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“Cyno~ it’s—!!”
“You didn’t knock.”
You’re about halfway busting through the heavy office door before his sudden interruption causes you to freezeframe your entire being. Cyno hasn’t even turned around yet, focussing on some papers, yet he looks over his own shoulder when he nears neither spoken words nor sound.
He stares at you for a bit, then turns his head away, walking over to one of the bookshelves within the small Favonius office he often borrows when he found himself in Mondstadt.
“...It’s—” “You didn’t knock.” He repeats once more, still more invested in finding whatever book it must be he was trying to find. You stand there for a while longer, unsure if he was actually expecting you to close the door, knock, and then enter properly.
As if he read your mind, the gaze of his single eye turns your way, an expectant eyebrow raised as he finally pulls a book from the shelf, returning to the desk, where he promptly opens it and starts flicking through the pages.
“I’m already inside.”
The white-haired Sumerian looks up from his book, with a rather unreadable blank expression on his face. “I can help with that.”
“That’s
not
what I— oof—!!” There’s a sudden tug at your waist when something vine-like wraps around it, pulling you back through the doorway which promptly shuts in front of you.
After stumbling back and almost losing your footing, those same vines prevent you from properly falling, and put you straight back onto your feet in front of the —now once more closed— door.
“You’re being stubborn!” You call out, fully aware he can hear you. If anything, you’re fairly certain he’s waiting for you to do it properly. Good.
There’s some mischievous part of your brain that activates at the thought you could be making him wait on purpose. After all, if he really doesn’t care, he wouldn’t mind, right?
And so, the game begins.
You wonder how long it’ll take for him to get suspicious. 10 minutes, maybe? 30?
Deep down, something tells you he might not bat an eye at all even after a full day of you not bringing up why you bothered him in the first
—
Click
The door in front of you opens about an inch with a very unsubtle creaking noise, and the single red eye peaking through seems surprised at first to find you just standing there. What was meant to be a smile on your part turned into more of a disgustingly smug grin when he checks quicker than even a minute.
“Awww, were you worried I left?”
The door immediately smacks closed after a loud huff, and you can’t help as you knock. After no answer, you keep knocking, using both hands to create a butchered version of some Yule song you never accurately remember the lyrics to.
“I’m knoooocking!!!” You call out with much more amusement than those words should ever have, and even though there’s no reply, the door handle turns and opens up before you.
The Sumerian is not standing in front of the door anymore when it opens.
Instead, he’s returned to the desk, his back turned towards your direction.
You carefully peek your head in to test the waters, before taking a big step inside and closing the door behind you.
“I knocked.”
A long-drawn-out sigh comes from the other when he finally turns, leaning back against the desk and staring at you with crossed arms. “You are insufferable when in a good mood, are you aware of that?”
“Well. It’s Yuletide, remember?” “Do people usually lose their manners during Yuletide?”
Your face drops into a deep unamused frown, but with a shake of your head, the smile’s right back. This was no time to get all twisted up about the Scholar’s strictness. It’s quite literally supposed to be the most wondrous time of the year or something along those lines, right?
“Well, as to why I’m here…” You nervously rub your hands together, fumbling with your hands while trying to get the words you rehearsed out. “I was going to invite you to—” “Absolutely no—”
“Shhhhhhshhshshshsh-!” You quickly raise up your finger to shush the boy in front of you, and he stares at the finger on the brink of cross-eyedness before looking back up towards you.
“Let me finish.” There’s a giant grin on his face, and you can watch him contemplating momentarily before he nods. “Go on.”
“I know you said it sounded stupid and like a waste of time, but! You’ve never even celebrated the Mondstadtian way! You can look at it like… Cultural research.”
Cyno’s expression —or lack thereof, really— is a harsh confirmation that maybe your persuading skills hadn’t quite reached a level high enough to get into the scholar’s thick skull.
You wondered if such a level were even humanly achievable.
“...Cultural research?” The boy repeats with a blink, and you try to put on your best “I believe what I’m saying”-smile as you nod. He doesn’t entirely seem to buy it, and then gazes outside at the already setting sun.
