Rose

–

If you had known that Kaveh’s irritating roommate is the same scholar you need to consult with for your paper, you might've given last night’s actions a second thought.

“You’re a difficult person to locate,” is your first greeting to the man in question, shocked to have actually spotted him–or rather, that messy head of silver hair–working in an obscure corner of the House of Daena after running around Sumeru City all morning.

“That’s intentional,” Alhaitham responds curtly, his eyes refusing to leave the letter he’s currently writing.

“Right, makes sense,” you sigh, fingers fidgeting as you tentatively sit across from him, well aware that your presence is justifiably unwelcome. His impeccably neat handwriting flies across the page as you clear your throat and start, “Well, I know we’ve seen each other in passing, but I wanted to officially introduce myself—”

“Quite unnecessary. Unlike you, I have a good memory of how you presented yourself yesterday.”

The ‘ouch’ you mutter is just slightly loud enough for him to hear, but he steadily writes away, almost as if you’re a droning fly he’s trained himself to ignore.

“Which is why I want to apologize for how I acted last night—”

Alhaitham still hasn’t looked at you, but his derisive scoff is the first instance of breaking his impassivity. “I don’t care for your insincere apology. If that’s all you’re here for, then I suggest leaving now so more of my time isn’t wasted.”

The urge to bang his head onto the table becomes more alluring each second—you curl your fingers into fists as you ponder whether the instant gratification will outweigh the consequences you’d undoubtedly face from Katayoun. Based on the hushed rumors whispered among students, even the thunderous wrath of the Raiden Shogun is nothing compared to the librarian’s threats of cutting off access to thousands of books.

So you lean back into your seat and bite your tongue, recognizing that your frustration doesn’t stem from his constant interruptions or his unbearable air of indifference–though those fun traits certainly fuel the flames–but the realization that he’s right.

You’re not sorry about the things you said last night.

Alhaitham is an asshole, a fact that most if not all at the Akademiya agree on.

“Fine, then I’ll get straight to it,” you huff. “I need your help with a research project of mine.”

His fingers slightly tighten their grip on the quill as soon as you utter the word 'help', but the sentences that he pens still resemble the fluid strokes from before. “I wasn’t aware a thief such as yourself possessed the privilege to cash in favors.”

“I know I’m not a victim, but I truly thought the wine—which was quite tasty, I regrettably report—was Kaveh’s.”

“Ah, thank you for the much-needed clarification. I'll be sure to change the crime you're charged with to ‘sheer stupidity.’”

Archons, your patience is wearing thin. Maybe taking the parchment he's writing on or breaking his quill in half might make him actually shift his attention toward you.

Deciding to take the higher road instead, you press on. "Will you work with me if I give you one crate of wine? I can throw in another one as an apology for last night."

Those questions ultimately get him to look at you, his apathetic gaze making you instantly wish he could revert to his position of actively ignoring your presence.

His lips tug downward as he pretends to consider your offer. "I know you're a Dastur in the Amurta so math may not be your strongest suit, but even other researchers in your Darshan know basic arithmetic and the concept of equivalent exchange."

"It appears someone hasn't read my publications," you mutter before nursing your head, wondering whether it was time to abandon this loop of unproductive discussion.

"On the contrary. 'Impact of Duration and Distance of Withering Zone Exposure on the Severity of Eleazar' has meticulous data collection and organization that strongly support your hypotheses. I simply assumed Tighnari did most of the math, since visionless individuals like yourself are advised to stray from such dangerous areas."

"Well, your assumption is incorrect," you say hotly toward his dismissal of your hard work, ruefully remembering Kaveh warning you about Alhaitham's general distaste for those unfavored by the gods. How the most irksome man in all of Sumeru managed to receive such a coveted gift is an anomaly no researcher can ever rationally explain. "There's a reason why Tighnari is the second author, and why I'm the first."

"Why not ask your furry companion the Forest Watcher for assistance on your next project, then?" Alhaitham inquires with an exasperated sigh, a finger tapping impatiently.

"You think I willingly chose you over Tighnari? Trust me when I say that I'd rather get mauled by Rishboland tigers than continue talking to you." Though unable to rile up the Scribe, the roll of his eyes brings the smallest hint of satisfaction while you retrieve a few crinkled documents and photos from your satchel.

"But Tighnari doesn't specialize in ancient runes"–you shove the pictures toward Alhaitham's way, his eyes narrowing as he already begins to scrutinize the symbols depicted on the photographed stone–"and unfortunately, you do."

"'To be cursed with the scales of the demon means to succumb to eternal sleep,’" he translates quickly, flattening the picture before handing it back to you, an arched brow showing a glimpse of his piqued interest. "Circa four to five hundred years ago, at least. That's all I can tell from this blurry image. I'm assuming the ever-so-professional photographer who took this with their shaky Kamera skills is you?"

"It's not my fault I was being chased by mercs," you grumble, and you swear you spot a surprised, but impressed Alhaitham for the briefest millisecond. 

"Don't tell me you broke into that abandoned medical facility near Aaru Village?" Upon observing your sheepish expression, he lets out what you think might be an amused laugh. "Your face tells me you at least know the risks of such a nonsensical action.” 

“Hey, I’m no vision holder but I’m somewhat handy with a dagger. At least, good enough that I’m still alive after two trips to that maze of a place.”    

“Oh?” He tilts his head ever so slightly as you’re startled to hear his hum of approval. “I’ll have to hold you in higher regard, then."

You hate that your chest rapidly puffs up from that statement.

“Well, it was the valiant Sage Siman Farrokhzad who once said, 'Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.'"

The pregnant pause after your proclamation feels like the eternity all clamor for in Inazuma. The Scribe's eyes close, almost as if trying to match the quote to the alleged owner.

And once they open again, you find yourself drawn to the intense shades of blue and green swirling in his eyes, a clarity that rivals the untouched portions of the Yazadaha Pool.

"He never said that."

"He did."

"No, he never said that," Alhaitham confirms, an edge of impatience peeking through his unwavering tone, "and where are you going with this? This pet project of yours should be undertaken by a historian rather than a biomedicalist."

