and-forth is easy. He’s figured out that Hat Guy’s temper does not preclude him from banter; if anything, it makes it more enjoyable. At least he can use it as a way to stall Hat Guy a little longer, though the puppet was doing just fine on that front on his own. He should be unsettled by how easily Hat Guy makes him forget this is meant to be an act, but his mind doesn’t catch up until the words leave him.

“Yup! And this kid wants to hang out with his buddy some more, so stick around.”

They both pause, Hat Guy to let the words register, Sethos to find an excuse.

“‘Buddy’?”

Right. He’s making friends with him to get in close. “Yeah, I mean, we are friends now… aren’t we?”

Hat Guy neither confirms nor denies it, which in his case is clear confirmation. This should be good for a reason completely separate from what Sethos feels now, but the joy he feels is not because he’s one step closer to finding out Hat Guy’s secret. Now, for the first time in a decade, Sethos has made a proper friend. Even if it might just be for now. His thoughts turn to ways he might dispel the grief when the truth is revealed, then to compiling all the information he knows about Hat Guy in the hope that it might lead to something he isn’t expecting, until Nasir brings dinner. These thoughts can wait until they get back to the city. For now, they talk and eat, and eventually, turn in for sleep.

The Square is filled with onlookers, every face a blur. They cheer for pain, misery, bloodshed. His body hurts all over, a mix of the constant ache since indwelling the Ba Fragment and the new pain of fighting nonstop for… he can’t remember how long. He fights until his body gives out, and he collapses to the ground. Above him, a familiar face glares down in disgust. “How pathetic. This is supposed to be our next-in-line? Get up.” He tries, but every muscle screams in objection. “Get up.” His vision blurs— gets blurrier— as hot tears fall. He can’t. Get up!

He and Hat Guy wake at the same time. Both plagued by their own nightmares, if the look on his face is anything to go by. Luckily, Sethos knows just the remedy for this, and guides him outside to a cliff with the clearest view of the stars, even if they are fake. No good in ruining the magic for his friend, so he sticks to pointing out his favorite constellations and ignoring how pretty Hat Guy is even after having just woken up from a nightmare. He feels that cold gaze on him as he points out the Wanderer, only now, it’s a little warmer than usual. Teasing and talking and stargazing are enough to push down the apprehension and discomfort Sethos feels, until they both decide it’s time to head back in. When Sethos finds sleep again, this time, there are no nightmares, but a dream of a starry sea and two strangers who speak like friends.

The next day passes rather quickly. There isn’t much left to do, and they’ll be heading back to the city soon. Getting the all-clear is the only thing he needs to let Hat Guy know they can go, and after packing up everything they need, he says his goodbyes to his family, the Temple, his home. Going together, they step from the Temple halls into the setting desert sun.

Chapter Text

The trip back to the city is largely uneventful. He should be probing Hat Guy for more information, but frankly, his mind is too busy sorting through these strange feelings to try. His traveling companion doesn’t mind the quiet, though, and his attitude is in a much better state than last time. They part ways once in the city, Hat Guy to finish his side-quest with the Archon, Sethos to update Cyno and Tighnari on his status. Lambad’s is as lively as ever when he enters, all the evening guests working their way towards drunkenness and welcoming him with loud cheers. Their table in the corner gets a few visitors, but once they’re left alone, Sethos broaches the topic weighing most heavily on his mind.

“The drop-off went pretty well, all things considered, but there’s something off about that Hat Guy, don’t you think?”

“His recommendation from the Archon was strange, but he’s more than proven himself in his work,” Cyno says. “That said, the way he speaks and writes, how he keeps a distance from everyone, and his frequent disappearances, it does leave a sense that there’s something else no one knows about.”

“You were just like that when you were enrolled,” Tighnari quips.

The two go back and forth as Sethos mulls over their throwaway comments. If Hat Guy acts similarly to how Cyno had, it could point to a memory blockage. Cyno had confessed his memory of Sethos and the Temple was taken by the Ba Fragment, and he no doubt had trouble finding his identity in the city. At least it would explain why Hat Guy is so dodgy about answering questions about his past.

“By the way, about that tour you were asking about,” Cyno says, snapping Sethos from his thoughts. “I put in a request for you with the Archon, and it’s sounding like she’ll agree. We just need to sort out the dates.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Sethos says with a smile. At least one thing was going smoothly. “I can’t wait to see what we’ll be working with. Hopefully, we have a big space with rooms so the Temple members don’t have to worry about lodging.”

Cyno nods, and the conversation carries on. Sethos does well to keep up, but his thoughts stay on working out the puzzle of Hat Guy.

The next day begins with more work. His usual route through Treasure Street finds three errands to run before he sees two harrowed-looking merchants animatedly talking in hushed voices. A trip needs to be made into the desert, but none of the city-folk know their way around well enough to assist, and the Matra and Corps of Thirty are on the Archon’s orders. The perfect opportunity for Sethos to step in. Merchants, after all, meet a lot of people and come across a good bit of information.

“I can be your guide.”

The two men jump, shocked by his silent arrival, but their surprise is quickly replaced with grateful smiles. They’re as desperate for help as Sethos expected, going into the details of their trip as soon as Sethos confirms he can assist. It doesn’t take them long to gather the rest of their troupe and supplies before they’re ready to head out. Sethos doesn’t even need to bring much, they packed extra for his sake. Their route takes them through Caravan Ribat, where they manage to sell a good portion of their stock— medical supplies, stationery, fabrics, and an assortment of other general goods— before heading to Aaru village.

The merchants are a wellspring of information and so eager to show it. One in particular is well-traveled, taking his business all over Teyvat, his favorite place to visit being Inazuma. Now that’s worth hearing out. Sethos picks his brain for everything, lying about an interest in visiting other nations himself, and the merchant is all too happy to share. He talks about the culture, cuisine, fashion, and even gives Sethos a few lessons on the language, greetings, common phrases, directions.

“I know someone who speaks Inazuman, but he said something and never explained what it meant,” Sethos says casually, playing the part of fool and friend.

“Do you remember what he said? I’m fluent, I can translate for you,” the merchant says eagerly.

Sethos does his best to repeat the words he remembers. He's sure he’s getting the pronunciation wrong as the merchant’s smile begins to fall into a look of worry.

“Did… you two perhaps get into a fight?”

He smiles at the memory. “Yeah, I had just pushed him down a sand dune. He wasn’t too pleased about it, but it was the first time I’d heard him speak Inazuman.”

“Ah, I see… I’m surprised your pronunciation is so good for it being your first time hearing it, and to remember all that, no less. Um, please apologize to your friend, though. Inazumans don’t usually… curse like that.”

He figured he got cursed out, but it is a little funny to know that he made Hat Guy explode like that.

“I will, I will, I promise, but what did he say?”

“Please forgive my language,” the merchant says hesitantly, wincing as he continues, “He said ‘Go die, you bald idiot. Eat shit, and drown. Good-for-nothing shitheel. Motherless bastard. Fuck, you're so annoying. Die already.’”

Sethos blinks. Then bursts into laughter. The merchants look on in confused distress, and he can barely contain himself enough to continue. “Whew! I knew he had a temper on him, but he really didn’t hold back, huh? Can you teach me some of those words, so I know when he’s cursing me out?”

“I’d rather you not upset him enough to get cursed out…”

Still, he manages to get the merchant to explain some of the insults. Once he gets going, some of the others even join in, until the conversation turns back to casual talk of their travels. Sethos, for his part, is satisfied. Now that he knows a little Inazuman, finding a language guide and learning the rest should be easy enough, and that’s one less thing Hat Guy can keep from him.

Their caravan spends a few more days going about the desert, stopping by small Eremite settlements to shell out the last of their stock. A few of them have Fatui hanging around. It’s not every day you see desert-dwellers buddying up with foreigners, and interesting enough to have Sethos making conversation where he can, picking up new information and small secrets. Most of them make the excuse of being stationed in the middle of nowhere, some of them are sloppy enough to let little hints slip. Some kind of collaboration between the two groups. He doesn’t learn much before they go, but it’s enough for him to keep an eye out.

By the time they’re back in the city, they’re all good “friends,” and Sethos has a new recommendation under his belt for any other merchants in need of a desert guide. His payment is just the henna berry on top, enough to cover his expenses with a little extra left over. He’d celebrate later, though. Now, a certain someone wearing a lotus-topped hat sits in front of Puspa Cafe, as usual. Hat Guy doesn’t notice him coming up, too invested in a book, but he does see when Sethos sits across from him. His grip on his cup tightens, and his thumb squeezes down on the corner of the page. As unsociable as ever.

“Not even a ‘hi, Sethos’ when I finally get back?” He jokes. It does the trick.

Wanderer’s glare rises from the page. “What are you doing here?”

