Work Text:
i.
âBoring.â
âUnsubstantial.â
âConfusing thesis.â
âOh, and look.â He flits the paper over in your direction, tapping at the short paragraph youâd written on it. âThis oneâs missing a thesis entirely.â
Your eye twitches at the blatant snark within his final remark, gaze focused on the Wanderer as he lets out a sigh, dropping the stack of papers in his hands to rest on his lap before lazily leafing through them once more. He doesnât seem to be any more pleased by this second inspection than he was the first, gorgeous features contorting into a frown as he glances up at you.
Itâs almost impressive, how much effort it takes for you to maintain your amicable expression, biting the inside of your cheek to an almost painful degree and praying that the ever growing darkness in your eyes doesnât expose the extent of your frustration. To say that your hands were aching would, at this point, be a heavy understatement.
Perhaps it was simply foolish of you, asking for his assistance and deluding yourself into believing that he might aid you without any traces of his usual sass and impudent attitude.
Perhaps you shouldâve expected him to hold you to his unbelievably high standards, refusing to allow you to move onto the rest of your paper before youâd presented him with an absolutely perfect introductionâwhich, in your mind , still makes no sense considering that your papers arenât expected to be nearly as perfect as hisâfield work of more importance for an Amurta scholar like yourself.
And, perhaps , your mental well-being would be in far better condition if youâd simply decided to try and complete everything yourself. ê°âŠ Though, it was hard to deny the sneaking suspicion that he still mightâve involved himself had you not gone to him firstâ meddlesome as he is .ê±
You half-expect him to return the parchment to your hands, demanding that you rewrite them for the nth time before seeking out his judgment once moreâbut he doesnât . Instead, he pulls one of your drafts from the stack, slapping the rest onto the empty space beside him in order to give the chosen sheet a once-over. He nods, holding it out to you, and allows you to take it from him before he speaks once more.
âThis is the most tolerable.â The Wanderer begins, and youâve lived with him long enough to understand that itâs a compliment, âJust cut out some of the filler, and itâll be usable.â
There are practically tears in your eyes as you reread itâfingers having suffered numerous cramps in the efforts of producing a favorable outlineâand the extent of your reaction certainly isnât lost on your roommate, whoâs taken to eyeing you as though youâve gone mad. He scoffs, raising an eyebrow at you.
âYouâre looking at that thing like youâve completed the entire paper.â
â Honestly? â You laugh, though it comes out sounding slightly strained. âIâve got half a mind to submit this introduction alone and just be done with it.â
He narrows his eyes at you, lips thinning, as if trying to figure out how serious youâre being. Thereâs a beat of silence before he finally responds.
â Donât. "
ii.
While beings can survive in a Withering Zone, the effects are extremely harmful to humans, who require a Vision to simply resist its power. Even brief exposure could cause serious effectsâŠ
Withering Zones are initially created as a⊠Nascent Zone which attracts a small amount of monsters and begins to corrupt the surrounding areaâŠ
Something, something, Fetid Boughs⊠branches⊠tumors, affect peopleâŠ
..!
You donât even realize that youâd fallen asleep until your face collides with the surface of your desk, eyes snapping open in a panic as you frantically peel yourself away from the wood. The entire world feels as though itâs spinning, senses dulled by exhaustion, hands sliding beneath the frames of your glasses ê°and surely smudging the lenses, though you hardly had it in you to care anymoreê± before sliding down the length of your face in an exaggeratedly annoyed motion.
The Akademiya was going to be the death of you.Â
Annoyingly enough, the information within your stupidly thick textbook seemed just as foreign to you as it had when youâd first sat down for the evening, a simple fact that stranded you somewhere between a mental breakdown and full-blown insanity. The life of an academic truly was far more trouble than it was worth.Â
The flame contained within your lantern flickered, almost tauntingly so ê°though perhaps that was the lack of sleep getting to youê±, besides you.
At this point, you longed for nothing more than to cast aside your studies for the night, lay down atop your tantalizingly soft mattress, and go to sleepâabandoning your problems and forcing your future self to deal with them in your stead.