It takes nearly half an hour but finally, he's asking the important questions. The ones that make you lean in and look straight at the intimidating eyes of the hawk, your body buzzing with excitement at the prospect of disclosing a secret you've held on for far too long. "I do research at Bimarstan, and they do a thorough job of tracking a patient's medical history and clinical presentation. Yet Dr. Zakariya always tells us the clinic has no archive for the earliest cases. Which is strange, because how is one of Sumeru’s oldest, most devastating afflictions a mere footnote in our nation’s written history?

“So I submitted a request to Naphis, the Amurta Sage, and the Grand Sage asking for access to the ancient medical archives at the Akademiya. And guess what illness isn’t even mentioned on a singular page?”

“Eleazar,” he answers firmly, thinly pursed lips already connecting the dots.

(Not that you anticipated any less from the Grand Scribe, an expectation you rather keep quiet lest you stroke his ego.)

“Naphis and Azar told me to focus on studying current cases, but I’m tired of telling doctors and interns how to treat the symptoms.” You rise from your seat, eyes wide as you bang your hand on the table, not caring for the peers chastising you for your loudness. “By learning how Eleazar occurred in the first place, we can discover the root cause of this affliction and eradicate it!

“And it took months, but I’ve discovered redacted notes on a researcher named Zandik, whose expulsion from the Akademiya coincides with the first Eleazar outbreak. The Sages are hiding something, and I intend to find out exactly what that is.”

“How did you even find such notes?”

“You can see them for yourself,” you reply instead, your smug smile growing when his eyes briefly widen at your insinuation.

“You truly don’t understand the concept of equivalent exchange,” he derides, “if you think I’m going to accompany you on a prohibited trip to a medical facility that confers no benefit for me whatsoever.”

“Huh, something tells me that you’re more worried about the compensation as opposed to the illegality of this whole thing,” you whisper, his brisk ‘hmph’ that follows shortly after proving your hunch. “I’ll have you know I was going to offer more than just wine. A little dusk bird told me you’re on the hunt for a certain Knowledge Capsule.”

“This is the last time I tell Kaveh anything remotely useful,” he murmurs immediately, hands massaging his temple to avoid the impending headache from dealing with his and your irrational behaviors.

“He also may have told me that this suicide mission of yours is not for the sake of helping the higher-ups. I don’t even know why you want that thing all to yourself, but I’m not here to judge. Because we have a common enemy.”

He lays his chin on clasped hands, his fully undivided attention on you making the hairs on your skin crawl. “You do know the General Mahamatra can easily expel you for this? Conducting unauthorized research on Akademiya subsidies while simultaneously conspiring to undermine the very system supporting you…”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m talking to the Scribe instead of Cyno.”

That smirk of his confirms that you played your cards right. After all, no sane person would turn down one of the most powerful positions in Sumeru. Alhaitham declining the offer of General Mahamatra only to become a scribe to ‘quench his thirst for knowledge’ solidified his title as an Akademiya lunatic who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

And it’s the only way you’ll be able to work right under the noses of the Sages.

“So you have less than a minute to explain how you’ll get me the Capsule or the deal’s off.”

You slide back into your seat, unaware that you’d been so close to him that you could make out the golden flecks in his eyes. That’s the last distraction you need, not when this collaboration—or transaction, in his mind—might actually come to fruition.

“I can get you access to the Capsule, but not ownership of it. I know someone who’s in one of the brigades vying for the damn device—she’s already agreed to let you study it under heavy supervision if you agree to meet her beforehand.”

“Sounds like your friend has little faith in me,” he muses, that tiny unsettling smile of his serving sufficient reason for the stipulations in place.

“We both don’t,” you enunciate clearly, hoping your dislike for his shady nature is obvious, “but there’s no other choice. Are you in or out?”

The cogs turning in his head during the brief lapse of tense silence have you uneasy. With locks of hair blocking his already indecipherable eyes, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake coming here.

Uncrossing his arms, he gives a stiff nod and one last look at you before returning to his previous task of writing. “It’s good enough, I suppose. let me know when and where to meet.”

The finality in his voice marks the end of this conversation, a fact that should instantaneously flood you with relief and joy for acquiring his help on your work.

But as you bid a farewell to Katayoun and leave the suffocating air of the library, it’s impossible to shake off the feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach.

_

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

It is the tenth time Aya has asked you that in the span of an hour, and the upmteenth time your own brain has mulled it over. 

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” you breathe out, matching her concerned look as you place the wine bottle in the middle of the table. 

The lively chatter and calming music rising from the first floor of the tavern somewhat soothes your jangled nerves. But you’re not sure anything can prepare you for the meeting you two will have with Alhaitham.

“Don’t spill any more information from what I’ve already given him, the less he knows, the better,” you advise your friend, growing more worried with how she giggles at your warning. “This is some serious shit, Aya.”

Her toothy grin only seems to broaden at that, contributing to the glow of the faint light gently bathing her golden brown skin. “Relax, I think I can handle a prissy scholar from the Ivory Tower. I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

“But you don’t know him like I do. He’ll do anything to get what he wants, even if it hurts others.”

You wish she can stop laughing so breezily at everything you’re saying.  

“Sure, this whole ordeal might be more catastrophic than the freaking Cataclysm, and I don’t know anything about him other than he’s suspicious as fuck and is a horrible roommate”–she grabs your hand, gives it a reassuring squeeze as her steely eyes soften with the contact–“but I know you. I won’t believe a single word that comes out of his mouth, but I trust you.”

You’re confused on why your chest constricts or how tears threaten to pool in your eyes, unsure how to proceed other than placing your other hand over her gloved one.

“Am I interrupting something?” cuts in a smooth voice that’s only grating to hear because of the person associated with it.

Just how much did he see?

“No.” Withdrawing your hand as if you just touched the tavern’s stove, you wonder if Aya appears more composed than your frazzled self currently feels.

Yet the only eyes you dare meet are the cold green ones that eerily glow in the dim lighting of the bar. Choosing not to expand on the topic, he betrays no emotion as he casually sits down, briefly adjusts his ostentatious cape, and nods toward the untouched bottle of wine. 