It’s funny how Hat Guy’s attitude changes on a dime. One minute, they’re buddies, the next, he hates his guts. Sethos’ attempt at buttering him up is met with flat-out rejection. Apparently, Hat Guy’s “curiosity” had been satisfied. So he was curious about Sethos, too. Good to know. Sethos isn’t about to just let go of the most interesting, possibly dangerous person he knows, though. He plays up the charming, friendly act. He doesn’t think it works, but for some reason, Hat Guy reconsiders.

“Fine. If you're that desperate for friends, I suppose I could entertain it for a while,” he grumbles.

Sethos can’t help but smile, their continued interactions and a mention of friendship the best thing he’s heard all week. “Awesome, because Cyno was actually talking about taking me on a tour of the Akademiya and I was hoping you’d come. He’s a real funny guy, you should meet him sometime.”

“I’ll consider it, but I make no promises for my schedule. Kusanali likes to keep me busy.”

“So busy you can sit down for a cup of coffee?”

Hat Guy mutters an Inazuman insult under his breath and turns the page, though he isn’t actually reading anymore. “Yes.”

“Hey, rude,” Sethos scoffs. “There you go again with the name-calling.”

Oh, that catches his attention. Hat Guy tries to look unfazed, but he clearly doesn’t trust Sethos. As Sethos explains the merchant’s Inazuma lesson, panic builds in Hat Guy’s bearing. Learning the language shouldn’t put him so on edge, confirmed by his panic switching to irritation when Sethos begins listing out the insults he’d been called. Learning about Inazuma is probably what made him so tense. There’s more to this discarded puppet story than meets the eye, then.

When Sethos teases that he’ll start insulting him in Deshreti, Hat Guy says he’ll learn it— an empty threat— and they slip into a casual rhythm as the day winds down. What a shame time well-spent passes so fast.

Sethos’ time is split between three things: running errands, solidifying himself as a constant in Hat Guy’s day-to-day, and researching Inazuman history. If history confirms his story, it would be less likely that he had anything to do with Forbidden Knowledge. Maybe it’s a selfish thought, but Sethos kind of hopes it does. It would be pretty sad to lose such a fascinating conversation partner. Cyno confirms the day of the tour, and Sethos tells Hat Guy at the first chance. He talks like he’s not going, but says he’ll be at the Akademiya regardless. Cute.

Waiting for Cyno to show up is probably the longest part of his day. The Akademiya is in no short supply of chatty scholars, many of whom stop by to talk with Sethos. They have so much interesting stuff to say about so many topics, none of which come close to broaching Forbidden Knowledge, but are good to know regardless. He doesn’t mind it much until the questions about Hat Guy begin. “I’ve seen you two hanging out, what’s he like?”, “So how do you know him?”, “Isn’t he kind of a prick?”, “Could you maybe put in a good word for me?”, and so many more. Every time they ask, that feeling— a mix of repulsion and fondness, he’s figured out— rears up, and Sethos does all he can to dodge their questions or direct them to another line of dialogue until Cyno shows up.

He expects the General Mahamatra’s presence to be enough to scare them off, but their curiosity is insatiable and they follow them into the Akademiya halls, asking questions between Cyno’s explanations. So Sethos is stuck making conversation, not something he ever thought he’d dislike, but isn’t finding particularly favorable in the moment. He can feel the mean stares they get as they enter the House of Daena, a decent-sized library, neither impressive nor mediocre in Sethos’ opinion. It only takes a quick look around to find the lotus hat stubbornly dipped in the corner, obviously ignoring the group.

The temptation is too much to resist. He bothers him as Hat Guy had told him not to, and the conversation he gets in turn is as fulfilling as it is perturbing, Sethos happy to tease even if he has to ignore that swelling feeling every time Hat Guy reacts. He's all too reluctant to see it end, but the tour must continue.

They lose the scholars at one point when Cyno takes them somewhere “restricted”. It’s just a shortcut to where the Temple’s department will be once the integration begins, but Sethos doesn’t complain. If anything, the silence is appreciated. All is about as Sethos expected, even the mountains of books and paperwork left behind by the figurehead “temple of silence” department. Any plans to clear the space will have to wait until the integration is solidified, which wouldn’t be anytime soon. Returning outside, another crowd of Akademiya students gathers almost instantly while the General Mahamatra speaks— flirts— with his partner off to the side, leaving Sethos to field questions and conversation once more. It’s not entirely terrible this go around, all topics he imagines every young person has with their friends. Sethos dons a mask of normalcy, acting his part perfectly, even as someone asks after his love life, even as the most interesting person he knows watches from afar. Then Hat Guy makes a face and begins walking off without even trying to heckle Sethos.

His feet move before he can give a proper excuse, something about catching up with a friend rolling off his tongue as he darts after the retreating figure. Really? Running away? That only spurs Sethos on more, and a moment later, he corners him in a secluded area. He plays it down, pretending he hadn’t waited for Hat Guy to approach him, and in turn, Hat Guy crosses his arms, leveling him with an indignant scowl. Anger never looked so pretty.

“Well, aren’t you Mr Popular?”

Amused confusion sweeps over Sethos’ face. Of course, Sethos is good at making “friends” with perfect strangers, but this time, their focus had not been on him. “Who, me? You’re kidding, right? I can’t tell you the amount of people who’ve approached me because I talk to you. Most of them were asking me to put in a good word, and not just for academic matters…”

Surprise, bewilderment, and irritation etch themselves into Hat Guy’s expression. Ever since their little spat at the oasis, Sethos has noticed more and more emotions coming from Hat Guy, each one its own form of loveliness.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The words cut into Sethos’ thoughts. What was he just thinking? Why did he find this unpleasant person so beautiful? The thought of articulating why anyone would want to get close to Hat Guy feels like putting a mirror to himself, and he can feel flustered heat creep over his ears and cheeks. His stupid mouth spouts more nonsense before he can stop himself, his thoughts taking form without his permission.

“Well, it’s no stretch of the imagination to say you’re attractive, and a lot of people are attracted to you. Honestly, I don’t blame them, you’ve got… an allure,” Sethos says, barely managing to collect himself enough to sweep those truthful words under a mask of playful friendliness. “I’m starting to see why you keep your distance, otherwise you’d have to beat the suitors off with a stick.”

Hat Guy stalls a moment, then says something else, but Sethos’ mind swims as he half-listens. His heart is racing, pulsing under his skin like a flurry of thunderclaps. Were his eyes always so blue? And is that the tiniest bit of blush he sees? When a finger is jammed toward Sethos’ chest and Hat Guy flips the accusation on him, something clicks into place. He’s jealous. He’s jealous, and it looks very, very good on him.

Oh.

Oh no.

Sethos teases him because it’s the only thing he can really think to do, the only constant between them. Internally, however, panic and horror grip him. He’s never felt this before, but it’s almost instinctive the way he knows this is more than just intrigue or fascination, more than fondness or familiarity. That can’t be right, though. Sethos has a job to do. But Hat Guy is so smart and confident and snarky and beautiful, and it’s hard to ignore this feeling any longer.

Like too many times before, he forgets himself, lets his body and mouth move without worrying about what his Elders might think or some role he should be playing, crowding Hat Guy as he tries to egg another reaction out of him. When he slips and calls Sethos his friend, it’s like the heavens open up and his heart sings. He could take that. Gladly! An admission of friendship is better than acquaintanceship, or worse yet, strangers. Sethos doesn’t think when he invites him to his house, doesn’t hide his elation when he agrees, doesn’t stop smiling when Hat Guy still tucks away the messily scribbled map to his address.

“So I’ll see you later?” He should not sound so excited to have someone over at the one place he can call his.

“No shit. How else are we supposed to set a date?”

… “Sorry, ‘date??’” Like what normal people do? Like what you do with someone you… This is moving much faster than he thought it would— and then Hat Guy corrects him, and embarrassment takes hold. Right. Date like day, like time. He decides to leave before he embarrasses himself any further, but his thoughts swirl, his stomach churns, and his heart hammers in his chest.

Sethos can try to spin it any way he likes, but there’s no denying it any longer. He likes Hat Guy. If there is an upside to this unfortunate twist of events, it’s that he can use these feelings to help his mission. He just has to make sure he doesn’t get too close, doesn’t lose sight of what he’s really here for. He’ll indulge these feelings— his first real crush, first time in love— and if all goes horribly wrong, it’ll be fine. He’s been disappointed before, and he would deal with it again.

He hopes he doesn’t have to.

It’s a blessing in disguise that Hat Guy gets swamped with work when his proposal does well. It means Sethos doesn’t have to see much of him, doesn’t have to confront these feelings, and has time to formulate a proper… not-date. Entrapment. He busies himself with errands, partially to keep his mind off him, partially to save money for all the supplies he’ll need for their dinner.

