Chapter Text
The breeze that toys with Aether’s hair is playful as he strolls along the pavement. Reaching his destination, he finds The Wanderer perched upon his verandah, shaded from the evening sun and soaking in that same gale—brisk and pleasant against the hot summer air.
The area is inconspicuous and vacant, granting him the privacy Aether knows he prefers.
Well, the area is vacant of people.
Aranara dot The Wanderer’s property, peaking through the shrubbery and spilling into the trees that shroud his house. One, a leaf-green forest fae, sleeps contentedly by his side, while the rest titter lightly, whispering about a ‘Big Hat Nara’.
Aether smiles upon approach. “They seem fond of you.”
“Don’t ask me why,” Wanderer sighs. “They just know I’m acquainted with their Lord of Verdure. Before becoming her assistant, they used to pay me no mind, and I did the same.”
Aether watches how the Aranara rested beside Wanderer snores, cutely chirping. “Could you always see them?”
Wanderer nods, leaning forward. “At that time, I didn’t know that others could not—well, not unless they somehow established a connection to Irminsul. I learned that through the memories of that Akademiya student, Haypasia.”
Scaramouche’s first and only follower. “You remembered her name?”
“I remember debts.” And, he remembers those who’ve shown him kindness.
Wanderer takes a stand and walks inside the front door. Aether follows, and they enter the lounge room, as they once did—and as they have done for each of Aether’s maintenance visits.
Aether strolls towards the couch with familiarity, plucking a pillow and taking a seat, the cushion resting in his lap.
He notes how Wanderer is silent, but not uncharacteristically so. Aether knows better to tease—it would only make the other pull away, slipping from his grasp. Wanderer is trusting him with this. The man stares down at him blankly, so Aether makes a note to look unbothered, casually reaching for his tools, looking busy.
Wanderer stands for a long moment before finally taking a seat, leaving a generous stretch of space between them. He casts Aether a quick, uncertain look. The other pretends not to notice.
“If you’re comfortable doing it like this,” Aether says instead, voice kind, “we can start whenever you’re ready.”
… Eventually, Wanderer builds up the courage to lie down, his head resting softly in Aether’s lap.
Aether takes his long, pointed tools and begins to work on the other’s ear with careful precision.
Wanderer would never have imagined they’d end up like this. During their last checkup, he had told Aether to choose whatever position made him most comfortable for himself—steady hands were what mattered most. Aether had chosen this.
As always, Aether’s voice is gentle when he asks, “How was that? Did that feel uncomfortable? If it hurts, let me know, and I’ll stop.”
He never tells Aether to stop.
Of course, Wanderer isn’t deafened this time around. In fact, there’s nothing wrong with his ears. They’d agreed to schedule routine maintenance for upkeep, rather than waiting for a problem to appear.
He has to admit, after helping so many times, Aether’s become remarkably skilled at repairing his ears. He’s even offered to assist in other tasks, like eye maintenance.
Wanderer lets his gaze drift, watching how the sunset drapes the walls in gold. They sit in complete silence. Aether no longer needs to be told what to do, and Wanderer no longer needs to hand him the tools.
To be able to lie here so peacefully—and be cared for so thoughtfully—feels almost unreal.
In Aether’s lap, Wanderer is reminded of an Inazuman custom—mimikaki, the gentle practice of ear cleaning. He’d been far too uneasy to think of such a peaceful tradition the first time Aether helped him.
In Inazuma, mothers would call for their children, drawing them into their laps to clean their ears. It’s a common custom, though, of course, he wouldn’t know it from experience.
Those moments in youth are what teach children to trust—to find comfort in another’s hands, even as adults.
It’s such a familiar tradition that ear-cleaning parlours exist, allowing people to relive that warmth again.
Wanderer knows it’s something couples share, too. It’s intimate.
He supposes, then, that he must hold an unusually high degree of trust in The Traveller. If anyone else, save for Lord Kusanali, had appeared at his door that night offering their help, he’s certain he would have refused, choosing instead to suffer in silence. His Archon must have known as much.
Trusting Aether is not instinctual or easy. He’s lucky Aether is considerate enough to help him through it.
Wanderer twitches, suddenly making a mental note not to link their minds by accident again. He doesn’t think they were just now—but now that he’s flinched, he knows he’s given his thoughts away.
Aether, for his part, doesn’t draw attention to it.
“Did you ever speak to Haypasia again?”
“No.”
Aether hums in acknowledgment, preoccupied.
“I see her occasionally,” Wanderer says after a pause. “In the Akademiya.“
He leaves out that he visited her once under the guise of being her junior, offering help with a star-based research project. She’d been puzzled that a Vahumana student, one majoring in political science, knew anything about astronomy—but she’d thanked him nonetheless.
“She doesn’t remember,” Wanderer finishes.
“That’s alright,” Aether replies softly. “You do.”
Aether finishes his work and sets his tools aside, satisfied. The last rays of sunlight fade into violet, scattering across the floorboards. For a moment, neither of them moves. The air hums softly with the sound of cicadas and the faint chime of wind through the trees.
“All done,” Aether murmurs.
Wanderer hums in reply.