“I don’t know what else my impulsive roommate has told you, but it’ll take a whole lot more of that to get me drunk and disclose any Akademiya secrets.”

“Yeah, we’re fully aware, you alcoholic,” you mutter with an eye roll. “Now, let’s talk business.”

“Wow, I don’t even get to introduce myself?” Aya teases playfully, twisting the wine cap open as she pours the rich red liquor in everyone’s cup. “I hear an earful about this pretty boy over here and he knows zilch about me.”

“You’re Aya, an Eremite from the tourist-friendly Aaru Village with considerable standing among the brigade there and the go-to person for handling dicey negotiations. Though I suppose being the daughter of the faction leader has to have some influence in that.” The robot takes a sip of wine before reciting his next line. “You’re a tour guide during the day, mercenary at night. The former was how you two were able to meet, roughly a year ago. You also wield an ax, which is likely hidden under this table.”

Aya lets out an amused laugh before smiling sardonically at the blatant invasion of privacy that has your blood boiling. You can see her grip the handle of her weapon from underneath, holding onto it a bit tighter than usual. “Now I know you didn’t get all of that juicy stuff from the tiny device in your ear.”

“A scholar should never rely on just one source of information,” is all he cares to elaborate on the subject before his gaze shifts to you. “After all, it would be a waste of my time to not verify the legitimacy of your offer only to ultimately find out it was a fraud.”

Grinding your teeth, the only thing that keeps you from ‘accidentally’ spilling your drink all over him is the fact that you fished out a good amount of mora for this expensive wine. “Do you ever stop talking?”

He blinks, feigning innocence as he speaks, “Well how else do you expect me to answer your pointless questioning?” 

“Okay,” quickly interjects Aya, her eyes settled on an unfazed Alhaitham while she forces you back down to your seat, “we’re gonna discuss the plan so you shut that pretty little mouth of yours, yeah?”

“Not sure ‘pretty’ is the right word in this scenario,” you goad, not caring how bitter you sound. “Maybe annoying. Bothersome. Definitely punchable.”

“Is that what you think when you stare at my lips every five minutes?”

You know you should stop entertaining him, especially when you’re the only one who feels provoked. But that smirk of his makes your annoyance bubble into a simmering anger.

“Actually, I spend that time wondering how so much horseshit is able to come out of your–”

“Enough!” bellows Aya, the slamming of both hands on the table snapping you out of whatever ill-timed path of divine fury you were about to unleash on the Scribe. 

“He–”

“They–”

“Not. Another. Word!” Aya croaks out before letting out a haggard cough. 

Alhaitham suspiciously squints at the Eremite while you let out a meek apology, but there’s an unofficial, quiet agreement between the both of you to be silent while Aya explains the logistics for the upcoming weeks. 

“And you two are so lucky I’m babysitting your childish asses during this trip.”

Though her predictions for how this night would turn out came true, you just hope the Cataclysm portion of her statement stays theoretical. 

_

“It’s not too late to turn back.”

There’s no trace of malice in his tone. If anything, there might even be the faintest hint of understanding hidden underneath, though calling it empathy would be quite a stretch.

No matter the intention, your eye twitches with irritation, stiffening under his lingering stare while your gaze remains focused on the miles of scorching desert spanning the horizon.

You take a step forward, already sweating from the intense heat as you brace yourself for the next leg of your journey. “We should reach Aaru Village in two days, maybe one if we don’t get snagged up in those pesky sandstorms.”

“I’m not just referring to the physical portion of this trip,” he dares to tread, walking behind you almost as if he’s wary of stepping on your toes. “Mental distress will only impede progress.”

Jaw painfully clenched, you will yourself to exhale a hollow “I’m fine.”

“I’d believe that if you said anything beyond those two words in these past five days.”

Gripping the straps of your travel bag in frustration, you instantly halt, unsympathetic to the muffled ‘oof’ leaving Alhaitham as he averts an impending collision. 

Inhaling deeply, you turn around, squinted eyes seething at the expressionless man. “Sumeru can only handle one Drusus, so stop speaking in cryptic riddles and just spit it out.”

The Scarlet King must feel your ire, strong winds beginning to pick up as silver hair strands wildly flap around Alhaitham. Yet calm teal eyes bore right into you, an eagle observing its prey just before he swoops in.

“You’re not fit enough for this trip.”

Dry laughter seems like the only response you can muster at the moment, or at least the sole option that won’t immediately result in a physical exchange between the two of you. “Is that so?”

“It’s like your body never left Sumeru City. How can you call yourself a scholar when you let some weak girl easily distract you?” 

Something in you snaps, the broken dam ushering in a flood of frenzied rage not even observed in the angriest of anemo slimes. All you see is red, finding it hard to control your breathing as you approach the Scribe and jab a finger into his chest, growing further irritated when he doesn’t budge.

“No, no, no,” you begin quietly, coolly, quickly unable to maintain a steady volume when a certain person flashes in your mind. “I don’t give a flying fuck if you insult me. But never call Aya that.”

“So never tell the truth?” He swats the finger away while getting closer to you. “Those with Eleazar are fighting a losing battle. Hiding the scales with gloves was a smart move, but that cough gave it all away.”

“Aya’s not weak, she’ll be fine,” you protest, wincing at the crack in your voice. The last memory of her feverish figure begging for relief remains seared in your mind, a harrowing image that makes your blood run cold. “This latest episode was so sudden, but she’s been able to control it in the past. Dr. Zakariya promised me he’d do everything he could.”

His silence is damning.

“She’s not weak, she’ll make it.” The phrase leaves your mouth yet again, no longer certain if it’s Alhaitham you’re trying to convince. 

He studies you carefully, notices your pinched brows and clenched fists. Sees the way your shoulders, once stiff with anger, slowly start to deflate as you softly ask him, “Right?”

—

“Right?”

The Scribe blinks, spending an additional second to ensure he heard you correctly. Not only do his ears deceive him, but his vision must also be trapped under some illusion to be seeing one of the most certain and confident scientists he’s met look anything but. 