He takes another commission guiding merchants through the desert. This caravan sells artifacts and weapons, and their stop in Aaru Village is short. Candace and Dehya make it clear that these seeds of destruction are unwelcome in the village. They listen when Sethos asks for a moment to talk, though. He doesn’t burden them with the idea that Hat Guy might be connected to Forbidden Knowledge, but he does spill most other embarrassing details, even with his mind screaming to keep this crush hidden. While Dehya finds amusement in their rocky start, Candace offers her genuine advice. Matters of the heart are best met with sincerity, she says; separating his feelings and his work would pan out better than if he continued to use even his own emotions as a means to an end. At the very least, it would spare both of them any future hurt. He lies when he says that he would take her advice to heart. He can’t afford to.

Getting in close with the Eremites and Fatui is much easier this time around. The Fatui frustrated about not having gear tailored to the desert’s climate complain about needing to stay in the middle of nowhere “just to make correspondences with some old geezer.” The Eremites irritated by the Fatui’s complaints bemoan their foreign allies as “only good for the mora their boss sends over for his little project.” He doesn’t learn what the project is, they’re all very adamant about keeping that part a secret, and he’s not going to push his luck now that they’ve only just started to trust him.

His pay when they return to this city is a hefty bag of mora that he accepts graciously, and dinner, paid for by the caravan leader, to celebrate their successful trip. It’s a fancier restaurant than Lambad’s Tavern, and though the portion sizes are a little on the small side, they give Sethos ample ideas for what to prepare for his evening with Hat Guy.

It’s a stroke of luck that on one of the errands he runs the next day, the kind woman he had been helping mentions her wine collection, even offers to bring him a bottle when they finish. He never turns down gifts, each piece a little insight into the person and a small way for Sethos to at least pretend he has a chance at normalcy. It’s a stroke of misfortune when he hears the metallic jingle of Hat Guy’s accessories as she leaves him at the door. Sethos tends to put on a charming face and Hat Guy has proven how jealous he can get. It’s the last thing Sethos wants for him to misunderstand the exchange, and once the bottle of wine is in his hands, he rushes to Hat Guy to explain himself… Only, he doesn’t need to explain himself. Hat Guy is perceptive and has been watching Sethos work for some time now. He knows how he operates, and even teases Sethos for panicking in the first place. Their back-and-forth eases the tension even when Sethos finds he has no comeback. Hat Guy is at least kind enough to switch the line of dialogue to their dinner plans, the date— day— settled for three days later, even after Sethos’ slip of the tongue.

‘Whenever you want me,’ he had said. He is far too excited for something that isn’t even a date.

The next few days are spent gathering ingredients, dishes, and decorations. He sets up his house to be in perfect condition for Hat Guy’s arrival, hoping that with a good first impression, he would want to come over again, and again, and again— so Sethos could observe him up close, of course. He tests new recipes based on the dishes he’d seen at the restaurant until he’s satisfied with their taste and presentation. He goes through his wardrobe for something fitting the occasion, only to find that his clothing style is tailored to the desert and casual wear. It’s fine. At least he knows enough about braiding to do something with his hair.

As Sethos puts the final touches on his balcony, trying to get the flower garlands lining the railing to swoop right, the knock comes. He almost falls down the stairs with how quickly he scrambles to answer the door, but when he opens it, his heart swells with frightening affection. Hat Guy is gorgeous as ever, and Sethos is starting to feel so nervous, and— he kept the drawing? Oh no, why is he so cute?? Even worse, he got him a gift. Sure, he’s received plenty running errands, but none of them came from someone Sethos was interested in. The golden compass is engraved with a message for lovers, and for the first time, he finds himself faltering. He doesn’t believe in fate, but this might make him start. Just as the moon eclipses the sun, I hope you always find your way back to me.

The nickname ‘Lotus’ rolls off his tongue without much thought, and it just feels right. The Nilotpala Lotus brooch is a good cover, but to Sethos, it signifies so much more. If they were to be the sun and moon, then what better way to represent Hat Guy than the Lunar Lotus?

He has to remind himself not to get too close, too invested, but it only works a little, enough to carry him through dinner until they take their coffee to the balcony. Hat Guy raises an eyebrow and he hesitates. Was it too much? But Hat Guy keeps the conversation going and Sethos can breathe easy knowing he’ll look past the overly obvious gesture. When their conversation takes a turn for insults in their respective languages, Sethos is shameless about calling him sweet names in Deshreti, testing each one with hidden sincerity. “My moon” is his favorite, but he’ll settle for being allowed to call Hat Guy “Lotus”, the smile tinged with mock indignation doing very little to put Sethos off it. He does not let the hope that he might feel the same bud.

Though the night seems to stretch a comfortable eternity, their cups eventually empty and bring them back to the kitchen for a refill, even if Sethos explains why he shouldn’t reheat the coffeepot. He drags their conversation out as long as Lotus allows him, not wanting this night to end, but time well-spent never lasts. Eventually, they end up at the door, Sethos seeing Lotus off into the night. He makes a half-joking comment about walking him home, and the puppet fixes him with a suspicious look.

“You’re just trying to figure out where I live, aren’t you?”

Right. This is the game they play, one of mistrust and secrecy, watching each other and eking out the truth. Sethos had forgotten. The fact that he had forgotten only brings a painful ache in his chest as his genuine affection is met with suspicion. He lets him go without pushing the subject further. He had a role to play and a mission to fulfill. He can’t allow himself to get swept up in these feelings, no matter how terrifyingly sweet they are.

The next day, Sethos focuses on his actual work, the Temple-Akademiya relations. He may have allowed himself to get distracted yesterday, but he came to the city for a very important reason, and today would be different. Or so he thinks. Seeing the Archon, Cyno, and Lo- Hat Guy. talking about assigning a new liaison on the Akademiya’s behalf washes away his regrets from the night past. As much as he enjoys Cyno’s company, he is infinitely more interested in the prospect of Hat Guy accompanying him to the Temple more often, giving them a chance to get closer, bond properly. So he butts in. And Hat Guy is none too pleased about it. He makes it clear in his grumbling and glaring as they leave the city. Sethos tries to ease the mood by teasing him as usual, but he snaps at Sethos.

“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You listen to people spill all their problems and secrets to you and you take it back to your little Temple to make sure no one’s got a thing to do with Forbidden Knowledge, isn’t that right, Sethos?”

Again, his genuine attempt at connection is met with suspicion. Sethos withdraws. He’s not wrong, after all. That’s exactly what he’s doing with Hat Guy. But today is supposed to be different. They had a nice time last night… right? Still, when Hat Guy asks for space, he gives it. Even Sethos needs time alone when he gets too upset, so he goes ahead and waits for Hat Guy to catch up when he realizes he’s left him too far behind.

He watches as Hat Guy flies over the river, seething with rage, only to walk into the water and dunk his head under its surface, splashing, thrashing, and screaming. Once, then twice. He looks like he’s just about got it out of his system when Sethos pipes up, but that only makes it resurge. They wrestle in the river, Lotus doing his best to dunk Sethos, who allows himself to get soaked to the bone, if only to help Lotus get it out of his system. Before long, his anger turns to competitiveness, and a vicious grin pulls at his face, and he looks so pretty. Even his breathless laugh sounds perfect as they pull themselves onto the dock to dry off, and he doesn’t knock Sethos' hand away when he offers to pull him up.

When they set off again, Sethos stays beside Lotus, telling him stories of his many adventures through the forest as they go. Today is going to be different, but it’ll take some work, and Sethos is fine with that.

With sleep comes nightmares. A city falls to the swarming tide of an enemy army, scared faces Sethos does not recognize but somehow knows he cares for huddle behind him. Then his body is torn apart into hundreds of pieces, each fragment formed through excruciating pain until he is no more. He watches as his people fight back, helpless to assist, even as some fall. Something touches him, and his eyes fly open to see Hat Guy looking down at him with worry. The sun is already turning the sky a warm gold. He’s slept too long.

“Bad dream?”

The question feels out of place coming from Hat Guy, and no amount of fondness can convince Sethos to bare open his heart. Not about something so devastating, not about this. He gives a half-answer, slipping into his morning routine with little else. But Hat Guy isn’t satisfied, staring until Sethos says the first lie that comes to mind: he’s nervous about the meetings they’ll endure with the Elders. Not entirely untrue, but also not the source of his troubles. It’s enough to get Hat Guy to drop the subject without Sethos divulging anything too personal or irrelevant to their current mission.

The next stretch of their journey is more quiet than conversation, and Candace and Dehya’s appearance is exactly what Sethos needs to get his mind off things. They’re more tense than usual with the stranger following Sethos, and Lotus’ discomfort at being the odd one out is palpable. Inviting him into the conversation is a mistake in an unforeseeable and immediate way. Dehya makes an enemy of Lotus, and Candace tries to spill Sethos’ secret, making her appreciation for Sethos’ taste known, though he could do without her overeagerness at getting them together. Forcing an impromptu meal break seems to work well enough; it at least gives Sethos a chance to show that Dehya was only joking and gives Candace a chance to take stock of Lotus. The visit ends on a much brighter note, Sethos’ friends all acquainted and Lotus having learned more about him.