As things often are, however, making such a decision would be incredibly troublesome, the scholar responsible for your agony having already declared his intentions of quizzing you the very next morning. An awfully strict man, well in on the years, and he didnât seem nearly fond enough of you to extend any sympathy towards your plightâsomething that you ê° regrettably ê± couldnât help but understand, seeing as youâd been given a full week to prepare and foolishly chose to wait until the very night before.
Throwing your head back, you blankly stare up at the ceiling, vision swimming in off-which as you attempt to reel in your concentration. It wasnât working âthough you hardly even expected it toâpast instances of your procrastination having left you well aware of the outcome.
Youâd stay up all night, reviewing and reviewing and reviewing âas though your life depended on itâpass out an hour or so before youâd have to get up for the day, regret every single one of your lifeâs choice while rushing out of your room, swear off ever procrastinating again⊠and then repeat the cycle in a monthâs time when the lesson wore off.
The sound of your bedroomâs door creaking open is enough to pull you out of your thoughts, though you make no effort to face the intruder until you register a sharp flick on your exposed forehead. Your body jerks, and you turn towards the Wanderer with a sudden start, about to scold him for the ludicrous amount of strength that he always puts into the gesture before you notice the bowl that heâs placed directly in front of you.
You blink. He says nothing, instead choosing to remove the pen from your hand and slot a spoon into its space, and you reminisce to the time where heâd attempted to teach you to use chopsticks only for you to spill soy sauce all over yourself.
â... Hat Guy?â You murmur, slightly softened ê°gorgeousê± features cringing as the nickname escapes your lips.Â
âCall me that again and Iâll eat this myself.â
âReally, youâre no fun at all, Wanderer âŠâ Your tone is lighthearted, mirth within your tone as he rolls his eyes.
He chooses not to respond to that statement, and you choose not to try and stretch out the conversation, instead leaning slightly towards the bowl in order to get a better look at its contents. Shimi Chazuke , his favorite food, as youâve come to find out, pieces of eel piled atop the rice to an almost shocking degreeâconsidering his habit of hoarding all of it whenever he went through the effort of making the dish.
Seemingly dissatisfied by your hesitance to dig in, he decides to offer some explanation for the gesture. âI made this in order to encourage you, yet it seems as though you wonât even be able to keep your eyes open long enough to properly enjoy it.â
âYou did all of that for me?â You ask, brain having already turned to mush and doing absolutely nothing to stop tears from welling up in your eyesâdonning a dopey smile as you stare up at him. A flash of red paints his features, and without his hat, he turns away from you to save face.
â... The eel is good for brain function, so you should at least eat that. Perhaps itâll give you the intellect to curb this foolish habit of yours.â You giggle, and he huffs, the lack of bite within his statement clear to the both of you. âThrow out the rest if you donât want it. I donât care.â He does , but you choose not to mention it.Â
âAnd here I was thinking you were going to be fully nice to me.â You tease, taking a bite and savoring the taste. The Wanderer lets out a scoff as the entirety of your body relaxes, though the increased intensity of his blush betrays his true sentiments of the matter. â... Thank you , though. It⊠It really means a lot.â You continue, trying to be as earnest as you possibly can when youâre a momentâs notice away from collapsing into the bowl.
âDonât mention it.â He grumbles, lips pressed together, and itâs enough for you to decide that you wonât be following that command. â... And take a break. The human mind isnât good at processing information while deprived of sleep.â
â Pfft âYou say that as if you arenât a human yourself.â
He pauses at that, and for a split second , his expression shifts into something somber. At least, thatâs what you assume , because the very moment that you can comprehend the change within his mood heâs already turning his back towards you and walking out of your room. â... Take a break .â
The door closes before you can respond. And with steam wafting from the bowl, contents still too hot for you to indulge in, your torturous study session is made the slightest bit more tolerable.
iii.
As it turns out, leaving your umbrella within the confines of your home while the sky is violently gray outside was ê° regardless of the fact that you only had one lecture that particular dayê± an absolutely terrible idea. Deciding to run through the storm pouring over the Akademiya instead of simply waiting it out was an even more foolish course of action, clothing completely soaked through and body dripping wet by the time you stepped into the safety of your abode.
