#this is slowly descending into a cyno blog

[cecilxa]

soft cries best violent minds

summary: cyno's not the best at feelings, but he'll try his damn hardest for you

contents: hurt/comfort, character heavy (?), gn!reader, tighnarisibling!reader (teeny tiny mention)

cw: reader crying (can be implied as to having a breakdown/panic attack), low to mild violence

a/n: based of off this ask (tw)

Cyno can hear you crying. In the small, well ventilated huts of Gandharva Ville, he can hear your sobs echo off the walls back into his heart. With every tear he knows you shed, with every breath you gasp out to take, his heart twinges every time, each newest thump even more shattering than the last. It's not right, he thinks, you don't deserve pain; you deserve joy, hope and laughter. Anything but sorrow.

Cyno believes in the ways of justice, in the ways of fairness and equality, so why do you think you deserve to feel this way? He can’t see anything past his rose-tinted glasses, his perfectly imperfect impression of you, and even if he was blindfolded, gagged and deafened, he knew he'd find his way back into your arms. So why are you sad, why do you think it’s worth it, why- oh why- does Cyno not help you in a time of need?

He knows the answer to that. The polearm he’s wielding is a dead giveaway. How much blood has been shed by the cool surface of his deadly weapon? How many screams has he heard, begging for mercy, receiving it in the form of divine retribution? There’s no going around it. First and foremost, the General Mahamatra’s ultimate instinct would be to hunt whoever, or whatever, hurt you. No matter how long it would take, no many how many long days and nights he would have to endure, he would find them, and he would judge them. Judge them using the might of his strength, and the harshness of the desert sand.

He doesn’t dare enter your hut. He’s afraid that he’ll lash out in anger- mouth setting in a grim frown- eyes dulling, emotionless, as he’ll demand you, in his low, dangerous voice, to tell him who hurt you. Cyno keeps a sharp mind, and he knows that anything that he’d do in anger would only hinder, not help, the situation even more. There’s only one thing that he values over justice, and that’s the smile on your face.

Frowns don’t settle quite right on your features, especially when paired with sorrowful eyes glassy with tears, and he can’t help but feel his heart twanging however much longer you’re crying for. If he were to be the reason for your red-rimmed eyes staining even more vermillion, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

So what to do? He knows Tighnari might make you feel better; the inside jokes you share with each other from growing up as siblings might make you giggle, and you’d take on that soft smile he knows he loves. He may even call out for Collei, who’ll ask you to help her with a new job she’d taken on. Anything to stop the pain rooted in your system; anything to make you happy.

At this moment, for perhaps the first time in his harsh life, Cyno is indecisive. He cannot, and will not leave you- his morals involving you forbid him from doing so- but the things he would try to do to help will only leave you crying even more. He will not let that happen either. Tighnari and Collei would be called, but Cyno feels something in his chest that doesn’t let him shout out for them. Throat closing up, mouth drying, he’s suddenly very aware that his body is not allowing him to speak. His mind is racing, thinking of ways that would make you feel better, anything to stop the tears from flooding his heart, when a feeble voice calls out his name.

“Cyno…?”

Something snaps in him.

Immediately, and without hesitation, he pads into the room as quietly and quickly as he can. Kneeling down on the floor in front of your figure, sitting down on the bed, he gazes up at your crystal face. He doesn’t know how someone can look so much like a broken angel; it’s an oxymoron in any sense. You’re still as captivating as when you grin at him in excitement, but there’s a hollowness in your eyes, which makes his heart crack ever so slightly, the same way your sobs make him choke up as well.

Maybe something overtakes Cyno, but what happens next surprises him. Thoughts of violence and retribution seep out of his mind, leaving him with an instinct to comfort you. He cups your face, kisses both your cheeks, eyes softening, as his thumbs settle on your eyelids, dainty as a battle-worn hand could be.

The General Mahamatra may not know how to make you laugh out in raucous joy; he may not know how to distract you from your problems, but he knows how to get rid of things that don’t belong. Two gentle thumbs softly brush away every last teardrop you shed. It might’ve been an hour, two hours, five minutes, but Cyno is still there, wiping away. Your tears haven’t let up, but at least your breathing has stabilised. It’s quiet, but neither of you mind.

The sound of cheerful birdsong interrupts the silence, yet Cyno carries on, polearm stashed away in a dark corner of your room.

a/n: as always, likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! mental health is important, don't neglect it!