That isn’t where the Sethos Fun Facts end, though. The last portion of their route results in another competition. The reward? More secrets from the loser. Lotus wins, of course, Sethos makes sure of it. It’s more challenging to not make it obvious, to think of a good enough tidbit to satisfy his curiosity. Everything he offers up is shot down; he already knows him well. When Sethos thinks he’s run dry of interesting facts about himself, Lotus offers up a suggestion.

“I don't know anything about your nightmares...”

Ah, just when he thinks that line of dialogue has been forgotten. He doesn’t expect Lotus to pry, it’s very unlike him, and it isn’t something Sethos wants to discuss. He lets him down gently, saying, “Very true, you don't, but I’m afraid it's gonna have to stay that way, at least for a while longer. That's not something I’m ready to share just yet.”

They go quiet, each weighing the other’s reaction. Then Lotus speaks.

“What's your favorite color?”

It’s baffling how simple and normal the question is. Sethos isn’t sure if it’s surprise or elation he feels, but whatever it is hides behind a quickly followed jest, Sethos refusing to answer until Lotus has made a guess.

“Blue,” he grumbles, frustrated and embarrassed. His eyes are a reflection of the oasis he gazes out at, at the sky they’ve sat together under. Blue. It’s a very “Lotus” color.

“Yeah, I think blue could be my favorite color.”

“You think?”

“I actually don't have a favorite color. I guess nothing’s really caught my attention like that before,” Sethos answers truthfully. While he is a practiced professional in the art of dodging and deflecting, openness invites openness, he reminds himself. And it wouldn’t be unpleasant to know more about the object of his affections. “Do you have a favorite color?”

Lotus takes a moment, probably thinking of a lie. Sethos wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have a favorite, but he is surprised when he finally gets an answer as they lock eyes.

“Green.”

Green like the Sumeran rainforests, or like the tea they shared? Like the plains of Inazuma, or his eyes? Does he want to know? He flusters, switches the topic out of habit.

Relief comes in the form of the Temple members who swarm them as they step into the cool entry hall. A quick reintroduction with Lotus’ new title, a few questions answered, and a check-in with the Elders. They meet once more in their room, Lotus already laying blankets down on the bed.

“Already preparing for bed? Won’t you humor me a little and have dinner first?”

“I was just getting it set up. The way you were always disappearing last time we were here, I figured we’d have a meeting to attend later.” Bitterness washes over his words, and Sethos relishes the hold he has on Lotus already. He’d missed him enough to note how long he’d been gone.

“No, no meetings today. We arrived later than I expected and I wanna give the news time to sink in while we prepare.”

Lotus’ apprehension could not be more evident as he watches Sethos straighten out the tableware like a hawk. “Prepare for what?”

“Meeting the elders,” Sethos answers cheerily. “Remember how I said most are hard to get along with? Well, a lot of it has to do with manners and obedience, and let’s be real, you have neither of those things. So let’s practice.”

There are many things Lotus dislikes, and very near the top of the list would have to be the practice Sethos puts them through. He’s a fast learner, though, and it only takes Sethos answering his questions once for him to take in the information. His relief at wrapping up is almost amusing, certainly cute, and he goes to bed with a frown.

Lotus always keeps perfectly still when he “sleeps”. It’s honestly kind of fascinating. Sethos takes a moment to watch him in this trance-like state before he pulls him up from the bed, guiding the groggy puppet through his morning rituals and to the kitchen, where Asenath and Elder Betresa wait with breakfast. Sethos wonders how far he can take Lotus in this half-asleep state, how long he would follow along like a lost sheep, until a sudden clarity fills his eyes and he looks around. Ah, over so soon. He’s kind to the women, but Sethos can already see his ire boiling beneath the surface. He doesn’t give him the chance to unleash it; they have very little time to prepare before the meeting, and Sethos intends to use it in full. So they run through one last meeting rehearsal, clean up each other’s appearance, and with one last reminder for Lotus, they head to the meeting room.

The beginning is smooth, no outbursts at Lotus’ position as liaison instead of Cyno, no eye-rolling or sigh-heaving when Sethos asks him to give a statement, and Sethos doesn’t break character when Lotus praises him. Even the first couple of questions for Lotus are answered… well, decently, at least. Then Abbasi pipes up. Sethos’ least favorite Elder if he’s allowed to have favorites. His insinuation that Sethos would pass off important work to someone he’s friends with makes his blood boil, but when Lotus gives an answer— vague, but truthful, judging by how seamlessly he gives it— and Abbasi pushes the subject, Sethos cracks.

“Abbasi,” he says, low and threatening. “He’s answered your question. Would you really have him go over every last detail when you know as well as anyone here the things I have gone through for the Temple of Silence?”

He had been one of the primary afflictors of Sethos’ pain after indwelling the Ba Fragment, taking his anger out on him under the guise of training. Nothing was ever good enough for him, and everything Sethos did was seen as a disgrace to Hermanubis’ legacy in Abbasi’s eyes until Grandfather had finally told him to tone it down. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t still hold resentment towards the old man, but Sethos is the leader now, and it’s his duty to be as impartial as possible.

When the room goes quiet, Sethos tries to rein himself back in, just enough to get himself and Lotus through to the end. But it is going to be a very long meeting, to say the least.

Chapter Text

When they finally get back to their room, Lotus looks like an empty shell of himself, ready to collapse at any second. That meeting had been brutal, by far one of the more tense ones that Sethos has seen in a while. He can already sense Lotus’ rising aggravation now that he doesn’t have to play a role, and Sethos’ attempt to cool it with praise falls flat. Awkward silence descends. When he can bear it no longer, he snaps out a question.

“What?”

Sethos doesn’t want to ask, but if he doesn’t say something, he’ll only get more irritated by the silence. “I know you’re upset, Lotus. Is there… anything I can do to help you?”

A grimace of regret falls over his face before he drags his hands down it with a long sigh, frustrated with himself and the situation. “No. Just give me some space.”

His voice is quiet, like he’s scared to break what tentative peace is left. Sethos can’t imagine space doing much good for someone who hates being alone. He also has no intention of accidentally breaking the peace himself. So he leaves. If he needs space, Sethos would provide. After he leaves him with enough material to keep him entertained.

It’s a struggle to keep himself occupied enough not to return to Lotus’ side. Maybe his conditioning has bitten him in the ass, maybe this stupid crush is causing more problems than expected. Sethos finds himself almost walking back to the room more times than he can count, looking in its direction even more. He even stops by the kitchen, intent on making dinner for the two, before he remembers Lotus doesn’t need to eat. How long is this “space” thing supposed to go on for? He settles for whatever they serve for dinner, taking his plate to a corner of the Temple far from their room. Some things just taste better with company.

At some point, Sethos takes to reading random books, most of which he knows well enough to skim. He grows listless, but he can’t sleep either, which might be for the best when he hears the door to the Temple rumble open in the middle of the night. Quickly, he grabs a cloak and his bow before following after the retreating figure. Only when they step into the moonlight does Sethos finally recognize who it is. His familiar silhouette had been obscured by the old blanket Sethos keeps in his room, but those sharp eyes and near-constant frown are easy to identify on their own. Lotus makes his way up to their stargazing cliff, and Sethos follows. The night is cold, the stars are bright, and Lotus is beautiful even when glaring up at the sky. Sethos can’t help but laugh a little seeing this. Lotus doesn’t turn to him, but his grip on the blanket grows tighter.

Well, time to test the waters, see if there’s any chance to smooth things over. “I thought I heard someone leave. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” he snaps. Something shifts in his expression, regret maybe, and his voice is gentler when he speaks again. “That room is way too big and empty.”

It's almost unfair how cute he can be. Even though Lotus had been the one to ask for space, his words carry enough meaning to dispel any restraint lingering in Sethos. He goes to his side, sitting down and trying to admire the stars more than the man beside him.

“You didn’t say that last time.”

“That’s because you were there last time.”

Confirmation. Sweet, blessed confirmation. “Well then, let me keep you company.”

Sethos rattles off the constellations he can see, and beside him, Lotus smiles, small and warm, but it’s there. Much better than a scowl.

No nightmares await Sethos in the night, but a dream greets him in the morning. A blush tints Lotus’ cheeks when Sethos greets him. It’s a sweet moment, a taste of what Sethos could have if not for his responsibilities… until his hand is used to wipe his own drool off Lotus’ shoulder. It would be kinda gross, if not for the air of domesticity in the act, or that rare huff of laughter.

Morning after breakfast is dull. There is nothing to do besides lounge since Sethos had ensured the Elders would not hold another meeting today. He wants to suggest a tour of the Temple, but knowing Lotus, his safest bet is going to the Square. It’s nice to see the approval on Lotus’ face, though he refuses to speak even a word of praise about the armory. Still, the way his hands and eyes drag over the weapons is like an experienced warrior appreciating each blade, and Sethos watches him with interest. He eventually settles on the Xiphos’ Moonlight replica, ironically enough— the power of a divine being in the hands of a mortal man only leading to ruin and ringing a little too close to Sethos’ own story.

