tryst ? cyno x reader x kaveh

You knew how to set the scene.

When you heard footsteps coming, closer and closer, to whatever room you were in, you knew exactly where to put certain items to create a story for a searching, suspicious eye. The way you set a book facedown, open to a random page, adjust a mug of coffee to sit at just the right angle so you could easily grab it, even just silently shifting your legs to lie under you, could make the difference between a staged act and a "genuine" snapshot of an innocuous act. Then, when the danger entered, you would put everything aside and smile, opening your arms to encircle him and tell him whatever he wanted to hear. Maybe it was simply rambling about your day, or maybe it was asking him to tell you about his.

You'd gotten quite good at this whole ploy if you do say so yourself. Your practice had started young, so you knew what to avoid and what to conceal. Even the smallest tells - a shaky breath, a furtive glance, a shift in body weight - could mean damnation and punishment to follow. You almost laughed, thinking of how you could've probably made it big in the acting world if you'd had the chance.

When the danger entered the room, you slid on a carefully rehearsed smile and looked up. "Hello, Father."

He nodded at you, setting his expensive, custom-made briefcase by the door. "How did you find today's curriculum? Was it to your liking?"

Ah, one of your father's favorite subjects of conversation. Being a citizen of Sumeru, one would expect you'd get the highest-quality education possible, perhaps in a prestigious school that parents from foreign nations could only dream about for their children. But there was no school for you. No, your father, the great Rohan Purnaya, renowned Haravatat scholar, had a deep-seated distrust of the Sumerian schooling system. He often liked to remark that the schooling system didn't carry the curriculum he wanted, nor did it prepare children enough for the Akademiya. So, his solution was to create his own "school" for you, which, to him, meant trapping you in your house and forcing you to plow through hundreds of assignments and papers he'd cherry-picked just for you. How fun.

But you nodded with a look resembling eagerness and delight. "I quite enjoyed the Snezhnayan exercise today. It's been a while since I've had to write something that complex in Snezhnayan, so it was a bit of a challenge."

He tuts almost disapprovingly, slipping off his shoes and shucking off his formal coat, leaving both at the door. "I shall add more readings in Snezhnayan to this week's classes. And the paper on Ley Line distribution? You told me a few days ago that you were interested in learning more."

"Oh yes, I particularly enjoyed that one. It explained to me why Ley Lines spawn where they do in great detail." You stand, stretching in an almost catlike manner. "Quite informative."

The conversation itself seemed innocent enough - just a father and his kid talking about "school" - but you knew better. It was nothing more than a thinly veiled test. Did you pay attention to your work? Was it too easy? Are you actually learning? Father would never ask such interrogative questions for fear of upsetting the fragile peace between you two, but they hung in the air, unspoken but implied.

In truth, it rarely took you the whole day to complete the work Father gave you. You'd already memorized his schedule so well you could recite the exact time he'd disappear into his study to deposit the contents of his briefcase into a few of the several manila folders he meticulously maintained. Instead of staying trapped at home after dutifully completing the work you were assigned, you preferred to slip out through your bedroom window (the front doorway was always locked and he had the key) to make your way to the Grand Bazaar to greet your many friends and explore the wonders of Sumeru. Today, instead of writing a short informative paragraph in Snezhnayan about Ruin Guards, you'd headed over to Zubayr Theater as per your close friend Nilou's request to watch one of her performances. More specifically, to watch someone watching the performance.