And it’s getting harder to concentrate with this sweltering heat, difficult to proceed with his usual rationale when he’s practically breathing in your quivering breaths. 

So he takes one large step backward, futilely trying to ground himself in the sand. Reminding himself that the real reason he’s here is for the Divine Knowledge Capsule, not for you.

Hoping his countenance adopts the rehearsed neutrality found in his voice when he tells you, “Only the fittest survive.” 

It’s a perverse fascination to watch thousands of emotions flit across your face from just a singular phrase—hope turning into despair, shock melting into sadness, confusion devolving into pure anger. No experiment or controlled research setting could reproduce such raw feelings. In fact, he can’t even remember the last time someone has looked at him with anything other than annoyance. 

But in that crestfallen face he easily identifies a familiar sentiment beginning to crystallize in your eyes. Unlike your other rapidly successive emotions, this one doesn’t even need half a second of analysis to detect it. 

Because he’s been at the receiving end of it for years.

Hatred.

“Fuck you, Haitham,” you hiss, teeth bared back. 

“I’m being realistic. Which is why I’ll repeat that it’s not too late to turn back.”

You turn on your heel and stalk forward with a renewed vigor, refusing to spare another glance at him while vowing to finish this journey. “This work is going to help Aya, and Celestia will fall before I let a pathetic asshole stop me.”

Alhaitham snorts, shortly following behind you as he activates his Akasha terminal and makes a mental note to review more literature on hate as a motivating factor. 

_

Pervasive thoughts always sound loudest at night, especially when the only thing competing for attention in the vast desert is the occasional howl of a jackal and the low crackle of the fire keeping you warm once the sun had retired. 

It’s why you always travel with two notebooks–one for charting observations, generating hypotheses, and making calculations. 

And the other for daily reflection. 

The brilliantly starry night allows you to peruse what you’d hurriedly scribbled after that fiasco at Lambad’s Tavern, just after Alhaitham left. The words that Aya had told you after she pulled you aside, concerned eyes roaming over your silently fuming face.

“You are the one in control, not him. Never forget that.”

Yet it’s the “But am I really?” that’s written right underneath the quote that makes you smile wryly.

“How do I show him that?” quickly follows, the large words encompassing the rest of the page.

That question has invaded every waking moment of the day. An unceasing jeer that continues to mock you while eyeing the sleeping scholar, who decided to sit against the rock walls rather than doze in the makeshift tent you assembled. 

The man that has you doubting your sanity.

It was a mistake to volunteer for the first shift, albeit the logical decision due to feeling the most awake.

Because in the dark, no one can judge where your hyperactive mind and eyes wander. How you unabashedly stare at his tranquil face before ogling at the defined arm not covered by his dramatic cape, reminded of all the self-restraint it took earlier today to not gawk at his toned upper body when he peeled off his extra layer of clothing.

How your eyes secretly admire the lining of his abs that peek through his mesh shirt, increasingly confused on whether the Akademiya imposes harsh fitness standards for a job that tends to focus on writing rather than fighting.

“Strange–I didn’t peg you to be a creep.”

Heat rises to your face as your eyes meet sharp, green ones that seem way too alert for a slumbering man.

Despite the absolute mortification, you snap your notebook shut as you muster the most unperturbed expression you can. “I was just making an observation, one that actually supports a hypothesis I have.”

His eyebrows raise just slightly, lips parting and barely quirking at the corners as he challenges, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, actually.” You refuse to break from the stare, ready to carefully measure his reaction. “My happiness is associated with a decreased amount of having to hear you talk.”

Admittedly, you’re a bit upset to see that the most you get out of him is an eye roll. 

“Absolutely riveting,” he remarks, the sarcasm heavily dripping off each syllable. “I believe someone else drew a similar conclusion when we had to work together for a class assignment.”

“Cyno never did like you,” you chuckle, laughing even harder when Alhaitham sends you a mildly puzzled, but curious, look. 

“How did you guess that correctly when I never even mentioned his name?”

You rub your hands for warmth before getting a bit closer to the flames, unable to wipe off your wistful smile as you fondly recall a memory. “Though you have a long list of people who dislike you, I’ll never forget Cyno ‘sharing his findings’ before you two broke into a fight in the library. It was his first and last funny joke.”

“I almost forgot about that.” Alhaitham stares into the fire, a trace of a smirk on his lips. “First time we nearly got expelled.”

“Of course you’d forget–you two fight more than a horde of hilichurls stealing each other’s zaytun peaches.” 

“Not an exact comparison, but if you liken a zaytun peach to researcher autonomy, then yes, I suppose I must frequently remind the General Mahamatra to exercise more restraint when delivering punishments.”

“Why must you be so self-righteous,” you sigh, resigned to pinching the bridge of your nose while he continues to blabber about the benefits of autonomous research. “Good to hear you still don’t heed my and Cyno’s advice of knowing when to be quiet.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t agree with me, especially with the type of project you’re carrying out.”

“Of course I’m all for researchers having ultimate control over their interests and own work, but let’s not pretend the Sages and matra don’t side with you as well. They exercise their autonomy everyday with all the secret side projects they’re performing. They just don’t like it when those below them try to practice that same right.”

He sits with that for a while, the fire casting an eerie glow on his face and orbs pensive as he admits, “I’ve never considered that point of view.”

You dare laugh, though your chest burns with aggravation. “That’s because you say you’re open to hearing other people’s thoughts when you’re only concerned with proving your own!”

“Make no mistake, I do listen to different perspectives, but only one can be deemed the most rational. It’s not my fault if people don’t like the outcome.”

“The world isn’t so cut and dried as you make it seem. What happens when you can’t rationalize the irrational?”

“How many times does such a scenario even occur?”

You huff indignantly. “We’re talking about the human race with its erratic behavior, I’d say pretty often.” 

“Name an example, then, if you’re so adamant.”

There is one that’s glaringly obvious in your mind. A situation you’re still not sure how to respond to, since the method of rationality only makes it more perplexing and leaves you increasingly frustrated. 

But he’s the last person you’d divulge such matters to.