Stepping onto the Square's stage is a monumental feat for Sethos. He hasn’t ventured lower than the landing Djer normally perches on since his duel with Cyno, and the shameful memory weighs on him with every step towards the center. He pushes past it and takes position, focusing on the now. Now, he can gauge how experienced a fighter Lotus is, and he does not disappoint. Every movement is purposeful, every strike precise. Sethos doesn’t show how much effort it takes to keep up, but his brave face comes with the cost of a strike to his shoulder. A relatively shallow cut, easily mended, but the horror on Lotus’ face is unexpected. He loses his edge after Sethos convinces him to continue, pulling his strikes and trying to keep a distance. All this does is give Sethos the advantage. His victory comes almost too easily, with Lotus prone and Sethos’ sword resting lightly against his rising and falling chest.

“I know it’s not the sword that makes the swordsman, but you seemed so confident when you picked it out.”

“If I were actually trying to kill you, you’d be dead by now,” Lotus says, but his attention is on the blood lining his blade.

“My life, my heart, whatever you want,” Sethos jokes in Deshreti as they return to the armory. It doesn’t feel like much of a joke when Lotus echoes him with poor pronunciation and Sethos corrects him, or when Lotus cleans up his Inazuman, or when cleaning the weapon and his wound turns into a Deshreti lesson and Sethos gets him to apologize again and again.

The following days are just as slow. Meetings here, Elders nagging there, almost too much downtime in between. They try to spar a few times, but the replica Lotus used had been fashioned with as precise an edge as the original, and the cut is deeper than he thought. Healing is a pain, sleeping on his side even worse, but eventually all they can do with Sethos’ current state is wittle away the hours lounging about and talking.

Getting the okay to head back to the city is the highlight of their stay. Sethos wastes no time getting them on the road to Sumeru City, but nothing ruins a trip faster than being stung by a giant scorpion. It's painful, of course. Being struck with a huge dose of venom from a stinger the size of a coin tends to be. Sethos would prefer to ignore the wound, not show such a pitiful side to his crush, but Lotus is adamant about tending to it now. Guess the shoulder wound scared him more than Sethos realized. Despite how urgent Lotus is, he falters when it comes to actually tending to the wound. Sometimes Sethos forgets he’s not human. He takes over, explaining how common run-ins with scorpions are in the desert, how minor the wound is, even if it doesn’t feel very minor. The venom is already taking effect and all Sethos can do is clean it to prevent infection until they can see a doctor.

It’s frustrating how much he slows them down, but his temperature skyrockets and his breathing grows short. Neither a good sign. Lotus all but forces him onto his back, carrying Sethos the last stretch to Aaru Village while he distracts himself from the pain with a game of I Spy. He spouts nonsense, his mind is a haze and slow breathing is only doing so much to slow the venom’s spread, but he’s pretty sure he’s winning. He never does learn the results, falling unconscious just before they reach the village.

The next time he wakes up, it’s in a clinic and feeling better, but not great. His throat is painfully dry and his head throbs with pain, but all things considered, he’ll be able to pretend long enough to make the rest of the trip. It's a struggle, but he manages. Until Caravan Ribat.

Night is filled with painful memories and terrifying dreams, like usual, only much worse. Probably the venom’s fault. Morning mocks his nightly struggle with a bodily ache he hasn’t experienced in over a decade. Any progress from yesterday feels thoroughly undone, but he’s not gonna let some silly venom get the better of him though, not in front of his crush, so he smiles and pretends he has more energy than he actually does, and takes his medicine when Lotus tells him to.

He’s almost convinced it's doing its job when the rain hits. Though “rain” feels like putting it lightly. Maybe torrential downpour? Monsoon?? Punishment from the gods??? Whatever it is, it takes a toll on him, his body caught between a fever and chills. He can't even keep up the act after diving into the river, a grave miscalculation that puts his body in a mix of shock and fatigue. But he’s pushed through before and he’ll push through again, if only to keep Lotus from worrying. It doesn’t work. He insists upon seeing Sethos home, even going so far as to get him in bed and threatening him to take his medicine as instructed. Not that Sethos would.

The nightmare this time is an incomprehensible, horrible mesh of his suffering the Ba Fragment and memories that aren't his. Waking brings him to a totally different nightmare, one that makes his whole body ache and sweat, burn and shiver. He needs to get up. Grandfather always made him soup on the rare occasions he got sick, and even if he wasn’t fully up to the task, he could at least try. He makes it down the stairs before a violent wave of vertigo hits him. Sit— no, he needs to lie down. He stumbles towards the couch and makes it a few steps before his vision goes black.

Something pulses in his chest. It’s not his heart, far too violent and overwhelming. It claws him from the inside, his chest the walls of that room. When it breaks free, the door opens with it. This thing pours into every inch of him like the light that blinds him as he stumbles from that room. It eats away at him, his emotions, his memories. The faces he thinks he should recognize swarm him, words meaningless buzzing, and a staff is shoved into his hands. He will fight, that much he understands through the cacophony, until he can fight no longer. And he does. Endlessly. It hurts. Everything hurts. And that thing is still clawing him, eating him, turning him into a husk. No more. When he falls, he is forced back to his feet. No more, please. He must fight.

“No. Don’t touch me. I can’t— I can’t do it anymore, just let me die. Please,” he begs, fighting against the figure that crowds him.

Hands take hold of his face and tears spill from his eyes. He will fight until he can fight no longer, until his body can no longer serve as the vessel.

“Sethos, it’s me. It’s— it’s Hat Guy.”

Words he could understand, finally, and a voice familiar and more than welcome. The nightmare shifts suddenly to a pleasant dream. It has to be. After all, his Moon is here when he said he wouldn’t be, and he’s in bed when he should be downstairs making soup. As if reading his mind, Lotus offers him a bowl. It’s… not g— interesting. It’s an interesting flavor. And even if he takes his time eating it, he still tries to get it down. Lotus made it, after all.

Every bite brings a slow clarity to Sethos, the life that had been eaten away from him returning with each spoonful. It’s a good thing Lotus leaves when most of Sethos’ sense has returned. This definitely isn’t a dream. He’s still in his bed, still feels miserable, and is stark naked under the thin blanket that covers him. Cool. His crush, who prefers modesty, saw him as bare as the day he was born. Cool, cool, cool. He drags himself from bed despite the pain, if only to put something on. It exhausts what little energy he has regained, and when he lies back down, it takes everything in him not to fall asleep again. Lotus said they would talk later. He has to stay awake.

Maybe he’s losing his edge. He doesn’t expect when Lotus berates him for staying awake, when he sits beside him on the bed, or when he brings up the medicine. He at least manages, though not nearly as subtle as he’d like, to turn the conversation in a direction that’s been bothering him: why Lotus is here. It’s embarrassing how pathetic this wound has turned him, hope of an answer that sounds like reciprocation building with every word.

“I don’t dislike you… I find you interesting.”

No. No, he isn’t supposed to say something like that, not when Sethos is like this, in this weak state. It isn’t fair. How is he supposed to hold these feelings back now? The words that spill mindlessly from his mouth are as close to a confession as he will allow himself in this moment, but every syllable rings with truth.

“I like what we have, being with you is fun.”

If all that Sethos is allowed to have is this friendship, he would take it gladly, gratefully. Anything to bask in this sweet moonlight just a while longer, Forbidden Knowledge be damned.

It wasn’t all a dream, Sethos thinks blearily as he wakes to the smell of something good. Heading downstairs brings the pretty sound of Lotus’ voice and eventually, a bowl of something delicious— shimi chazuke, he calls it. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone how he managed to convince Lotus to spend the night, but in the morning, the aches and pains that had haunted him the past few days are much more tolerable. So maybe medicine did work sometimes. He doesn’t let Lotus know that though, only that he’s healing as they return to their usual routine, watching each other and running errands in the busy streets of Sumeru City.

Their meetings don’t change much beyond Lotus’ new involvement in the Temple-Akademiya relations. Relief comes in a flood when Sethos’ research of Inazuma turns up a story similar to the one he’d been told, one of the Raiden Shogun’s first puppet— though that one had apparently gone missing. Now, the only thing that provides even the faintest hint of suspicion is the lotus hat, something Sethos is willing to turn a blind eye to. He’s been keeping a close eye on Lotus and there hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary. As far as even Sethos can tell, he’s just a regular scholar, the same as all the other Akademiya students. Every meeting with the Elders, he does as he said he would, only facilitating a smooth transition and reporting to Kusanali with Sethos by his side, without complaint.