⊠In hindsight, you probably shouldâve just gone back for the damned thing when youâd noticed Kaveh â notorious for forgetting themâwalking around with one in hand. At least then, even if you mightâve been a few minutes late, you wouldnât be missing a full day of academics in order to recover from the sickness youâd come down with. Nor would you have been placed beneath the Wanderer âs surveillance, your âbelovedâ roommate having insisted ê° for some strange reason ê± on staying home to keep watch on your condition.
It was sweet, at first. Oddly domestic , considering just how emotionally constipated the man is, almost always attempting to convince you that he didnât care for you in the slightestâeven when his actions made it clear that he didnât think as lowly of you as he insisted.
But by the Archons was he attentive. Too attentive, really, confining you to your bedroom and feeding you medicine so bitter that youâd had to pinch your nose closed in order to keep from gagging. Reminders that his actions were for the sake of your own health did little to reassure you, did nothing to lessen the sting of annoyance that pierced your chest whenever he pushed you back down onto your mattress or pulled your blanket from your shivering form, berating you for making your fever worse despite the chills you felt running through your veins.Â
And you , being the stubborn thing that you were, would simply go through the effort in reuniting it with your body, lounging in bliss until he next returned to check in on your condition.
Like right now, for example.
âWould you stop covering yourself already?â Thereâs a rag in the Wanderer âs hand as he opens the door, a deep scowl tugging down at his lips as he walks over to youâlong strides, like heâs in a hurryâbefore the duvet is unceremoniously stripped away. While heâd previously contented himself with placing it on the other end of the bed, he takes things further this time, mink bunching up between his fingers and pattern distorting as he pulls it away from the bed entirely. You donât even have the chance to protest before he continues talking.
âDo you even know how hot you are right now?â And if you were in better condition, and if he didnât already appear to be so irritated with you already, that would've been the perfect opportunity to mess with him. âItâs almost as if youâre trying to die, you know that?â
âNot my fault I feel like Iâm freezing.â You retort, knowing full well that it⊠technically is, pouting as you watch him drop your salvation to the floor, now nothing more than a useless heap. Although there wasnât anything that was physically retraining you from getting up in order to reclaim it once he was busy doing anything else, the lightheadedness you were experiencing certainly didnât make the option seem all that appealing. He seemed to realize that, too, placing it in the furthest corner of the room .
Smart , yes, but dreadfully annoying.
â Oh ,â his tone is practically dripping with sarcasm as the sound escapes his mouth, âso I should believe the person who looks halfway to the grave?â
â... Maybe? â
He slaps the rag onto your head with a loud smack , wet and cold, a shiver running through your spine as your hands instinctively shoot up to remove the offending object. He catches both of your wrists without so much as a word, barely having to battle your weakened self in order to lower them back down to your sides, grip lingering for a few seconds until heâs entirely certain that you wonât make another attempt to take it off. And perhaps youâve simply become delusional in your feverish state, but you find yourself missing his touch once he finally moves his hands away.
Youâre saved the embarrassment of admitting this, however, when he speaksâpools of indigo scrutinizing your movements as he straightens up.
âThe lavender melon soup Iâm making is almost done.â He informs you, and your weary mind stews in confusion for a few seconds before remembering that they originate from Inazuma, practically all the way on the other side of Teyvat.
While the abolishment of the Vision Hunt Decree made it possible for merchants to import the fruit, it was still considered a novelty within Sumeru, prices too stupidly high for you to justify the purchase. You frowned, unsure of just how much mora he had to shell out in order to buy them. â... If I come back and see you with that blanket again, itâs not going to be the illness that ends you.â
You laugh at the threat, and he sighs, mumbling an 'I mean it' before retreating into the kitchen. You decide not to test him any further.
⊠And, apparently decide to find another source of warmth, because you wake up the next morning atop the couch with your fever broken and your face buried in the Wanderer âs chest. There's nobody around to tease the both of you for the compromising positionâ this time âthough you still end up turning up to your classes totally red-faced, mute against the concerned inquiries of your fellow scholars.