“Come up with your own, you irritating slime,” you grumble instead, tiredly rubbing your eyes as you gratefully accept the wave of exhaustion starting to hit you. 

“Figured as much. It’s my shift now, you should sleep instead of starting yet another tirade I have to begrudgingly sit through.”

“You like hearing them,” you counter with closed eyes after laying under the tent, words so jumbled they’ve melted into one. “Once this trip is done, you’re gonna miss arguing with someone who’s not Kaveh.”

If he says anything else it’s for his ears only, your head finally able to block those pestering thoughts.

_

“Are you certain this is the correct location?”

You understand Alhaitham’s insistence for confirmation, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be vexed from the persistent grilling.   

Your arms wildly gesticulate to the disintegrating building you two are currently traversing, sand occupying every nook and cranny of the desolate hallways now that the windows that once offered protection have turned to pieces of broken glass crunching under each of your steps.

“Hmmm, why don’t you hazard a guess? Or will you only be able to tell when this crumbling place caves in on us?”

“I thought it was a logical choice to defer to the one who’s been here more than once.” From your periphery you see him stretch his arms languidly while he lets out a long, resigned sigh. “Now I’m doubting whether you’ve actually been here. I’m positive we walked in a circle.”

“I was checking the perimeter to make sure we’re the only ones here.”

“Right…”

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter. Yet any shred of disgruntlement is instantly replaced by the triumphant smile that splits across your face once you spot the narrow, barely-trodden trail leading to your destination. 

The only thing that gets Alhaitham to stop complaining is when you reach the end of the long tapered hallway, the Scribe in disbelief when you kick open a door to a seemingly untouched room.

He can already tell no one has been here save for the few times you’ve stumbled upon this space that appeared to be an office study. Dust and a bit of sand thinly coat bookshelves, cabinets, a haphazardly erased blackboard, and a desk littered with tattered pages and stone tablets.

“Mercenaries usually pilfer items that fetch a high amount of mora, like medical equipment that was left behind or old medication they can trick their customers into buying.” You usher Alhaitham to the desk, attempting to pile the scattered notes and shake off the dirt and sand on the invaluable material. “We’re fortunate enough that they think this is useless.”

His slender fingers brush over the cool, dark slab, tracing the inscribed message before casting an amused glance your way. “One person’s trash is a scholar’s treasure.”

It’s the first time he’s seen you look at him without even the slightest hint of disgust, pure mirth swimming in your eyes as your lips curl into a satisfied grin. You can never deny the passion of an excited researcher. “Exactly. Now let’s get to work.”

The next few hours surprisingly go off without a hitch, finally able to understand the numerous documents and stones you’ve cataloged on your previous trip. You feverishly write down all of Alhaitham’s translations, ensuring to retake better pictures for future analysis.

“Wait, repeat what you just said,” you interrupt, the first sentence you’ve said in the past hour after only speaking in scattered ‘hmm’ and ‘uh-huh’ during your note taking. 

The Scribe rolls his head from side to side, stretching stiff muscles before peering down at his magnifying glass again. “‘Those afflicted with the scales of demons must embark the treacherous journey into the Woods.’”

“They must be referring to Apam Woods, but why?” You rack your addled brain for any clues you must’ve missed. “It’s not like Nilotpala Lotus grows there…”

Alhaitham shakes his head, “I’m no Forest Watcher, but the medical notes we translated a few minutes ago don't mention anything native to that area.”

“Hold on.” Standing up, you scramble back to the desk where he is, sifting through one of the earlier pages in an intern’s worn notebook before enthusiastically jabbing at the desired one and nearly tearing a hole in the process. “There, page eighteen, you said something about a green-haired person.”

He thinks about making a sly comment about ruining the evidence but bites his tongue, deciding to play along for once. “‘A peculiar, but handsome green-haired man stopped by earlier today. His request to examine children with the scales of the demons was swiftly denied by Doctor Farrokh, despite the enraged man’s insistence that he found the key to eternal longevity. He stormed out of our clinic not long after. I hope he never returns, lest he bother the crying children once more.’” 

“This might sound crazy,” you say slowly, hesitantly preparing yourself for the onslaught of insults and rebuttals, “but I think that peculiar man is Zandik.”

Alhaitham stares at you incredulously. “What possibly led you to that conclusion?”

You pace around the room, fingers ticking down every piece of evidence you rapidly list, “Based on redacted notes I mentioned before, Zandik disappeared right before the first cases of Eleazar broke out. Then there’s these ragged records I found in Apam Woods that detail the effects of the Withering Zone on children subjects. It may seem like a stretch, but I think Zandik not only started the outbreak but also tried to find a cure for it by experimenting on anyone he could find! Maybe he was trying to find a way to increase his life expectancy and created a monster instead! Maybe he was patient zero! Or maybe–”

“Do you realize how mad you sound right now?”

“I only sound insane because there’s still a few missing pieces! Once I find them…”

“How, by talking to Zandik himself?”

Before you can negate that facetious remark, the sound of crunching glass outside and a muffled, “Do you hear something?” cause you to freeze.

“Yeah, I think it’s coming from this hallway. Wanna check it out?”

“Fuck,” you whisper, frantically trying to stuff as many notebooks as possible into your satchel. 

“Enough of that,” Alhaitham chides, jumping over the desk as multiple footsteps get louder. Roughly grabbing your hand, you startle at his forceful kick that opens the door, timely sucking the air out of the mercenaries’ chest while the both of you gain a few rare seconds to hightail it out of there.

“You don’t even know where you’re going!” you yell at him when he turns left instead of right. Planting both feet into the ground, you try to take back your hand he has a vice grip on. 

He nearly falls backwards, promptly turning around to show a face not devoid of emotion but displaying the briefest glimpses of outrage and confusion. “What are you doing?!”

Yet it’s no longer just the two of you, hearing the shouting of the charging Eremites getting clearer as they close the gap. 

You duck your head at someone trying to slash you with his dual blades, glancing at Alhaitham before stabbing the merc with your dagger. “I’m trying to find an escape route, since your navigation skills suck!”

The Scribe unsheathes his sword and stands between you and the rest of the vanguard, parrying any blows before he calmly says, “Then any day now would be ideal.”