Sethos lowers his guard, putting these suspicions to the back of his mind and focusing on the now. Now, he likes a brilliantly intelligent and fascinatingly mysterious puppet from a nation across the sea. Now, he doesn’t want to mess things up, and if keeping his initial suspicions hidden will facilitate that, what’s one more secret to the leader of the Temple of Silence? That’s the only real secret he keeps anyway. Everything else, every secret place Sethos treasures, every small activity he keeps to himself, every story that he remembers from his youth, becomes Lotus’ too. Even the name he’d been calling Lotus— Ya Qamari— becomes something for the two of them when Candace rats on him. Her and her matchmaking meddling.

As the days turn to months, so many things change, namely, how Sethos feels. What once had been a fluttering first crush turns to an overflowing first love. It’s awful. It’s embarrassing. It is everything Sethos had imagined it to be and more. When the regular people would titter on about crushes and relationships, he used to nod along without a clue or care. It seemed something out of reach, an impossible dream for someone like Sethos, but now he has it in his hands and it feels impossible to let go of. Lotus starts spending more time with him, starts tolerating his friends, entertains him when they study each other’s native language. Then he notices Lotus’ gaze starts to linger on him when he thinks he isn’t looking. Staring at his face, looking over his arms, appreciating his athletic form. It feels like the kind of admiration one might reserve for their god and Sethos isn’t sure if he likes the attention. It feels like more than he deserves.

Against his better judgment, he confides in Cyno. Cyno, who at first gives good advice that Tighnari makes clear is not actually good. Who then gives questionable advice. Who, after forcing Sethos to confess who the person he likes is, decides to interject himself into the “research expeditions” they had been going on to get away from everyone and everything else. Obviously, they stop. Obviously, Sethos is none too pleased about this. Obviously, Cyno is no help, at least until he promises he’ll report back to Sethos with anything interesting he finds about Lotus. It’s usually something small— “he spoke with a tea merchant after finishing his work at Puspa Cafe”, “he spent an abnormal amount of time in the House of Daena doing research”, “Nahida has him running another errand today”— but sometimes it’s actually interesting. Did you know Lotus prefers to study at night, or that he’s especially verbose when debating his peers, or that sometimes he just sits and watches the people and scenery? Sethos didn’t and they’ve known each other well over a year now.

A year. The time flew by without Sethos really noticing. Maybe that’s just what being with Lotus does to him. Maybe that's why he’s more confident with his emotions. Before, he was careful not to get overconfident enough to ever shatter the peace they’ve built up. Just enough to get Lotus used to his small acts of affection and the time they spent together. Enough to plant the tiniest seed that being together might not be so bad. But a year will do a lot to warp one’s thoughts and perception, and while Sethos was careful with Lotus, he wasn’t careful about keeping himself from getting too entangled. His heart, so human despite it all, gets the better of him.

“Wanna go to Lambad’s tomorrow night?”

He throws the question out like it’s an offhand thought, halfway expecting an equally uninvested response. But Lotus is sharp, and he sees through him in an instant.

“I don’t want to be a part of the most uncomfortable double date Sumeru has ever seen. If we wanted to have a nice night, we could do that here.”

Here? “Here,” as in Sethos’ home? As in having their own date alone in the one place Sethos can be himself with the one person he doesn’t need to wear a mask for? He isn’t sure if he should be panicked, elated, or annoyed when Lotus agrees, just not tomorrow night, not when they have a trip to the Temple coming up.

Sethos makes sure the trip goes as smoothly and quickly as possible. They’re not even there for a day before they’re already heading back to the city and he keeps them at a brisk pace back to the city, only staying the night in Caravan Ribat because Lotus insists. No amount of obstacles or enemies or poor weather can slow Sethos. He’s a man on a very important mission of asking his crush out properly. His eagerness spreads to Lotus, and Sethos is quick to seize his chance to race him to the city gates. Mostly, it’s just to get them there faster. Partly, it’s because Lotus looks so stunning when he gets competitive. Any other time, Sethos would let him win, but this time, they’d wagered a request of the loser, and Sethos isn’t leaving anything to chance. He runs faster than he’s ever run in his life, leaving Lotus behind as he pushes past his already near limit just to cross under the marble archway first. Skidding to a halt, he collapses to the ground laughing, light and breathless. He won. He gets to ask the question that has been weighing on his mind these past few days. A shadow falls over his face, and the moment he sees that bitter, unimpressed expression, the sun haloing behind Lotus’ hat and turning him into a vision of the divine, the words come out soft and sweet.

“Join me for dinner?”

There’s a look of shock, then a scoff, and then, the most delightful laugh Sethos has ever heard, a full one that shakes Lotus’ shoulders, one unlike anything Sethos has heard from him before.

“Really? Asking as soon as we get back?”

Is Sethos allowed to be this happy? Is he allowed to have something this sweet and perfect? Is he allowed to be this in love?

They agree to dinner three days from now, and time cannot pass fast enough. The same as the first time, Sethos devotes his energy to setting up the perfect evening for his guest, intent on outdoing himself. He takes commissions, compiles a menu— with Lotus’ help, of course— and even gathers the materials for a surprise that almost gets ruined when they bump into each other at the market.

On the day of their dinner, Sethos’ house has never looked better. He even tidies rooms he knows they won’t go into, just in case. Hours in the kitchen making all the dishes they’d agreed to, and another hour or so agonizing over how to plate and present everything. And as he works, he decides something for himself. He’s going to tell the truth. How he feels, what he wants, and why he approached Lotus in the first place. He deserves to know the truth, and if he’ll have Sethos regardless of it, his heart will be all the lighter for it.

Everything is set up, presentable and pretty after Sethos’ extra effort. The time for Lotus to arrive comes… and goes. Maybe he’s just running late, though it’s certainly a first. An hour passes. He puts the food away so it doesn’t go bad. Two hours. He’s never been this late before, and Sethos is starting to worry that something might have happened, but Lotus is capable; surely he’d have it handled soon and arrive before Sethos knows it. Three. He takes down the decorations. It’s definitely a serious matter, and Sethos can’t sit on his hands waiting any longer. As he wanders the city looking for Lotus, he asks anyone he can stop if they’ve seen him recently.

No one. No one on Treasure Street, no one at the Akademiya, none of the Matra. His last resort is going to the Archon herself. If anything, she might be able to find out where he’s gone off to, but when he enters the Sanctuary of Surasthana, she is meditating quietly with a tense look on her face.

“Excuse me, Lesser Lord Kusanali?” The formality feels weird coming from him, but he isn’t sure how else to address her with such a heavy topic to follow.

Her eyes open slowly, as if she’s hesitant to pull herself away from her current task, but she stands and nods to Sethos. “Sethos, what brings you here?”

“I’m looking for Hat Guy. We were supposed to meet up like four hours ago, but I haven’t seen him—” a flash of guilt crosses her face, he’s not sure he’s going to like where this goes— “Do you know where he is?”

She knows. She definitely knows. Her nod looks more like a bow of apology. “He’s running an errand for me right now. I apologize, it was urgent and he didn’t have the time to let you know.”

An errand. He got stood up… for an errand.

How fucking laughable.

“Right. Right, right, right. My bad,” Sethos says, eyes going unfocused as his feet slowly back towards the doors. “Just tell him forget it, if he hasn’t already. The food’s probably already gone bad. Thanks for letting me know.”

Why was he thanking her? She’s the reason their plans got ruined in the first place.

Frustation and humiliation seethe. He should’ve known better. Sethos knows better than anyone how changeable and forgetful people are. Of course, this isn’t important enough to remember. It’s just dinner. And he had foolishly put in all this effort, thinking it would be different this time, when it was barely eligible as a footnote in Hat Guy’s day.

He goes as far as he can, heading towards the desert— his home, the place he goes to clear his mind— and ends up just before some ruins. Here, the view of the Mausoleum of King Deshret is blocked by some stupid fucking mountain, covered in rainforest greenery, and only the tiniest glimpse of sand peaks out from behind some dead trees. Unbelievable. He can’t even go home when he wants to. Not his house in the city, not his home in the desert. All he has is this unfamiliar place with nothing that soothes his anger or eases his pain. And his mind is left to spiral.

He forgot.

It wasn’t important to him.

Sethos had made such a big deal over something so important to him that meant absolutely nothing to Hat Guy.

He’s so stupid. Gods, he is so fucking stupid.

Hasn’t he learned his lesson about trusting people? He himself is the perfect example of why he should never do that, but he did. He got too close, too comfortable, and forgot a lesson that should’ve been seared into his mind. People lie, people forget, and he should never take anyone at face value. Not even someone who he thought had proven their honesty.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the foreign landscape, but the familiar ring of bells draws him from his thoughts, replacing numb desolation with a very acute and overwhelming anger. How dare he fucking show up now? If he meant to stand Sethos up, he should’ve just gone back to his home and left well enough alone. But if there’s one thing Sethos is practiced in, it’s suppressing his anger.

“Go back to the city. I’ll return when I’m done here.”