Cyno purses his lips in thought and then pushes himself away from the desk so he can stand up once more. Once he’s standing straight, he starts walking around his desk to get to the back of it.
“How high did you think your success rate was asking me this?”
“About 10%, probably. Maybe a solid 15 if you were in a good mood.” The answer is blunt but honest, as you shrug your shoulders. You’re unsure if it’s the honestly or the bluntness that gets an almost uncharacteristic hum of amusement from the scholar.
“Maybe a 5 if you already knew I was going to ask and prepared a speech for me as to why you couldn’t come.”
Cyno pauses once he’s at the chair still tucked under its desk, nodding his head off as he gave some thought to your words.
“Not a bad theory. Yet perhaps not keeping in mind your own determination on attempting to get me to join such festivities, which in turn I would have to calculate as an or two hour wasted of work at best , as I try to banish you from my study room. Which then leaves the question..” He opens up one of the drawers, still not quite looking at you.
“Do I let you ruin two hours, or cave in and only let you ruin one?”
He tosses something small at you that you barely catch, which on second thought perhaps when a Sumerian scholar who’s gone into great detail about how turning you into a slime for a day would be within the ease of his abilities throws an unknown object at you, perhaps just let it fall.
Strong reflexes betray you, though, and you’re clutching the small silken object in your hand.
“..What is this?”
You finally get a good look at it. It’s a small light yellow bag with a very bright red ribbon keeping it closed.
“It’s a bag.” “Why did you give me a bag?”
He stares at you for longer than a moment, before he softly rubs his own temples. “ Open the bag, idiot.”
“Oh. Right!”
With a soft tug at the string, it comes undone, causing the bag to open up slightly to reveal its contents. It’s hard to see, and you’re not sure what to expect when you reach your hand in and meet something fabric-ey.
Finally pulling it out, you’re met with the sigh of a one red button-eyed very home-made-looking plush dog.
“...Is this a present?” The words leave your mouth as soon as your brain connects the dots.
Cyno isn’t entirely sure what to do with your non-committal reaction as the gears still turn in your head, and he opens his mouth, only to close it again when he can’t figure out what to say yet.
“You got me a present?!” The imaginational gears finally click, and the bag is flung aside onto his desk so you can properly hold up the outright adorable looking plush. “Did you make this?!”
“Amber made it!” Cyno immediately interjects, as if the act of him having made it would have been an outrageous thing to assume. “...Most of it, at least.” He finally adds, and you can’t help but notice he’s been looking away ever since you opened it. You can’t even properly see his eye, just the bangs covering his scarred one.
“She insisted I helped, or she would not do it.”
“Cyno, it’s absolutely wonderful. It kind of looks like you.” “Nonsense.”
With a shake of your head, you chuckle, too distracted with staring at your new possession to notice the scholar sneaking glances at you admiring the creation he took a part in.
“And here I thought I wasn’t even gonna get you to try eating some of the yule roast, much less getting something from you. It’s a Yuletide Miracle, as they say.” You tease, giving the boy a much-meaning genuine smile.
The boy lifts his shoulders slightly, letting out a huff once more. “You are wildly exaggerating the meaning of this. I was aware it was a tradition to gift others things.”
“... So then what’d you get Amber?”
There’s the silence after your question, as Cyno realizes he’s backed himself into the corner with his own attempt to logic away the fact that he cares. It wasn’t abnormal for him.
With a chuckle on your side, you let out a soft sigh, shaking your head.
“But thank you, truly. It’s the best thing I’ve gotten all day.”
There’s a subtle glint in Cyno’s eyes when he hears the sentence, but you can’t properly puzzle out what it means. The Sumerian immediately moves on before you can.
“Fine, then. One hour.” He states. “You have one hour of my time.”
“Say no more. I’ll go get my coat!”
Cyno watches you dart out of the room faster than any possible regret about giving in can set in, and once he remains alone. In slow paces, he grabs the cloak lying over the arm of a chair nearby the bookshelves.
While unfurling the fabric, his gaze turns towards the ceiling of his study, staring down the branch of mistletoe hanging off a vine above his desk. He sighs, flinging the black fabric over his shoulder, and walking towards the door.
“Perhaps I hung it up too high.”