Though you can hear his patience eroding over time, one man against at least five while you try to search for the map you drew in your notebook last time.

“You’re seriously”–he kicks a man twice his size to the floor, using that momentum to cut two nearby mercs–“going over”–he deflects again, then flicks his sword up from the ground to blind another with sand–“your notes”–his eyes widen upon nearly losing his head, one of them cutting off a few strands of his hair with a hydro-infused weapon–“right now?”

“Found it!” you exclaim, gesturing to him to follow you while running through the hallways.

But you can’t help but briefly wonder if the matra hired these mercenaries to take you out, another group of them blocking the exit you were planning to take.

“Where to now?” Alhaitham presses, though it didn’t take a genius to calculate the low odds of making it out alive.

“Let’s hope this works.” You grab a small device from the corner of your satchel, activating it with the press of a button before throwing it at the ground.

Smoke heavily fills the air, coughing heard everywhere as you hectically try to find Alhaitham’s gloved hand. When you do, you quickly charge forward, elated to reach the back entrance of the building while most of the smoke hasn’t cleared yet.

“You made that smoke bomb?” Alhaitham asks in between breaths, both of you still running to seek some other shelter after leaving those ruins.

“No,” you gasp, regretting for storing so many heavy books in your bag, “Dori sold it to me at a discounted price.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he tiredly mumbles, before pointing to the hotels of Aaru Village that you can barely make out in the distance. “On top of an extra crate of wine to compensate for almost killing us, you’re also paying for both of our hotel rooms tonight.”

Nothing else is said throughout the half-hour jog, the Scribe refusing to spare a glance at you as he decides that now–the only time you wish he can say anything, something for archon’s sake–is when he’ll opt for discomforting silence.

Just great.

_

After that minor hiccup during your research, you thought you’d be able to end the rest of your day unscathed. Maybe have time to further expand on the Zandik theory you initially formulated.

Alhaitham seemed to have other plans, knocking on your hotel room door in less than a minute of settling into your respective lodgings.

Maybe your first mistake is to let in the seething man, but you don’t want to pay further hotel fees, much less ones for broken furniture. 

“Can I at least shower before I have to listen to you yatter?” 

He peels off his bothersome cape in frustration before his long legs quit pacing, the quick turning of his heel allowing you to receive the daggers the tall man mercilessly glares at you.

“Do you realize how close you were to dying?”

Though said with a suspicious layer of calm, the anger that peeks through sends a downright chilling shiver down your spine. The tension is so stifling that you’re not even sure his sword can cut through it. You’ve never seen him like this, intimidating, green eyes electrified with an overbearing fury that makes you prefer to be back at the medical facility fighting against the mercs. 

The only thing that keeps you from cowering in fear is your own red hot rage thrumming in your veins, curled fists by your side as you stalk toward him.

“How close I was to dying? Don’t act like you’re my knight in shining armor. I held my own weight, I got us out of there!”

Alhaitham wearily rubs his closed eyes, clearly exasperated as he utters, “Your impulsivity is so troublesome to deal with.”

“Oh, fuck off! Of course someone like you would say that!”

 “I’m only telling the–”

“If you say the word ‘truth’ one more time…” The threat comes out meekly, the sound of your pounding heart overpowering your strained voice. 

“I’m being honest.”

The nerve…

Yet you continue to be lured in, painfully aware how every cell in your body is screaming at you to leave. To extinguish the flames of this impending disaster before you’re engulfed in them.

You lean in further.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper furiously.

Soft strands of silver hair tickle your cheek.

“And you’re impossible.”

The tips of your noses barely touch.

“Shut up, Haitham.” 

It’s the last breath you take before your lips crash with his.

The kiss is sloppy and aggressive and intoxicating. Teeth clash, the quiet groan leaving his parted mouth sending sparks of heat straight to the pit of your stomach. You harshly grab both sides of his face when you can’t tell where his tongue begins and yours end, hoping to steady yourself as he steals all your remaining breaths and your lungs fill to the brim with his exhales.

He pushes you against the wall, hard, rough hands pulling your hips against his as he takes his anger out on your neck. Your whimpers only encourage him to bite harder, to suck until all he can hear, see, and smell is you, you, you.

This is bad. Illogical. Fucking insane. The last thing he should be doing, and he tells you such when the last functioning part of his brain finally urges him to break away from your neck.

“We should stop,” he barely makes out, knowing full well how fake it sounds.

So you pull his face in again to kiss him more, one of his hands squeezing your ass as the other wraps around the back of your neck. Blood rushes to his thighs when he feels another roll of your hips, a dull ache in his throbbing cock as it strains against your body.

“Fuck,” he moans pathetically as you reach down to palm him through his pants. It’s a sound you want to hear again, to rile out of him until his voice is too hoarse to say anything else. 

The man can hardly register anything under this hazy cloud of desire until he feels his back pressed against the wall and sees you sink down to your knees.

“What,” he gulps, eyes rolling back when your tongue runs over his covered bulge, “What are you doing?”

Mischievous eyes bat innocently at him, your soft laugh an addicting sound he simultaneously craves to block out and hear on loop as he feels you tug down his pants and briefs.

“Aren’t you the Akademiya genius?” you tease him, Alhaitham having to suppress a groan when the heat of your mouth hits his cock. “What does it look like I’m doing, Haitham?”

Fuck. He doesn’t care for the whine that instantly leaves his trembling body. He wants you to say his name again. Needs you to cry it out while he stuffs you with his cock. Until he fucks you so hard you can’t think about that girl with Eleazar and annoying him with your research.

Until the only word you know is his name.

But–

“We shouldn’t–” 

“Why? Because it’s irrational?” You spit into your palm before stroking his length, the precum leaking from the tip now all over your fingers. The searing touch makes him squeeze his eyes shut, and you grin. “Too impulsive for you?” 

He inhales sharply through gritted teeth.

“Because–” 

His mind desperately claws at nothing, gaping mouth only able to form scattered sounds, fractured grunts.

“Because it feels good?” you finish for him, feeling his shaft pulse with need. “Because I’m in control?”