That’s right. If he just sits here long enough, he’ll forget he was upset at all, and then they can go back to whatever it was they were pretending to have before.

Hat Guy either doesn’t hear him or ignores his words. He should be used to that, to his emotions getting shoved aside for someone else’s desires. He should be, but this anger is still fresh and Sethos doesn’t even try to stop the dam from bursting.

And it comes out in a flood. It would almost be cathartic, the yelling, the release of emotions, getting all of it off his chest, if not for Hat Guy's dumbass question. “How worried he was”. Ha. What about Sethos, how worried he was, how long he waited, how angry he is right now? For all his gesturing and rising volume, his feet remained planted in place. He’s not going anywhere until he’s calmed down. If he’s going to have one thing, it’s this.

Hat Guy has always been prone to letting his anger get the better of him. He’s gotten better about it, but now isn’t one of those times. He makes a snide remark about his disappearance being “payback”, and Sethos sees red.

It’s purely learned habit that he manages to catch his next tirade before it slips, before he does any irreparable damage. His mouth snaps closed, eyes squeeze shut, and he breathes deeply. Not enough to calm himself completely, just enough to save them both the pain.

“Go back to the city, Hat Guy. I'll come back when I’m ready.”

That stupid fucking mountain is still in the way, and there’s nothing to ground himself to.

“It was an emergency. Kusanali needed me to handle— something.”

… So Sethos isn’t even allowed to know why he was stood up? What could possibly be so urgently important that he suddenly wasn’t?

“Then you should probably go back and finish wrapping up if you haven’t already.”

Silence stretches between them. The view isn’t any more comforting than it was when Sethos first saw it. Hat Guy speaks.

“You don’t have to act like a pissy little brat just because I wasn’t there exactly on the dot for something so unimportant—”

“Fuck you.” There’s no way he actually tried to say that, there’s no fucking way. “It is important. To me.”

“It’s dinner,” Wanderer scoffs. “We always have dinner. What makes this any different?”

And there’s the final straw. Everything Sethos had hoped was just a lie he told himself just to be angry a while longer, coming straight from the mouth of the one person he’d hoped never to hear it from. So much for suppressing his emotions.

“You don’t get to be upset that I’m angry with you for once.” Kinda wish he’d look a little less pathetically hopeful about Sethos finally looking at him, and a bit more shameful about Sethos calling him on his bullshit.

“Every time you’re upset, I let you have your space and wait for you to come back, even when I really wanna spend time with you, and the one fucking time I finally decide what I want— the one time I decide to let myself be selfish— when I want to be around you, beside you, with you, you disappear and brush me off. Of course, that fucking hurts. Of course, that’s gonna piss me off, I thought you for—”

Oh, that’s a step too far, the tears that well up in Sethos’ eyes decide, and he absolutely refuses to cry in front of Hat Guy right now. He refuses to look like a fool for believing someone, trusting someone, for the first time in so, so long. He doesn’t have to worry about that long, though. Now that the fear has been brought up, he can't feel much of anything beyond that numbness again.

“Never mind. Go back to the city. I’ll be back later.”

It’s not fair. It’s not fair how easily Lotus sways him. It’s not fair that all it takes is a broken “I wanted to be there”, a desperate attempt at reconciliation, three words of a clear choice— “I want to”— to make Sethos rethink being angry. He’s supposed to stay here until he feels nothing, not go back just because the most beautiful person he’s ever seen flashes puppy eyes at him and apologizes in his own roundabout way. And yet, he can already feel the resolution that held his feet firmly in place dissipate.

Still, with more effort than he’ll ever admit, Sethos tells Lotus, “I’ll let you know when I’m back.”

He doesn’t put up a fight, surprisingly enough, a kind of dejected look on his face as he slowly backs off and heads back to the city. Sethos stays well into the night. His fingers grow stiff and cold, and his eyes can barely keep themselves open, and as he sits in the quiet, he feels… regret. Why did he blow up like that? Not once in all the years he’d spent as the heir to the Temple leader did he ever let his emotions get the better of him like that. He knows better. It was just dinner, and he reacted like it was the end of the world. All because of some irrational fear that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, no matter how much he rationalized and compartmentalized and pushed it down. How could they even come back from this? He basically ruined any chance of his confession going smoothly, detonated even the tiniest hope that telling the truth would lead anywhere good, and fucked up everything he’d spent so long working towards. He’s in too deep, but not so ingrained in Hat Guy’s life that he’s irreplaceable. Being together is basically off the table, turning back to investigating Hat Guy is nearly guaranteed failure if they’re back to square one, and how awkward are meetings with the Elders going to be now that Sethos has firmly placed this barrier between them? He has no choice. He has to act like nothing ever happened. People usually follow suit when an awkward thing needs dealing with. One person pretends to ignore it, and suddenly that’s the status quo. So that’s what he does. When he finally calms enough to return anyway.

But Hat Guy avoids him. Sends Cyno as his messenger to call him to his house. Since when had they gotten so close? Faking nonchalance goes nowhere, but luckily for Sethos, Lotus is more concerned with mending their relationship than holding a grudge. He should really take a page out of his book. After all, this might actually be the first time he’s been allowed to bear open his heart without the fear of being seen as argumentative. So he says his piece, apologizing and probably over-explaining. And Lotus says his piece, taking the blame and absolving Sethos of any guilt. He doesn’t deserve him. Just when he thinks everything’s cleared up and they can truly go back to normal, Lotus latches on to something Sethos had been trying to forget: the errand.

“The truth is—”

“You don’t have to say.” For maybe the first time in his life, he’s not keen on hearing the truth. What if he doesn’t like it?

But he does say. That he was dealing with the Fatui, that Kusanali had asked for him specifically, that she did so because he used to be a Harbinger, before he erased himself from Irminsul, anyway.

…

So, so, so much clicks into place. The reason Sethos couldn’t find any leads, an explanation for his story and lack of history, why he’s so good at fighting despite being a scholar, but most importantly, the sweet, blessed confirmation of his innocence. To be erased from Irminsul, one had to be known by it, and Forbidden Knowledge is not known by Teyvat’s world tree. Everything that, just moments before, had been teetering on the edge of a very deep precipice suddenly settles onto solid ground. Every fear, replaced with hope. Sethos has to hold onto something to keep himself from celebrating aloud, and that guilt-ridden look on Lotus’ face is doing him no favors, so he holds onto a mask, an act of surprise. His mouth wants desperately to move, but he can’t just start pouring out every little thing he loves about Lotus, so he focuses on a barrage of questions that are still unanswered until Lotus cuts him off. Openness invites openness, and with this huge secret out in the open, Sethos feels obligated to share one of his own. Therein lies the issue. Telling him now would be logical, but so close to such a vulnerable and negative interaction, it might not come with the best results. So he settles on something he knows Lotus is curious about, something he still prefers not to dwell on. His nightmares.

By the end of his spiel, there’s a tense, vicious look on Lotus’ face. “Do you want me to fucking kill those people for you?”

It’s as funny as it is horrifying that he’s ready to take such a huge leap in logic on Sethos’ behalf. Is it bad that it only endears him to Sethos more? He has to tell him soon, that he loves him, that he wants him by his side. He steers the conversation back towards dinner, clumsily, but at this point, he’s used to being a little clumsy around Lotus. They agree to meet tomorrow, after Sethos has a chance to remake some of the things he couldn’t save and set the decorations back up.

It’s a good thing Sethos has perfected the art of letting things go. Otherwise, the act of preparing his house again would’ve sent him into another spiral. At least he doesn’t have to figure things out as he goes this time, every placement and presentation memorized the first time. It leaves Sethos with more time to clean himself up, putting his excess energy into tidying his appearance.

Sometime between his quiet musing on how exactly he would go about confessing and setting up the table, a knock comes, and Sethos’ response is instant. He opens the door before his nerves get to him, and he is so glad he does because his brain can’t find the space to be properly nervous beyond word vomit with Lotus looking so stunningly beautiful in the evening light. He’s wearing new clothes and they suit him so well, even if he isn’t wearing his brooch this time. Those cold, blue eyes are wide with shock as they take in Sethos’ fixed-up appearance. He’d thought he’d grown out of being flustered by Lotus, but warmth spreads over his cheeks and ears and down his neck before he cuts off the wandering gaze.

“You gonna keep standing out here until it gets dark, or are you gonna come inside and have dinner with me?”

He tries to make it come off as a joke, tries to play flirty, but the way Lotus’ eyes snap back up to his, and he steps inside with the faintest blush, tries Sethos’ restraint to nearly the breaking point. He can’t wait to confess, it can’t come soon enough. He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that it’s only when Lotus tries to give him the dish he’d brought that Sethos remembers one very crucial thing he forgot to set up. The gift he’d prepared for Lotus. For the two of them, really, but if everything went well, it wouldn’t be much of a difference. The box holding their matching bangles sits upstairs on his desk, right where he’d left it while thinking of how he was going to present the gift. This wasn’t quite the scenario he’d imagined, but his eagerness is enough to look past that, especially when Lotus regards the finely crafted bangles with such a soft expression. Especially when he lets Sethos slip the bangle over his hand and admire how well it fits and how good it looks on him. When Lotus says he’d only left the brooch because it broke, Sethos thinks maybe it was for the best. Replacing a gift from a stranger with something Sethos handpicked.

Luckily for both of them, Lotus is quick to direct them back to dinner. Sethos pulls every trick in the book to show his best side, catering to Lotus’ every whim, even when he gets suspicious about it. Between the good food and even better conversation, Sethos could almost say that everything is going smoothly, if not for the subtle tension in Lotus. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some reminder of their fight to pop up. Sethos is careful to steer away from that topic. At the very least, things remain easy between them, even while Sethos scarfs down more than a fair portion of the biryani, and Lotus takes a keen interest in the Aaru mixed rice; even despite Sethos losing focus while watching Lotus’ deep swallows of wine— the way his throat bobs, the way he licks his lips— or Lotus’ eyes dipping lower and lower with every glance toward his choker and exposed chest.

Things are heading in a very good direction, but the longer it goes on, the more tense Lotus seems, like he’s afraid to get too comfortable, like he might bolt before it happens. Sethos switches gears, directs them to something else entirely. Lotus brings out a tea he remembers telling him he liked— he can’t believe he remembered, it’s been so long— and all it takes is a little nudging to bring them to the balcony where Sethos has arranged an inconspicuous scene of strewn about nilotpala, kalpalata, and mourning flower petals. Sure, it’s an obvious gesture, and Lotus isn’t shy about questioning it, but he lets it slide once he hears the alternative. He takes his seat and the petal colors suit him almost as well as the blue of the night sky. The nervousness he had avoided earlier rears its head. Sethos makes a quick excuse to find the time to calm himself, but when he returns to the balcony, the tension he thought the night sky would erase is still very much present in Lotus. It seems they aren’t getting through this night without dipping into that particular line of dialogue.

So Sethos takes his place beside Lotus and asks. Lotus immediately confirms his suspicions. Even if they had already talked things out, it’s no wonder that it’s still lingering in his mind; that fight was a first for both of them in their own ways. Sethos can only comfort him with the truth. What they have is unshakeable, least of all by such a petty argument. Even if Lotus hadn’t shown up that night, Sethos would have eventually let it go. It’s what he does best. And no fight would ever be reason enough to lose Lotus completely. His face scrunches up cutely.

“Even after all these years, I still don’t get humans and their emotions.”

What a strange thing to say while recalling such an intense fight. Sethos has to laugh. “You make it sound like you’ve never experienced emotions before.”

“I haven’t… At least, not like you.”

Sethos doesn’t believe it for a second. “You mean to tell me you’ve never experienced any human emotions? Not happiness? Anger? Confusion, relief, betrayal…” As he speaks, his mind takes a sharp turn. The atmosphere, the tension, the intimacy, it’s the perfect setup, right? This is the moment he’s been waiting for. He licks his lips nervously, and with a tentative, hushed voice, he asks, “love?”

His pout shifts, softens, and there is clearly a lot of unspoken history behind his expression. “I have... maybe even too much.”

Sethos’ heart hammers in his chest. His palms are starting to sweat, and it feels like there’s too much energy coursing through his limbs to sit still. This is his chance. He isn’t even sure if he can get his next words out, but seeing Lotus like this, they find a way out all on their own.

“Lucky them.”

Lotus turns to him with this blindsided look, blank with shock as he lets the words settle. “What?”

This is it. This is the moment Sethos confesses his first love. He had a whole speech rehearsed, but right now, he only hopes it’ll come to him instinctively. “I said ‘lucky them’. To be loved by you… I’m a little jealous.”

The balcony goes silent. The look in Lotus’ eyes is no longer nostalgic or surprised. It is panicked, haunted. He messed up. All at once, Lotus stands abruptly, and Sethos tries to do damage control. He isn’t listening, rushing for the exit without looking back. That damned blanket Sethos had used as an excuse is the only reason he doesn’t catch him before he hits the door, taking to the skies just in time for Sethos to watch him leave.

Well. That went terribly. It’s almost impressive how quickly his confession went sideways. And he doesn’t even know why. Whatever the reason, there are two things Sethos is sure of: he has to apologize, and Lotus hasn’t given him an answer.

Over the course of the next few days, Sethos very quickly comes to the conclusion that Lotus is avoiding him. Understandable. Unfortunately for Lotus, however, Sethos isn’t one to give in so easily when he’s set his mind to something. He asks everyone he can for help in getting Lotus to meet with him, Cyno, Tighnari, Asenath, even Nahida. It takes almost a week, but his efforts are rewarded. During a check-in on the Akademiya’s Temple of Silence department, he runs into Cyno and Nahida chatting with the members.

“How’s it going, guys? Everything running nice and smooth?” Sethos waves as he approaches. Only Asneath waves back, but the others nod in acknowledgment.

“As well as it can for now,” Duanre huffs. He can’t be having much fun with all the administrative mess, but he’s already promised to ask Asenath for help if he gets overwhelmed.

There’s a bit of business talk, Sethos still has to keep up with his duties after all, but once it concludes, Nahida asks him to the side.

“I have an update on Hat Guy for you. He came to me for advice regarding you recently, and it seems like he’s at least open to staying on good terms with you.”

“And he said he was heading out into the desert to do research yesterday,” Cyno pipes up. “He didn’t say where, but I suspect you already have an idea.”

And Sethos certainly does. He can’t thank them enough before he leaves for the desert. He’ll buy supplies when he gets to Caravan Ribat, but right now, the only thing on his mind is righting their relationship and getting closure. Even if Lotus rejects him in the end, being friends is more than enough. Anything to stay by his side.

Of course, he’s by Aaru Village. It’s the first place Sethos checks; accessible, easy travel and communication, and an area they know well. Whatever he’s writing, he’s too absorbed in his thoughts to notice Sethos’ approach. All for the best, it keeps him from getting scared off and gives Sethos time to go over his apology-slash-second-confession-attempt once more. But then he starts to get up and gather his things. Crap. If he leaves now, they’ll never get this sorted. He picks up the pace. As Lotus packs, Sethos gets closer, close enough to reach out, and just in time, as Lotus turns on him with a wind blade already gathering at his fingertips, and Sethos catches his wrist.

He’s always been beautiful, but as the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Sethos almost feels like he’s forgotten just how beautiful his Moon really is.

“Got you now.”

The surprise of Sethos’ ambush gives him the time to launch into his rehearsed speech. He does his best not to falter, to hold it together while Lotus looks at him with wide eyes, not haunted, or angry, but awed, even a little flustered. Once he’s said his piece, his grip on Lotus loosens. He won’t hold him hostage just for closure. But then Lotus speaks up. It’s certainly not a reciprocation, sounding closer to a clear rejection, but when Sethos starts to remove himself, Lotus’ hand snaps over his wrist, and the expression he wears says otherwise. His ears burn with a blush, and he sounds frantic, like he’s just saying anything that comes to mind to get Sethos to stay. The mixed signals throw Sethos for a loop. Lotus has always been direct; it’s fascinating to see him in such disarray. And the more he talks, the more Sethos becomes convinced that this is a love he’ll never forget, even if it meets its end here.

“Why don’t you hate me? Why can’t I ignore you?”

Is it wrong that Sethos finds this distressed version of Lotus so adorable? Though the words themselves aren’t confirmation, their delivery fills Sethos with relief and hope.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time, Lotus. I like you a lot, Qamari.”

Sethos teases as he’s so prone to with his Moon, and even if Lotus is scowling and pouting, the hand that still hasn’t left Sethos’ wrist and the growing blush over his face tell a very different story. Their back-and-forth, as sweet and smooth as it’s ever been, fills the space between them.

“If you’re sure, then we can try.”

Ah. So this is what true happiness feels like. Sethos’ heart has never felt so full, overflowing with love and overwhelming him. He’s not sure his heart can handle all this.

“I really wanna kiss you right now. Can I?”

Sethos can barely keep his hands off him when Lotus looks around to make sure they’re alone, but he waits patiently for a yes, and when he gets it, he wastes no time. It’s unlike any kiss Sethos has had before, not that he’s kissed very many people. He tries to be slow and gentle at first, but the feeling of Lotus’ hands on his face and neck, the grip he eventually finds at the back of Sethos’ shirt and in his hair, it pulls the desire Sethos tries to restrain from the depths of him. He has to pull away, scared of going overboard, and Lotus tries to follow him. Gods, he’s so cute.

It all feels so unreal. If this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up, not yet. Hand in hand, they head home to the city, Sethos smiling all the way and his heart bursting with joy. Just for now, Sethos would let himself have this. He’d find a way to tell the truth later.