That’s the only warning he gets before the flat of your tongue traces the underside of his cock. Before you reach the head and trap it between those sinful lips. 

Before you swallow him whole, his dick twitching in your throat as you take it all in, the tip of your nose nudging against his sensitive hipbone.  

His head heavily thuds against the wall as he finally caves into the pleasure spreading every inch of his body. You’re grateful he can’t see the tears pricking in your eyes as your head bobs faster, fingernails digging half crescents into his skin as you suck down to the base again. 

He’s a mess, his strangled groans drowning out your gags when he ruts into you. When he pulls back you press on forward, guiding his hand to the back of your head so his overwhelmed mind has something to hold onto. 

And it feels so good. The sleeve of your throat feels tighter, and he sucks in another shallow breath. You feel so good, constantly repeating it in that empty head of his with your mouth choking on his cock as you bury it further. 

Fuck, fuck, he can’t hold it in. “Ah–I’m gonna–” 

He comes almost immediately, unloading straight into the back of your throat, swallowing as much as you can before thick, white spurts land around your lips. 

Spent, he tries to rest against the wall, a futile attempt to catch the breaths that his bewitched self willingly let you take from him. 

But you’re already standing up, wobbly knees straightening as you dive in for another sloppy kiss, the faint taste of his cum tainted on your tongue. 

He pulls aways, as if to say something. 

Yet nothing comes out.

“Cat got your tongue?” you taunt, licking your shiny lips before ‘consoling’ with a wicked smile. “Had I known this would get you to shut up, I would’ve done it sooner.”

His eyes narrow, stomach churning with a disconcerting flurry of anger, desire, and hatred.

So much hatred.

“Get. Out,” he manages to bite out, annoyed at how weak he sounds. 

“I mean this is my room.” He wants to wipe that little smirk off your face, wants to shake your shoulders senseless when you dare shrug at him. “But if it makes you happy, I guess I can take the other one before we go back to the facility tomorrow.”

“No,” he rasps, watching your figure freeze as you reach for the door, “I never want to see you again.” 

Only his furious breaths can be heard, the slight tilt of your head showing you contemplating a response.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” you answer simply, plainly. 

Kazuha:

Kazuha has a way with words, he can paint a picture in your mind with pretty words alone, his hot breath traveling across your cheek as he whispers to you

So it’s no surprise that if you can dirty talk well, like…really well, that’ll immediately get him in the mood. Especially if you two can get some dirty back-and-forth going on, each of you getting more vulgar in your descriptions as you converse

Pulling him aside while you travel, whispering in his ear and pushing your knee between his legs…He could never refuse a quickie in a bush or under a beautiful sakura tree

Sex with him is never quiet, he wants you to narrate how you feel as he pleasures you or the other way around. If you were to describe, in great detail, how you love him as you pleasure him…he dissolved into a blushing, moaning mess. For once, he’s at a loss for words as he listens to you and loses himself in your touch and warm mouth

It’s either just your voice or the way you speak that gets him going, he loves when your voices takes on that low, sultry tone….

Gorou:

Obviously he’s into master and pet/servant play… He’s totally devoted to you and he wants you to own him, to use him how you want. Gorou gets pleasure from giving. He’s your sweet puppy who’d do anything go make you happy!

He wants your praise constantly, he’s happy to help with commissions, with cooking, with anything you need!! And when you call him to bed and spread your legs for him, he’s eager to satisfy you with his skillful tongue

“You’re so good for me, Go~” you moan, running your fingers through his hair, his ears twitching at the contact “Anything for you master~” he murmurs against your skin

Turning him on is so easy…Poor guy. You could just look at him a certain way and he’d have a tent in his pants. Gorou is energetic and very responsive, using that to your advantage would truly ruin him. In a good way!

Back to praise and rewards, he doesn’t expect you to reward him for being good but when you do, he is sooo appreciative. He’s so vocal and his expressions are the cutest ;) he loves you so much!! He’ll tell you that ten thousand times as you reward him by riding him or edging him for hours

Tohma:

Your hands, he loves them. He watches how you wield your weapon, how you use chopsticks, how you lick your fingers when you eat…he’s a goner

Tohma usually ignores it in public but you’ve caught him many times looking you over, he isn’t as slick as he thinks he is lmao

He wants those hands on him, tying him up, cupping his cheeks, running over his thighs…He wants to watch as you pleasure yourself and lick your cum off your fingers

Another fantasy if his is you tying him up and blindfolding him so all he can focus on is you, where you’re touching, how you sound, how you smell, he’s ultra tuned into your actions and desire. He loves the thrill of the unexpected!

He’s a simple man! He wants 3 things! Your hands, your ass and your thighs! That’s it!! He is so easy to please!!! Tohma can’t keep his hands to himself ever, he loves touching you and wants you to touch him too

Dottore: (tw for….Dottore things)

One word: fear

First, Dottore is a madman. He’s legitimately insane so when he’s having a bad day and comes to harass you and you’re genuinely afraid of what he might do to you? It starts off as funny, he laughs his terrible, unhinged laugh…But then it’s arousing. The way you tremble before him on your knees, begging him not to sink his scalpel into your skin…Well, seeing you so vulnerable really gets him going

He’ll position himself so you’re on the floor beneath his feet, one foot on the ground and one on your chest to keep you on the floor. He’ll brace his hand against the wall and use the other to jerk himself off, grinning at you, telling you how gorgeous you look with that scared look on your face! Then he cums on your pretty face, spits on you and walks away laughing again

He doesn’t want you to be afraid of him all the time, it kinda gets old after awhile then he’s just annoyed with you but when he’s lost in his own blood lust and fumes from his lab, he finds he has the most satisfying orgasms in the world

Dottore also loves seeing you devote yourself to him, seeing you stay at his side no matter what and offer your body to him when he’s especially stressed or in a bad mood. He may even be gentle with you if he’s feeling generous but even that has its limits “That’s right~ You’re mine, doll~” he marks you up and makes you wear your hair up so everyone can see his sharp teeth marks all over your skin

Dainsleif:

Dain is an abyss knight with no one to serve, he feels that emptiness inside him, a hole he desperately wants to fill so he can feel whole again

When you rely on him, seek him out for help or even just invite him to dinner, he’s overjoyed (not that he shows it) it’s been so long since he’s had friends let alone someone to love

Therefore he is beyond touch starved. The littlest touches from you self electricity though his body. He’s had a couple flings here and there over his centuries of life but nothing has ever stood out. Not before you

What gets him hot under the collar is the thought of the two of you taking it slow, having a romantic night together. That’s kinda cheesy but after he met you, he found himself jacking off to this fantasy

He imagines the two of you in your room, dimly lit by candles. He’s deep inside your warm, welcoming body, gazing down into your eyes as you make love. Dain wants this so desperately, he always feels lonely and ashamed after these nights alone with his hand

I agree with what you said before tho!! Crepus doesn't strike me as a guy who would let a compliment get to his head. There's not much change after he finds out that people find him attractive, tbh–– if anything, the most that happens is that his stride gains a little bit more confidence, or now, he knows that his charm is practically guaranteed to work on just abt everyone in Mondstadt, so he might use that to his advantage every now and then, but it's ultimately harmless.

⠀”Do you feel that?” Asks Kazuha, in a voice so harmonious and soft and completely contradicting each hard thrust of his hips. His eyes are wide as he realizes for the first time how far into you his cock goes when he bottoms out. His hand is firmly planted on the soft skin of your belly, pushing down so he can feel every pump of his hard cock himself. “I’m so deep inside of you, aren’t I?”

⠀You can’t even respond to the awe in his voice–– your head has been lying limply on the mattress since your how many-th orgasm. If it weren’t for your hands still gripping the back of your knees, folding yourself in half like how Kazuha wants, or for the squeaks, gasps and the occasional moan when he pushed down particularly hard, Kazuha might have though you passed out.

⠀Even when you’re overstimulated, muscles sore and voice hoarse, you were still being so good for him, taking his lust-driven pace without complaint. His other hand grips one of your thighs, spreading you wide for ease of access and to hear the sloppy mess the two of you had created. The love of his life, so eager to be pressed in half and bred. It’s a thought he would never take for granted–– something that will haunt his wet dreams for weeks to come.

⠀“You’ve been so good,” Kazuha murmurs, leaning down to lick at your neck, and inadvertently pushing on the little bulge in your stomach even more, forcing some of the air from your lungs in a desperate gasp. His pace slows, shifting into something more sensual and deep, letting you feel every inch and vein of his cock as he drags it out of you and pushes it back in as deep as he can go. 

⠀”Would you like a reward?”

⠀Even in your hazy state, you recognize the word when you hear it, and nod, teary-eyed. He chuckles, and you feel the vibrations from deep in his chest before he presses a sweet, tender kiss to your lips. 

⠀Then his pace picks up and his angle shifts, wiping all coherent thought from your brain, and he essentially fucks you into the mattress.

⠀Each downwards thrust of his hips is so loud, and it has your tongue lolling and your lips parting like a bitch. To Kazuha, every noise you make, every moan, yelp and cry of “Kazuhakazuhakazuha––” timed with the thrust of his hips only spurs him on to push deeper, to fuck you better, until he fills up your hole with his cum and breeds you so full you’ll feel his cum in you for days. You deserve your reward, after all. 

⠀Fat tears roll down your face, a testament to how well he’s fucking you. He leans down further, pushing your thighs even wider (and not at all slowing his pace) as he bites and pulls at your bottom lip. “So pretty, getting stuffed,” he coos when you whimper. “Do you want my cum in you, love?”

⠀You nod feverishly, releasing your hold on your legs–– Kazuha’s practically folding you in half himself, anyway. As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pushing his face into your neck and kissing his shoulder, he squeezes your thigh, hard enough to pull a moan from you. “Speak,” He murmurs into your ear, biting down on the soft skin of your shoulder, making you yelp

⠀“Hnngh–– C-cum, please, I want your cum in me Kazu,” you whine, heat racing across your body, and your lower stomach begins to incessantly tingle. He tenses when you tighten around his cock, making the drag against your walls even more prominent with each thrust. “So empty without you–– I– I’m not gonna waste a single drop, promise.”

⠀Kazuha groans right into your ear, his brain practically sizzling as he listens to you beg for his load inside of you. You yelp when his pace loses the steady rhythm, reduced to hard, frantic thrusts as Kazuha aims to cum as deep as he can inside you. Kazuha can hardly hear your cries and sweet little ‘tha-ank yo-ou’s as he fucks you, his mind hazy as your walls grip his cock, desperate to keep him inside you.

⠀He does, however, hear you call his name as you cum, and feels the sensation of your teeth digging into his shoulder in an attempt to muffle yourself. You go weightless after that, your thighs shaking, eyes rolling and both your skin wet from how hard you cum, He continues fucking your oversensitive hole for only a bit longer, the tight squeeze doing him in with a gasp. He thrust his hips down into yours forcefully, burying his cock until the base, hitting the deepest reaches of you as you whined, though it’s quickly silenced by his lips on yours.

⠀Kazuha’s cum is hot, and the feeling of being filled and thoroughly bred rips a satisfied moan from your throat that had Kazuha’s chest feel tight. The harsh, passionate kiss melts into something sweeter as he comes down from the high. His kiss becomes more gentle, assuring you of his adoration and love. One of, Kazuha’s hands threads into your hair, cradling you while his cock keeps your hole plugged full of his cum. 

⠀“Good?” Kazuha asks when you part to breathe, looking down at you.

⠀“Mmh, so good,” You mumble, pulling him back down for more.

⠀When the kiss ends for good and you’ve stopped trembling from the aftershocks, Kazuha carefully removes his cock from your hole. Despite his best efforts, some of his cum drips out of you, and you make a disappointed sound. Carefully, he swipes it up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you. Immediately, your previous disappointment morphs into a happy purr.

⠀“You did promise not to waste any of it,” Kazuha says with a smile. He won’t mind if you do though–– he can always just fuck more into you later, anyway.

⠀